Boundless Ambition: (Kyle Achilles, Book 5), page 35
Achilles didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t say anything. William Zacharia was left hanging there staring into the abyss. He couldn’t help but ask, “And what?”
“I’ll pull the pipes that deliver your air, then rake the ground. Even with dogs they won’t find your body. Not that the Mexicans will be looking.”
The Mexicans? Had they driven him across the border? Of course they had. Geographically, it wasn’t far, but tactically it was a world away. The border separated them from his family, his lawyers, and his posse. Not that those would matter to a man who had no air. “I’ll cooperate.”
“We’ll know if you lie. We already have the answers to half the questions. And hesitation will be equated with deception.”
Power plays were familiar territory to William Zacharia. His terrain, so to speak. His only concern was getting out of that grave. Whatever that took. Locked up underground, he was helpless. Up top, he had the best lawyers in the world. And an army of mercenaries. “I understand.”
“Okay. Here goes. What do you call your plan?”
“Operation 51.”
“When does it launch?”
“Early Sunday morning.”
“Why early Sunday morning?”
“So we’re ready for the talk shows.”
“Who will be spinning Operation 51 on the Sunday morning talk shows?”
“Rowe, Walker, Andrews and maybe McPherson.”
“Use their titles, please.”
So they were recording this. Smart move. Wouldn’t matter. His lawyers would get it tossed. “White House Chief of Staff Rex Rowe. Secretary of Homeland Security Arlen Walker. Secretary of Defense Curtis Andrews. And Energy Secretary Meredith McPherson.”
“What about President Saxon?”
“He’s friendly, but he’s not in on it.”
“Have the three cabinet secretaries all been in on Operation 51 from the beginning?”
WZ hated this. Betraying his teammates was the last thing a Marine would choose to do. But they literally had him boxed in, so he couldn’t even hesitate, much less negotiate. “Just Rex.”
“What’s your group’s relationship with the others? The Cabinet secretaries?”
“They’re friendly to us. To industry.”
“But they’re not in on the plan?”
“No.”
“But you can count on them?”
“Yes.”
“Did your group put them in place?”
“Yes.”
“Did your group put President Saxon in place?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“The usual manipulations. Copious cash and good old-fashioned blackmail.”
“But Saxon knows nothing of Operation 51?”
“No.”
“If you’re holding out on me hoping for a pardon, it won’t work. We will put assurances in place.”
“I’m sure you will. Saxon owed us for getting him elected. He paid that debt by letting us select Rex and the other three.”
“So you’re co-conspirators, but not colleagues?”
“That’s the nature of modern presidential politics.”
“What mechanism will you use to expose Canada’s devious plan?”
“We’re going to use the dark web to deliver a recorded, anonymous tip simultaneously to the FBI suboffice in Toronto and a variety of locations in Washington, including the Hoover Building and the White House. Plus, of course, The New York Times, The Washington Post, and other major news organizations.”
“What will the tipster tell them?”
“He’ll provide the exact geographic coordinates of the two secret missile installations Canada has constructed, complete with photographs.”
“Whose land are they on?”
“The Canadian government’s.”
“How have you kept them hidden?”
“They’re small needles in a huge haystack.”
“Explain.”
William Zacharia remembered an early C3 discussion on that very topic. “Did you know that there’s a history of Mexican gangs planting fields of cannabis crops in U.S. national parks?”
“I’ve heard the news stories.”
“Reports are they kept some fields secret for decades—and it’s still going on. While that’s hard to believe, take one look at a map and you’ll be convinced. The parks are huge and the rangers are few. Well, Canada’s population density is just one tenth that of the United States, and our launch sites are a hundred times smaller than those marijuana fields. Small needles, huge haystack.”
“What will the FBI agents find when they arrive at the coordinates you supply?”
“New federal signs on old barbwire fences warning against trespassing. New buildings that appear to be old barns, housing missile launch facilities.”
“How sophisticated are we talking?”
“Not very. Missiles of that category are typically launched from mobile platforms. Ships, submarines, aircraft and land-based vehicles. There’s a steel launch structure and a control panel. The magic is all in the missile itself and the communications system, which is separate.”
“How many missiles do you have?”
“One.”
“How many nuclear warheads do you have?”
“One.”
“How can you obliterate most major American cities with one missile?”
“We can’t.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Operation 51 doesn’t require actual missile launches to work. It doesn’t even require the ability to launch multiple missiles. To work, it only requires evidence of clear intent and credible potential.”
“Explain.”
“Canada is going to be caught in the act of preparing. There’s no need to wait for their preparations to be complete. That’s not just infinitely easier to orchestrate, it feeds the narrative Americans will want to believe. That their agencies are on the ball. Catching threats early.”
“How does a single nuclear missile give you a strong enough story?”
“Easy. You make one missile look like it’s the first of many to come by installing a bunch of other launch pads. Bear in mind, it’s a fearsome weapon. Better than anything else out there. The DelMos II has a range of six hundred miles and a speed of six thousand miles an hour.”
“Six hundred miles leaves a lot of the U.S. out of range.”
“Six hundred miles gets us Boston, New York, Washington, Philadelphia, Detroit and Chicago from our base in Ontario. And Seattle and Portland from our base in British Columbia. But remember, without all the missiles present, there will be speculation as to which additional missiles are planned. San Francisco, Sacramento, Los Angeles, Denver, Phoenix, and Las Vegas come into play if you switch to a slower missile with a twelve-hundred-mile range. Speculation will be rampant, I assure you. Imaginations will run wild.”
“What are you going to say is Canada’s motive for doing this?”
“We’re not. No motive is needed if you think about it. The threat is clear. The deception is clear. Canada is going to deny it, not explain it.”
“How do we stop it?”
William Zacharia knew where this was going. He’d known it within minutes of waking up. What he hadn’t known was whether he’d be the one to do it, or he’d be left there to die alone in the dark. Never again to see sunlight or hear another human voice. “I can stop it with a phone call.”
“To Rex?”
“To Rex.”
“What would you tell him?”
“I’d tell him we need to postpone for a week.”
“And he’d listen?”
“Rex doesn’t care. Not really. Sure, he gets a big bonus, but he’s really in this because he wants to keep his job—and he wants us to do for him what we did for Saxon.”
“He wants to be president?”
“Is there a politician or power broker in Washington who doesn’t?”
“What will you tell him if he asks why?”
“I’ll tell him it’s complicated, and there’s no time to get into it now but I’ll call him back.”
“Won’t he be suspicious?”
“Of course, he will. But he won’t go ahead on his own.”
“Are you ready to make the call?”
“I’ve been ready for hours.”
“I’m dialing.”
William Zacharia could hear the phone ringing. He could see the pendulum of his life slowing to a stop and preparing to change direction. But that didn’t happen. Rex did not pick up.
Chapter 99
Phoning It In
ACHILLES FELT like he’d arrived at the airplane gate seconds after they’d shut the door. The plane was still there, but he couldn’t reach it, and in minutes it would be gone.
He wished his real situation were as trivial as that nightmare. Failing to connect William Zacharia with Rex would be far more consequential than missing a plane. If the email went out, it would open Pandora’s Box. Closing it would not be an option.
Once the world saw pictures proving Canada’s treachery, the pitchforks would come out. The media blitz and public frenzy that followed would blow up into an unstoppable torrent that would not end until Canada was no longer independent.
Achilles was brainstorming plans for breaking down the metaphorical airport door when William Zacharia chimed in. “I know his home number. It’s a perk of being a big time donor.”
“What is it?” Achilles asked, his heart still racing.
“I don’t have it memorized. It’s on my cell phone.”
William Zacharia walked him through unlocking the confiscated phone and finding the contact. A second later, Rex’s home phone was ringing.
“Hello?”
“Rex, do you recognize my voice?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I tried your other number, but you didn’t answer.”
“I don’t keep the secure phone on me,” he said, discreetly highlighting the perilous nature of their current call. “What’s so urgent?”
William Zacharia knew to play along. “That project we’ve been working on. Something has come up making it very important that we delay for one week.”
“I see. Nothing big, I hope?”
“Just a timing issue.”
“Does this have anything to do with our former colleague and his wife?”
“No. There’s an issue up north.”
“And we definitely have to delay? I’m concerned about that former colleague causing trouble.”
“Me too. But we have no choice. Stay vigilant.”
“Keep me informed.” Rex hung up.
Achilles felt simultaneously euphoric and stunned. Like he’d won Olympic gold in absentia. He and Katya had just averted a major geopolitical realignment. They had literally saved Canada. The ultimate outcome was so disproportionate to the immediate input that it left him reeling.
But of course, their quest had only climaxed with a call. One relayed from a coffin through a baby monitor to a burner phone, then on to the residence of the White House Chief of Staff. Before that call came the transcontinental race. One fraught with uncertainty and danger. One forcing them to break laws and make controversial choices. One compelling them to outwit and outmaneuver some of the smartest and most resourceful people on the planet.
Suddenly the magnitude of what they’d done and how they’d done it came crashing down. The danger, the exhaustion, the sweat and sacrifice.
And they hadn’t actually won yet.
They’d just earned a reprieve.
Making the peace permanent was the next step. That, and serving justice.
But first, Achilles had to hug his wife. He wrapped his arms around Katya and she around him and they cried. There in a UTV beneath a canopy of Texas trees in the middle of the night, with crickets and frogs bearing witness, but no humans walking the earth for miles around.
Achilles slowly released his love and turned back to the monitor. “Well done, William Zacharia.”
“Shall we break out the champagne? After all this talking, I’m a tad thirsty.” The defense contractor’s voice was hoarse, as if trying to control his speech while talking through tears.
Achilles could easily imagine, if not sympathize. He too had woken up locked in a dark box once, depressed and completely disoriented. His makeshift coffin had been a bit bigger than the one WZ now occupied, but it was also underground. At the time, he hadn’t been tormented by interrogators. His torture had been not knowing whether Katya was dead or alive.
He switched off the monitor and again embraced his wife.
“We did it!” Katya said, finally free to speak. “Unbelievable. I’m still in awe over the audacity and ingenuity of their plan.”
“That was Luci’s initial point, right? She called it the thing that most people can’t comprehend, referring to the scale and stakes of hundred-billion-dollar businesses. The complexity of the schemes required to move the needle, and the extent to which chief executives will go to earn their nine-figure payouts.”
“I remember.”
“People subconsciously assume that those payouts are made because the CEOs’ skills are so good, but at times it’s because their souls are so bad. Some will do things others wouldn’t ever consider.”
Katya shook her head at the wonder of it all. “Ever since Luci’s opening remarks, I’ve been pondering the forces and factors that come into play when the numbers are that big. It would take me a thousand years of teaching to earn a single CEO bonus. If I try to mentally compress a thousand years of teaching stress down to a single semester, I begin to get a feel for their shoes.
“I’m still a long way from forgiving them, but I’m closer to understanding them.”
Achilles stroked his wife’s wet cheek. Forgiving them? Katya was cut from different cloth than he if she could even consider it. Better cloth, he supposed. “What’s your read? Should we close things out with William Zacharia now, or wrap it up with the others first?”
“You heard his voice. He’s not exactly sounding authoritative at the moment.”
“I suspect he’ll snap back once we offer credible hope.”
“You don’t think the initial ask will kill him? Literally cause his heart to stop? Be the last straw?”
“He’s tough. And frankly, either way I’m ready to find out.”
“Your call,” Katya said.
Achilles turned the monitor back on. “William Zacharia?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve earned the right to buy your freedom.”
Chapter 100
The Accounting
BEN WAS STILL BREATHING OXYGEN. After losing one of his air tubes, he had waited with unparalleled dread for a sign of suffocation beyond the anxiety he already felt. Giddiness, nausea or mental confusion. Rapid breathing or a tightness in his chest. Instead, he felt a touch of breeze near his feet. Probably thanks to a gust of wind. To his great relief, he realized that there were air holes in every corner of the coffin, not just the ones by his head.
He would not suffocate. Or at least, he had two more strikes before he’d be out. So life continued, such as it was. Trapped in absolute darkness with nothing but guilt, fear and dread to keep him company.
Achilles had put him in an impossible position. Literally and figuratively. Although the construction projects were bulletproof from the Canadian end, and all the launch site paperwork looped back to the Canadian government, and the facilities were hidden away on government land, there was a loose end. By tugging on him, Achilles could unravel the whole perfect plot.
The other C4 executives were also loose threads, of course. Had they talked? Or had they come to the same conclusion? Ben found the complete absence of information almost too much to bear.
“Ben?”
“Yes!” He shouted the reply as shock, hope and relief surged through his veins. He hadn’t known whether he’d ever have human contact again.
“Your colleagues enlightened us regarding Operation 51 and your plan to rake in billions in government contracts from Canada’s annexation.”
Ben was so shocked by the sudden onslaught of confidential information that he didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing as the implications overwhelmed his mind like marauders on a medieval castle.
“We’re ready to take you up on your offer,” Achilles added after a long and lonely pause.
Ben felt a rush of relief so strong he thought he might faint. He had been kicking himself ever since the last words he spoke had crossed his lips. “Get me out of here, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” Yet that bold gambit had somehow worked! Although given that the others had clearly caved, he didn’t understand why.
He took a deep breath to calm his system down before replying. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“We are going to reverse the timing, however. And alter the terms a bit. You’ll get out after you tell us everything we want to know, and we come to an agreement.”
Ben’s heart sank.
Plummeted was more accurate.
He felt like Achilles had ripped the beating organ from his chest and tossed it off the Golden Gate Bridge toward the cold waters of the Pacific.
As silence followed and his heart sank beneath the surface, Ben couldn’t refrain from venting the fear that filled his mind. “Why would you let me out after I tell you everything you want to know?”
“You’ll understand that once you learn what we’re asking.”
The unexpected words halted his heart’s chilling descent, and flashed a glimpse of the light far above. They dangled the hope that he might reach the surface before drowning. In a second, that hope would either be strengthened or dashed.
He began to tremble.
“What are you asking for?”
Achilles didn’t hesitate with his comeback. “I’m asking you to repent. To shed your evil ways and become a new man. An honest man. A meek and modest man. That probably sounds like a line, but I’m sincere.”
At the moment, Ben would have been excited to become anything but a man buried alive. “I’m listening.”
“You’re going to anonymously donate a hundred sixty-eight million dollars to charity. You get to choose which one, but it has to be a real, A-rated charity, not a lobbying organization. The Red Cross, Wounded Warriors, the Cancer Research Institute, for example.”
