Date: 2020-12-14 05:00:00+00:00
Description: Odessa is real and more deadly than ever. A bioterror threats instills terror in the Western world. Can the Nazis, resurrected from the dead, fight one more battle? The clock is ticking and the world waits to see where Odessa Strikes! International bestselling author, Bobby Akart, one of America's favorite storytellers, has delivered up-all-night thrillers to readers in 245 countries and territories worldwide. Odessa has targets in their sights and the clock is ticking as they prepare to unleash a blitzkrieg upon their sworn enemies. Their operatives are embedded at the highest levels of gover

Odessa Strikes

A Gunner Fox trilogy: book three

Bobby Akart

Thank You

Thank you for downloading ODESSA STRIKES the final installment in this Gunner Fox trilogy by Author Bobby Akart.

For a copy of my critically acclaimed monthly newsletter, The Epigraph, updates on new releases, special offers, and bonus content visit me online at

BobbyAkart.com
or visit my dedicated feature page on Amazon at

Amazon.com/BobbyAkart

PRAISE FOR AUTHOR BOBBY AKART and GUNNER FOX

“Only Akart can weave a story that begins so calm, so normal and before you know it, you are at the end of the book with your pulse pounding in your chest and your mind screaming for more! Amazon Hall of Fame, Top 2 Reviewer

“Another phenomenal story from THE master story teller of our time!”

Amazon review of Asteroid Destruction

“Akart is a master of suspense, keeping us on the edge of our seats. But, he does it with fact-based fiction that would scare even the most hardened readers.”

“Mixing science and suspense is something Bobby Akart is a master of—writing character driven stories that will have you on the edge of your seat.”

“I have highly enjoyed Mr. Akart’s literary works because his research is comprehensive and he has an eerie prescience of writing fiction and it becoming reality.”

“Mr. Akart has become one of my favorite authors joining the ranks of fellas named King, Grisham & Clancy.”

“Bobby Akart is one of those very rare authors who makes things so visceral, so real, that you experience what he writes … His research, depth of knowledge, and genuine understanding of people make his works more real than any movie.”

“No one, and I mean NO ONE, does it better!”

Other Works by Amazon Charts Top 25 Author Bobby Akart

Odessa (a Gunner Fox trilogy)

Odessa Reborn

Odessa Rising

Odessa Strikes

The Virus Hunters

Virus Hunters I

Virus Hunters II

Virus Hunters III

The Geostorm Series

The Shift

The Pulse

The Collapse

The Flood

The Tempest

The Pioneers

The Asteroid Series (A Gunner Fox trilogy)

Discovery

Diversion

Destruction

The Doomsday Series

Apocalypse

Haven

Anarchy

Minutemen

Civil War

The Yellowstone Series

Hellfire

Inferno

Fallout

Survival

The Lone Star Series

Axis of Evil

Beyond Borders

Lines in the Sand

Texas Strong

Fifth Column

Suicide Six

The Pandemic Series

Beginnings

The Innocents

Level 6

Quietus

The Blackout Series

36 Hours

Zero Hour

Turning Point

Shiloh Ranch

Hornet’s Nest

Devil’s Homecoming

The Boston Brahmin Series

The Loyal Nine

Cyber Attack

Martial Law

False Flag

The Mechanics

Choose Freedom

Patriot’s Farewell (standalone novel)

Black Friday (standalone novel)

Seeds of Liberty (Companion Guide)

The Prepping for Tomorrow Series

Cyber Warfare

EMP: Electromagnetic Pulse

Economic Collapse

Odessa Strikes

A Gunner Fox trilogy, book three

by

Bobby Akart

Dedications

There is nothing more important on this planet than my darling wife, Dani, and our two princesses, Bullie and Boom. With the love and support of Dani and the never-ending supply of smiles our two girls give us, I’m able to tell you these stories.

For many years, I have lived by the following premise:

Because you never know when the day before is the day before, prepare for tomorrow.

My friends, I study and write about the threats we face, not only to both entertain and inform you, but because I am constantly learning how to prepare for the benefit of my family as well. The Odessa trilogy is dedicated to Dani and the girls. I will always protect you from anything that threatens us.

Acknowledgments

Creating a novel that is both informative and entertaining requires a tremendous team effort. Writing is the easy part.

For their efforts in making the Virus Hunters a reality, I would like to thank Hristo Argirov Kovatliev for his incredible artistic talents in creating my cover art. He and Dani collaborate (and conspire) to create the most incredible cover art in the publishing business. A huge hug of appreciation goes out to Pauline Nolet, the Professor, for her editorial prowess and patience in correcting this writer’s same tics after fifty-plus novels. Thanks again to the newest member of the team, Drew Avera, a United States Navy veteran, who has brought his talented formatting skills from a writer’s perspective to create multiple formats for reading my novels. The accomplished Chris Abernathy has returned as the voice of Gunner Fox. His performance of the Asteroid trilogy earned him a nomination for best thriller/suspense narration by the Independent Audiobook Awards.

Now, for the serious stuff. The Odessa trilogy required countless hours of never-ending research. Without the background material and direction from those individuals who provided me a portal into the history of Nazi Germany, the German settlements establishments in Argentina following World War II, and the terrifying world of bioterrorism, this story couldn’t have been written.

Once again, as I immersed myself in the science and history, source material and research flooded my inbox from around the globe. Without the assistance of many individuals and organizations, this story could not be told. Please allow me a moment to acknowledge a few of those individuals whom, without their tireless efforts, the Odessa trilogy could not have been written.

Many thanks to Dr. Catherine Epstein, Winkley Professor of History and Dean of the Faculty at Amherst College. Her research and lecture material on the history of Nazi Germany, especially the emergence of Adolf Hitler and Nazi ideology, provided me an invaluable glimpse into how dictatorships function and why brutal regimes engage in mass murder.

In that same vein, Constance Nicholls, who holds a master’s degree in public history, and sat on the advisory board for the National World War II Museum, shared her outstanding research work on the Architect of Terror: Heinrich Himmler. Her in depth analysis of Himmler’s implementation of the Final Solution, gave me insight into the devil that Himmler was. However, it was a passing comment during a conversation regarding Himmler’s affinity for Norway and Norwegian women that took this story into a very interesting direction. Thanks Connie!

Odessa, like many of my other novels, could not have been written without the support of the former director of the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, Steven Walker; Janet Waldorf, Deputy Chief of Communications within the DARPA Public Affairs office, and her staff; and the DARPA program managers and contractors who took the time to speak with me by phone or via email. Left of boom. Now, I get it. Thanks to you all!

For my research in Argentina, I called upon a fellow author, Abel Basti who wrote the World War II history book titled Hitler in Exile. The language barrier was a challenge but Google translator came through. Not only did he have me utterly convinced that Hitler escaped his Berlin bunker and fled to Argentina via Spain, but that the Soviet Union assisted in the coverup in exchange for future cooperation against the United States. I’ve always loved a good conspiracy theory, and Hitler’s escape is certainly a grand one. However, one thing is certain. It was the Soviet Red Army who discovered Hitler’s dead body and then promptly whisked it away before British Intelligence could view it. Confirmation of death was always in question.

A fun footnote and a special acknowledgment. In the Geostorm series, one of the lead characters Tommy Bannon, was based upon our friend and veterinarian, Dr. Thomas McNair. In the Odessa trilogy, I decided to create a character for his wife, Kala. Like Tommy Bannon, I chose not to use McNair as the character’s last name.

So, who should Kala, professor at William & Mary, be? Well, we have a lot of fun on Facebook with our readers and Kala is always very active on my posts. One day, Dani and Kala were joking about how her husband, Thomas, resembles actor Christian Bale. Sooo, long story short, we thought it was appropriate to name the character, Professor Kala Bale. Thanks to Kala and Thomas for being such good sports and great friends.

There’s a moral to this story. If you interact with me on social media, you never know. You might become a character in one of my stories.

Speaking of side notes, there’ll be a scene in Odessa strikes that references fruitcake. I want to give a shoutout to Ashley Schoenith, founder of Heirloomed Collection, a friend of Dani’s on Instagram. She created this fabulous, full-size tea towel with the likeness of Doris Hart’s Fruit Cake recipe on it. Doris was her grandmother’s neighbor and because her last name was Hart, I thought it would be fun to make her related to Sammy Hart, Gunner’s friendly bartender/confidant who landed on Tangier Island.

Finally, as always, a special thank you to my team of loyal friends who’ve always supported my work and provided me valuable insight from a reader’s perspective. Denise Keef, Joe Carey, Shirley Nicholson, Bennita Barnett, and Karl Hughey.

This is why I wrote Odessa.

Because you never know when the day before is the day before, prepare for tomorrow.

Thank you all!

Choose Freedom and Godspeed, Patriots!

About the Author, Bobby Akart

Author Bobby Akart has been ranked by Amazon as #25 on the Amazon Charts list of most popular, bestselling authors. He has achieved recognition as the #1 bestselling Horror Author, #1 bestselling Science Fiction Author, #5 bestselling Action & Adventure Author, #7 bestselling Historical Fiction Author and #10 on Amazon’s bestselling Thriller Author list.

Mr. Akart delivers up-all-night thrillers to readers in 245 countries and territories worldwide. He has sold over one million books in all formats, which includes over forty international bestsellers, in nearly fifty fiction and nonfiction genres.

His novel Yellowstone: Hellfire reached the Top 25 on the Amazon bestsellers list and earned him multiple Kindle All-Star awards for most pages read in a month and most pages read as an author. The Yellowstone series vaulted him to the #25 bestselling author on Amazon Charts, and the #1 bestselling science fiction author.

Bobby has provided his readers a diverse range of topics that are both informative and entertaining. His attention to detail and impeccable research has allowed him to capture the imagination of his readers through his fictional works and bring them valuable knowledge through his nonfiction books.

SIGN UP for Bobby Akart’s mailing list to receive a copy of his monthly newsletter, The Epigraph, learn of special offers, view bonus content, and be the first to receive news about new releases featuring Gunner Fox and the Gray Fox team.

Visit www.BobbyAkart.com for details.

Author’s Introduction to the Odessa trilogy

August 15, 2020

As of this writing, the United States was going through a period of upheaval. For my loyal readers, you’ve known for years that my worldview, and therefore my novels, have been shaped by personal experiences as well as certain other works of literature and art.

Years ago, reading the massive treatise by Edward Gibbons titled the History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire led me to the following premise:

All empires collapse eventually. Either they are conquered by a more powerful enemy or they collapse under the weight of their debt. But make no mistake. Every great empire and nation-state eventually fails. There have been no exceptions in the history of mankind.

Which leads me to the artistic work of Thomas Cole. Beginning in 1833, Thomas Cole created a series of five paintings depicting the growth and fall of an imaginary empire. It’s a place that begins peaceful and full of freedom. Then, it achieves a level of glory indicated by joyous occasions and vast amounts of wealth, as shown in The Consummation of Empire.

But, as Gibbon’s Decline and Fall led me to realize, Cole had reached the same conclusion as evidenced by his paintings. Like the Roman Empire, Cole showed decadence, wealth, vice, and corruption ultimately led to war and eventually destruction of the state. The result, was Destruction as depicted in this painting.

It’s possible America is going through a similar period at this time. Like all new empires, the Founding Fathers thought they’d laid the groundwork for their principals and ideals to last forever through the adoption of the Constitution. Only time will tell whether the U.S. Constitution and this great republic can withstand the enormous political pressures from both outside our borders, and from within.

During World War I, an obscure German soldier named Adolf Hitler had been injured and was hospitalized as The War to End All Wars came to an end. He took up political work in Munich and then joined the small German Workers’ Party.

His ability to convince and manipulate others led him to be put in charge of the Party’s propaganda. Resentment at the loss of the war and the severity of the peace terms imposed upon the German people brought widespread anger to the country, especially Bavaria which had a disdain for Berlin’s government.

Under Hitler’s leadership, the party was renamed to the National Socialist German Worker’s Party, which became commonly referred to as the Nazi Party. Hitler and his ardent supporters envisioned a Third Reich of a thousand years in which all German peoples, including Austria, would be led by the Nazi Party.

Hitler rode this wave of enthusiasm for the Nazi cause to lead Germany into a period of expansion across Europe and into Northern Africa. He was a brutal leader who murdered millions of innocent people, Germans included, in the quest for ethnic purity.

Even during the Second World War, Hitler’s name became synonymous with pure evil. To this day, his name, the term Nazi, and the symbol of the swastika adopted by the Nazi Party evokes feelings of anger and hostility.

World War II ended in 1945 and Germany eventually became a respected member of the European Community and a world leader. Many former Nazis were captured, killed, or went into hiding. The European continent moved on vowing to never allow the rise of a charismatic leader like Hitler to gain power again.

History has shown that many high-ranking officials in the Nazi Party escaped Germany in the waning days of the war as well as afterwards. Their means of transportation were as varied as their destinations. Organizations and governments around the world have devoted eight decades tracking down every last Nazi soldier, party leader, and conspirator in the Holocaust until even those in their late nineties were brought to justice.

This story, however, is about a different group. It’s a story of legends and a tale of conspiracy. But as is always the case with my novels, it is based in historical fact.

The ODESSA, or Organisation der Ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen, translated as Organization for Former SS Members, was created to assist in the escape of the Nazi Party officials and German business leaders who feared they’d be captured and imprisoned by the Allied forces. They sought destinations around the world, escaping through European portals including Italy, Spain, Switzerland, and Norway. They arrived in strange, faraway lands including the Middle East, Africa, and South America.

And they never gave up their dreams for a Fourth Reich. With their vast amounts of ill-gotten gains in the form of money, gold, and historic artifacts, the Nazis abroad were well-funded, hidden from Allied intelligence and above all, committed to continuing their quest for a future Nazi Germany.

Many of the gatherings in the formation of Odessa were discovered by the intelligence community after the war. The destination and the ratlines used by the escaping Nazis were based upon countless hours of research and interviews with history experts from Hamburg to Buenos Aries.

Some of the most feared Nazis on the planet during the rise and fall of the Third Reich—Adolph Eichmann, Josef Mengele, Walter Rauff, and Franz Stangl, among many others, managed to escape to these destinations.

Then, there were the wives, mistresses, children, and future grandchildren of the Nazis who carried the torch of the Nazi Party ideology. They still believed in the viability of the Reich. As a result, every single historian I contacted agreed on one thing:

The Third Reich may have ended but the possibility of a Fourth Reich is held in the hearts of many ancestors of the Nazis.

Hatred doesn’t die with its leader.

Thank you for reading the Odessa trilogy.

Bobby

Author’s Note about Gunner Fox and the Gray Fox Team

June 13, 2019

Major Gunner Fox, United States Air Force special operator and experimental aircraft test pilot had paid his dues. He’d performed beyond the call of duty when his country needed him. He’d suffered emotionally when his wife, Heather, a NASA astronaut, died during a spacewalk outside the International Space Station. He found himself in a dark place after her death, without a reason to live.

Until America needed a hero. A previously undiscovered asteroid was on a collision course with Earth. It was deemed to be a planet-killer, a near-Earth object equal in size and destructive capability as the one that brought the dinosaurs to extinction.

In a time of desperation, America turned to Gunner and his fellow operatives, Major Cameron “Cam” Mills and Lieutenant Barrett “Bear” King. Major Mills, a childhood friend and the person who introduced Gunner to Heather, has always been by his side. She attended special forces training with Bear and the duo offered the perfect complement to Gunner’s advanced training, special skills, and vast knowledge obtained during his college years when he received his degree in the earth sciences.

During the asteroid mission, Gunner, Cam and Bear become reacquainted with Colonel Gregory Smith, Gunner’s mentor while he went through SERE – Air Force Special Warfare training at the AFSOC facility in the Florida panhandle. Col. Smith left the Air Force to join DARPA, the secretive government agency falling under the Department of Defense budget. He was always referred to by his DOD codename: Ghost.

After the success of the asteroid mission, Ghost was instructed to build a team around Gunner Fox. He brought on FBI Special Agent Theodora “Teddy” Cuccinelli because of her expert computer skills. Her abilities to access virtually any server or computer system earned her the moniker—Jackal. She acts as the eyes and ears for Gunner, Cam, and Bear when they are on a mission.

Ghost was tasked with naming this new team and he chose Gray Fox. In the early eighties, a new special operations force was created under the purview of the Joint Special Operations Command of the U.S. Army. Known as Intelligence Support Activity, or simply, The Activity, their role was to gather intelligence prior to special operations and to deploy assets to handle covert, off-the-books missions.

Over many decades, The Activity deployed specialized units into a variety of ops under codenames including Gray Fox. During the War in Afghanistan, Gray Fox fought alongside Delta Force in the mountains against the Taliban. Their unit spearheaded the search for Saddam Hussein and his family during the U.S. invasion of Iraq. The Gray Fox unit was mothballed for nearly twenty years until it was revived by Ghost to be led by Gunner Fox.

Gunner, Cam, and Bear would stand in front of a speeding train for one another. When called to duty, the repeat the secretive motto of The Activity, they’d reply—send me. They have each other’s six and are committed to their team’s motto:

Day by day.

Minute by minute.

Ride or die.

We stick together.

Real-World News Excerpts

MORE THAN A DOZEN EUROPEAN BILLIONAIRES—LINKED TO BMW, L’OREAL, BOSCH, AND OTHERS—HAVE FAMILIES WITH PAST NAZI TIES

~ Forbes, April 2, 2019

Last week, the German billionaire Reimann family, whose JAB Holdings owns Krispy Kreme, Panera Bread and Pret a Manger, admitted to profiting from, and taking part in, Nazi abuses and slave labor during the Nazi regime.

The family was far from alone in participating in Nazi activities or profiting from the Nazi regime. More than a dozen European billionaires and their families whose business roots predate World War II—including Kuehne and Nagel’s Klaus Michael Kuehne and Knorr-Bremse AG’s Heinz Hermann Thiele—had ties to Nazism through contracts, slave labor, the appropriation of stolen goods or other means.

Many of these billionaire companies openly acknowledge, and apologize, for those ties, though monetary responses are rarer.

FORD AND GM SCRUTINIZED FOR ALLEGED NAZI COLLABORATION

~ Washington Post, November 30, 1998

Three years after Swiss banks became the target of a worldwide furor over their business dealings with Nazi Germany, major American car companies find themselves embroiled in a similar debate.

Like the Swiss banks, the American car companies have vigorously denied that they assisted the Nazi war machine or that they significantly profited from the use of forced labor at their German subsidiaries during World War II. But historians and lawyers researching class-action suits on behalf of former prisoners of war are busy amassing evidence of collaboration by the automakers with the Nazi regime.

THE ROLE OF SWISS FINANCIAL INSTITUTIONS IN THE PLUNDER OF EUROPEAN JEWRY

~ Institute of the World Jewish Congress, Jerusalem, 1996

Switzerland's reputation as a neutral safe-haven during World War 11 has been badly tarnished by recent revelations about its wartime transactions with Germany. What began as an examination of the dormant bank accounts of Holocaust victims has gained momentum to include the whole gamut of Swiss financial dealings with the Nazis. In recent months a vast amount of incriminating documentation has been unearthed that reveals the sinister side of Swiss "neutrality".

Switzerland served as a repository for Jewish capital smuggled out of Nazi Germany and the states threatened by it, and also for vast quantities of gold and other valuables plundered from Jews and others all over Europe. Right up until the end of the war, Switzerland laundered hundreds of millions of dollars in stolen assets, including gold taken from the central banks of German-occupied Europe.

At the war's end Switzerland successfully resisted Allied calls to restitute these funds, and in the Washington Agreement of 1946 the Allies contented themselves with acceptance of a mere 12% of the stolen gold.

WHY ARGENTINA ACCEPTED NAZI WAR CRIMINALS AFTER WWII

~ ThoughtCo, January 22, 2020

After World War Two, thousands of Nazis and wartime collaborators from France, Croatia, Belgium and other parts of Europe were looking for a new home: preferably as far away from the Nuremberg Trials as possible. Argentina welcomed hundreds if not thousands of them: the Juan Domingo Perón regime went to great lengths to get them there, sending agents to Europe to ease their passage, providing travel documents, and in many cases covering expenses.

Even those accused of the most heinous crimes, such as Ante Pavelic (whose Croatian regime murdered hundreds of thousands of Serbs, Jews and Gypsies), Dr. Josef Mengele (whose cruel experiments are the stuff of nightmares) and Adolf Eichmann (Adolf Hitler's architect of the Holocaust) were welcomed with open arms. It begs the question: Why on Earth would Argentina want these men?

Contents

Epigraph

Für meine Mutter. Ich liebe dich!

Das folgende beruht auf wahren begebenheiten

The Oath

Prologue

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Part II

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Part III

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Part IV

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Epilogue

THANK YOU FOR READING ODESSA STRIKES!

New Madrid Excerpt

Prologue

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epigraph

“Germans who wish to use firearms should join the SS or the SA – ordinary citizens don’t need guns, as their having guns doesn’t serve the State.”

~ Heinrich Himmler, early 1940s

* * *

“Bioterrorism is like earthquakes; you should think in order of magnitudes. If you can kill 10 people that's a one, 100 people that's a two. Bioterrorism is the thing that can give you not just sixes, but sevens, eights and nines.”

~ Bill Gates, Microsoft Founder

* * *

“Chemical weapons are something that scares everybody.”

~ King Abdullah II of Jordan

* * *

“People start getting scared. They’ll allow anything. Goodbye, freedom. Hello, Third Reich.”

~ Lewis Michener, fictional character, Showtime’s Penny Dreadful

* * *

Choose Freedom!

~ Author Bobby Akart

Für meine Mutter. Ich liebe dich!

Das folgende beruht auf wahren begebenheiten

The following is based on a true story.

The Oath

The following oath was repeated by millions leading up to World War II. Most of them meant it. Many did not.

Ich schwöre bei Gott diesen heiligen Eid,
daß ich dem Führer des Deutschen Reiches und Volkes

Adolf Hitler, dem Oberbefehlshaber der Wehrmacht,
unbedingten Gehorsam leisten und als tapferer Soldat bereit sein will,
jederzeit für diesen Eid mein Leben einzusetzen.

I swear to God this holy oath
that I shall render unconditional obedience
to the Leader of the German Reich and people,

Adolf Hitler, supreme commander of the armed forces,
and that as a brave soldier I shall at all times be prepared
to give my life for this oath.

Prologue

Years Past

Youth State Summer Camp

Catskill Mountains

Near Kingston, New York

The Catskill Mountains in New York were defined by abandonment. The seventeenth-century colony known as New Netherland gradually disappeared, leaving historic buildings to fall into ruin. Those who moved into the area as New York City grew into the largest metropolis in America were mainly lumbermen and farmers. Over time, Rust Belt factories grew upon the banks of the Hudson River, only to be rebranded as distilleries or left to disintegrate. Even the hospitality industry that had defined the Catskills for the past century fell into shambles.

The Catskills had become the playground of the wealthy from New York City to Connecticut. Historic buildings, including churches, were converted into second homes to be used a few weeks out of the year. Small towns along the Hudson River struggled to maintain their identity as the big-city interlopers rolled in to visit periodically.

Eventually, this charming part of New York State became focused on securing its share of the almighty tourist dollar, leaving its historic nature behind. Hudson, Saugerties, and Kingston became exits off Interstate 87 for politicos traveling from the Big Apple to Albany, the New York State capital.

There was one annual event held near Kingston every summer since 1935 that was not designed to attract tourist revenue. It was known as the Youth State Summer Camp, and its purpose was to create and identify future leaders. Ivy League academia was praised for churning out U.S. presidents and corporate CEOs. However, for over a hundred years, Youth State was acknowledged as the breeding ground, if you will, of the most powerful future leaders of America.

It was a national program put on annually in forty-nine states, except Hawaii. Participants applied to camps and were put through a rigorous selection process. The most qualified and those with contacts were chosen for states like New York. The young boys and girls who didn’t make the cut of the upper echelon of Youth State Summer Camp programs were relegated to less desirable camps located in the Northern Rockies.

Youth State simulated the political and financial operations of a small country for a two-week period each summer. Brilliant and socially connected high schoolers were selected to form a government, wage political campaigns, hold elections, and taught to commit the occasional dirty trick. Others, who were financially inclined, were tasked to head multinational corporations. Their role was to interact with those in political power to benefit their financial goals.

Social interaction was considered an integral aspect of the simulation. A financier’s roommate could one day be the politician raising taxes or holding the purse strings in Congress. Through the years, lifelong friendships and contacts were made between the attendees.

Some of the more noteworthy New York participants in the past included President Bill Clinton, Senators Bob Menendez and Cory Booker of New Jersey, and Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito. Outside of politics, Apple’s Tim Cook took part in Alabama, and renowned basketball player Michael Jordan attended in North Carolina one summer.

The invited observers at Youth State, as they were known, were every bit as important as the young attendees. Imagine college football recruiters at a high school game. They’re looking for players with the right physical characteristics, a high football IQ, and good academics. They’ll also review the player’s social media accounts to get a feel for the player’s character and work ethic.

The observers, who came from both political circles and the world of high finance, studied the attendees at Youth State to identify future leaders. Great leaders were passionate about their vision for the future. They had a strong sense of mission and purpose. They were passionate and fiercely dedicated to carrying out their vision.

Their communication skills had to be second to none. Inspirational people led with optimism and empathy, whether real or contrived. Make no mistake, the great communicators of our time were selling something. Whether it be a product or a political ideology, communicators had to be convincing to get people to respond.

At each Youth State Summer Camp in every participating state since 1946, Odessa was present, as were their children. They had to evaluate their own against the future leaders of America. They looked for strengths and weaknesses. They identified potential pairings. Who would be good political allies in the future? Which ones would be viable business partners? Were there potential arranged marriages to spread Odessa’s reach into the mainstream of American finance and politics?

Over many decades, Odessa made good use of their attendance at Youth State. Years ago, Sophia Jorgensen’s father had identified Remy Weber as a worthy suitor for his attractive fifteen-year-old daughter. Weber’s pedigree as the nephew of famed international financier György Schwartz, of Katonah, New York, would enable the Jorgensen family to insert themselves into one of the most powerful geopolitical forces in the world.

Another individual caught the eye of old man Jorgensen that summer. Jon Taylor was the son of the governor of New York. Born in New York City, he was brash and cocky. He was fiercely passionate about the political ideology he’d adopted from his father. He and Remy Weber were also inseparable.

Sophia’s father was an astute judge of character, just like his grandfather before him—Heinrich Himmler. He charted a path for his granddaughter’s life that included a courtship and marriage to Remy Weber. A rise up the political ranks of American government partnered with Jon Taylor. The end result was Sophia being married to the man who was the most trusted confidant of the President of the United States at a time when America was about to be brought to her knees.

Part I

The secret of all victory lies in the organization of the non-obvious.

~ Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor, AD 121–180

Chapter One

Present Day

Aboard CIA Gulfstream G650

Over the Atlantic Ocean

The Gray Fox team rode mostly in silence as they crossed the Atlantic Ocean en route to Rome. Gunner Fox was pensive as the events of the past seventy-two hours ran through his head. He unconsciously rubbed his temples as he stared out the large porthole-style windows of the Gulfstream G650 aircraft on loan from the CIA. The lack of sleep and mental strain he’d endured were beginning to take their toll. He sighed as he reminded himself that now was not the time to take his foot off the gas pedal.

The sarin attack on Levi’s Stadium in California had been perfectly orchestrated and carried out. It was far more complex than the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. Make no mistake, the attacks of 9/11 were devastating, but they mostly involved hijacking an aircraft, something that was not that uncommon at the time. Airport security measures enacted after 9/11 made it virtually impossible to repeat.

Perhaps it was America’s singular focus on aircraft security that left the nation vulnerable for an attack the size and scope of what happened in the San Francisco Bay area. Yet how could anyone have anticipated it or defended against it?

Gunner scowled and shook his head in disbelief. This had to be years in the making, right? However, the sarin had just been recently discovered. They had to have known of its existence.

“Very patient,” he muttered.

“What?” asked Cameron Mills, his childhood friend and fellow operative. She had also been tucked away in her own world, deep in thought, as she tried to process the magnitude of the attack.

“Did I say that out loud?” asked Gunner quietly.

“Yeah, or I’m in your head.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he said with a slight smile. “Think about it, Cam. The coordination involved in the sarin attack was extraordinary. To ensure its success, it would take months of planning. They would’ve had to observe security at the stadium and gauge the reactions of law enforcement. It was almost as if they knew their target before they had their weapon.”

Cam shrugged and leaned over her armrest into the aisle of the cabin. “Or they’re very good at what they do.”

Gunner looked out the window and shook his head again. “If that’s the case, we’re screwed. It’s impossible to identify their targets and means of attack. Sure, we could look at the usual high-value terrorist targets, like Washington, New York, or even LA. You know, large population cities, government facilities, and financial centers.”

“Which is why you made the right call,” she said in a reassuring tone of voice. “Our unit is not designed to chase down leads all over America. Hell, people see a leaf drop and they’re on the phone dialing 9-1-1. Let the FBI handle that stuff.”

Gunner sighed. He appreciated the reaffirmation of his decision. Every fiber of his being wanted to charge out of the Den at Fort Belvoir, Virginia, and rattle cages in search of answers. However, they had no credible leads in the States. Their best option was to follow the research and the hunches of a reclusive German professor, Stefan von Zwick.

“Cam, it was his dying words. Odessa. Rome. Knight. Maybe Argentina. I’m not sure, but it would make sense.”

“You’re on the right track, and Jackal’s research confirms it,” said Cam.

Barrett King, who’d been dozing in and out of sleep, joined the conversation.

“It’s not like us to run away from a fight,” he began. His deep voice was gravelly, so he cleared his throat. “It’s the right thing to do. Let the FBI investigate the crime scene. Let’s hunt down the masterminds. Von Zwick pointed us in the right direction.”

“Yeah,” began Gunner with a chuckle. “Rome socialites who have more money than god.”

“What made them rich?” asked Bear.

Cam opened up her laptop. “That’s the thing. It’s like the money fell off the tree it was growing on, and they swept it up with a rake. There’s no history of banking or industrial activity. They weren’t political leaders cashing in after they left office. They’re not celebrities. They’re just uber-wealthy.”

“With German roots,” interjected Gunner. “And their family’s societal pedigree suddenly appeared in the mid-1940s. The timetable fits von Zwick’s theories.”

“I think it’s bullshit that I can’t go with you guys to the opera,” complained Bear.

“What do you know about the opera?” asked Cam.

“About as much as you do,” he shot back. “It’s not so much about the opera, but I wanna see the inside of this place. It’s supposed to be really cool.”

“You can enjoy the inside of the Fiat, or whatever car the agency has lined up for us. That’s exciting enough.”

Gunner changed the subject. “Cam, how much time do we have between landing and when this thing starts?”

“The overture,” she replied.

“What?” asked Bear.

“The overture, you neanderthal. The overture is the start of an opera. It’s usually music that allows everyone to get settled in their seats.”

“Sorry, Cam,” he began sarcastically. “I didn’t know you were an opera connoisseur.”

She quickly presented Bear with her middle finger. “I went on a date with a guy to the opera. I studied up on it beforehand.”

“And now you’re an ex—” Bear was ready to rumble, but Gunner cut him off.

“Cam? How long?”

“We’ll have just enough time to get to the CIA safe house and change clothes. Everything we’ll need is gonna be waiting for us.”

Gunner reached across the aisle and pointed toward her laptop. “Let me study the background on this woman and her father so I can identify their weaknesses. We’ll need to get them to talk and quickly.”

Chapter Two

CIA Safe House

Rome, Italy

“Hell, aren’t you dapper,” said Bear with a huge grin on his face as Gunner entered the living area of the flat utilized by CIA operatives. The nondescript residence was located equidistant between the U.S. Embassy in central Rome and Vatican City just across the River Tiber. The sun was setting over the river, casting an orangish glow on the famed Castel Sant’Angelo, a second-century castle overlooking the river.

“It’s been a long time since I dressed up in a tux,” said Gunner. “Gotta give the guys who stocked this place some credit. It fits pretty good.”

Bear exchanged high fives with Gunner. “Very suave, boss. You put old double-oh-seven to shame.”

“I’d like to have some of their toys,” said Gunner as he checked himself in the mirror again.

“Good news on that front,” said Bear. “While you were getting ready, the embassy sent over our car. It’s a Maserati Ghibli. Nice sedan. Zero to a hundred in under five-point-five seconds. A little larger than the BMW, too.”

“Let’s hope we don’t find ourselves getting shot at.”

“I agree, but if we do …” Bear’s voice trailed off as he pointed toward the separate dining room. He led Gunner through an open set of glass doors. “Voilà.”

Gunner laughed. “That’s French, Bear.”

“Italian. French. Same thing. Check out the weaponry and accoutrements.”

Gunner let out a hearty laugh. Bear was unintentionally relieving some of the tension Gunner was carrying.

“Another big word. Also French, I might add.”

“Yeah, it’s not my fault we landed in Italy. Anyway, check these out.”

Bear showed Gunner the variety of weapons, including full-size and compact handguns, Israeli-made Uzis, and several knives, including switchblades. He also lifted up a bulletproof vest.

“We’re goin’ to the opera. Do we really need that?” asked Gunner.

“Just as a precaution,” replied Bear. He was about to expand on his thought when movement in the living area caught his eye. He slowly dropped the vest back onto the table and gasped as he turned toward the doors.

Gunner was surprised at Bear’s sudden change in demeanor. Curious, he stepped toward the doorway to see what had grabbed his attention.

“Holy smokin’ hot!” the big man exclaimed.

Gunner pushed past his friend and entered the living room. Cam stood in the center of the space, holding an evening clutch. She was dressed in a stunning black Dolce & Gabbana evening gown.

“Cam, have you always looked like this?” asked Gunner, who was shocked by her transformation.

“Duh,” she replied sarcastically. She stood a little taller and turned slowly in a circle. “You two have never been worthy of gazing upon all of my loveliness.”

Gunner chuckled. “I’ve known you most of my life, and I never remember you looking like this, even at my wedding.”

“Heather wanted to keep it casual, remember? Beach weddings don’t lend themselves to evening gowns.”

Gunner smiled. “Cam, you look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Cam blushed and avoided eye contact with her best friend. He’d never complimented her appearance, only her capabilities.

“Smokin’ hot,” Bear repeated.

Cam furrowed her brow. “You can shut up. He’s my date for the opera, not you. You are our chauffeur.”

“Great, more French,” mumbled Gunner.

“Huh?” asked Cam.

“Nothing. Europe seems to bring out the best in you two,” he said as he turned to Bear. He nodded over his shoulder toward Cam. “You were saying something about us wearing ballistics under our clothing?”

Bear ran his eyes up and down Cam’s fit physique that seemed to be painted by the gown. “I don’t even know where she’s gonna conceal a weapon.”

“What do we know about security checks for the venue?” asked Gunner.

“Nothing except visual checks by their own personnel,” replied Bear. “Mass shootings in Italy are almost unheard of even though it has a higher rate of gun homicides than other European countries. I think if you guys play it cool, you’ll be fine.”

“Gunner, do we really need to carry? I mean, nobody expects us to be there much less this socialite Bianca something-or-other.”

“Morosini,” added Gunner.

“Yeah, her. Ugly wench,” said Cam as she set her jaw and pushed her chest out a little more. Despite her own stunning appearance, Cam exhibited a tinge of envy as she recalled the images of Bianca Morosini, the young woman they planned on confronting at the opera.

La Bambolina, as she was known by the Italian paparazzi, translated as the little doll. However, the perfectly tanned six-foot-tall beauty was anything but little. She was known for her modeling work with famed Italian clothing company Valentino, as well as her interior design prowess for resurrecting the two Venetian palaces known as Palazzo Rota and Palazzo Brandolin.

Gunner relayed what he knew about the young woman while Bear loaded weapons and ammunition into a duffel bag.

“Morosini’s known as a jet-setter and the female equivalent of an Italian playboy. She certainly believes in playing the field, including a tryst with her second cousin who’s the heir to Fiat.”

“How are we supposed to get close to her?” asked Cam.

“The agency took care of that,” replied Bear as he reentered the room with the duffel slung over his shoulder. “She has two seats in her regular box. Two seats adjacent to hers suddenly became available today.” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed the tickets to Gunner.

“She speaks fluent English, so language won’t be a barrier,” said Gunner. “Her date is an Italian soccer player. Nothing serious. Just a boy toy, according to News Break, an Italian tabloid.”

“What’s the play?” asked Cam.

Bear motioned toward the door, indicating they needed to head to the theater.

“Divide and conquer,” replied Gunner as he offered his arm to his date.

Chapter Three

Castle Bariloche

Bariloche, Argentina

The new arrivals had joined Henry Jorgensen Gruber, the head of die Zwölf, the twelve members of Odessa’s inner circle, in the spacious living area. The mood was upbeat if not downright jubilant as Henry’s younger brother, Derek, and his chief henchman, Daniel Wagner, who stood by his side throughout, relayed the number of injuries and deaths resulting from the sarin attack on Levi’s Stadium. To the casual observer, he might’ve been mistaken for a fan sharing the stats of the football game itself. His anecdotes and side comments used to explain the gruesome yet efficient attack would’ve disgusted most human beings. Not die Zwölf. They savored the well-executed victory, and their occasional toasts to their successes by gloating smacked of a certain malignant pleasure.

Once everyone who was expected to join them had arrived, Henry led them up the red-carpeted stairs winding their way up the north tower of Castle Bariloche. Despite the fact most of them had entered the hallowed tower dozens of times before, their eyes were still drawn upward to the tile and marble inlay in the center ceiling, depicting the Hakenkreuz, the swastika symbol of the Nazi Party.

“Please, everyone, take your seats,” said Henry with a sweeping gesture and a sincere smile. He was very close to all the attendees, including their newest addition to die Zwölf, Daniel Wagner. His German pedigree was never in dispute. Like another esteemed member of Odessa’s twelve-person leadership team, General Lukas Holzcraft, Wagner was a soldier. His exploits during the successful operation on the U.S. West Coast had earned him a seat at the table to replace the recently departed family matriarch, Brit Jorgensen.

After everyone took their seats, Henry immediately moved to make Daniel feel welcome. “Daniel, this is your first visit to the Obergruppenführersaal,” he began, using the German term for Heinrich Himmler’s dream for his castle in Wewelsburg. It was translated as the Hall of Generals. “I know we all appreciate your efforts and your loyalty. Let us welcome you to die Zwölf.”

All of the attendees raised their glasses into the air and said welcome. Then they placed them on the table and snapped their right arms straight into the air.

“Sieg Heil!”

After retaking their seats, Henry explained the missing members of die Zwölf. “Sophia is staying in Washington with her husband, Remy. He must remain with the president in the White House bunker. Sophia has declined the additional protections afforded her although she has insisted upon the opportunity to visit the White House to see her husband. This is the only way she can learn of the president’s reaction to the attack.”

Jorge Gruber, Henry’s son, asked, “Does he have any inkling whatsoever regarding the perpetrators of the attack?”

“None,” replied Henry. “Derek and Daniel have done an excellent job of tying up any loose ends. It was a flawless operation, and they deserve the utmost praise.”

Several members of the group raised their glasses to toast the two men who were the tactical operators among them.

Henry continued to explain the absences. “General Holzcraft is required to stay at Hanscom Air Force Base, as America has placed its security forces on the highest level of alert. Because our future plans will fall within his realm, he will be a valuable intelligence asset on the inside of the U.S. Defense Department.”

Friedrich Bauer, president of Unibanco Group, a large banking conglomerate in South America, spoke next. “It’s my understanding that you have several options. Do we strike right away or wait until they react?”

Derek and Daniel Wagner exchanged glances. This was an opportunity for Wagner to show he was capable of more than simply carrying out a mission on the ground. Derek had to groom someone to take his role at some point, so now seemed like a good time to give Wagner the floor.

“Daniel, you can respond,” he said.

Bauer sat down, and Wagner stood, as was the custom when die Zwölf met. “Thank you. For decades, members of Odessa and our predecessors have carefully studied the reaction of several American administrations when faced with an attack. We’ve been able to identify a common trait. They assume the next attack will be just like the one they just endured.”

“Derek and I anticipate the Taylor administration will issue a number of executive orders designed to stop large gatherings around the country. The extent of the restrictions remains to be seen, but it doesn’t matter because locking down the nation falls right into our hands.”

“Please explain,” said Henry Gruber.

“Yes, of course. They will focus their entire defense and intelligence apparatus on preventing another large-scale attack like the one at Levi’s Stadium. Their expectations will be a chemical attack using sarin or something of that nature. Of course, we will know more after Remy Weber is able to communicate with Mrs. Weber.” He referred to her respectfully, as he’d only met her once in passing.

“Daniel has suggested a misdirection, if you will,” interjected Derek.

“That’s correct. Our team at Hexane is second to none. I suggest we undertake a series of cyberattacks on America’s critical infrastructure—namely, the communications grid. Hexane has identified specific aspects of the U.S. government’s server network that are especially vulnerable to distributed denial-of-service attacks, known as DDoS attacks.”

“What is the goal of these DDoS attacks?” asked Henry.

“Well, beyond the misdirection aspect, they are designed to provide the American government a bogeyman, as they say. A bad guy to lay blame on for the Levi’s Stadium operation.”

“Who?” asked Bauer.

“We will leave fingerprints, as the people at Hexane call them, leading investigators to North Korea. These cyberattacks will disrupt the normal traffic of the U.S. government’s servers by overwhelming their networks. It will force the intelligence agencies to look at multiple bogeymen to retaliate against.”

“And in the meantime?” asked Henry.

“We prepare for an attack on our next target. One that continues implementation of the Final Solution.”

Each of the Odessa Nazis raised their glasses into the air to toast. While they were focused on rebuilding the Third Reich by rising from the ashes, they were also prepared to continue the Nazis’ plan for genocide of the Jewish people.

Henry took the floor again. “We will be gathering at Hohenwerfen Castle in Salzburg next week to host the Bilderberg Meeting. Of course, I will attend. Sophia will make her best effort to be present. Our focus at the conference will be to plant the seeds of doubt concerning America’s ability to function as the world’s sole superpower. Our actions, while in our self-interests to be sure, will benefit the global world order immensely.”

Bauer nodded. “We’ll be focused on strengthening our financial ties to the world’s greatest financiers.”

“That’s correct,” added Henry. “Friedrich, along with Jorge, will focus their efforts on the economic aspect of our long-term goals. I will handle the politics.”

“Good for you, brother,” quipped Derek. “I always said you missed your calling.” The group shared a laugh.

Henry smiled and continued. “I learned from Mother that government is best controlled from outside the cesspool. Let the people who enjoy government undertake the role of doing our bidding. We manipulate them. Pay them. And then discard them when they are no longer useful.”

“Because there are always a new set of willing participants to take their place, am I right?” asked Derek.

“Natürlich,” replied Henry with a sly grin and a wink to his brother.

Chapter Four

Teatro dell’Opera di Roma

Rome, Italy

Ancient Rome began as a small settlement in the middle of the boot-shaped Italian peninsula. The region was protected from outsiders by the Alps and the Apennine Mountains. This extraordinary geographic location and fertile lands resulted in the Roman Empire becoming one of the largest and wealthiest in the history of the world.

Over the millennia, despite wars and turmoil, many of the historic, ancient structures remained standing. The Colosseum, the Roman Forum, and the Sistine Chapel were just a few of the highlights that attracted millions of tourists annually.

Roman culture, both historic and modern, helped define Rome as the Eternal City. Rome had a unique mix of historic architecture and religious sites coupled with high fashion and performing arts. The Teatro dell’Opera, Rome’s Opera House, was designed and built in the late nineteenth century in a Renaissance Revival fashion. Builders took the architectural style of ancient Roman structures, inserted an interior look common in the fifteenth-century Baroque era of Handel and Vivaldi, and the result was a performing arts theater that now seated sixteen hundred people.

Bear drove Gunner and Cam to the opera. The duo fit the part of an elusive, mysterious couple as their black sedan with darkened windows pulled up to the entrance. It was still daylight when they arrived, and the two wore dark sunglasses to help shield their identity from any security cameras. After their experience in Germany, they got the sense their adversaries had eyes and ears everywhere. Facial-recognition software was capable of identifying them within minutes.

They were early, allowing them to become familiar with the Teatro dell’Opera. They’d studied the floor plan on the flight from the States, but it was important for them to get a feel for their surroundings. Plus, they wanted to be in place to observe the arrival of their target—Bianca Morosini.

“It appears she plans on being fashionably late,” said Cam sarcastically as she sipped a glass of wine outside their box immediately adjacent to the long-standing seats of the Morosini family.

Gunner shrugged and took a sip of his club soda on the rocks with a lime. He needed to keep his head straight.

“She’s a social hotshot. Probably making a grand entrance for the paparazzi.”

Cam glanced at the Romanesque clock near the grand staircase leading to the main floor. It was approaching eight. Soon they’d be dimming the lights to alert attendees to take their seats.

Gunner was getting antsy. He was definitely out of his element. Certainly, he could dress and play the part of a sophisticated blueblood heir or trust-fund baby. In other words, he cleaned up real well, as they say. However, if anyone asked him a single question about the opera or classical music or ballet, he’d fold like a cheap tent.

Cam was better suited for this type of operation. She could rub elbows with the aristocrats, talk their talk, and schmooze them enough to fake her way through a conversation. The longer Gunner waited, the more he questioned his plan to approach the Morosini woman himself.

“Game time,” whispered Cam into Gunner’s ear, causing him to snap his head around.

Morosini, wearing a gown that was undoubtedly made to fit her tall, slender frame, glided up the stairs on the arm of a handsome man complete with a chiseled jaw and a five-o’clock shadow of a beard.

“I see,” said Gunner.

Cam studied the couple. “They’re beautiful. Graceful. How do they do it?”

“Practice,” said Gunner condescendingly. “That’s all they do every day. Play dress-up and rub elbows at stuff like this.”

Cam whispered, “Be cool. Here they come.”

Gunner made eye contact with Morosini, whose black eyes and olive skin drew him in like an enormous magnet. She locked eyes with him and didn’t break her gaze until she provided him an imperceptible wink.

It was subtle but powerful. It was a clear signal to Gunner—I could have you if I want you.

As they sashayed past Gunner and Cam, her perfume caught Gunner’s nose. He was captivated by her beauty and her confidence. They disappeared into their second-tier box just as the lights dimmed for the final time to indicate the opera was about to start.

Cam leaned into her friend and took his glass from his hand to set it on a passing waiter’s tray. “Are you gonna be okay? I saw the way she looked at you.”

Gunner motioned toward their box. “You did?”

“Duh. Women notice these things. She’s lucky you and I aren’t a thing, or I would’ve knocked her on her perky little ass.”

Gunner chuckled. “Easy there. Let’s extract the information we need first.”

“Doesn’t matter. I have a plan, though. At the intermission, I’ll find a way to separate pretty boy from Morosini.”

“Do you think you can do that?”

“Sure,” she replied. “Little Miss Medusa had you staring into her eyes, so you missed the roving eyes of her date. These two are bored with one another and are definitely interested in straying.”

“You figured all that out already?”

“You would’ve too if you hadn’t been turned to stone by that evil vixen. We’ll have thirty to forty minutes to get what we need. My question is whether you can get her to talk.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

As the overture music found its way through the Teatro dell’Opera, Cam took a deep breath before they entered. Her response was sincere. “Because I haven’t seen you look at another woman like that in a long, long time.”

Chapter Five

Teatro dell’Opera di Roma

Rome, Italy

Gunner and Cam sat in the first row of their box overlooking the main-floor seating. He was positioned against the railing next to Morosini, who sat next to her date. Periodically through the first act of Verdi’s Attila, Morosini would glance in Gunner’s direction in an attempt to make eye contact again. He noticed it, but didn’t acknowledge her by returning the glance. Now it was his turn to reel her in. She was apparently smitten with him as well.

The act was coming to a close as the magnetic soprano was bludgeoning the eardrums of the audience with her vocal cords as she hit stratospheric high notes with ease. The orchestra brought Verdi’s music to a fever pitch, swelling louder until the combination of artist and musicians created a deafening roar.

The soprano, a beautiful Italian actress playing the role of Odabella, raised her knife to strike down Foresto, the would-be killer of her lover, Attila. Suddenly, three of Foresto’s conspirators called out to warn him, and the stage went completely dark.

Damn. A cliffhanger. Gotta love ’em.

An intermission was announced, and Gunner steeled his nerves. It would be the longest break between acts, so it was time to make his move.

He and Cam wandered into the mezzanine, slowing their approach to the bar to allow Morosini to catch up. Cam initiated a casual conversation as the two couples stood side by side. She began in Italian, but Morosini’s date, the soccer player, immediately moved to place her at ease by speaking English.

“Are you enjoying Rosa’s performance of Odabella?”

“I am, although I’m awestruck by the beauty of the Teatro dell’Opera. I wish I could come back another time just to take a tour.”

Morosini’s date hesitated for a moment and then assessed the long line of attendees waiting for a cocktail. He bravely asked a question of his date that would ordinarily get him dumped. However, under the circumstances, it suited Morosini just fine.

“Bianca, may I escort this nice American around the theater during the intermission? This will be her only opportunity …” His voice trailed off as he questioned whether he should have suggested the idea.

“Yes, of course. I will keep her friend company.” She eased next to Gunner and ran her right arm through his left until her chest pressed against him. Gunner stopped breathing as he fought to keep his wits about him.

Cam and the boy toy excused themselves before wandering about the mezzanine until they disappeared. Gunner took control.

“This line is long. Do you really want a drink?”

“No, not really,” she said in a soft voice as she squeezed herself a little closer to his body. “Come. I will show you around, and you can tell me what brings you to Roma.”

Gunner escorted her out of the line, and they walked slowly through the second-level mezzanine. “This is my first visit to Rome. Without a doubt, it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world.”

“Naturally, I will say it is the most beautiful. It’s a city of history and love. What brings you here?”

Gunner hesitated. He led her to a part of the mezzanine that was lacking any other attendees so they could be alone.

“I’m an author writing a treatise on the geopolitical relationship between Germany and Austria following World War II.”

Morosini let out a hearty laugh. “Oh my. Are you a professor? You are too handsome to be a professor.” She rubbed her hand gently on Gunner’s clean-shaven face. It caused goosebumps to rise on the back of his neck. Her power of seduction was unparalleled.

Gunner turned La Bambolina toward him and studied her olive skin exposed by her low-cut, V-necked gown. He overpowered Medusa’s powerful gaze and took a chance.

He leaned into her and whispered, “Professors can be sexy, too.”

For the first time since Heather’s death, Gunner kissed another woman. It was soft at first, as if he was asking permission. When she responded, he kissed her harder. Seconds later, the two were tucked away in the shadows of the opera house, pawing all over each other. For several minutes, they acted like two teenagers in the back seat of a car up on lovers’ lane.

Their brief, passionate tryst was eventually interrupted by passersby and the flashing lights indicating the next act was about to begin.

She broke their embrace and then breathlessly asked, “Is that your wife?” She reached for his left hand and ran her fingers over his to check for a wedding ring, not that it mattered.

“No, just a friend. Is he—?”

She shook her head side to side. “As you Americans would say, he is a playdate.”

Gunner genuinely thought this was funny and started laughing. It was the combination of her accent and her casual approach to swapping dates that struck him.

“I have an idea,” he said to her. He pulled his phone out of his jacket.

Gunner’s mind raced. He had the opening he was looking for. He needed to get close to Morosini in order to gain access to the truth about the relationship between the Catholic Church and Nazi Germany. In order to do it, it meant he’d be betraying his love for Heather. He grimaced and then he sent a text to Cam.

Gunner: Change of plans. I’ve got this. Trust me. You’ll need to find your way home.

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned back to Morosini. “Is there a way we can sneak out of here without the paparazzi seeing us?”

“Yes, I know a way. Are we …?”

Gunner smiled and nodded.

Morosini blushed and then her face lit up. “How exciting! Come with me.”

She grabbed Gunner by the hand and led him deeper into the recesses of the Teatro dell’Opera. Soon, they were moving quickly down a back stairwell to the ground floor. She led them through a set of double doors until they were backstage. Seconds later, with a swiftness that made Gunner wonder if she’d done this many times before, they exited onto a side street into a crowd of wandering tourists.

Morosini, anticipating a glorious night in bed with the handsome American, gently placed her hands on Gunner’s face and passionately kissed him. She took him by the hand and led him across the street through traffic, much to the chagrin of the drivers, who voiced their displeasure with their horns.

As Gunner allowed himself to be pulled along, he subconsciously touched the left pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Just to mentally prepare himself for what had to be done.

Chapter Six

Rome, Italy

Her designer heels eventually caused Morosini to slow her frenetic pace. She was enjoying the prospect of bringing the handsome stranger back to her apartment in the city, which overlooked the Piazza Barberini, the location of the famous Triton’s Fountain.

She opened up to Gunner as she walked the streets of her childhood. She showed a side of her he hadn’t expected. Like two lovers roaming block after block of the romantic city, Morosini pointed out landmarks and described the history behind them. Her knowledge of architecture and the background behind the buildings impressed Gunner. It became obvious she was not the shallow party girl the tabloids made her out to be.

“Bianca,” he began, as they were now on a first-name basis, although she knew him as Professor Henry Sargent, a random name he pulled out of the recesses of his mind, “I can’t imagine there being a more knowledgeable tour guide. You paint a vivid picture of how these buildings shape Rome.”

She pulled herself closer to Gunner as they approached a group of young people who’d had too much to drink. They blocked the sidewalk momentarily, and then Gunner, who’d identified the leader of the seven inebriated college kids, gave the young man a look that sent a clear message: Get out of our way.

“I owe it to my grandfather. He is a historian, you know.”

“Really? That’s coincidental.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. He is the headmaster at the Vatican’s Pontifical University.”

Gunner furrowed his brow. This was not part of Morosini’s dossier. He understood her father to be the resource concerning the Nazi connection to the Catholic Church. Caught off guard, he tried not to show excessive interest, but rather, he attempted to keep their conversation casual. The long walk had served to calm their passion for one another, and now they acted more like a couple on a first date.

“I’m familiar with the pontifical universities established under the authority of the Catholic Church. Is there one located within the Vatican?”

“Several, based upon the sacred faculties, or field of study. They include canon law, philosophy, sacred theology and sacred scripture. There is also civil law, which is my grandfather’s forte. He is the headmaster, but he continues his role as the head librarian and archivist.”

Gunner stopped and took Morosini by the hands. “I want to say something to you. You are a very impressive young woman. I know who you are from the news and tabloid media. I apologize for not saying something sooner.”

“That’s okay, Professor Sargent, or whatever your real name is,” she said as she became suddenly shy. She looked at her feet and then at her surroundings. “I get bored easily. I’m tired of playing, but it’s what’s expected of me. I’m looking for someone who is different from the men I associate with.”

Gunner saw a vulnerability in Morosini that was totally unexpected. He had to be careful to stay on his game. He was beginning to genuinely like her.

“Okay, here come some more apologies. Are you ready?”

She laughed. “Let me guess. You are not an American. Americans never lie to get a woman in bed. Am I right?”

Gunner smiled. She really needed to stop being so charming. “I’m an American. However, I’m not a professor. My name’s not Henry Sargent, and I’m sorry that I’m unable to tell you what it is. Please understand, we, and America, desperately need your help.”

Her eyes grew wide and she whispered to him, “I believe you, Professor Henry Sargent, and I think the name suits you. So, Professor, are you a killer?”

“Not without reason.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked in a more serious tone.

“No. Why would I deprive the world of a beautiful, smart woman like yourself?”

She playfully patted him on the chest. “See, Mr. American. You don’t have to lie to get an Italian woman into bed. Your charming nature works just fine.”

The conversation was going well, and she led him into an exquisitely designed entrance to an apartment building. The doorman and security guard immediately recognized her. They gave Gunner a hard look before escorting them to the elevator.

That night, Gunner didn’t sleep with Bianca Morosini. Nor did he have to use the syringe filled with SP-117, the highly effective Russian drug used as a truth serum to extract information from unsuspecting targets. He developed a friendship with her, and by dawn, she’d agreed to introduce him to Giovanni Colombo, her mother’s father—the man with the keys to the Catholic Church’s relationship to Odessa and the Nazis buried deep within the Vatican’s archives.

Chapter Seven

The Den

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

Colonel Gregory Smith couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this stressed out throughout his entire adult life. He’d joined the Air Force after 9/11 as a sense of patriotism swept over much of the nation. America had been attacked by air, and he swore to fight back in the same manner. He became a highly decorated pilot, an expert at covert operational tactics, and then a mentor to hundreds who followed in his footsteps, including Gunner, Cam and Bear.

Over time, his role within the nation’s military changed as his years of tactical experience, both in the field and behind the scenes when carrying out covert ops, earned him the respect of his commanders. He was now facing yet another challenge, perhaps his greatest yet.

The nation was under attack by an unseen, previously unidentified organization with resources beyond any terrorist groups the U.S. intelligence agencies had ever encountered. Everyone who played a similar role in the defense of America felt a sense of guilt, but Ghost carried the burden especially hard because his team had sensed something more was coming following the discovery and subsequent pillaging of the German U-boat.

They were on the trail of the new Odessa, descendants of the group of escaped Nazis from the end of World War II that most scholars and historians thought to be a matter of fantasy. The Gray Fox team was systematically following their slim leads to not only find out the truth, but to determine if there was a connection between the mysterious Odessa and the attack on Levi’s Stadium that killed tens of thousands.

While Gunner, Cam and Bear traveled in Europe in search of Odessa’s leadership team, Ghost worked with former FBI Special Agent Theodora “Teddy” Cuccinelli, a cyber assassin capable of gaining access to virtually any server or computer system in the world, which earned her the moniker Jackal.

The same three words were repeated silently in the minds of the entire Gray Fox team located in the Den at Fort Belvoir, their base of operations to coordinate field activities and research. Odessa. Rome. Knight.

“How are they doin’?” Ghost asked nervously as he paced through the Den’s operations center. His analysts had remained at their desks virtually every hour since the attack on the stadium. The military had delivered cots, blankets and pillows to an empty conference room in the same building the Gray Fox team occupied at the base located in Fairfax County, Virginia, near Founding Father George Washington’s estate at Mount Vernon. Except for a quick trip home to kiss loved ones and pack several changes of clothing, each analyst and the members of the support staff pledged their time to finding the terrorists.

They had limited information to go on, mostly derived from German professor von Zwick, who’d devoted the last stages of his life to hunting down Odessa. He paid the ultimate price but provided Gray Fox a treasure trove of evidence to continue the investigation.

It was Gunner who insisted Rome be the starting point of the search abroad. His gut told him the professor’s dying words were his most important. Odessa, Rome, and Knight were meant to be bread crumbs to guide him. Soon, the Gray Fox team would know if their hunch to travel to Rome would pay off.

“Sir, they’re in,” replied Jackal. “Bear is monitoring their movements, but as you know, due to the Italians’ ability to pick up surveillance operations within Rome, we are limited in our communications.”

“I do know and I don’t like it,” Ghost said in frustration. He sighed before continuing. “I don’t like any of this. Operations take planning. Flying by the seat of our pants against an opponent as formidable as Odessa could get our people killed.”

“Not Gunner, sir,” said Jackal. “Cam and Bear, either. Sir, they have a resiliency about them. Their personal bond protects them as well.”

Ghost chuckled. “Gunner’s fallen out of the sky more times than I can count. Space, too. I’m sure he’ll fall into, or out of, something in Europe without a scratch.”

“His first contact may be the most dangerous,” quipped Jackal as she provided Ghost an eight-by-ten color image of La Bambolina.

“You think this young woman, Bianca Morosini, is the key?” he asked as he studied her photo.

“Well, let’s look at her as the gatekeeper. Our intel shows a potential connection between her father and Knight Gruppe AG, the Austrian company believed to be the reference made by the dying professor. I have teams working multiple angles on this. Some are vetting the principal officers, directors, and shareholders of Knight. Others are exploring possible connections to governments and multinational concerns who do extensive business with Knight.”

Ghost stopped to study the monitors that had tapped into security cameras outside the Teatro dell’Opera as well as the surrounding streets of Rome. “What about the immediate family? Other than her father, do we need to be looking at anyone else?”

“I’ve assigned two analysts to pore over the public appearances of Morosini’s mother. Again, we’re looking for connections, however obscure, to anyone affiliated with Knight Gruppe or any South American business and social organizations of note.”

“Brother? Sisters?”

“No, sir,” replied Jackal. “Her grandfather is still alive. He’s a priest in the Vatican, assigned to the pontifical university system.”

“Could he be connected to any of this?” asked Ghost.

“Unknown at this time, sir. I’ll have the team investigating the family create a dossier on him as well.”

Ghost thought for a moment. The entire American intelligence apparatus was at work chasing down leads. He’d been on a conference call with the director of Homeland Security, who urged everyone involved to share information with one another. As the director put it, now was not the time to be heroes or territorial. American lives were at risk.

Ghost got the point, not that he planned on abiding by the mandate. Gunner and his team operated outside the lines. Beyond the accepted norms and rules of fair play. Laws didn’t matter. Results did. Therefore, Ghost would not put his people at risk as a result of an interagency spat over jurisdiction and tactics. He’d claim to have lost contact with his rogue operatives, as he’d label them, before he disclosed their activities in Europe or anywhere else.

“Knight Gruppe is the key,” mumbled Ghost.

“What was that, sir?” asked Jackal.

Ghost cleared his throat and twisted his back to work out the kinks. He hadn’t slept in two days. He replied and issued a directive. “Knight Gruppe AG. One hour in the large conference room down the hall. I want a complete update. Jackal, get into their servers and dig around. Archived files. Deleted. Everything. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir. On it!”

Chapter Eight

Vatican City

Saint Peter’s Square was bustling with tourists as Bianca led the Gray Fox team toward her grandfather’s office. All of the pontifical university campuses were located outside Vatican City in Rome due to restricted public access. All security checkpoints were monitored by the Swiss Guard, with assistance from the Italian police force.

Her grandfather, Giovanni Colombo, held a doctorate in theology from the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross located in Rome. He’d risen to the position of chief archivist and historian, in addition to headmaster, after forty-eight years of service.

Gunner, Cam and Bear reverently walked beside Bianca, in awe of their surroundings. None of them were particularly religious, but all respected the immense impact the Catholic Church had on world history.

Bianca, dressed in jeans and a light sweater, met Gunner and the team for coffee at a restaurant near her flat. Her natural beauty equaled the glamorous look she wore for the opera. She and Cam shared a laugh as they got to know one another. Cam explained how she’d disappeared during the second act, leaving her soccer-player boyfriend alone at the opera. Bianca explained how he’d sent her a flurry of angry text messages demanding to know where she went and what her intentions were towards him. Her response was simple. She simply responded, Bye.

She stopped in front of the magnificent Apostolic Palace, also known as the Papal Palace, the residence of the pope.

“His Holiness lives here. Most of the Vatican’s legal, business, and political dealings take place in this building as well. Most of the complex is off-limits to all visitors, except I received clearance via my grandfather to gain access to the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana.”

“That’s a mouthful,” groaned Bear.

“Yes, it is. The Vatican Library is one of the largest in the world. The treatises and books date back over twelve hundred years. There are thirty-five thousand volumes in the library’s catalogues, on eighty-five kilometers of shelving.”

“Bianca, does your grandfather know why we need to see him?” asked Gunner.

Before they walked up the stairs to enter the Papal Palace, she paused and nervously took in her surroundings. “Yes. You will find him to be an ally to the extent of his capabilities. I must warn you. The Vatican Library, like every other part of the Papal Palace, is closely monitored with video cameras and hidden microphones. Everything you say or do may be noticed by the Swiss Guard. They are fiercely loyal to the Vatican and will not hesitate to have us all removed.”

Cam asked, “Will your grandfather be allowed to speak freely?”

“Yes, sometimes. He is very much aware of the monitoring. Let me add, he knows the halls of the biblioteca like no other. Please just follow his lead.”

Bianca led them through the security checkpoint. An armed security guard led them down a maze of hallways until they reached a solitary wooden door with a brass plate attached that read, in both English and Italian, Staff Entrance Only. The armed escort looked up at the camera and reached for a buzzer mounted adjacent to the door handle. Just as he pressed the buzzer, a loud metallic click preceded the door swinging open.

The security guard waited to ensure Morosini and her guests remained in the reception area of the offices until their escort arrived. Gunner turned to watch the heavy wooden door close behind him, its steel bolts sliding effortlessly back into place within the two-foot-thick walls.

Another burly, middle-aged member of the Swiss Guard arrived on the scene and stood quietly to the side. He didn’t engage the group as he stood a few feet away, with his elbow resting on the buttstock of his shouldered Uzi.

A moment later, an older, short, slightly-hunched-over man appeared in the reception area. He was wearing the black cassock traditionally worn by the clergy. The white clerical collar hugged his slightly chubby neck, causing it to pinch his skin.

“Buon giorno, caro,” he said with his hands clasped together in front of him. Good morning, dear. He easily switched languages to English for the benefit of his guests. “Greetings to all of you. Welcome to the bowels of the beast.” He laughed despite the disapproving look he received from the Swiss Guard, the first reaction the stoic man gave since his arrival.

Bianca hugged her grandfather, and the two exchanged kisses on the cheek. “I’ve missed you, Nonno.” She affectionately referred to her grandfather in the Italian equivalent of grandpa.

“Your social life is much busier than mine, La Bambolina.”

Bianca blushed and averted her eyes. Gunner understood why. Obviously, her grandfather had either read the tabloid articles about his granddaughter, or perhaps there was some type of ethics watchdog within the Vatican that warned its personnel about potentially embarrassing activities of family members. She recovered from the awkwardness created by his statement and introduced the Gray Fox team to her grandfather.

Gunner shook the old priest’s hand. “Father Colombo, it is an honor to meet you, and thank you for allowing us to interrupt your day.”

“This will be my pleasure,” he replied. The wording of his statement seemed odd to Gunner. “Please follow me.”

He scowled at the guard and led the group toward an empty elevator that awaited them. After they were inside, he pulled the cage doors closed. He took a deep breath and motioned for Bianca and Gunner to come closer to him.

“I have things to show you, and you will have to discern their meaning without me speaking aloud. Do you understand?”

Gunner nodded.

“There will be one moment when a book will accidentally fall to the ground. Inside this book is an envelope. Bianca, I want you to pick up the book and casually tuck the envelope into your pants leg.”

“Yes, Nonno.”

A slight vibration indicated the elevator had arrived on the bottom floor of the Vatican Library. Considered one of the most formidable facilities in the world with its hand-carved tunnels dug deep into solid bedrock, the Papal Palace was as much a fortress as it was the pope’s residence. For hundreds of years, it had been a formidable deterrent for any enemy to penetrate.

The group stepped into a brightly lit concrete hallway guarded by a single man sitting behind a desk. His eyes roved from one member of the group to the other, but seemed to rest the longest on Cam and Bianca.

A laptop sitting in front of the man employed the Swiss Guard’s facial-recognition software. A camera mounted atop the computer continually scanned the new arrivals. Father Colombo’s and Bianca’s information came up readily. It took a few moments for the false identifications of the Gray Fox team to appear. Their covers, generated by the CIA, fit the description of a history professor and two graduate student assistants.

As they walked, for the benefit of the watchers in the Vatican City Intelligence offices, Father Colombo helped Gunner perpetuate his false identity.

“So, young man,” he began as he patted Gunner on the back, “I understand you have a doctorate in twentieth-century warfare. I imagine you are quite learned in the history of World War II. Or did your studies focus on the second half of the century?”

“Father, I think you will agree there were far too many wars to study during the 1900s. Naturally, World War II is the focus of most scholars’ study.”

Father Colombo continued to make casual conversation in an attempt to authenticate Gunner’s cover. He continued with leading questions.

“Are you familiar with the war in Yugoslavia during 1941? It was a time when the Axis powers of Germany, Italy, and their new ally, Hungary, bullied the Royal Yugoslav Army into submission in just ten days.”

Gunner said authoritatively, “It was an easy and early victory in the war for Germany.”

Inexplicably, Father Colombo halted the conversation and walked ahead of the group until they reached a doorway leading into another hallway. He opened the door and gestured for the group to walk through. He unnecessarily spoke loudly as the group passed him.

“Very good. Let me introduce you to some important treatises about that battle.”

Once they were inside a small entryway with two doors leading to the library stacks in the basement, he continued in a hushed tone. “Let me convey something that was mostly omitted from the history books because it was not considered of historic consequence. By 1945, the war was going poorly for the Germans, as we all know. The upper echelon of the Reich sought out a safe place to keep the looted gold from Yugoslavian Jews and the Yugoslavian treasury. The value was estimated to be half a billion dollars.

“My research has proven that Himmler entered into a secret agreement with Pope Pius XII as part of his Odessa initiative. Our Holy Father was a compassionate man, and he cared deeply for the plight of the Jews. He secured Himmler’s agreement to protect the lives of the Jews in exchange for placing vast amounts of gold in the Vatican Bank’s vaults and providing safe passage for high-ranking Nazi officials through the Vatican. Are you aware of Odessa?”

Gunner nodded his head. Dr. Kala Bale, professor of Nazi history at William & Mary University in Virginia, had raised this theory with them prior to their departure for Berlin. He now had confirmation of the connection from the leading historian and archivist at the Vatican’s library.

Father Colombo raised a single finger to his lips and nodded toward the next door. He was about to lead them into the public-access section of the Vatican’s Apostolic Archives.

Chapter Nine

Vatican Apostolic Archive

Vatican City

Shrouded in mystery and housed in the most iconic bastions of religion in the history of modern man, the Vatican Apostolic Archive preserved the documents and books the Catholic Church considered the most holy. Considered by scholars to be the most important historical research center in the world, it was only accessible to visitors who were seventy-five years old and cleared with a rigorous background check.

Father Colombo had full access to the archives, naturally, and he was authorized to retrieve documents to share with visitors in the designated reading rooms only. Of particular interest to those who gained access to the archives was the trove of official paperwork and correspondence related to the activities of the pope over the thirteen centuries since the archives were kept.

“Behind this secure door are not only documents that tell the story of the Church, but the entire world. One of the most notable artifacts is a letter from Mary Queen of Scots, who was sentence to death for conspiring to murder Queen Elizabeth I. Facing beheading, she wrote a heartfelt letter in despair to Pope Sixtus V, begging for her life. The pope did not intervene and she was beheaded.”

Bear was about to add a comment, but Cam kicked him under the table. Now was not the time for jokes.

Gunner steered the conversation toward the task at hand. He was feeling uneasy being in a highly secure location without their weapons or an easy means of escape.

“Father Colombo, I admired the Church’s protection of the Jews and German refugees toward the end of World War II. I found it fascinating that the Vatican and the government of Switzerland were able to remain neutral during the conflict despite their close proximity to the battleground.”

“If nothing else, we Catholics are humanitarians,” he said with a smile. “Please wait here. I have a few items of interest for your research.”

A few minutes later, he returned with two volumes that appeared to be ledgers tucked under one arm and several maps or prints tucked under the other. Everyone pushed their chairs to the side so he could plop the load on top of the table.

As he did, one of the ledgers fell off the end of the table directly at his feet. Bianca immediately recognized his intention. He slowly bent over to pick up the ledger, but she stopped him.

“Careful, Nonno. You must protect your back. Allow me.”

She dropped to one knee and slid her foot forward until it was concealed under the table from the camera overhead. She immediately noticed the corner of an envelope sticking out of the ledger. With a quick, efficient motion, she pulled it out and slipped it up her pant leg. With a firm grasp of the ledger, she stood and dropped it on the table.

“Thank you, Bianca. I am becoming weak and clumsy in my old age. As my years dwindle in God’s service, I find myself having to prioritize my activities to do the most within my power.”

Bingo! Gunner understood what was happening. Father Colombo had been carrying this burden for many years, but he had no one to trust. Had he met Professor von Zwick, that might’ve changed. However, the old recluse wasn’t able to gain access to the Vatican because he didn’t have the investigative resources afforded the Gray Fox team. Father Colombo was ready to reveal what he knew in a way that wouldn’t compromise his legacy, or his life.

Bianca exchanged a glance with Cam, who casually continued the conversation. She intentionally used a pronoun that could only be interpreted by those in the room.

“Was the Church able to help any of them escape?”

Father Colombo made eye contact with Cam and provided her a slight wink. He was impressed by the team’s ability to play the game.

“Oh, yes. The Church worked very hard to assist them out of Europe. The escape routes ran through Franciscan monasteries, Catholic churches, and convents to safe places around the world. Let me show you some interesting maps I came across while researching this for you.”

He began to unfurl a tattered map when he added some instructions to the group. “Please gather around, as the ink on this map is much older than I am. It is somewhat faded.”

Gunner picked up on his intentions. He was trying to shield the map from the overhead camera. Like a group of doctors operating on a patient’s chest, the group huddled over the map to obscure it from the camera’s view.

He explained in vague terms what the map revealed. “You see the numerous lines emanating from Europe. These lines provided them a means of escape.”

“There are so many,” whispered Cam.

“Yes, young lady, that is true. But the most successful route they used was this one.” Father Colombo traced his fingers from Germany to Spain and then to the West Coast of Africa. From there, he gestured across the South Atlantic until his index finger tapped on Argentina in South America.”

“Successful?” asked Gunner.

“Very, by all measures,” he replied. Father Colombo allowed the map to roll up, and then he opened another one. This map was meaningless, intended as a decoy for those monitoring the surveillance cameras. After several minutes of discussion that lent nothing to their investigation, he turned their attention to the two ledgers.

“These are written in German,” noted Cam, who only made the statement because the front cover clearly read Hauptbuch, the German word for ledger.

“Sprechen sie Deutsch?” asked Father Colombo.

Cam giggled. “Only some basic conversational German. I can read it better than I can speak it.”

“My grandfather is fluent in five languages, including German, French, and Spanish.”

“It was part of my training while at the university,” he added before thumbing through the pages of the ledger. He turned to Gunner. “You asked about the economic conditions of Yugoslavia before and after the war.”

“Um, yes, sir.” Gunner wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Young man, in those days, computers were nonexistent, and many countries didn’t have clerical help to type up long reports. Many used the old-fashioned ledger method of keeping up with their finances. These ledgers have some interesting entries that I won’t explain since this astute young lady is able to read the entries.”

“Why are they written in German if they related to Yugoslavia?” asked Bianca innocently.

Father Colombo responded quickly to answer a question he wished she hadn’t asked. “These were recreations, a duplicate set, if you will. There were a number of resistance forces within Yugoslavia after the German occupation began. Berlin had a genuine concern that state financial records might be destroyed by the resistance. This is a set of ledgers kept in the Vatican archives as part of the historic record. We believe them to be accurate.”

He flipped through the pages until he found the entries he was looking for. He turned the book to face Cam. Following his instructions from earlier, she hunched over the ledger to block the camera’s view.

“Very interesting,” she mumbled. “Um, Father Colombo, is it possible to have copies of these entries? I was unable to bring in my cell phone to take pictures.”

“Yes, of course. While I do that, feel free to review the entries in this ledger. They are similar in scope and size.”

While Father Colombo left the reading room to make the requested copies, Cam studied the entries. The word Odessa appeared repeatedly, and several banks were listed the most often, including United Bank of Switzerland, JP Morgan in New York, and Banco de la Nación in Buenos Aires, Argentina. There was also a name that was seen repeatedly in conjunction with all three banks—Jorgensen.

Chapter Ten

The Vatican Intelligence Service

Vatican City

Father Domenico Ferlucci paced back and forth in the operations center of the Vatican Intelligence Service. He’d become a legend in Vatican City, as he’d brought the relatively unknown spy agency into the mainstream. He was responsible for bringing the Vatican City State into Interpol years ago at the general assembly held in St. Petersburg, Russia.

Working under the auspices of the inspector general of the Corpo della Gendarmeria, Vatican Intelligence had become one of the world’s most formidable spy agencies despite its small numbers and undersized budget. The Catholic Church sensed it was under attack from geopolitical forces around the world. As a result, the small yet oldest government on earth felt the need to protect the internal affairs of the Vatican just like any nation-state would.

While the intelligence resources of the Vatican City State couldn’t compete with the funding or cutting-edge technology of America’s Central Intelligence Agency, Russia’s Main Intelligence Directorate, or China’s Ministry of State Security, would-be spies looking attempting to peek behind the Vatican’s curtains would be making a fatal mistake. Their reach, experience, and capabilities could not be underestimated, namely because their agents were fiercely loyal to the pontiff and fulfilled their oaths of secrecy.

Within intelligence circles, the name given to the Vatican’s clandestine intelligence service is Santa Alleanza, meaning Holy Alliance. Its motto was cum cruce et gladio, with the cross and the sword. The roots of Santa Alleanza stretch back to the 1500s and the days of Pope St. Pius V, who sought intelligence on Queen Elizabeth and her court as he sought an avenue to remove her from power.

To watch Father Ferlucci’s mannerisms, one would think he was a wayward priest who became lost in the catacombs of the Apostolic Palace. For the uninformed, it might be difficult to believe the head of such an important agency within the Vatican would be a cassock-attired cleric who led the world’s oldest intelligence network. His role was a testament to the power of the papacy, the most influential institution in the history of man, to investigate and gather information on external challenges to the Church.

A position of such great importance required a man who had the implicit trust of His Holiness. So when Odessa had the opportunity to elevate one of their own through the ranks of the Vatican Intelligence Service to seize the post, they did everything necessary, from assassinations to targeted scandals, to eliminate Father Ferlucci’s competition.

Father Ferlucci was an ex-officer of Italy’s much-feared financial police force called the Guardia di Finanza, an agency charged with the responsibility of investigating the money-laundering activities of mafiosi. As the grandson of a member of Heinrich Himmler’s inner circle, Father Ferlucci had always shown his loyalty to Odessa and often participated in investigatory activities that furthered their interests.

His primary function within Vatican City, in addition to his expected duties, was to protect the secrets of the Church’s connection to Odessa. His job entailed both keeping the financial affairs secretive and ensuring the details of the Nazis’ utilization of the ratlines was buried deep within the vaults of the Apostolic Library. When he was notified that Father Colombo had invited his granddaughter and three Americans into the reviewing room of the secret archives, he raced back to the operations center to learn more.

Now he impatiently paced the floor as he waited for his staff to compile all the video clips. He maintained his usual sense of decorum, but every fiber of his being wanted to grab the young woman sitting at the computer and shake her until she provided the footage.

“Father Ferlucci, I have everything you’ve asked for,” she announced sheepishly. Although he didn’t vocalize his frustrations with the delay, she sensed he was on the verge of replacing her with another analyst.

He casually walked around her desk without appearing to be overanxious. His personnel were trained to observe the actions and mood swings of others. He didn’t want to give away his concern over what would ordinarily appear to be a mundane matter. Pacing the floor was a habit he’d had for years, so it didn’t raise any red flags.

He leaned onto the desk and pointed at the still image of Gunner caught in the hallway leading through the Vatican Library. “This man. He identified himself as a professor, is that correct?”

“Si, signore.”

“Why didn’t the facial-recognition software confirm his identification?”

“Mr. Zaniolo is still confirming his identity. The other two companions as well.”

“What? The other two did not produce results from the software?”

“Si, signore. The granddaughter was confirmed, of course. The three Americans were not.”

“Are you sure they are Americans?” he asked.

The young woman hesitated. “Signore, their passports were valid and issued by the United States. We scanned them as they passed through security. They simply do not appear in any of the usual intelligence databases we access. Mr. Zaniolo is working with Interpol now to confirm their stated identification.”

Father Ferlucci stood and adjusted his cassock. He’d injured his ankle in a nasty spill several weeks ago, causing him to skip his workout routine. He’d traded the gym for extra helpings of pasta and hearty, thick gravy.

“Send all of this to my office computer. Tell Zaniolo to bring me any information as soon as it is available.”

“Si, signore. Is there anything else? Do you want me to analyze their activities in the reviewing room to determine—”

“No,” replied Father Ferlucci, a little too forcefully. The young woman leaned back in her chair as if a mighty gust of wind had suddenly appeared in the belly of the Papal Palace. “I will handle this myself. Send it now and see that I am not interrupted except for Zaniolo.”

“Si, signore. Do you want me to have the Americans detained? They will be exiting the Apostolic Library momentarily.”

Father Ferlucci processed what he knew and determined it would raise red flags if he held the unknown Americans under the circumstances. Besides, his counterparts in Rome could pick up their activity on the massive visual surveillance system established in the city by the gendarmerie. They could walk, and even run, but they could not hide.

“Not necessary, thank you.” Father Ferlucci walked down the hallway toward his office with a purpose. His first course of action was to send the entirety of the surveillance file to Hexane, Odessa’s cyber experts, to help with the identification. Their resources were far greater than the pope’s.

Chapter Eleven

Castle Bariloche

Bariloche, Argentina

“We have developments,” announced Daniel Wagner as he returned to Henry’s study, where the elderly member of die Zwölf was sharing a brandy with his younger brother, Derek. The two had been discussing the upcoming Bilderberg Meeting and what they’d hoped to gain from the annual gathering of the world’s global elite. Earlier, Wagner had excused himself to make contact with his operatives for an update. He wasn’t one to rest on his laurels and was a big believer of kicking his enemy when they were down.

Derek finished his thought to his brother. “Two days. This attack is intended to be a misdirection.”

Henry nodded and winked, a sign of his understanding.

The two senior members of Odessa set down their glasses and turned their attention to Wagner. Henry gestured for Wagner to sit; however the former commander of Kommando Spezialkraefte, or KSK, the elite special forces unit of the German Army, declined.

“A situation has come up in Rome that I am handling.” Wagner liked to assuage his boss’s concerns at the same moment he apprised them of a problem.

“What has happened in Rome?” asked Henry nervously. His mother, Brit, had maintained very close ties to the Vatican and was a devout Catholic. Henry had vowed to carry on her legacy of supporting the local church as well as maintaining their surreptitious financial ties to the Vatican Bank.

“The three operatives we encountered in both Northern Germany and Azerbaijan have resurfaced, this time within the Vatican. Hexane received a call from Father Ferlucci with the Vatican Intelligence Service. He forwarded video of the three Americans, who’d gained access to the vaults of the Apostolic Library.”

“What?” screamed Henry as he uncharacteristically raised his voice and showed his anger by slamming his hands on the armrests of his chair. “How could security let this happen?”

“The three operatives and a woman were escorted by Father Colombo, the headmaster of the Apostolic Library. They were given direct access to the vaults and were restricted to one of the reading rooms.”

“Why would the Americans be nosing around the Vatican Library?” asked Derek.

“Because, my brother, that’s where all the answers lie,” replied Henry. “The Catholics have a penchant for writing everything down. It’s in their DNA.”

“Like the monks,” interjected Daniel irreverently.

Henry scowled and nodded his head. “What did they see?”

“I’m on my way back to my office to analyze the video feeds myself, but it appears they were shown some type of journals or maybe ledger books. My people believe they intentionally hovered over the table during their time with Father Colombo to obscure their activities from the view of the cameras.”

Henry was becoming increasingly agitated. “Did the Swiss Guard arrest them? What about Ferlucci? What did he do?”

“Well, nothing,” replied Daniel. “They immediately contacted Hexane operations, who took it from there.”

“So they got away?”

“No. We’ve dispatched teams to the woman’s apartment to apprehend them. They’re en route now.”

“Who is the woman?” asked Derek.

Wagner looked at the text message stream from the Hexane operations center. “Bianca Morosini. She’s apparently Father Colombo’s granddaughter.”

Derek exhaled and stood from his chair. He wandered around the study, rubbing his temples. Henry grew perturbed that he didn’t vocalize his concerns.

“What is it?” he demanded.

Derek quickly replied, “Sergio Morosini is her father. He’s one of Knight Gruppe’s contractors in the shipping business. He’s reclusive and not actively involved in our affairs, but a valuable asset nonetheless.”

“Wait,” said Henry as he raised his right hand. “How familiar is he with Odessa?”

“His grandfather was the chargé d’affaires at the German embassy during the war but was the de facto ambassador with a direct pipeline to Mussolini. We began doing business with Morosini based upon his connection to his grandfather but also because his shipping company was vital to the region for our future plans.”

Henry was still concerned. “Why would this young woman, Morosini’s daughter, help the Americans?”

“Maybe she was duped?” asked Derek, not entirely convinced of his theory.

“We’ll find out soon,” interjected Wagner. “Our people will pick them all up and make them talk.”

Both Henry and Derek sighed simultaneously. Henry didn’t like the Americans being so close to the Vatican’s secrets, and Derek wanted everyone’s efforts focused on the next attack. He wanted to remain on the offensive.

“Do you need me?” he asked Wagner.

“No. If I may, I need to spend time with the video we received from the Vatican.”

Henry dismissed Wagner with a wave of his hand. His scowl reflected Derek’s own feelings about the distraction. After Wagner exited the study, Derek poured his brother another brandy and handed him the glass.

“Wagner will handle this. Not to worry, brother.”

Henry took a sip. “We need to remain focused. We’ve been waiting for this opportunity since, well, since 1945. We’ve planned. We’ve invested in resources. We’ve kept assets in place. Nothing should derail what you and I have carefully orchestrated our entire lives.”

Derek walked up to his brother and led him back to the leather chairs facing the fireplace. He added another log onto the fire and used the poker to set it just right. The winter had turned bitter that evening, and the cold, dank castle did little to keep it out.

“Let me give you an update on our plans using Hexane’s cyber warfare experts. Their timetable has been set in place.”

“When?” asked Henry.

“They are coordinating the cyberattack with two specific public events being targeted. However, it’s the timing during the mass gatherings that is designed to incite panic. The real damage will be to the Americans’ psyche.”

Henry allowed himself a slight smile and took another sip of brandy. He was feeling better about the direction of their plans.

“You’ve referred to these cyber techniques as remarkably simple. To an old man like me, nothing is simple.”

Derek chuckled. “Our age is not that different. I just took it upon myself to learn and understand these cyber-intrusion tools.”

“Explain.”

“With the help of General Holzcraft, we’ve been made privy to the U.S. military’s own cyber warfare methods as well as the ones foreign entities have used against them. For years, Hexane has infected computers and servers around the world, waiting for just the opportune moment to deploy their weapons. Their methods vary from the shutdown of computer systems to the theft of data. We have the ability to hijack whole systems and operate them remotely as if they were our own.”

“Which do they plan to employ first?”

Derek explained in layman’s terms the best he could. “The first relies upon Hexane’s enormous database of user data resulting from spear-phishing. Phishing is spelled with the letters p-h instead of the letter f. Over time, and in preparation for this moment, Hexane has sent emails to specific, well-researched targets that, on their face, appear to be from a legitimate, trusted source. If the recipient of the email doesn’t examine it closely, they can be easily fooled.

“In some instances, the phishing attacks have infected computers systems with malicious software known as malware. Other times, the emails encouraged the recipient to divulge valuable information that enables the team at Hexane to use it at a later date.

“Spear-phishing refers to targeting specific email recipients who can provide us access to their computer systems. Because the campaign is targeted, the phony email can be personalized and appear far more sophisticated and realistic compared to some of the techniques used by amateurs.”

“Do you have the information you need to penetrate the systems Wagner and Hexane have identified to cause maximum damage?” asked Henry.

Derek nodded. “The municipal utilities we’ve identified are in high-profile locations. Keep in mind, these actions may not result in deaths initially. Our goal is the disruption of Americans’ everyday lives. To instill fear in families and businesses, which, in turn, sows distrust in their governments.”

“Can these cyberattacks be traced back to our people?”

Derek smiled. “That’s the beauty of it, Henry. They’ll never know from where or by whom. But they’ll certainly know when.”

Chapter Twelve

The Den

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

“Ghost, I feel like Knight Gruppe puts us a step closer to Odessa,” opined Gunner as he spoke in hushed tones outside Bianca’s building. While Cam and Bear attempted to pry more information out of her concerning a connection between her father and Knight Gruppe, Gunner brought the Gray Fox team up to speed.

Ghost agreed. “We have to think outside the box, here.” He cringed as soon as he made the statement. It was overused and he’d just committed the same offense. However, it was appropriate.

During Ghost’s brief pause, Jackal addressed Gunner using the speakerphone. “We have several of our analysts looking into their finances. I’ve never seen a firewall like this one. Make no mistake, given time, I can breach it.”

Gunner interrupted her. “We don’t have time! I can feel it!”

Jackal allowed Gunner to voice his frustration. “I get it. We all do. Listen, there is another way. Knight’s offices are in Austria.”

“Vienna?” asked Gunner. He’d been there before.

“That would be a logical assumption because it’s the largest city and known for its international corporate presence. But, no. Knight is located in Salzburg.”

Following World War I, Salzburg, a quaint city in Western Austria immediately adjacent to Germany, became a part of the First Austrian Republic. During the late 1930s when the Third Reich began to expand across parts of Europe, Austria was occupied and annexed as part of Adolf Hitler’s Anschluss initiative. The idyllic city set at the northern boundary of the Alps endured Nazi occupation until late in the war when American troops entered the city and liberated the Austrian people.

“Is there a connection of any kind between Salzburg and Odessa?” asked Gunner before he qualified his question. “I’m referring to the period at the end of the war. Ratlines, etcetera?”

“Just a moment,” said Jackal, who could be heard pounding away on her keyboard.

As she did, Ghost interjected a question. “Is there anything else you need to extract out of the girl or her grandfather? Will she help you contact her father?”

“I believe she knows very little about this,” Gunner replied. “Honestly, I wish there had been a way not to involve her in our trip to the Vatican, but we could never have gotten as far as we did without her. Now, she wants to be extraordinarily helpful, but, Ghost, this is not her fight. She’s bored and sees this as exciting and different.”

“Sirs?” Jackal asked to interrupt by referring to the two leaders of Gray Fox in plural. “I’ve got a couple of things.”

Ghost stepped away from his desk and gestured for Jackal to move the phone closer to her chair.

“First, Salzburg was referred to by the Nazis as the Stadt der Lebensforschung, meaning the City of Life Sciences. Hitler was known for bestowing honorary titles upon cities within the Reich. Nearby Munich, for example, was named the Capital of the Movement. An SS Obersturmbannfuhrer by the name of Paul Tratz was given an SS skull ring by Himmler. Historians like Professor Kala Bale have tied him to the sarin development.”

Ghost stepped forward. “What happened to him?”

“He lived for many years in Salzburg, even receiving an honorary doctorate from the university there before he died in the seventies.”

Gunner understood Ghost’s reason for asking. “It seems these people are all about symbolism and maintaining some ties to the Third Reich without giving away their lineage.”

“He’s right,” said Ghost. “From what we’ve learned about Knight Gruppe, their business dealings seem to be anywhere but Austria and Germany. Yet, depending on their agenda and geopolitical goals, they still maintain ties in, or very close to, Germany.”

“Which leads me to my second point,” interjected Jackal. “I will continue to work on getting around their firewall, but I’ll be honest, it’s going to take some time. We can learn more about these people by getting on the inside.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ghost.

She spun her laptop around so he could see the screen. The Knight Gruppe AG website was open and she’d navigated to the News tab.

“Bilderbergs,” muttered Ghost.

“Seriously?” asked Gunner. “Are these people in bed with the Bilderberg Group?”

Jackal relayed to him what appeared on the Knight webpage. “They’re hosting the annual meeting at Hohenwerfen Castle near Salzburg. Every developed nation sends their politicians, corporate and financial leaders, academics, and media there to rub elbows and exchange ideas. It’s a small core group of about one hundred fifty.”

“How does this help us?” asked Ghost.

“I need access to their servers, whether by hook or by crook, as they say.”

“Speak English, please,” demanded Ghost.

“If I can get Gunner and Cam into the meeting, they might be able to get close to a Knight Gruppe executive.”

“And I can extract the password from them?” asked Gunner. “I still have a syringe of SP-117.”

“You do?” asked Ghost. “How did you get the girl to cooperate without it?”

“I deployed a charm offensive,” said Gunner with a smile.

Suddenly, one of the analysts burst into Ghost’s office without knocking.

“Sir, my apologies. They’re about to have company. Lots of it!”

Chapter Thirteen

Rome, Italy

Gunner turned in all directions. His senses became hyperaware of his surroundings as he took in every vehicle, every pedestrian, and even the sounds of Rome to determine if anything had abruptly changed. The busy street, full of locals and tourists alike, seemed to move in slow motion. The surreal change came about as Gunner realized the walls were closing in. Not the grand, elegant architecture of Rome. Rather, it was the feeling a lion has when surrounded by a pack of hyenas on the African savanna.

“Gotta run, guys. Text me extraction information. I’d guess the CIA hangar is being watched.”

“I’ll let you know,” replied Jackal although Gunner had already disconnected the call.

He raced up the steps into Bianca’s building, shoving his way past the doorman and the single guard who’d been observing him during his phone call. Once inside the building, he ignored the mistrustful look given by the concierge and rushed past two tenants to reach the bank of elevators. He pressed the button rapidly, urging the elevator cab to respond.

“Come on. Come on,” he said under his breath as he nervously looked back toward the entry doors to the residential building. Outside, two men, dressed in casual wear but with light jackets on, completely out of place for the time of year, milled about, making casual conversation with the building’s doorman.

The door finally opened, and Gunner impatiently stood to the side as an elderly couple slowly exited the elevator. Half a minute later, he was racing into the hallway on Bianca’s floor. As he turned the corner in the hallway leading to her apartment, he ran directly into the chest of Bear.

“Jesus, Bear!”

“Hey,” the big man responded in his deep voice. “Cam’s on the phone with the Den. We’ve got trouble comin’.”

Gunner slapped Bear on the shoulder and walked briskly down the hallway by his friend’s side. “They’re here. Outside the building. We’ve gotta find another way—”

Before he could finish his sentence, both Cam and Bianca rushed out of the apartment and pulled the door closed behind them.

“I just got a call from downstairs,” said the beautiful Italian who’d been so helpful. “There are two men who are asking for me. They claim to be Carabinieri.” The Carabinieri was Italy’s main law enforcement agency.

“I doubt that,” said Bear.

Gunner looked up and down the hallway. He approached Bianca. “Where’s the stairwell?”

“We have a better idea,” interjected Cam. “There’s an external fire escape that actually connects to the adjacent building from the roof.” She pointed toward the end of the hall to an unmarked door.

“Let’s go,” said Gunner.

Bianca didn’t move. “No. Not me. I will talk with them.”

“What? No,” objected Gunner. “These men are not police. They are probably here to kill us.”

“They will not kill me, and the building security will protect me from them.”

“I don’t know about this, boss,” said Bear.

Bianca insisted. “I will be fine, but I must warn you of something. To protect myself, I may have to, um, as you Americans say, throw you under l’autobus.”

Gunner let out a hearty laugh. He genuinely liked La Bambolina, not just because of her good looks. But because she was willing to help them and had shown loyalty to the strangers who invaded her posh life.

“I understand,” said Gunner as he reached out for her hand. “Don’t give them too much, okay. And protect your grandfather.”

Cam added, “No names. Right, Bianca?”

“Only Henry Sargent,” she replied, remembering that was the name Gunner had provided to the Vatican security personnel.

The elevator emitted a creaking sound as its old, unoiled cables grated against rusty internal parts. The car was coming, and the Gray Fox team needed to go.

Gunner spontaneously kissed Bianca, and the two shared a longing look. “Thank you.” His words were simple but heartfelt.

In response, she gave him a smile and mouthed the words call me. Gunner wondered if he’d ever get that chance or if he even should.

“Let’s go,” insisted Cam, who was already at the exit door.

Bear and Gunner ran down the hallway, and in seconds, they’d disappeared into the windowless stairwell that led to the ground floor as well as the rooftop of the two-hundred-year-old building.

The three operatives emerged on the roof and wandered around the lightly graveled flat surface in search of the fire escape. While Cam and Bear searched, Gunner ran to the front of the building and slowly peered over the short parapet wall to observe the activity below. There were several men, all unremarkable and featureless. Their appearance screamed undercover operative.

Two Land Rover Defenders were parked haphazardly in the street, blocking traffic to an extent. The beefy trucks were out of place for a city that was inundated with tiny Fiat Pandas and Lancia Ypsilons.

“Gunner! Over here!” shouted Cam from the back corner of the building.

He rushed toward them, and when he arrived, Bear stood with his arms folded, shaking his head side to side.

“This big old Texan ain’t gonna make it, boss.”

Gunner grabbed the two rusted handlebars that stretched over the side of the half-wall. They led into a twenty-step caged walk-through, a fixed-access ladder that was enclosed by flat-steel side rails. He studied the width of the cage and turned to assess the broadness of Bear’s shoulders. It was gonna be tight.

He looked down the side of the building to the platform where the walk-through terminated. Affixed to the wall was a ladder that acted like a Murphy bed, only it was a bridge to a similar platform attached to the adjacent building.

He turned to Bear. “Try it.”

“Hell, damn, nah!” he groaned. “I’ll get stuck.”

“No, you won’t, big baby,” chastised Cam. “Get goin’.”

“Not gonna happen,” said Bear. He was adamant.

Gunner looked down the ladder-chute again. Bear was nervously sweating. Gunner wasn’t sure if the big guy could make it through, but there wasn’t a viable alternative. He issued his orders.

“Cam, you first. Get to the platform and release the ladder so it connects across the way. Bear, take off your shirt.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Strip and then take some of that sweat and lube up your shoulders. I think you can shimmy through.”

“C’mon, Gunner. Let me go through the front door. I’ll distract them.”

Gunner glanced back toward the door exiting onto the rooftop. They needed to hurry, as the faux Carabinieri would be searching the building for them.

“I’ll push you if necessary. Move it, airman.”

Cam laughed as she hoisted herself over the parapet and began climbing down the walk-through ladder with ease. Seconds later she dropped herself to the landing and studied the alleyway below. She unlatched the ladder affixed to the outside of the building and, using a chain, slowly lowered it to the residential structure across the alley.

“We’re good!” she shouted up to the guys.

Bear dutifully removed his shirt. His muscles glistened with sweat from his climb up the emergency stairwell. As Gunner suggested, he used both his hands to wipe the sweat off his face onto his shoulders and upper arms.

“Shimmy?” he asked with a concerned look on his face.

“Yep. Shimmy.”

Bear lifted himself over the wall and slowly lowered himself inside the cage-like structure. He’d descended four rungs of the ladder before his shoulders first met resistance. Gunner watched in amusement as the big man twisted his upper body slightly. Bear would wince as the steel supports pinched his skin and muscles, but with a little effort, he slipped down to the next rung. And the next. And the next until he’d reached the platform next to Cam.

A minute later, the trio carefully made their way across the safety catwalk to the other building and disappeared through an emergency door.

They’d escaped. For the moment.

Chapter Fourteen

Rome, Italy

Gunner had connected his cell phone to the CIA vehicle’s Bluetooth system so the Den could be heard through the car’s sound system. The trio had separated as they exited the building and met up in the alley behind it. Out of breath from walking briskly and anxious from the feeling they were being converged upon by unknown assailants, the Gray Fox team sought a way out of Rome.

“Talk to me, Jackal.” Bear’s voice boomed inside the sedan.

“Working on it,” she replied calmly.

Bear turned toward Gunner. “I’m not gonna just sit here.”

Jackal interrupted. “Okay. Okay. I hear you. I’m gonna route you toward the beach.”

Bear rolled his eyes and shook his head. “The beach? How about an airport? Or the embassy?”

“Too obvi,” she replied. “We have to get you to Austria by early afternoon.”

“What’s in Austria?” asked Cam.

“Knight Gruppe’s hosting the Bilderberg conference starting tomorrow night. You and Gunner are going.”

Bear started the car and slowly eased out of the alley until he reached the street. “Where am I headed?”

“South, for now,” Jackal replied. “Precise location is TBD.”

Bear groaned and shook his head. He wheeled the sedan onto the street and drove behind a taxi past the street leading to Bianca’s flat. Both Gunner and Cam stared at the activity outside in front of her building. There were no marked vehicles from any of Italy’s law enforcement. The first two black Land Rover Defenders had been joined by a third.

“What am I looking for?” Bear asked.

“Just keep driving south.”

Bear drove across a small bridge over the water, approaching the famed Pantheon, when yet another black Defender rounded a corner from a side street and casually trailed them from a distance.

“Bear?” asked Cam.

“Yeah, I saw it,” he replied. “Seriously. They’re not sneaking up on anybody in those things.”

The Defender continued to track them, so Bear decided to make a couple of casual maneuvers to determine if they were being tailed. He turned on his blinker and slowed to turn left across traffic. The black SUV slowed as well and then drove past. The windows were blacked out, preventing either Gunner or Cam from getting a look at the occupants.

Bear slowly made the turn and eased down the side street. An alleyway intersected on their right, allowing both Gunner and Cam a clear view of the next street over. Just as Bear passed, the nose of the black Defender appeared, shadowing their progress.

“Definitely a tail,” commented Gunner. Then he turned his attention to the Den. “Guys, we’re gonna have to make some decisions here. They’ve identified us. I don’t know how, but they did. It’s a matter of time before they call their pals.”

Bear suddenly sped up to run through an intersection with a traffic signal, a common safety device in the U.S. but fairly rare by comparison in Rome. As traffic slowed, he whipped the car into oncoming traffic and executed a quick three-point turn to head back toward the river. Cam was tossed around the back seat during the maneuver.

“A little notice would’ve been nice, asshole,” she complained.

“It was an example of my quick thinking,” said Bear proudly. “I decided to switch things up a little.”

Just as he completed his sentence, he whipped the sedan across traffic and down an alleyway headed south. Cam was thrown around again and cursed Bear mercilessly, drawing a laugh from both Gunner and Jackal.

“Are you guys gonna be all right?” It was Ghost.

Cam replied through gritted teeth, “Two-thirds of us will be.”

A minute later, Bear was back on a main thoroughfare, headed south.

“Dammit!” yelled Bear as he jammed on the brakes. Out of a side street, another black Defender roared into the intersection in an attempt to cut them off. He swerved hard to the left to avoid the collision and then jerked the steering wheel back to the right. The gloves were off now, in Bear’s opinion, as he accelerated down the road and began weaving his way through slower traffic.

Cam yelled her question. “How are they finding us?”

“Cameras,” muttered Gunner. “Jackal! They’ve ID’d us. They must be using Rome’s traffic cams to track us. Can you shut ’em off?”

“It won’t matter,” Bear responded for her. His eyes were darting between the traffic ahead and the two pursuing SUVs. They were pushing their way through slower vehicles, even using the opposite side of the street in an attempt to catch up to them.

“There’s another one approaching,” said Gunner, pointing across the sedan’s hood. The vehicle was a carbon copy of the others, only this one was white.

Gunner got a look at the driver as he brought the white Defender to a stop, waiting for an opportunity to join the chase. He had a shaved head and pale skin. His companion in the passenger seat kept his hair short, military style. Both men wore black tee shirts with black shoulder holsters for their weapons. Gunner got a clear look at the expressions on their faces.

Emotionless. Determined. Ready to spill blood.

He’d seen the same look in the past. In the mirror.

Gunner tensed as he retrieved his sidearm from his ankle holster. The last thing they needed to do was try to shoot their way out of Rome. The city was too congested, and its law enforcement was some of the best in the world. They didn’t have time for explanations and U.S. State Department intervention.

However, there was no time to die either.

Cam picked up on his subtle motion, and she, too, readied her weapon. “Last resort, right?”

Gunner nodded.

They were ready but stood down, relying on Bear’s expertise at evasive driving tactics.

Ghost broke the tense communications silence. “We’ve got eyes on you. Another team is watching the five vehicles in pursuit. Four black Landys and a white one.”

“Do we have an exit plan yet?” Gunner asked calmly despite the fact that his head was on a swivel and his eyes never blinked as they constantly assessed the threats approaching them.

“Yes,” replied. “Less than a mile ahead is Via Cristoforo Colombo. You’ll bear right and head southwest toward the coast.”

Bear sped up, confident that he had his route chosen for him. Now it was all about putting some distance between them and the Defenders.

He navigated the sedan onto the narrow four-lane highway. Gradually, the traffic thinned, but that only enabled their pursuers to keep pace with them. They sped past the last of Rome’s light industrial area and were soon driving down a tunnel of pine trees in the midst of a residential neighborhood.

“They’re closing on us!” exclaimed Cam.

Bear was frustrated. “Those Defenders are hosses. This piece of crap is supposed to be quick. It was fine in traffic but on the open road …” His voice trailed off as he wheeled around a bend in the road. They’d barely cleared a slow-moving car when four gunmen suddenly appeared on the shoulder, aiming an assortment of weapons directly at Bear and Gunner.

Chapter Fifteen

Rome, Italy

“Don’t stop!” shouted Gunner.

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

Two of the armed men stepped into the middle of the road and began firing toward their windshield. Gunner and Bear ducked, causing the vehicle to swerve toward the right, where it sideswiped the center guardrail. The shriek of metal on metal was deafening as the steel divider caused the driver’s side fender to peel back and the entire side of the vehicle to rip open.

Bullets peppered the hood and skipped into the windshield, causing the glass to explode. The bits of safety glass flew inside the car, stinging Bear’s hands as he kept a death grip on the steering wheel.

Cam had lowered her windows in the back seat. As the car sped past, she angrily fired at the men with her arm hanging out the window. She struck one of their assailants, who was knocked backwards into the brush along the road. The other men opened fire as Bear drove past, shooting out the rear window and covering Cam with more glass.

“This sucks!” she yelled as she spun around in the seat, causing the knees of her jeans to get ripped by the glass. She unloaded the remaining rounds in her magazine at the shooters, which sent them diving for cover.

“Anybody hit?” asked Gunner.

“I’m good!” shouted Bear as he hunched over the steering wheel to keep his profile low. As he accelerated, he was able to quickly put a couple of miles on the gunmen.

“Me too!” replied Cam. She then addressed the Den. “How much farther?”

There was no response.

“Shit! Where’s my phone?” Gunner frantically searched the front seat for his phone, and then he rummaged around the floor of the sedan.

It began to ring.

Cam swept the glass off the back seat with her hands and searched underneath Gunner’s passenger seat.

“Got it!” she exclaimed as she answered it. She placed it on speaker, not bothering with the Bluetooth connection. “You guys there?”

“Yes,” replied Jackal.

“Nice driving, Bear,” added Ghost. “You’re almost there. This road leads directly to a place called Lido di Ostia.”

“What happened to the guys behind us?” asked Gunner.

“We got help from the locals. They intercepted the trailing vehicles with a chopper. Dropped right in the middle of the road, causing a heckuva pileup.”

Gunner smiled. “Good, I wanna talk to them.”

“No time. We’ll let the agency interrogate them. You guys are on a tight schedule.”

“What’s the name of this place?” asked Bear as traffic became congested the closer they got to the beach. They drew glances coupled with frowns from every vehicle they passed. Between the torn-apart driver’s side, the bullet-riddled exterior, and the missing windows, their vehicle was certainly ready for a scratch-and-dent sale.

“The town is called Lido di Ostia,” replied Jackal. “Literally, the translation means tongue of land. It refers to the long sandbar that appears at low tide.”

“Tongue of land doesn’t sound as exotic as Lido di Ostia,” said Cam with a laugh. She was in better spirits despite the fact she was continuously picking bits of glass out of her hair and tossing them out the window.

“We Italians have a way with our romance language,” added Theodora Cuccinelli, better known as Jackal.

“We’re at the intersection,” said Bear.

“Turn right, and in about a quarter mile, Sporting Beach will come into view. You’ll see several buildings with bars, restaurants and shops. Park anywhere. Doesn’t matter. Then make your way to the Olympic-sized pool.”

A minute passed and the three operatives studied their surroundings as Bear made the turn.

“Okay, then what?” asked Gunner as Bear found a parking space. The trio exited the sedan, what was left of it, and looked around in the bright sun.

Out of habit, Bear took the keys with him and then laughed to himself as he tossed them back into the front seat. It was a CIA vehicle and would never be retrieved, especially considering its condition.

Jackal continued with her instructions. “Once you find your way to the pool, walk directly toward the beach through several rows of cabanas. Hang out by the water’s edge.”

Cam spread her arms apart and turned her palms upward. With a puzzled look on her face, she shrugged as Gunner did the same.

“Is there a punchline to this joke?” asked Gunner.

“Oh, yeah,” replied Jackal with a bit of a laugh. “There’s a Zodiac en route from NSA Gaeta to your south. Just hang out, and they’ll pick you up curbside.” She let out an uproarious laugh as she got tickled over her joke.

Cam stifled a laugh, and Gunner shook his head as he smiled. Glad they’re having a good time, he thought.

He turned and looked for Bear. The only black man on the beach had wandered away and stopped by one of the beach cabanas to chat up a group of bikini-clad women. Cam noticed his absence, too.

“Where’d he go?”

Gunner pointed ahead to where he towered over two topless women relaxing on lounge chairs outside the cabana. “He’s making friends.”

“Good grief,” she said in her customary I-can’t-deal-with-Bear tone of voice. She began marching through the sand on a mission when Gunner jogged up to Cam’s side and reached for her arm.

“Let him blow off some steam. He’s always there when we need him.”

“Whatevs,” said Cam.

“Hey! Are you guys still with me?” asked Jackal, who had remained on the call.

Gunner switched off the speakerphone and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Good,” said Ghost, who also picked up the phone’s handset. “The Navy will run you up the coast to Livorno, where you’ll then be picked up and taken to Darby, a small former U.S. installation now operated by Italian Special Forces Command. Jackal has already coordinated with our people to get you equipped for your trip to Salzburg, Austria.”

“Knight Gruppe is the key.” Gunner reiterated his theory.

“We believe you’re right, but we need to gain access to their systems. Jackal has everything laid out, but you and Cam will have some work to do.”

“We’re not afraid of work,” Gunner said.

“This is outside your wheelhouse. Very Mission Impossible.”

Gunner started laughing. “Piece of cake. Even Tom Cruise wouldn’t try to tackle an asteroid.”

“Good point.”

Part II

Thumbs up!

Chapter Sixteen

Hexane Headquarters

Berlin, Germany

Sardar Azmoun walked through the hallways of Hexane with a quiet confidence. The twenty-year-old Iranian prodigy had spent his years as a teen within the Iranian Cyber Army in Tehran. The lanky young man adjusted his glasses as he nodded his head at two German women who worked in the headquarters of Odessa’s own cyber army. He was easily recognizable within the building because he was the only employee of Middle Eastern descent, and he was considered in a league of his own among black-hat hackers.

The world’s internet and computers systems were vulnerable to attack. There was a never-ending battle between hackers and companies who attempted to protect servers operated by governments, businesses, and ordinary citizens from cyber intrusions designed to steal data or hold the data for ransom like any other kidnapper might.

Azmoun was a different kind of hacker. Certainly, when he was young, a child prodigy in fact, he’d undertaken many of the unethical and malicious hacks that others of his ilk might undertake. Just like a preteen boy who runs through a neighborhood rolling yards with toilet paper and egging the houses of their perceived enemies, Azmoun had run amok on the World Wide Web.

He changed the profiles of Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter users. He’d upload porno videos onto the websites of American churches. He was even credited, although not by name, as being responsible for taking down the website of a major American news organization.

Regardless of his preteen pranks, the target of his cyber activities was America. Make no mistake, like all Iranian children growing up, he was delivered the daily mantra—death to America, death to the Great Satan.

He knew he’d never have the opportunity to actually kill Americans. He was not a soldier, and the unspoken truth throughout Iran was that angry rhetoric was one thing but actually pulling the trigger against an adversary who could wipe them off the face of the earth was another.

Accordingly, he toyed with the Americans via the cyber realm. Until one day when he was discovered by subordinates of Mohammad Hussein al-Solami, the commander of the Iranian Cyber Army. He was fourteen when soldiers of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard burst into his family’s modest home in the suburbs of Tehran and took him into custody. His parents feared for his life, and their own. Their oldest son was yanked away from his mother as she pled for mercy. It wasn’t until four years later that he reappeared to let them know he was alive.

During that time, Azmoun was indoctrinated in an ideological resistance center established in work camps by the mullahs who led Iran. His talents related to cyber warfare were cultivated, and his life began to take shape. He was being groomed for a single purpose—attack America in the cyber world.

After he reappeared in public, he was allowed to live a somewhat normal life. He was provided an apartment. He was given a choice of women. His bills were paid. However, he was expected to sit behind the keyboard and attack America.

Then, one evening, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard arrived at his apartment in much the same manner as the time he had been swept away in the night as a child. There was no explanation. He knew not to resist. He cooperated as he was led to an Iranian airport, where he was turned over to VAJA agents from the Iran Intelligence Ministry.

During the entire ordeal, from the time they flew on the private jet out of Khomeini International Airport until touchdown at Strausberg Airport just outside Berlin, not a word was spoken between the three men.

In the cool, crisp predawn hours, Azmoun stepped off the executive jet, where he met Daniel Wagner. His life was changed forever.

Death to America.

It was a simple, hateful statement that was repeated a million times a day in Iran. It was repeated in Azmoun’s mind several times a day as well. He had no reason to hate America or its people. In fact, he’d never met an American in his twenty years on earth. All he knew from his years of indoctrination was that America was evil. America needed to be brought to her knees. Americans needed that smug look knocked off their faces. And he was just the man for the job.

He arrived at the security door to the Compound, an aptly named protected area in which only a few Hexane employees were allowed. Hexane, the organic compound, not the Odessa-owned cybersecurity firm that was anything but, was a significant ingredient in gasoline that made it highly flammable.

Hexane, the company, had stoked the flames of discontent around the world, especially on American social media, by supporting hate groups and pitting users against one another. Hexane had thrown gasoline on the fire whenever there was a catastrophic event in America by surreptitiously hindering first responders with communications outages or causing medical supply shortages. Their team of black-hat hackers had exaggerated stock market losses on Wall Street in times of economic turmoil.

Today, they would orchestrate a series of cyberattacks that would not only disrupt the everyday life of Americans, but they would also finally give Azmoun an opportunity to fulfill an obligation he’d carried since he was a child.

Death to America.

Chapter Seventeen

Salzburg, Austria

Gunner, Cam and Bear took turns behind the wheel during their seven-hour drive from the west coast of Italy through the alps to Salzburg, Austria. The Mercedes-Benz conversion van provided by the 405th Army Field Support Battalion was equipped with a bed, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. Each member of the team took catnaps along the way, but mostly, they discussed the next phase of their mission to ferret out the masterminds of Odessa. Moreover, they hoped to confirm the obvious connection between Odessa and the attack on Levi’s Stadium.

Gunner’s phone rang and he immediately established a Bluetooth connection to the van’s speaker system.

“How’s your progress?” asked Ghost. His voice reflected the tension that consumed all Americans since the attack.

Bear glanced at the GPS device mounted in the dash. “Just passed through Bad Hofgastein. I guess the next stop is Good Hofgastein.”

His attempt at humor had no effect on Ghost. There was a brief silence on the line, and then Jackal spoke up. “Sixty miles, roughly. Forty-five minutes to Hohenwerfen Castle, plus another half hour to the CIA safe house near the Knight Gruppe headquarters.”

The conversation between Ghost and Jackal continued. “Everything in place? IDs? Cover dossiers? Comms?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “If they arrive on schedule, they’ll have six hours to prepare, review the intelligence, and make their appearance at the conference.”

Gunner was riding shotgun, and Cam had stirred awake from the discussion taking place over the speakers. Sleepily, she sat on her knees between the bucket seats at the front of the van to listen in with the guys.

“Do you wanna fill us in now, or should we call back after we arrive at the hotel?” asked Gunner.

His phone indicated he’d received an encrypted text message from the Den. It was the hotel’s address and their contact information for the CIA liaison.

“I see you got our text,” said Jackal, who overheard his notification. “The details for how this will play out are in your hotel suite at the Hotel Sacher in Salzburg. Gunner, Cam, your covers were created via the U.S. Embassy and the agency. Gunner is part of the security team protecting the U.S. ambassador to Austria, John Belvedere. He is aware of your late addition to his staff and understands the need for discretion. Likewise, Cam, you are also designated as the assistant to his chief of staff. Both men are aware of the national security implications of your work although they have no idea who you’re investigating.”

“What about me?” asked Bear.

“You’re going to be very busy,” replied Ghost. “This operation is multipronged, involving a combination of surveillance, information extraction, and the final step of penetrating the secure headquarters of Knight Gruppe.”

“Despite my best efforts,” began Jackal, “I’ve been unable to gain access to the Knight Gruppe servers that contain the financial and personnel information we need. We’re taking some massive leaps forward in this investigation. At the FBI, we were methodical and thorough. Steps were rarely skipped as we built a criminal case. Today, we’re under tremendous pressure to not only find the terrorists but to also fend off another possible attack.”

Ghost added, “We’re the only ones working this angle, and we’re doing so purely on the investigation of von Zwick coupled with the extraordinary information you received from the Vatican. The pieces are falling in place, but it’s also possible we’re chasing the proverbial wild goose by sending you to Salzburg.”

“What’s the first step?” asked Cam. “The Bilderberg conference is being held at the Hohenwerfen Castle, which you’ll be approaching shortly. Knight Gruppe is this year’s host organization, and therefore they’ll have several of their principals in attendance.”

“What are we looking for?” asked Cam.

“In short, the known and the unknown,” replied Ghost. “Knight Gruppe AG is a privately held international conglomerate with a myriad of businesses under its umbrella. Many of their entities require public filings in the nations where they do business. Jackal and her team are compiling a corporate family tree, of sorts.

“That said, the people we need identified are those who are part of, or closely related to, Knight Gruppe who aren’t on public document filings. You’ll need to find a way to get close to them. Eavesdrop on their conversations. Make mental notes of whom they speak with.”

Jackal addressed the primary purpose for the operation. “During your surveillance, you’ll need to seek out Johan Kutcher, the chief financial officer of Knight Gruppe. He is one of eight top-level directors of the company we expect to be in attendance. He’s got the keys to the kingdom in the form of passcodes, identification badges and, depending on the outcome of our final research, the thumb or retina that will gain us access to Knight’s servers.”

Bear laughed. “You want them to pop out the man’s eyeball?”

“If necessary, yes,” replied Ghost dryly.

The three operatives in the van exchanged glances and shrugged. Whatever it takes.

“Roger that,” said Cam. “Do we have cover in place to get into Knight’s offices?”

“Manhole.” Jackal’s reply was simple but confusing.

“What? Manhole?” asked Cam.

“Manhole cover, that is,” Jackal said with a laugh. This time Ghost joined in. Although the trio approaching Hohenwerfen Castle sitting majestically on the side of the mountain were clueless as to what the inside joke was, they too laughed, as the entire team needed to release their stress.

Ghost explained, “Salzburg, like other cities in Europe, has an extensive underworld of tunnels and subterranean rivers built over many centuries. They were expanded during the 1830s to deal with a nationwide cholera outbreak and the disposal of diseased wastewater.

“One of these tunnels runs directly underneath the Knight Gruppe building. You won’t need a cover story to enter the building other than, as Jackal said, a manhole cover to enter the sewer system.”

“Wonderful,” groaned Cam. “Am I supposed to wear my evening dress from the conference?”

“Bear will have that taken care of. He’ll be on the outside to create a diversion in case you run into trouble.”

“Sounds straightforward,” said Gunner in all sincerity. He’d begun to embrace this whole James Bond approach as opposed to his usual bull-in-the-china shop, guns-blazin’ methods of getting the job done.

He was about to learn finesse wasn’t quite as easy as it might appear.

Chapter Eighteen

Hohenwerfen Castle

Salzburg, Austria

Salzburg, Austria, began as a settlement of the Roman empire and later became a city known for its churches and culture. The birthplace of Mozart had been fought over for centuries as religious and political conflict in the region played tug-of-war over the quaint city in the Alps. It was also the darling of a former Austrian soldier who rose to power following World War I—Adolph Hitler.

Salzburg was an unlikely choice for the headquarters of Knight Gruppe AG. The brainchild of Brit Jorgensen, it would’ve made logistical sense to incorporate in South America and in Buenos Aries, Argentina in particular. However, the long-term goal of Odessa was to retake what was theirs. The Third Reich and its formerly occupied territories in Europe. The center of Odessa’s universe would be Salzburg, and therefore locating Knight Gruppe on the German border made logistical sense.

Not to mention it could stay off the radar of anyone seeking to uncover Odessa’s true identity. The small city with a population of roughly one hundred fifty thousand was known for its tourist trade. The surrounding gold-mining operations had long been shut down, as were the salt mines. Instead, attractions featuring the region’s history, architecture, and culture took over.

Knight Gruppe invested heavily in, and therefore controlled, the universities located in Salzburg. They groomed their children for careers in medicine and applied sciences. Others with an aptitude for dramatic arts, music and dance were prepared to become vocal advocates of Odessa’s ideology in popular culture.

All of this was part of a decades-long plan to infiltrate every part of Western civilization. Using their vast financial resources and connections, Odessa would maneuver their human assets into positions of power and influence like a chess grandmaster pursuing an opponent’s king.

Henry Gruber was a grandmaster of geopolitical chess. The moves he made on the world stage were unknown to most. He had a remarkable ability to convince others to do what was in the best interest of Odessa. His job was somewhat easier because nobody knew of Odessa’s existence or its agenda. Operating in darkness. Maneuvering within shadow governments. Mixing legitimate with illegitimate activities. All were tools used by Henry and others within Odessa’s ranks to advance their cause.

However, wars were started, and the toppling of nation-states required the cooperation of others with like-minded goals. Partners and allies of convenience, if you will.

For every apparently stable government, there was a counterbalance of actual power that resided not with publicly elected officials but with private individuals who wielded their ability to effectuate change to their liking. For decades, Odessa had built relationships with the world’s wealthiest and most influential powerbrokers who held their common interests.

Odessa had set the wheels in motion to change the geopolitical face of the West. America would come crumbling down, and shortly thereafter, Europe would rise under a new flag. One that was familiar to all but reviled as well.

He’d arrived early at Hohenwerfen Castle, the site Knight Gruppe had chosen for the annual Bilderberg conference. Henry, like most of die Zwölf, had an affinity for castles. It was a reflection of their German and Austrian roots. Hitler, Himmler, and most of the top echelon of the Third Reich had acquired these massive medieval structures as their homes. Over the decades since Odessa began to reconstitute the Reich, castles throughout Europe were purchased by entities and nonprofit organizations controlled by Knight Gruppe.

When the Reich was reborn, these castles would become symbols of power, culture, and stability. And, like Castle Bariloche, they would pay homage to the architect of Odessa—Heinrich Himmler.

Henry knew the history of Hohenwerfen intimately. His homeschooling as a child had included an extensive amount of course study in the history of Europe and the economic conditions that gave rise to the Third Reich.

Several periods of social unrest and economic strife from the years 1077 through the sixteenth century resulted in magnificent castles being built throughout Germany and Austria. By the fifteenth century, the castle had reached its current state of completion, and it played an important role in protecting Austria’s elite from the peasant revolts in later years.

During the German occupation, the castle was used as a military training center that included an unconventional means of strategy for the period—urban warfare. Nazi military commanders prepared for many different types of tactics to conquer the enemy besides tanks and airpower. They envisioned destabilizing their targets by sending soldiers into the city to attack under cover of darkness. The immense size of Hohenwerfen provided them an ideal place to train.

The weather at this time of year was ideal for outdoor gatherings, so many of the social aspects of this year’s conference took place on the exquisite grounds of the fortress. This was also ideally suited for Odessa’s sophisticated surveillance tools to home in on particular conversations amongst the attendees.

Perched atop the castle walls and the buildings were numerous devices that appeared to be lightning rods. The castle was perched atop a mountain and surrounded by steeply sloped terrain. It made for an excellent target during severe spring storms. However, the lightning rods served a dual purpose. They could be rotated ever so slightly to aim a highly effective shotgun microphone capable of capturing a conversation from more than a hundred feet away. The efficient devices were capable of rejecting peripheral sounds and eliminating even the slightest wind noise.

Henry wanted to gather the private conversations of the attendees so he could analyze their loyalties as well as anticipate their future political plans. Financial deals were often struck at the annual conference, and knowing these arrangements before they went public benefitted Odessa.

He often laughed at the characterization of the Bilderberg conference as the elites gathered together to exchange ideas in private and outside the media spotlight. The meeting attracted huge amounts of suspicion and paranoia, but in reality, as he’d often said, it was nothing more than an oversized dinner party of elitists.

In recent years, broad issues like macroeconomics, terrorism, and cybersecurity were popular topics. No minutes were taken of the various workshops and discussions that took place, hence the assumption that the attendees were part of a sinister cabal with something to hide. Some pundits believed the goal of the Bilderberg Group was to impose pan-global fascism or even totalitarian Marxism throughout the West.

To put it more mildly, most attendees were presumed to push a one-world government agenda. Many believed a single community throughout the world would result in less bloodshed and economic strain because wars would no longer be necessary.

For Odessa, the concept of a one-world government and a new world order ran contrary to their goals of reconstituting the Reich.

That was why Henry Gruber and others in Odessa were active at these conferences. Not because they could rub elbows with the rich and powerful or to pontificate over political ideologies. But rather, so they could manipulate the Bilderbergers into abandoning their grandiose plans of one world, one nation without borders.

There would be no room in the new Germany for outsiders. Only the pure would be welcome.

Chapter Nineteen

Hohenwerfen Castle

Salzburg, Austria

Gunner and Cam entered the castle separately. He arrived early as part of Ambassador Belvedere’s advance security team, which was also provided for other American citizens in attendance. He’d studied the floor plan and map of the grounds for nearly an hour after their arrival at the hotel. Gunner liked to plan for all contingencies. He didn’t like being without a weapon. Only the security staff employed by Knight was armed.

Bear was added to the catering company’s employee list as a driver. He would stay with his vehicle inside the castle’s exterior walls as part of the catering crew. Assuming everything went as planned, the trio would leave the castle in the van and immediately head to the insertion point near Knight’s offices. It would be a manhole cover, just as Jackal had said on the earlier phone call.

Finally, Cam arrived as part of the ambassador’s entourage of six, which included his wife, his chief of staff, and three aides. Attendees were allowed to bring a minimal amount of staff and guests, all of whom were expected to stand clear during social functions unless summoned. They were expressly prohibited from entering any of the private workshops or presentations.

Cam’s job was the most difficult. She had to locate and then isolate Johan Kutcher, the CFO of Knight Gruppe. Once she did, she had to find a means to extract the passwords, codes, and access information for the company’s servers.

Like her night at the opera, Cam was stunning in her evening wear. The ambassador’s chief of staff, a single man nearly twenty years older than Cam, was immediately smitten. She used this to her advantage as soon as the ambassador led his group into the courtyard for the reception greeting the attendees.

One of the ambassador’s aides, who’d attended two Bilderberg conferences in the past, instructed Cam to join her and the male staffer on the outside perimeter of the large botanical-filled courtyard. The ambassador’s chief of staff stopped her.

He leaned in to whisper. “These soirees are dreadfully boring,” he said in a New England, Brahminesque accent. “Why don’t you accompany me as my date? We won’t be able to attend the private discussions, but we’ll have full access to the free booze.”

Cam gave him a sultry smile. She tilted her head and whispered her response. “I’d love to.”

He offered her his arm and she took it. The two of them casually strolled toward the bar. “This is a really big deal for some,” he said as they walked past a group that included a former U.S. president and his brother, a former governor. “On the surface, it appears to be a country-club setting. Behind the scenes, the future of nations is determined.”

“Does the ambassador share what he learns?”

“No, not really. Well, need to know, I suppose. Frankly, I don’t really care. I’ve been with him for many years. He’s remained at his post in Vienna through three administrations. He knows how to play the game. For me, I enjoy the culture and history of Vienna. If Ambassador Belvedere were to leave, I’d probably resign and stay there.”

Cam’s eyes darted around the courtyard in search of Kutcher. At one point, she made eye contact with Gunner, who was subtly panning the crowd with his arm held casually in front of him. The cameras in both of his cufflinks were sending video to the Den for analysis.

She made an observation. “I recognize most of the people here. American politicians from both sides of the aisle are well represented. I see high tech is treated like rock stars.”

The chief of staff chuckled, his soft, protruding belly shaking against Cam’s arm as he did. “Oh, yes. It’s been that way for years, I’m told. The ambassador refers to them as the masters of the universe. Google. Facebook. Twitter. Amazon. Microsoft. Everyone wants to bend their ear and be in the know about future trends on the internet.”

“Glenlivet. Rocks,” the chief of staff ordered. He turned to Cam and undressed her with his eyes. “And for the lady?”

“White wine, please.” Then she whispered a question. “How about our hosts, Knight Gruppe? I don’t know much about them.”

“Nor does anyone else,” he replied. “Their presence in Austria doesn’t impact the economy like a manufacturer or major service provider might. They’re involved in many endeavors worldwide, and they’re simply headquartered here. Because the leadership team is primarily of German and Austrian descent, Ambassador Belvedere hasn’t shown an interest in their activities.”

“Are you able to point out any of their representatives?” asked Cam as she nodded her thanks to the female bartender. She took a sip of wine, peering over the glass the entire time. Cam wondered to herself if she’d blinked since her arrival in the courtyard.

He led her away from the bar, and the two of them continued to stroll amongst the guests. He nodded or nudged her as they walked past one of the Knight Gruppe corporate executives. Toward the end of their walk around the perimeter of the Bilderbergers getting reacquainted with one another, he stopped to join a conversation with his counterpart from the German embassy.

The two men spoke in German, and Cam feigned a lack of understanding of the language. She was able to translate conversational German better than she was able to speak it.

Suddenly, a man inched up behind her, catching her off guard. His German accent was heavy, but his English was perfect.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said in a deep, breathy voice. “Your escort is falling in love with you by the minute even though you’ve just met.”

Cam steeled her nerves. Had she been discovered? Was their cover blown before they got started? Her mind raced as she tried to remember where she’d last seen Gunner. Would he be able to do anything to prevent her from being exposed?

Without turning, she decided to play along. She exposed her neck slightly as the man towered over her right shoulder.

“What can I say? I’m like a magnet to most men.”

“A love magnet?” He was taking flirting to another level at lightning speed.

She finally turned and looked up to the six-foot-four, silver-haired man who’d approached her. He was about the same age as the ambassador’s chief of staff but lent the appearance of a Greek god. However, his facial features were unmistakable. It was Johan Kutcher. The target had Cam in his sights.

Chapter Twenty

Hohenwerfen Castle

Salzburg, Austria

“Maybe,” she replied shyly. “Can you rescue me?” Like Gunner, Cam was used to defeating her adversaries with her superior battle skills learned from Ghost and honed on countless missions around the world. This was different. It was like acting, only it had a sinister motive. Much like a black widow sucks the life out of her male conquest, oftentimes killing him after getting what she wants, Cam was prepared to lead the CFO of Knight Gruppe into a false sense of security until she obtained access to the company’s computer servers.

Kutcher turned on the charm, something that came naturally to the handsome Bavarian. “This is a castle, and you’re clearly a damsel in distress. Let me show you around.”

He set his hand on the small of her back and nudged her away from the group. Cam allowed him to lower his hands more as the sexually aggressive man made no attempt to hide his intentions. She took a deep breath and allowed him to overstep, knowing she’d have the final say about the direction of their encounter.

As they entered the medieval rock castle, Gunner appeared in the shadows of a hallway to Cam’s right. He’d been observing her in the courtyard and took up a position inside, as he anticipated her escort’s objective to be alone with Cam.

Cam made small talk as Kutcher led her through the open entry. “Is it true this castle was in a movie?”

“Very good,” he replied. “An American classic—Where Eagles Dare. It starred Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood. Pure fiction and not very accurate, I might add.”

“Oh?” Cam feigned surprise. Naturally, she expected the Bavarian who worked for the remnants of the Nazi Party to take issue with a movie production of a fictional event in which the Nazis got their butts kicked.

While he explained his reasoning, he pointed out features of the castle. As he spoke, he underhandedly led her deeper into the former fortress. Eventually, with a nod of the head from a member of Knight’s security team, he was granted access to parts of the castle off-limits to the attendees and their guests. At this point, Cam expected she was on her own with her target.

They wandered through the dark, damp hallways until they arrived at a massive spiral staircase that led upward through a tower and downward into a dimly lit, cavernous space she could barely see.

“In the dungeon, you’ll find historic artifacts, including armored suits, medieval weapons, and tools of torture.”

Cam was at a point of no return. Kutcher was a big muscular man. It would be impossible to overpower him. She’d only have one opportunity to make her move, and there would be nobody to call out to for help. She steeled her nerves and made a decision.

“Show me,” she said as she looked up into his crystal blue eyes.

Kutcher smiled and took her by the hand. Step by step, her heels clicking on the stone stairs, they wound their way down to the dungeon, which was illuminated by gas lanterns mounted on the wall. The orangish flame created odd shadows throughout the space as the two of them walked slowly toward an exhibit of medieval weapons.

Cam’s eyes darted around the tables and display cabinets showing the weapons of war used a thousand years ago. She wondered if she’d be able to access them if she had to fight her target.

Suddenly, he turned around and grasped her shoulders. “Stop teasing me.”

He moved in to kiss her and dropped his hands to grope her breasts. Cam responded by running her hands down his chest, over his crotch, and then she reached the slit in her evening gown. While he aggressively kissed her, she reached inside her dress, ran her hands up her thigh, and found the syringe of SP-117 taped between her legs. She slowly withdrew the syringe, ran her arm up Kutcher’s side, and then plunged it into his neck, quickly filling his veins with the powerful Russian-made truth serum.

“What? Bitch!” he bellowed, immediately causing Cam concern that they’d be discovered.

Kutcher slung Cam to the stone floor and reached for his neck. He was incensed, but he didn’t shout out. Instead, his anger grew as he towered over Cam, who was pushing herself away from him.

Now seconds mattered. The intravenous dose had both a hypnotic element as well as a sedative aspect because of the barbiturates added to the formula. It would work quickly, but Cam needed to buy some time before the powerful man could beat her senseless.

She kicked off her high-heeled shoes and scrambled to her feet. “Wait, you don’t understand. You’re going to like this. Trust me.”

“Shut up!” he shouted as he drunkenly lunged for her. Cam easily sidestepped his advance.

“No, let it soak in. You have no idea how this will make you feel.”

He chased after her. She backpedaled and then slid under the exhibit’s velvet rope used to cordon off the torture chamber tools and an Austrian ladder, a vertically oriented rack used to stretch victims.

Kutcher stumbled through the posts and rope until he lost his balance. He crashed into a display cabinet, breaking the wooden shelves and causing the iron tools to come crashing out.

Cam grew nervous that the clamor would attract attention from those above. She needed the drug to take effect so she could get the information she needed.

It had been a minute, and the barbiturates began to win the battle against Kutcher’s adrenaline-fueled attempt to fight the drug. Now she was at the critical stage where she needed to extract the information from the mostly subdued target before he passed out. Ordinarily, the interrogation would take place with the target restrained. Cam studied the Austrian ladder and then turned her attention to Kutcher. He’d given up the fight and was now in a state of euphoria as the drug took ahold of his mind.

“Come on, big boy. Let’s get you more comfortable.”

She helped him to his feet and then pushed him back against the rack ladder. She removed his tie, bound his wrists over his head, and tied him to one of the rungs. Then she quickly ripped open his tuxedo shirt, exposing his bare chest. Finally, with a devilish grin, she loosened his pants and pulled them down around his knees. He would be completely exposed to anyone who happened to come upon him while he was in a deep sleep.

Then she slapped him. Hard. Just to keep him awake, or that was what she told herself, anyway.

Oddly, Kutcher laughed.

“Freak,” mumbled Cam as she fumbled through his pockets in search of his wallet, identification, and access cards to the Knight Gruppe offices. After she found his magnetic pass card and company-issued identification, she slapped him playfully on his bare stomach. “Are you still with me, big boy?”

“Jawohl!” he replied enthusiastically.

“Good. It’s time for the Q and A portion of the show.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Hohenwerfen Castle

Salzburg, Austria

Cam slapped his face again as Kutcher began to doze off. “Wakey-wakey, asshole. This won’t take long.”

“Later. Must sleep.”

Cam laughed as she slapped him again. “Your manhood says otherwise, pal. Now, tell me how you access your financial and employment records.”

“Not now,” he mumbled.

Another slap. Harder this time. Cam turned around to ensure it wasn’t heard by anyone.

“Yes, now. Username and password. Macht schnell!”

“H. Schacht.”

“What does that mean?” asked Cam.

“Reichminister of Finance. Hjalmar Schacht.”

“Password, bitte.” Cam was adding a few German words to the near-incoherent Kutcher.

“Farben26.”

Cam was unaware that Schacht was the currency commissioner of the Weimar Republic and had been instrumental in funding the famed German company IG Farben. Still, she was able to remember the name.

Kutcher was fading.

“I need access to Knight Gruppe’s corporate servers. Where are they?”

“Basement. Level six. Osten.”

Cam repeated his words. “Basement, level six, east. Is that correct?”

“Jetzt schlafe ich, ja?” Let me sleep, okay?

Cam understood the word for sleep and saw Kutcher’s eyes close once again. She pinched him awake. His eyes popped open and darted around the room. This reaction was different from his prior attempts to remain coherent. She became concerned the drug was wearing off.

“How do I access the server room?”

Kutcher raised his right arm slightly as if to give her a thumbs-up.

“Thumbprint? Biometric lock?”

He nodded his head.

“Shit!” she exclaimed a little louder than she wanted to. Her head snapped toward the sweeping staircase for what seemed like the hundredth time. She took a deep breath and forced herself to accept what she needed to do.

She unlatched a section of velvet rope and returned to Kutcher. She wrapped it around his face and through his mouth, hoping to stifle the scream he’d most likely let out when she severed his right thumb from his hand. SP-117 contained just enough of a barbiturate to cause drowsiness. It couldn’t make him comatose.

Cam struggled with the rope and realized the knot wouldn’t hold. As he grew drowsier, his body began to slump on the rack, and she questioned whether the man’s necktie would hold him in place.

She sighed. She made her way to the display cabinet where the torture tools had been dislodged from their shelves.

Cam was angry over this course of events. She liked clean kills. This would be anything but. It would be barbaric.

The exhibit contained spikes, hammers, and a variety of plier-like tools. She grabbed a spike and a hammer and approached the passed-out target. She set the spike against his heart and took aim with the iron hammer. She drew it back, and then … she stopped.

She couldn’t do it. Cam would give anything in that moment for a gun. Or a knife. Or a syringe full of thallium, another deadly poison employed by Moscow.

Cam angrily slung the tools to the ground. She removed his socks and crammed them into his mouth. She retrieved his cummerbund off the floor and tied it across his face. Kutcher’s breathing was labored, but he wouldn’t suffocate.

Lastly, she did what absolutely needed to be done. She used a large scissorlike tool that was sharp enough to get the job done. After five attempts, she cut through the bone and removed the thumb of Kutcher, who slept through the entire ordeal.

Cam dropped the syringe through a drainage grate near the stairwell, gathered her shoes, and secured Kutcher’s thumb in the toe of one of them. Kutcher’s identification and access card were shoved into the other.

She mussed her hair and forced her face to flush so she lent the appearance of a young woman who’d just had a quickie in a dark, secluded part of the castle.

The ruse worked when she walked past the two security personnel who’d granted Kutcher access earlier. They shot her a knowing grin and nodded to her with a wink. She smiled in return and quickly made her way barefoot through the passageways, where she ran into Gunner waiting in the shadows.

“We’re not gonna have much time,” she said. “We need to leave now.”

Gunner took her by the arm and led her down a hallway toward the facility’s kitchen. He’d already confirmed there were no guards preventing the waitstaff from coming and going to the reception area.

“Are you okay?” he whispered to her as they briskly walked through the busy kitchen.

“Yeah. I got lucky.”

“Really?” said Gunner sarcastically. “He was a handsome one.”

“Shut up,” she admonished her friend. “Don’t make me pull out his thumb to show how unlucky he was.”

“Thumb?”

“Yup. The key to the kingdom.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hexane Headquarters

Berlin, Germany

Sardar Azmoun entered the room without fanfare, but the entire group of hackers on this important project clearly understood who’d developed the tools necessary for the operation. His superior, in name only, nodded to the young man as he took his seat at a center console surrounded by the other hackers. It was time.

“Guten abend,” said the project director handpicked by Daniel Wagner.

The evening session was designed to catch America’s first responders off guard by striking in the early morning hours. Ordinarily, Hexane was left to its own devices. Their mysterious company’s overall directive was clear. Gather information. Monitor Odessa assets. Wreak havoc on their adversaries in the cyber world.

He continued. “I am bringing others into the room via teleconference. You will not address them unless spoken to. Understood?”

A handful of the hackers voiced their acknowledgment. As a rule, they didn’t like being told what to do. Each of them had a rebellious streak by nature, one that others within Hexane closely monitored. It was not unusual for a hacker to disappear from the employment roster without explanation or warning. You never left Hexane of your own free will. You were privy to Odessa’s secrets. Those who tried vanished without a trace.

The project director confirmed that Daniel Wagner and Derek Gruber were connected although he never referenced them by name. Then he summarized the team’s goals for the day.

“For years, we have been conducting penetration testing into various utilities in the United States, ranging from nuclear facilities down to small municipal water companies. Through our efforts of password spraying and brute-force attacks designed to compromise email accounts, we’ve been able to gain access to the targeted utilities. As their servers are updated, our copy of their data is updated. We’ve lurked in the shadows of their hard drives, waiting for the time to strike. Now is that time.

“For the benefit of our guests, I would like to introduce Mr. Azmoun, who will provide additional detail.” The project director motioned for Azmoun to begin.

“Using the spear-phishing emails, we installed a remote access trojan via DanBot, a malicious code inserted into Microsoft Excel spreadsheets and Word docs. In addition, a config file known as RDCMan enables us to gain remote connection to administrative computer desktops at the utility.

“These techniques are quite effective at achieving our objective. They rely on common macros and the ability to overcome the widely used security frameworks adopted by government-related IT professionals.

“As a result, we have accessed the industrial control systems and operational technology environments of every sector of America’s critical infrastructure.”

Daniel Wagner spoke for the first time. “Hexane provided us a list of the most viable targets. We have identified two for this initial phase. Are you still able to do as we requested?”

“Yes,” replied the project director. “We are ready to initiate the two operations now.”

“Good, please proceed, but describe the steps you are taking,” said Wagner.

“Yes, sir,” said the project director. “Our electrical utility target is DTE located in Detroit, Wayne County, Michigan. This city is ranked by most insurance actuarial data as the most fire-prone in the United States. There are several reasons for this, ranging from inadequate fire-suppression systems in place to the citizenry’s propensity to commit arson.

“For years many parts of the city battled out-of-control structure fires because of arsonist activity on what is known as Devil’s Night, the evening before Halloween, when vandals purposefully set fires. As a result, insurance companies created a fire-risk map that we have at our disposal.

“Our goal for this first phase is to create a dangerous overload of DTE’s substations to the point of triggering both a citywide power outage but also a corresponding fire risk. I will have Mr. Azmoun explain.”

Azmoun was typing at his keyboard as he spoke. “We have identified several points of entry into the network of Detroit Energy. Using Triton malware, first used to disable Saudi Arabian oil refinery safety instrument systems, we are going to disable or confuse the computers that monitor for leaks, explosions, or other catastrophic events during a massive power surge.

“The process can be viewed as a combination of knocking on the doors of the company’s computer operations facility and trying all the doorknobs until one opens. We have done that, and our team has taken over the DTE network with full access to its most sensitive industrial control protocols.”

He paused while he executed several more strokes on his keyboard. He pointed at two of his associates and nodded. They also made several entries and then spun around in their chairs to take additional directives from Azmoun.

He continued. “At this moment, the administrators of the system, us, have shut off all digital safety equipment like protective relays that monitor for any overloaded or out-of-sync grid equipment. Using another malware called Sandman, we have just cut power to the greater Detroit area. The blackouts will last for many days if not weeks.

“I have now activated Trisis, a sister malware to Triton. Trisis has triggered a massive call for energy to all substations within the DTE submarket in metropolitan Detroit. The power request is similar to every user demanding air-conditioning on a one-hundred-and-ten-degree day while running every appliance in their residence at the same time. The massive request will overload the systems that have already been cut off as a result of the Triton malware.

“At this moment, I would expect there are sporadic transformer explosions, sparks on transmission lines, and fires burning at DTE substations. With the built-in emergency shutdown protocols manipulated by our team, we prevent any corrective action from being taken by on-site administrators at DTE. Again, at this moment, I suspect that realization is taking place. This leads to phase two of our operation.”

“What is that?” asked Wagner.

The project director responded, “We are shutting off the water supply of the Detroit Water and Sewer Department. Their industrial controls have been manipulated to direct a purge of their storage containers back into the Detroit River as having been contaminated with an unacceptable level of chlorine.

“This will accomplish a twofold purpose. One, it will deprive the firefighters of water to fight the blazes likely to take place in the vicinity of the city’s transformers and substations. Most of these substations are located in old, urban neighborhoods near the areas identified on the fire-risk map. Old, dilapidated wood structures will never withstand the spreading fire. The firefighters will be unable to stop the blazes with their tanker trucks, which will quickly empty.

“Second, the Detroit River, swollen from recent rains, will easily flood the homes on Detroit’s east side. These residents will not be aware of the rising water until it is too late. There will be no warning because the power grid has been taken down.”

The room grew silent as the hackers continued to monitor any attempts to take back control of the industrial control systems in Detroit. Wagner spoke with Derek briefly and then returned to the call.

“Are you prepared to take the next step in Phoenix, Arizona?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. We are. The ramifications will be gradually felt for weeks as the poison spreads throughout the water supply.”

“Release the chlorine,” Wagner said unemotionally.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Den

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

The Den had exploded with activity. Initial reports out of Detroit blamed the power outage on an unexplained sudden surge of electrical demand. Then city officials began to compare notes and determined the outage took place first, minutes before the Detroit Energy computers overreacted and sent a request for one hundred seven times the normal consumption on even the city’s hottest day of the year. The result was the destruction of hundreds of transformers and five substations melting down. The fires spread throughout the inner city, and the firefighters were prevented from battling the blazes, as the water reservoirs had been drained. The FEMA director called it the perfect storm of bad luck.

Ghost didn’t believe in bad luck. “Jackal, this stinks,” he said to his top aide in the Den.

“Yes, sir. It’s possible, but extremely unlikely, for the three separate and distinct events to occur.”

“How are they separate?”

“Sir, if the information we’ve received is correct, the power grid was taken down throughout the city at the same instant. That’s possible, but there is usually a precipitating event such as violent storms or even a rolling brown-out triggering a total blackout.

“Under these circumstances, there is nothing of the sort. I even considered solar activity. You know, a geomagnetic storm that dipped to the lower latitudes. I checked with the Space Weather Prediction Center in Boulder and found no solar activity at all.

“That leads me to believe this was part of an orchestrated effort, especially in light of the fact that a massive power urge resulting from a demand for electricity took place within a minute or two.”

“What’s it all mean?” he asked.

“Somebody took down the grid from inside and then, most likely, while they were at it, disabled the various safety protocols and protection mechanisms to prevent the subsequent overburdening of the system.”

“You’re saying they intended to blow up the grid using the system against itself.”

“Yes, sir. This points to a cyberattack. One that isn’t that much different from what the Iranians have deployed against Israel and Saudi Arabia in the Middle East.”

“Do you think Tehran did this?”

“It has all the earmarks of their past cyber intrusions against critical infrastructure. The problem is attribution. It’s nearly impossible to say beyond a reasonable doubt who is responsible.”

Ghost paced the floor as he studied helicopter video feeds being transmitted to the Department of Homeland Security. Fires had engulfed buildings throughout the city. He pointed toward the screens and looked to Jackal for answers.

He didn’t have to enunciate his question. She understood. “The first two steps in this attack involved the grid. The third step was taking away our ability to deal with the aftermath. I can’t say with certainty what happened to Detroit’s water reserves. All I know is they dwindled fast, or they’d been emptied somehow. Again, the fact these three rare and unique events coincided leads me to believe they were all part of an overall plan to set the city on fire.”

One of the analysts stood and got Ghost’s attention. “Sir, I have the team on the line for you.”

“My office,” he ordered the analyst. He looked to Jackal. “You too.”

Ghost’s stress levels continued to rise, and his orders were delivered in a tone that reflected his concerns.

Ghost placed the call on speakerphone and addressed the team as soon as Jackal closed the door behind her. “Talk to me.”

Gunner took the lead. “We’ve pulled out of the castle and are en route to Salzburg to enter Knight’s offices. There’s been a complication, which will greatly reduce our time to accomplish our mission.”

“Continue,” said Ghost.

“The target, Kutcher, their CFO, had the necessary credentials on him to enter the building and travel through the hallways. Cam was also able to extract the username and password out of him.”

“So what’s the problem?” asked Ghost impatiently.

“Their computer servers are located in a secure area that requires fingerprints to unlock a biometric keypad.”

“Oh,” groaned Jackal.

“You got it,” interjected Cam. “I had to slice off his right thumb.”

Ghost ran his fingers through his hair and rolled his head around his shoulders. “Did he alert anyone?”

“Amazingly, no,” Cam replied. “However, the dose I had was designed for a woman half his weight. I was surprised it didn’t bring him out of his sleep. It’s just a matter of time and they’ll know exactly what happened.”

“What can we do to help?” asked Ghost.

“First of all, here is the password and user information,” replied Gunner.

Cam spoke up and provided Jackal all of the information extracted from Kutcher.

Then Gunner continued. “If possible, can you cut off landline comms from the castle? Cell phones are confiscated at the castle, and you have to be halfway to Salzburg before you can get cell reception.”

“I’ll do what I can,” said Jackal. “Once they figure this out, they’ll be on your heels.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Gunner. “We have to change our mode of entry. There isn’t time for us to make our way through sewer tunnels and carve our way through drainage gates. We’ve gotta walk in the front door.”

Ghost turned his attention to Jackal. “He’s got Kutcher’s ID badge. Now that you have his log-in info, can you enter the personnel records and replace photographs, description, etcetera?”

“Bear, how far out are you?” asked Jackal.

“Seven miles.”

Jackal mumbled, “Piece of cake. But, Gunner, can you do this alone?”

“We have a work-around for the second identification. It could get messy. Turn me into Kutcher, and we’ll do the rest.”

“I’m on it,” she said as she slipped out of the room.

“Anything else?” asked Ghost.

“Yeah, it may be nothing, but it has to do with a conversation I overheard inside the castle. Two men, one with an American accent and another with a Hispanic accent. Maybe Colombian. South American, at least. Anyway, the men’s names were Herbert and George. Although it might’ve been Jorge, with a J, if he was South American.”

“Almost there,” interrupted Bear.

“What did they say?” asked Ghost.

“Yeah, this fellow Herbert was authoritative. He mentioned something about Coca-Cola. Anyway, he said he was grooming a replacement for Taylor. The South American, Jorge, asked if he was certain the politician was on board. When it was confirmed, the guy named Jorge said his associates would be pleased.”

Ghost paused while he made notes. “Did you get a look at them?”

“Barely. It was pretty dark. The American was short and round. The Spaniard, or whatever, was tall and lanky. How’s that?”

Ghost paused for a moment and then asked one more question. “Are you certain the man named Herbert mentioned Coca-Cola?”

“We’re here, guys,” said Cam.

Gunner quickly replied to Ghost, “Yes. Does this mean anything to you?”

“Maybe. I’ll have someone look into it.”

Ghost paused again as he contemplated whether to tell his operatives about the events in Detroit. He opted not to distract the team.

“Anything else?” asked Gunner.

“No. Just stay frosty.” Ghost disconnected the call.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Knight Gruppe AG

Salzburg, Austria

Bear swapped the caterer’s truck for a sedan provided to them at the CIA safe house. Gunner joined Cam in the back seat to lend the appearance they were being chauffeured. The darkened windows easily hid the trio’s identity as they pulled into the secure parking lot adjacent to Knight Gruppe’s building. They didn’t want to risk the scrutiny associated with the front desk staff and the security team milling about the portico-style entrance.

Gunner received a text message. “Jackal gave us the green light.”

“Let’s do this,” said Cam.

Gunner turned in the seat and looked into his longtime friend’s eyes. “Cam, we gotta play this up. You know that, right?”

“It’s gonna be weird,” she said, shaking her head from side to side.

“I agree. We can do it.”

She tried to smile. Cam took a deep breath and nodded that she was ready. She’d changed out of the evening dress into a business-attire pantsuit and flats.

Bear wheeled the car in front of the employees’ entrance and scrambled around to the passenger side to dutifully open the door for the couple. Gunner exited the car first and helped a stumbling Cam, who playfully flirted with him. She’d assumed the role of the inebriated, semi-coherent woman quite well.

Gunner took her into his arms and kissed her. She slumped as her knees buckled, but she managed to play up the sexual connection with Gunner for the cameras.

He broke their embrace and wrapped his arm around her as he led Cam to the door. He didn’t look up as he made his way to the door in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the security team undoubtedly watching their approach.

Cam had briefed Gunner on Kutcher’s sexually aggressive behavior during the cocktail party. She imagined the security team was aware of the chief financial officer’s conquests and therefore wouldn’t be surprised by his actions on that evening. Once Gunner swiped the man’s identification badge, it was likely the name would instantly be recognized by security.

Once inside the building, the two hung on each other, making out as they stumbled their way through the empty hallways of Knight’s corporate offices. Their original plan, had they had sufficient time, had been to enter Kutcher’s office and scour his files and desk drawers for information. Because of the way Cam had had to deal with her target, they suspected they’d only have ten to fifteen minutes to enter the server room, at best.

“Let’s split up,” said Cam as she nuzzled her head against Gunner’s neck. “They’ll think you plan on taking me to Kutcher’s office anyway. Drop me off, let me tear the place apart and photograph what I can. You don’t need me to access the server room and work with Jackal.”

Gunner kissed her again as he dragged her along another corridor toward the executive office suite of the Knight Gruppe principal officers. “It’s too dangerous to split up.”

She ran her hand inside his shirt and pretended to stumble. He held her up as they approached Kutcher’s office.

“It’s the only way,” she whispered.

“We don’t have comms,” he protested. “How will you let me know if there’s trouble?”

She smiled and playfully swatted at his face as if he was getting too handsy with her. “Silly man. How will you let me know if you are the one in trouble?”

Gunner laughed and gave her a genuine hug. “Fair enough. It wouldn’t be unusual for Kutcher to head to the lower levels, but it’s not likely he’d drag a drunken conquest with him.”

“I am not a conquest,” said Cam as she intentionally stepped on his foot while he swiped the access badge at Kutcher’s office door.

“Damn, Cameron! That hurt.”

“Oh, it’s Cameron now, is it? I’m glad to see I’m not a drunken conquest.”

Gunner semi-shoved her in the door and quickly closed it behind them. “Okay, point made. Seriously, we don’t have much time.”

He made his way for the door. Just as he grabbed the handle, Cam said, “You are actually a pretty good kisser. I can see why La Bambolina couldn’t keep her hands off you.”

Gunner rolled his eyes and exited the office. While Cam rummaged through Kutcher’s files, he walked deliberately back down the hallway to a stairwell leading to the lower levels of the building. He’d just stepped through the door when he received another text message from Jackal.

Jackal: I’m controlling the security cams. Landlines are off.

Gunner replied using voice to text while he made his way downstairs.

Gunner: Good. Let Cam know. She’s in Kutcher’s office. Headed down now.

Jackal: I will. BTW, an ambulance was dispatched to Hohenwerfen.

Gunner picked up the pace and started running down the stairs until he reached a door marked Level 6. He tried to respond to Jackal’s last text, but there was no cell tower coverage at that depth below ground.

He failed to calm himself, so when he burst through the door into level six, the well-lubricated hinges didn’t arrest the door before it slammed against a concrete wall.

Gunner grimaced and quickly grabbed the handle to gently close the door, but it was too late. Footsteps were clamoring down the hallway in his direction. His mind focused on his cursory review of the building’s floor plan. He turned left in the hallway, away from the approaching security personnel. He slowed at each door to study the identification plate.

After several tries, he found it, reading the word aloud. “Technikraum.”

“Halt!” one of the men shouted at him just as he was pulling Kutcher’s thumb out of his pocket.

Gunner never hesitated. He reached into his jacket and drew his silenced weapon out of his shoulder holster. He fired four well-placed shots into the torsos of the approaching security guards. Their forward momentum carried them toward him until they crashed to the concrete floor by his feet. He shot each of them in the temple to confirm they were dead.

Gunner quickly accessed the technology room. The lights turned on automatically as the door opened. He searched through the room for the workstations that Jackal had suggested would be part of any IT department’s server arrangement. He moved quickly toward the center of the six-foot-tall racks of servers. The air-conditioned space was filled with the slight hum of processors and the fans that cooled them. Multicolored indicator lights filled the space as data was collected, analyzed, and sent off to computers throughout Knight’s business operations.

“Here we go,” he muttered as he arrived at a single computer station in the center of the room. He slid into the seat behind the keyboard and entered the username and password obtained from Kutcher. He immediately was granted access.

Gunner powered up his phone and navigated to the Notes app on the screen. He opened the step-by-step instructions provided by Jackal. At this point, he had several options to breach the firewall and allow Jackal remote access to the server. The goal was to download as many files to the Den’s computers as possible before the Gray Fox team was discovered having its way with Knight’s most protected data. Because the information on the servers was secretive, Jackal had to provide different methods for Gunner to gain access, all of which were based upon her best assumptions.

Ideally, they’d have more than ten minutes. Gunner had no idea he had less than that. He took a deep breath and started at the top.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Knight Gruppe AG

Salzburg, Austria

In Kutcher’s office, Cam didn’t even bother taking pictures. After receiving Jackal’s text indicating she had limited time, she began video recording everything she uncovered. She’d then send them to the Den via encrypted text message. She didn’t attempt to read what she discovered in his desk drawers in order to determine the documents’ relevance. She’d leave that to the analysts.

In the single file cabinet, which was locked, there were several three-ring binders containing journal entries. She found it odd that the chief financial officer of a major international conglomerate would maintain any records in such an old-school format. The handwriting, written in German, would have been a challenge for her to translate anyway. All she could do was hold her camera in place as she thumbed through them at a frenetic pace.

After she completed recording, she received a text message from the Den.

Jackal: Barbarians at the gate. Suggest a change of location near your point of entry.

Cam: Roger that. Gunner?

Jackal: Unknown.

Cam wasn’t going to leave Gunner. Then she had an idea. They hadn’t used the sewer running beneath Salzburg to get in. However, they might be able to use it to get out.

Cam: Tell Bear to meet us at original insertion point. Lock down the building to bide time.

Jackal: The manhole?

Cam: Roger. Tunnel exit. Out.

She didn’t wait for a reply. She raced out into the hallway, where she heard excited voices emanating from the building’s main lobby. Cam didn’t hesitate as she raced for the door accessing the lower levels. When she reached level six, she slowly opened the door, leading the way with her pistol.

The hallway was quiet. She stepped in and shut the door behind her. With her weapon drawn, she rounded the corner leading to the server room before abruptly stopping. She’d come upon Gunner’s handiwork.

She picked up the guards’ weapons and took their identification badges. She tried to swipe them to gain entry into the technology room, but the guards didn’t have sufficient access to enter. She had to get Gunner’s attention, so she took a chance.

She pounded on the door with her fist and then knelt on the floor, where she slid one of the men’s bloodied access cards under the door for him to see. She knocked repeatedly with no response. Finally, she took a chance by calling out his name.

The door swung open and Gunner appeared, holding his gun and a keyboard. “I’m ready.”

“What are you gonna do with that?”

Gunner holstered his weapon and broke the keyboard over the top of his thigh. “Slow ’em down.”

He tossed the broken keyboard on one of the dead men as the two raced back to the emergency exit door.

“Change of plans,” said Cam as they slowly entered the stairwell. “We have to exit the way we planned to enter originally.”

“The tunnels?”

“Marvelous, right?”

Gunner led the way. “It’ll be an adventure.”

They moved quickly down to the basement of the eighteenth-century prison’s lower levels. In the past, some of Austria’s worst criminals had been incarcerated in the building. It had been turned into a museum in the 1950s before being acquired by Knight Gruppe for its worldwide headquarters. A major renovation in the 1980s required a set of engineered architectural drawings accessible by Jackal and her team. That was how they’d learned of the access point through the sewers.

The two ran through the dark bowels of the building, ducking below steam pipes and stepping over concrete curbs designed to keep water compartmentalized in the event of flooding. The Salzach River ran near the building and was prone to flooding when heavy rains were combined with snowmelts in the Alps. It was a known problem that the stormwater drainage and the sewer tunnels were both filled from time to time during these heavy rain events.

Access to the tunnels was through a series of grates and manhole covers similar to those found on the streets of Salzburg. Gunner and Cam raced along the dank walls of the basement in search of the single manhole cover that was located in the basement according to the engineering plans.

“There it is,” said Cam as she ran ahead. She arrived out of breath before dropping to her knees. She stuck her thumb and index fingers through the holes at the top and lifted. The cast-iron cover didn’t budge. “Jeez, this thing is sealed shut.”

Gunner stayed calm. “Nah, just heavy. Two-fifty, probably.”

“How are we gonna open it? Coming in, we would’ve just lifted it and pushed it out of the way.”

Gunner walked around in search of a pry bar or a manhole hook used to open the cover. There wasn’t anything around them that would work.

“Let’s try working together,” Gunner suggested. He pulled his knife out of the sheath strapped to his right leg. “The blade would never be strong enough to pry it open. If we can lift it with our hands, then I’ll slide the handle into the gap with my knee to hold it open. I can take it the rest of the way after that.”

“It’s all we’ve got,” said Cam.

The two operatives slid next to each other and stuck their fingers into the holes of the cast-iron cover as if they were positioning them into a bowling ball. Gunner positioned his knee over the blade of his knife so he could shove the handle into the gap created when they lifted.

“Ready?” he asked.

“On three?”

“Sure,” replied Gunner. He counted them down. “One. Two. Three.”

Both of them grunted and hoisted the manhole cover up an inch and a half. As planned, Gunner pushed his right knee forward until the knife wedged into the space created by their efforts. The cover dropped on top of the handle, but they’d accomplished their purpose.

“Hell yeah!” said Cam enthusiastically. She lowered her body to look at the small gap they’d created. “Um, is that enough to get your fingers in there?”

Gunner turned so that he straddled the cover. He bent over and carefully inserted his fingers into the gap. He was able to slide both hands in up to his knuckles.

“I think that’s all I need. Will you grab my knife when I lift it?”

Cam nodded and grabbed the serrated side of the blade. “Ready when you are.”

Gunner nodded, took a deep breath, and heaved the hundred-year-old solid cast-iron disc into the air as if he were executing a deadlift at the gym. A seal of dirt and dust caused some resistance, but Gunner grunted as his back muscles pulled it upward. Seconds later, the cover was free and set off to the side.

Cam spontaneously hugged her partner. Gunner laughed and said, “Yeah, that was fun.”

Cam looked into the darkened tunnel below, and then the excitement drained out of her body.

“Seriously?” she asked sarcastically.

“What?”

“No ladder.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Knight Gruppe AG

Salzburg, Austria

Gunner dropped to his knees next to Cam and peered into the dark tunnel. He retrieved his cell phone and activated the flashlight app. They were thirty feet above the murky waters of the sewer. Gunner sighed and turned to lay on his belly. He crawled and bent his upper body so it protruded through the manhole opening. Cam quickly slid behind him to sit on the backs of his thighs so he didn’t fall through.

“Whadya think?” she asked.

Gunner’s voice was muffled and sounded hollow as he responded, “Thirty-to-forty-foot drop. There’s water, but there’s no way to tell how deep it is and whether it will help break our fall.”

“I can’t believe the Den missed this,” complained Cam.

“This is what happens when you have to go into an operation on the fly. It sucks. Listen, I need to drop in a little farther so I can see the ceiling.”

Cam rose on her knees to allow Gunner to slide into the opening a little more. When he appeared to have too much momentum, she sat on the backs of his legs again and gripped the manhole cover for leverage.

“Anything?”

WOOF! WOOF!

A dog let out a deep, husky bark.

“Did you hear that?” asked Gunner.

“Yeah. It wasn’t down there?”

The dog barked again. It was excited now and closer.

Cam’s head swung back and forth to search for the source of the barking. “Dammit! It’s up here. Maybe in the stairwell. We gotta do something.”

“There’s a pipe running underneath the concrete floor. I can reach one of its supports.”

Gunner studied the drainage pipe. It led up the slope of the tunnel for as far as his flashlight app would illuminate. It would make their drop to the ground much shorter if they could move in that direction.

On the one hand, he was relieved to see it was an ancient cast-iron pipe instead of a newer aluminum or even PVC material. However, he immediately wondered how long it had been there and whether it would hold their weight.

“I hear voices,” Cam warned in a voice just louder than a whisper.

“All right, let me down a little more so I can grab this pipe. Once I have ahold of it, I’ll set up for you to reach your arm through, and I’ll pull you over to it.”

“Like a freakin’ trapeze artist?”

“Yeah, something like that. Listen, just get ready. If it’ll hold me, it should hold us both.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Do you remember when we used to jump off roofs as kids?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, don’t forget what to do. Now, ease up on my legs.”

Cam lifted her body off his, allowing gravity to pull him down. In a split second, Gunner slipped through the manhole and the layer of bedrock separating the tunnel from the building’s foundation.

With a powerful, viselike grip, he clamped his hand on the pipe’s cast-iron support. His body weight carried him down, and then he spun as his body turned upright. The momentum challenged Gunner’s strength, yet he held on. He hung in the air for a few seconds to allow the swinging to stop; then he grasped the pipe with both hands to relieve the pressure on his right arm.

“You still there?” asked Cam through the opening.

“Yeah. Give me a second.”

“That’s all we’ve got.”

Gunner positioned himself as close to the manhole as he could. He did a chin-up to wrap his legs around the pipe. Once his face and body were parallel to the ceiling, he turned so his body was inverted and the backs of his knees were wrapped over the pipe as if it were a trapeze swing. He extended his feet so his toes wedged against the ceiling to provide him additional leverage.

Using his abdominal muscles, Gunner lifted his upper body until he could grip the opening of the manhole. He stretched out his right hand so Cam could see it.

“I see it,” she whispered. “We’re out of time.”

Gunner could hear the dog’s bark echo through the concrete basement hallway. They were close.

“Okay, drop your legs down first. When I have your ankle, I’m gonna tell you to release.”

Cam reversed her position and sat on the edge of the opening. She slowly dropped through, holding onto the rim of the manhole opening with her hands. Suddenly, both of Gunner’s powerful hands gripped her ankles.

“Drop!” he shouted.

Trusting her friend and partner, Cam let go of the edge and fell downward. Her body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as she dropped into the dark tunnel until it jerked to a stop as if she’d just deployed a parachute.

She was now swinging back and forth, upside down, breathing heavily. Cam’s heart raced as she got her bearings and the swinging subsided.

“Now what?” she asked in a remarkably calm manner.

“Bend at the waist until you can grab my wrists,” Gunner replied.

Cam forced her upper torso toward Gunner, using her pants to pull herself closer to his wrists. With a final effort, she got a firm grasp on his arms.

“I’m good,” she said.

“Hold tight. I’m gonna slowly release your ankles. You need to use your abs to allow your legs to gradually descend. If you go too fast, your momentum may break our grip. After I release, I’ll be holding your wrists. Got it?”

Cam took a deep breath and tightened her abdominal muscles. “Okay.”

Gunner released her ankles and firmly grasped her wrists. Cam tried to lower her legs as slowly as possible. The barking dog in the hallway above distracted her.

“I’ve got you,” said Gunner. He encouraged her. “Easy. Easy.”

Once she was vertical again, he pulled her up until she could reach the iron support that affixed the pipe to the ceiling. He used his muscles to elevate her body to relieve some of her body weight as she got a grip.

“Jeez,” she said as she finally exhaled. “I’m good.”

Cam held onto the pipe with both hands, her legs dangling downward. She focused on keeping her grip.

“Good. Just one more thing.” Before turning his own body upright, he rummaged through his pockets. He used his ab muscles one more time to thrust his upper body toward the manhole opening. Then he tossed Kutcher’s thumb upward until it landed on the floor of the concrete hallway.

“Was that his—?”

“Yeah. They might think it’s one of ours and try to pull a print. Or the pup gets a treat. Either way, it might buy us a little time.”

Cam laughed. She slid her hands on the outside of the pipe and began to slowly move her way into the tunnel. Gunner swung his body around and followed a safe distance behind. He didn’t want to put too much weight on a single support.

Soon, the security guards could be heard talking excitedly. Their flashlights illuminated the inside of the tunnel directly below the manhole opening, but none of them bothered to lower themselves into the opening like Gunner had. As a result, they never saw the two Gray Fox operatives inching their way along until it was safer to drop.

After shimmying along for seventy feet or so, Cam delivered the bad news.

“We’re out of pipe.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Salzburg, Austria

The cast-iron pipe abruptly turned upward through the concrete and bedrock. They were still thirty feet above the tunnel and the gently flowing water. They both hung in the air, surveying their options.

Gunner and Cam had had an interesting childhood together. While others played video games or organized sports, they tested the bounds of their bodies by running long distances, climbing unexpected structures from trees to buildings, and dropping from roofs.

They’d always considered thirty feet as that unofficial boundary between survival and serious injury or death. Even a ten-foot jump could result in broken ankles, twisted knees, or hip pointers resulting from the impact. Of course, there had been a few recorded cases of people falling thousands of feet and miraculously surviving. Gunner used to point these instances out to Cam, who promptly responded they were deemed miraculous for a reason.

“You’ve got this, Cam.”

“I know. It’s been a while.” She took a deep breath and let out a long exhale. It was important to keep her body relaxed. If her joints tensed, the potential for injury increased.

Gunner continued to help his friend. “I think the actual drop will be more like a couple of dozen feet. You know, feet to ground.”

Cam looked downward. Gunner swung like a monkey, grasping the bar with one hand and holding his cell phone so the flashlight illuminated the landing area.

“I’m ready,” she declared.

“Okay. I’ll go first. I’ll hold the light on for you and help break your fall if necessary.”

Cam repeated what she’d learned as a child and perfected while in training at Hurlburt Field near Fort Walton Beach, Florida.

“Knees bent and together. Torso steady. Body soft. Stick the landing, balls of my feet shoulder width.”

Gunner chuckled. “Like riding a bike, right?”

“Yeah. Let’s roll,” Cam replied confidently.

Gunner put away his phone right after Cam illuminated hers. He wasted no time in releasing the pipe. When his feet hit the water, he executed a perfect landing roll by pushing his body with one foot and forcing his right shoulder toward the bottom of the tunnel. This allowed the water to help break his fall.

The water was three feet deep and only slightly helped with the impact. However, the groan he let out was less about the pain that jolted through his body but rather the smell of the wastewater that covered him.

“You okay?” asked Cam.

Gunner wiped the sewer water off his face and brushed off his clothing. He didn’t dare tell Cam what was in store for her. She’d never let go of the pipe.

“Yeah. I decided to roll at the last second. It helped a little.”

“I’ll do the same,” said Cam.

Gunner powered on his flashlight so she could see the landing area better. “You’ve got about three feet of water. Just remember to keep your head tucked and let your shoulder take the impact.”

“Roger that. Now or never.”

Cam exhaled again and dropped. She hit the ground a little harder than she wanted to, rolling upon impact as Gunner had. She was submerged briefly and came up coughing. She spit water out of her mouth and then hurled expletives at Gunner he didn’t know existed.

“Anything broken?” he asked.

“Your jaw, asshole. Why didn’t you tell me this was shit water?”

“Um, you didn’t ask?” Gunner offered a lame response.

Cam angrily reached down and splashed the sewer water on Gunner. He was about to return the favor when the sound of a dog barking echoed through the tunnel.

Cam turned and began sloshing through the water up the slope toward the exit. “Come on. I’ll deal with you later.”

She clawed her way up the slight slope to a narrow pathway along the tunnel wall that remained dry. Gunner did the same on the other side of the tunnel so the two of them weren’t close to one another, thus providing a single target for their pursuers. They moved deliberately in the darkness, opting not to draw attention to themselves with their flashlights. Both operatives had been trained in moving stealthily in darkness, using dim light and their inner senses to maneuver.

Gunner retrieved his phone and checked for a signal. It was a single bar, but it was something. He phoned Bear.

“Hey!” he responded. “Y’all sure kicked the hornet’s nest.”

“We’re moving through the tunnel. Need an extraction point.”

“Stand by. I’ll have them get a fix on your position.”

Bear could be heard typing on a small keyboard, likely Cam’s laptop. He didn’t dare break the phone connection with Gunner.

“I see light,” whispered Cam loudly across the tunnel. Gunner turned his attention forward. He too could see a change in the brightness of the tunnel’s interior. What encouraged him further was that the light was a steady bluish-white. It wasn’t the usual dancing, flickering effect created by flashlights being used by a search party.

“Gotcha!” exclaimed Bear through the phone. “Keep moving forward until you see another tunnel coming in from your right. Take the turn and you’ll come out near the river. I’ll meet you there.”

“Roger.” Gunner disconnected the call and told Cam to join him.

They moved along the wall and turned right, as Bear had instructed. Within minutes, the tunnel began to narrow and grew shorter in height. Eventually, they were on their hands and knees, crawling through a rainwater-filled drainpipe toward the opening.

They shuffled along until Gunner was able to peek his head out of the culvert. There was an empty parking lot that was surrounded by shrubs and trees on two sides and the river on the third. There was no sign of Bear.

Gunner received a text from the Den.

Jackal: Extract point is through the trees on the other side of the parking lot. Residential neighborhood. Hostiles above you.

Gunner didn’t bother replying. He tapped Cam on the arm and raised his index finger to his lips, indicating she should stay quiet.

He crawled through the opening until he was able to stand against a concrete wall supporting an embankment. There were dogs barking and several men speaking to one another in German.

Cam joined his side. She looked toward the river. The parking lot ran directly up to its banks. To their right, the gentle slope eventually placed them at the same elevation as their pursuers.

Gunner nodded that he’d observed the same. He leaned into her and whispered, “We’re gonna have to haul ass across the parking lot. We’ll be halfway before they can see us.”

“About a hundred yards. Separate and zigzag?” she asked.

Gunner nodded. “We’ll be exposed for about seven seconds.”

“They’ll never react that quickly. I say we go for it.”

Gunner raised his finger. “Let me tell Bear.”

Gunner: Coming in hot. 20 seconds. Might have company.

Bear: Bring it.

Gunner counted them down with his right hand. Three. Two. One.

They took off in a dead sprint, reaching the center of the parking lot before the dogs noticed them first. The barking caused the guards to ready their weapons, but by the time they took their first shots, Gunner and Cam had hurdled over a row of low-lying shrubs before entering the trees buffering the parking lot from the adjacent residences.

Bullets sailed over their heads, tearing through the trees and splintering the bark. A cacophony of dogs began to bark in the neighborhoods, and several lights turned on in the homes.

They cut between two homes and burst out into the open on a quiet residential street. An engine roared to life and tires squealed as Bear drove up the street to pick them up. Gunner and Cam flung open the passenger doors. Jackal’s voice could be heard over the sedan’s speakers.

“They’re moving toward you across the parking lot. Three groups of two. Each with dogs.”

“Dang, y’all stink!” was the greeting they received from Bear once they closed the doors behind them.

“Shut up!” yelled Cam. “Get us out of here.”

“Roll down your windows first,” he shot back.

Ghost’s stern voice came over the speakers. “Focus, people. You’ve got some work to do.”

Through the woods, flashlights were dancing around as the searchers got closer. Bear forced the gas pedal down, and the sedan lurched forward.

“In a quarter mile, turn hard left,” said Jackal.

“Why do you two smell like ass?” asked Bear.

“I’m warning you!” Cam meant it.

Bear whipped the wheel to the left in front of a few approaching vehicles, earning him a blare of a utility truck’s horn.

Jackal continued to provide guidance. “Continue on this street for eight-tenths of a mile. You’ll merge left onto the highway and cross the river into Germany. As of yet, you have no pursuers.”

Gunner turned sideways in his seat and looked at Cam. He reached through and offered his fist. She bumped it in return and smiled before collapsing against the back of her seat.

“God, I stink,” she said with a groan.

“I told you.”

Cam smacked Bear in the back of the head. “I can say it. You can’t.”

“Huh?”

Gunner swatted at Bear, who easily dodged the assault. “You don’t learn, do you?”

Bear sat a little taller in his seat. “I call ’em as I see ’em.”

Their vehicle sped across the Saalach River into Germany en route to Munich. The three operatives thought it would be an opportunity to gather their thoughts and relax before returning home.

That was when they learned about Detroit.

Part III

“Defeat? I do not recognize the meaning of the word.”

~ Margaret Thatcher, 1982, at the start of the Falklands War

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Castle Bariloche

Bariloche, Argentina

Henry Gruber generally remained calm and collected during a crisis. Odessa had operated in the shadows and under the radar for decades. Under his mother’s steady leadership and sound guidance, not only had the international conglomerates they controlled flourished, but their tentacles had inserted themselves into the highest levels of government around the world. Now, because one of their most trusted subordinates had a lapse of judgment, they were exposed.

Derek Gruber and Daniel Wagner, both of whom had been jubilant in their recent successful attacks on America, were being dressed down by the head of die Zwölf. Henry demanded answers.

Had Kutcher been thoroughly vetted nine years ago before elevating him to his position as CFO of Knight Gruppe? Was there any inkling of his proclivities toward young women? How could a woman half his size manage to steal his identification and his thumb?

Henry didn’t wait for answers as he fired one salvo after another against his brother and Wagner. While Kutcher would soon be executed, determining what the American operatives obtained in the way of information was critical.

“Kutcher’s office was ransacked, sir,” began Wagner. “After we regained control of our surveillance system and studied the time stamped on the Americans’ activities, it appeared they were in his office for less than eight minutes. Kutcher was required to review every physical file and journal in his office to determine if anything was missing. It was not.”

“Photographs?” asked Derek.

“A possibility, but unless they knew exactly what to look for, they weren’t there long enough to rifle through his drawers and then enter level six.”

“Did they access his computer?” asked Derek.

“No,” replied Wagner. “All of our computer devices, including top-level officers’, are required to be equipped with a keystroke monitoring software called Keystroke Logger. There was no indication that his computer terminal was accessed, and therefore the software didn’t capture any activity.”

Henry poured himself a third brandy. His hands shook as he took a sip. The older man was clearly shaken by the breach. He hung his head and tried to regain his composure.

“What about the server room?” he asked and then added, “Against mother’s better judgment, we were dragged into the world of modern technology. It always concerned her that Odessa was vulnerable to anyone who could gain access to the information stored on those servers.”

Derek responded, “Our technology personnel continue to review the activity at the computer station located within the server room. This is the one computer system in the building that does not include the keystroke-monitoring software. The technology people are reviewing access logs, searches, and data transfers to give us an idea what they were looking for.”

“Mein Gott,” said Henry with a groan.

Derek tried to ease his brother’s concerns. “We have layers upon layers of protections. While it is true that certain information can be garnered from their intrusion, it doesn’t mean the entities that fall under the Knight Gruppe umbrella are at risk. They are completely legitimate and aboveboard. They pay their taxes. They are good corporate citizens. The people they hire are above reproach despite their indiscretions, like Kutcher.”

“Somebody thought our data was worth killing for!” Henry shot back. “They drugged our chief financial officer and cut off his thumb! They’re not vandals or miscreants. They’re coming for us!”

Wagner was careful not to speak out of turn. He wanted his employers to focus on their ongoing operation, one that Odessa had waited to undertake for generations.

He felt compelled to add, “Nothing will deter us from completing our mission, sir. Every aspect of covert activities is funded and undertaken outside of the Knight Gruppe companies.”

“That’s right, Henry,” added Derek. “Mother made sure die Zwölf always maintained several levels of separation that kept our legitimate business and philanthropic concerns apart from our ideological endeavors.”

Derek’s statement seemed to calm his brother, who finally stopped pacing and sat at his desk. He finished off the third brandy but didn’t ask for another, a sign that he was becoming more comfortable with what had happened.

Wagner tried to add more reassurance to the aging grandson of Heinrich Himmler. “We are going on the offensive to track down the operatives who’ve been a gnat in our ears for the last two weeks. We have not yet identified them specifically, and the fact their facial features and fingerprints do not appear in any known databases tells us a lot.”

“It tells me nothing,” said Henry with a slight chuckle. “This trio has evaded our screening. They’ve meddled with our contacts at the Vatican. They’ve killed our security personnel and had their way with our most secretive corporate records. That tells me they’re very good at what they do.”

“Yes, sir, which means they must be a part of American intelligence and operating under the purview of only a handful of agencies. Through Hexane, we’ve initiated a worldwide manhunt among our controlled security entities. Within thirty-six hours, I will have their photographs in the hands of the Austrian Criminal Intelligence Service as well as Interpol. They will become the subject of an international manhunt with their faces posted in every airport, train station, and border crossing.”

“Why wait?” asked Henry. “Why not do this now?”

“I want to interrogate them myself to find out what they know and who they report to. If we can’t find them, then at the very least, I can neutralize them by declaring them to be international assassins.

“Also, with your permission, I’d like to call upon General Holzcraft. He will have access to deep-cover operatives within the United States government. If he can’t help, then we may need to try an ally higher up the food chain.”

“Remy Weber?” asked Henry.

“Yes, sir,” replied Wagner. “Derek has advised me that we don’t like to use this asset more than absolutely necessary. I’d maintain that this may be a pretty good reason. Give me through tomorrow evening. I’ll report to Derek at that time.”

Derek leaned over his brother’s desk. “Henry, let me assure you that we intend to finish what our grandfather started so many years ago. We have risen from the ashes, and nothing can stop us from rebuilding the Reich.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Munich, Germany

After a brief stop in Siegsdorf, Germany, a half hour west of Salzburg, during which Gunner and Cam cleaned up, the trio arrived in Munich. The Den had arranged for a two-bedroom suite with an additional connecting room for the exhausted operatives to crash. Showers, room service, and much-needed sleep were their priorities. They hadn’t planned on scheduling a wake-up call, as the Den assured the team they could rest before being ferried to their next location. It was Gunner, however, who provided the wake-up call.

“We’re not detectives!” Gunner’s raised voice stirred Cam awake in the adjoining hotel room. “They’re killing people by the thousands, and we’re over here chasing down hard drives and aristocrats.”

Ghost allowed his top operative an opportunity to blow off some steam. Gunner was expressing the same frustration that everyone in U.S. intelligence and law enforcement felt at the moment. It was a combination of anger and helplessness, as two major terrorist attacks had happened on their watch. Other agencies were no closer to identifying the instigators than they were before the football game in Santa Clara. The Gray Fox team was, and Ghost reminded Gunner of that fact.

“You can’t help your country by being back here with the rest of them, chasing their tails and squabbling about jurisdiction. Find the head of the snake, Gunner. The rest will fall into place.”

Gunner continued to pace the room. He grabbed a handful of peanuts from the prior evening’s snacks and dropped them one by one into their bowl. It was a mindless activity that allowed him a moment to gather his thoughts.

He took a deep breath and acknowledged a sleepy-eyed Cam, who’d just entered the living area in the suite. Bear was still sawing logs.

“Did you make coffee?” she asked.

Gunner shook his head, so she flipped him the middle finger to signal what she thought about his oversight. This caused him to smile. He pitied the man who’d marry his best friend someday. She was fiercely loyal but, well, expressive at times.

He turned his attention back to the Den. “Okay, so what’s the plan? Did Jackal get inside the servers at Knight?”

“She did for a very brief period of time,” replied Ghost. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It was all hands on deck from the moment she took down the firewall. I’ve never seen anything like it. They were like honeybees attacking an intruder in the hive. The room was buzzing with techno-geek speak. The keyboards were clattering. Jackal was barking out instructions. It was incredible to watch.”

“So they got everything they needed?” asked Gunner.

“We don’t know, but she doesn’t believe so. In less than five minutes, security protocols from a source outside Knight took over the system and reestablished the firewall. At some point, as the security team was closing in on you, IT people from another location blocked us out.”

“Damn! Don’t tell me it was a waste of time.”

“No, I didn’t say that. Important stuff like financial and real estate holdings was captured. Personnel files outside of the corporate office were not. The good news is that the financial records date back many decades, almost to the fifties.”

“Did it give us enough to go on?” Gunner asked as Cam handed him a mug of black coffee. He took a sip and winced. It tasted awful. Most hotel-supplied coffee was stale and low quality.

“We decided to look for connections to Argentina based on your hunch that the professor’s dying words pointed you in that direction. There was very little in Knight’s servers, but the video recording Cam took of the old ledgers in Kutcher’s office shed some light. Everything points to a small town in the Patagonia region called San Carlos de Bariloche, or Bariloche, for short.”

Bear wandered into the room. “What’s going on? I thought we could sleep in.”

Cam shushed him and pointed to Gunner on the phone. Bear scowled and entered the small kitchen area in search of coffee and something to munch on. He opted for the peanuts Gunner had just dropped back into the bowl.

While Cam and Bear listened intently to Gunner’s side of the phone conversation with Ghost, they turned on the television to watch BBC, the only English-speaking news network they could locate. They were showing images of the carnage in Detroit and interviewing eyewitnesses to the aftermath of the power outage.

“Okay, we’ll be ready. I’ll call when we touch down.”

Gunner disconnected the call and tossed his cell phone on the table in the midst of the empty beer bottles from the night before. He ran his hands through his hair, which was now getting shaggy.

“Okay? So where are we headed?” Cam asked impatiently.

“Let’s saddle up, gauchos. We’re headed to Argentina.”

Chapter Thirty

Over the South Atlantic Ocean

The weary Gray Fox operatives got settled into their seats aboard the Gulfstream IV jet supplied by the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, which had a substantial presence in South America. This Gulfstream model was the same configuration as the aircraft preferred by celebrities, with a few major exceptions. Instead of hot tubs and flat-screen televisions, it carried a cache of weapons and special ops gear enabling the team to fulfill the next phase of their mission to unmask the principals behind Odessa.

After a quick stop for jet fuel on La Palma, located within the Canary Island archipelago and best known for Cumbre Vieja, an active volcanic ridge, the Gulfstream was airborne once again across the South Atlantic. Despite the additional stop, the trip was infinitely shorter than flying commercial because the private jet wasn’t bound by the usual delays required by ground control.

During their stop, they were able to download the dossier on the principals of Odessa who had ties to Argentina. Two of the men had been raised there. A third had recently traveled there from Azerbaijan, a connection that Gunner immediately picked up on.

“Let’s talk about this Daniel Wagner guy. Check out the résumé. He’s a former KSK commander.”

“Kommando Spezialkraefte,” offered Cam. “Elite special forces in the same mold as Delta.”

“He’s a freakin’ Nazi,” said Bear with a gruff. “He got das boot from the KSK because his people flashed swastikas everywhere.”

“Why would Knight Gruppe have him on the payroll?” asked Cam. “Private security?”

“It’s possible,” replied Gunner. “If Germany doesn’t have a unit like ours to pick up malcontents like Wagner, the private sector is his only option. Based upon his reason for dismissal, I’m surprised they didn’t kick him out of Germany altogether.”

“Okay,” began Cam. “Let’s say it’s private security. He hires a bunch of his buddies who also got das boot, as Bear said, and they walk around with flashlights at Knight’s offices or some other corporation’s headquarters. Any former KSK would be grossly overqualified for that kinda gig.”

“Well, it depends on the secrets they’re trying to hide,” argued Gunner. “It’s been bothering me about how fast they picked up our trip to Northern Germany after we left Berlin. That’s more than what a typical corporate security team could accomplish. Then, think about the guys who stormed von Zwick’s place. They were pros.”

“Big whoop,” said Bear. “We were better pros, right?” He and Cam exchanged high fives.

Gunner threw cold water on his partners. “No offense, guys, but I’m not sure that was their A team. Here’s another thing. Wagner was in Azerbaijan about the time of the embassy attack. I’m gonna have Jackal pull any security footage she can find from the embassy. Even afterwards. They can run a facial-features match with his service records from the KSK.”

Gunner paused the conversation while he sent Jackal a quick message through the jet’s satellite internet connection. It wasn’t fast or capable of large downloads, but it certainly allowed for text message or email communications.

“Okay, let’s assume he’s Odessa, and I’m willing to lean in that direction,” began Cam. “Why would he come to Argentina after the embassy attack?”

“Think about it, Cam. Why do we go back to the Den? Most times, anyway.”

“Regroup,” she said.

“Exactly,” Gunner continued his thought. “If Argentina is the key to this whole Odessa thing, as I think Professor von Zwick believed, then Odessa’s operations may very well be in Buenos Aries or elsewhere in Argentina.”

Bear reached across the table that separated the leather seats in the main cabin of the Gulfstream, and retrieved two photographs. He tapped the images of Derek and Henry Gruber with his index finger.

“These two aren’t KSK. They look like that guy in the Stephen King movie Needful Things. Remember him? The devil guy?”

“Max von Sydow,” replied Cam.

“Yeah, him. That guy was old enough to be a Nazi, too.”

Cam slugged Bear, causing him to flinch. “Hey!”

“Idiot. Just ’cause he was from Germany or Sweden or someplace in Europe doesn’t make him a Nazi. Gunner’s mom was a German, and she wasn’t a Nazi.”

Bear rubbed his arm and then fiddled with the photographs again. “I know, I’m just sayin’ if I were gonna draw a picture of an old Nazi, these two would be perfect models.”

Gunner sent Jackal another text.

Gunner: We need genealogy on Wagner and the two brothers, Derek and Henry.

“Their only remote connection to Knight and therefore Odessa is that they live in a castle that had its taxes paid by one of their multinational corporations for a brief period of time years ago. According to Jackal’s research, the property has been held in multiple trusts all connected to the same law firm in Argentina—Vivanco & Vivanco.”

“Hey, check this out,” said Cam excitedly. “Their mother died recently. She was well known in this small town called Bariloche. This is a write-up about her private funeral.”

Gunner sat back in his seat and stared out the porthole-style window as the jet was on final approach to Buenos Aires. Black smoke could be seen off in the distance as fires burned out of control on Argentina’s delta where the Parana River emptied into the South Atlantic. Severe drought had caused the river to shrivel to its lowest level in half a century, grounding boats and halting navigation. The dry conditions were ripe to help the wildfires spread.

Gunner asked, “Cam, where was the funeral? Was she a Catholic?”

“Bariloche, and yes, she was a Catholic, but that’s not that unusual in South America,” she replied.

“True, but tell me about the church. Just a hunch. When was it built? Any major renovations?”

Cam searched through her copy of the dossier on her laptop. She scowled and shook her head side to side. “I don’t—wait. Here, sorry. Cathedral, not church. It was built in the mid-to-late …” Cam’s eyes grew wide as her voice trailed off. She looked up from her laptop, and her gaze met Gunner’s.

“Late forties?” he finished her sentence inquisitively.

She simply nodded her response.

Chapter Thirty-One

Buenos Aires, Argentina

They were greeted at Campo de Mayo, an Argentine Army installation just northwest of Buenos Aires, by a U.S. Army contingent dispatched by the U.S. Southern Command. In the last decade as relations between Washington and the Argentine government continued to improve, USSOUTHCOM was given authority to build several naval and military installations around the country.

The push came as China had established a military-run space station in Argentina’s Patagonia region with a powerful sixteen-story antenna, ostensibly to study the heavens. Shrouded in secrecy, the high-security facility was supposed to have a museum and visitors’ center open to the public. That never materialized. With no oversight by the Argentine authorities and no access for the public, Washington became increasingly concerned that China was using the space station as cover for a massive spy operation.

To counter China’s continued reach into South America, USSOUTHCOM established a military facility manned in part by the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, or DTRA, in the Argentine province of Neuquén. The base was a five-hour drive from Bariloche.

After a three-hour helicopter ride, the Gray Fox team and their gear were unloaded into a conference room, where they were linked up by video to the Den. The base was full of covert operatives either fighting the war on drugs in the region or monitoring the Chinese presence in the lower end of the South American continent. They were accustomed to nameless personnel coming and going at all times of the day or night. When Gunner and the team unloaded their gear and got established, no one gave them a second thought.

“Let’s get started,” said Ghost as he stood in the center of the operations center at the Den. Each of the analysts stopped their work so they could be called upon during the briefing of the Gray Fox team field operatives. “Let me say this first. We’ve tried to keep our investigation within the confines of the Den and the three of you. That’s becoming exceedingly difficult as we call upon assets of other branches of government, including your hosts in Argentina.”

Ghost paused as he removed his jacket. Gunner nudged Cam and whispered, “I’ve never seen him like this. I doubt he’s slept.”

“I haven’t, Gunner,” Ghost interrupted, whose hearing had not been affected by his fatigue. “There’ll be time for that later. Now, the reason interagency cooperation is the delay factor. Based on the briefings I’ve attended with other intelligence agencies, we have the best leads on who’s behind these attacks. If we shared our information, you’d be pulled out, and the cockroaches you’re pursuing would scatter. Surprise is the key.”

“Do the other intelligence people offer any help to us whatsoever?” asked Gunner.

“They’re focusing on the terrorists’ next move. It’s presumed the largest populated cities like LA, Chicago, Washington, and of course, New York, are the most likely targets. They’ll beef up security in one locale until new active intelligence leads them to another. There have been minor hacks on small utilities near each of these targets. Each one draws more and more resources toward the large metro areas and the capital, of course.”

“How confident are we that Argentina is the right place to start?” asked Cam.

Ghost stepped out of the camera’s view and allowed Jackal to respond.

“I’m one hundred percent certain this is the proper next step. Gunner certainly asked all the right questions. First, let me address the players involved.”

Jackal paused while she made a couple of keyboard entries. Their screen filled with images of Daniel Wagner. She continued. “Our team has been able to track Wagner’s whereabouts via surveillance footage and airport appearances. I can confirm he was in Azerbaijan when you three were there. Also, shortly thereafter, he was picked up on a facial-recognition camera in Washington State just prior to the attack on Levi’s Stadium. It’s possible he staged his assets somewhere in Eastern Washington, a known stronghold for white supremacists and neo-Nazi groups.”

“Jackal, have you confirmed that Wagner is here?” asked Gunner.

She replied while switching the screen to reveal a somewhat blurred image of Wagner and another man sitting at an open-air café in Bariloche. “We have. Derek Gruber also. We’ve been studying live-cam footage from Bariloche using our own eyes as well as facial-recognition programs. Two cams, one covering downtown and the other known as Centro Civico, which constantly streams the European-style town square surrounded by shops and cafes, provided us hits.

“For the last week, the two men have come into the town at three in the afternoon for drinks and a light meal. They stay until just before dark and then return to the castle.”

“Here we go with the castles again, right?” said Bear with a chuckle.

Ghost ignored his comment and said, “We think this will be an opportunity to get close to these two men while their security is most lax. They are comfortable while dining, and it’s obvious they are very familiar with their surroundings.

“The elder brother, Henry, has not attended these meals with Derek and the former KSK commander, Wagner. I don’t know if there is anything to read into that, so I won’t speculate. It could be a health issue. We don’t know.”

The screen switched back to the Den, where Jackal addressed the team. “Gunner, to answer the questions posed in your text messages. Derek Gruber and his older brother, Henry, are the sons of Brit Jorgensen, a Norwegian woman who moved to Bariloche sometime in the mid-forties. We know nothing about her other than she was active in the Catholic Church. According to our research, she was instrumental in its construction.”

“So Wagner’s not family?” asked Cam.

“Hired gun,” replied Ghost. “Along with most of the personnel in his KSK unit who were expelled by the Merkel government. We’re trying to run down their whereabouts at this time.”

Gunner asked, “Who owns the castle? Do you have any way to see behind the trust?”

“None of the names I’ve mentioned have come up,” replied Jackal. “It was formed by the Vivanco law firm decades ago, and it’s administered by Unibanco Group. They have hundreds of offices spread across Latin America, including Buenos Aires.”

Gunner rubbed his temples. “Jackal, when was Unibanco founded?”

The conversation fell silent for a moment until she responded. She raised her hand as she replied, “1945. The time frame connection is obvious. Say no more, I’m on it.”

Ghost did add to her statement. “I think we’re now in a position to research multinational entities that were created in the mid-to-late forties. If this is the tip of Odessa’s spear, then we can follow the money and the corporate family tree to determine who’s connected. It’s probable, therefore, that Odessa was funded by the Nazis’ ill-gotten gains, and they created multiple layers of legitimate entities that have flourished over the years.”

“Which raises the question,” began Cam, “if they are legitimate, then why would they involve themselves in terrorist activities?”

Gunner sighed and then responded, “To finish what they started.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Neuquén River Valley

Southern Argentina

The team loaded up their gear in the Ford Bronco supplied by the DTRA. Duffel bags were filled with weapons, ammunition, communications gear, climbing equipment to scale cliffs or castles, as well as explosives. The five-hour drive southward through the Neuquén River Valley was uneventful. Bear handled the driving duties while Gunner and Cam talked through all of the scenarios they would likely encounter.

“Ghost wants us to capture and interrogate,” said Cam as she fell back into her seat. “We’re gonna make a mess of this little town, Gunner. I don’t see how we can eliminate their security and get the jump on Wagner, who, like all of us, probably has eyes in the back of his head.”

“And a couple on the sides, too,” quipped Bear.

Gunner agreed. “I don’t think we can take them in town while they’re eating. We need to hit them on the way out. Jackal was unable to tell us how they traveled into Bariloche because the live cams were limited.”

“And the NSA birds would require Ghost to get other agencies involved,” she added. “That’s probably a last resort.”

“We’ll just do it the old-fashioned way. Do our surveillance, follow them out, and take them when we involve the least number of innocents.”

“Shit! Hold on!” shouted Bear. He jerked the Bronco hard to the left. As he did, Gunner came face-to-face with a guanaco, a passive, gray-faced type of camel that inhabits parts of South America, especially at the tip of Argentina. The llama-like pack animals were able to live in the harshest of weather conditions, including the desert.

“Watch out!” shouted Cam from the back seat. Several more of the adorable creatures had wandered into the middle of the road. Bear slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop before he ran into them. He was sure if they’d collided, the large guanacos would’ve torn off the front fenders of the Bronco.

“Sorry, y’all,” said Bear after he caught his breath.

“Sorry? You almost derailed the whole operation. How would we explain all the hardware in the back of the truck to the provincial police?”

Gunner stepped in. “It’s all right, Cam. We missed them. Right, Bear?”

Bear was upset with himself, and he didn’t need Cam to berate him any more than he was internally smacking himself on the side of the head.

Gunner diffused the tension as he jokingly suggested, “They should have those signs up. You know, brake for camels. Or llamas. Or whatever those things are.”

Bear eased his way through the pack, which slowly moved out of the way. Ironically, a mile later, a road sign warned drivers of the guanaco with a yellow-and-black sign.

The team entered the outskirts of Bariloche and immediately noticed how idyllic the small city was. As they approached, the differences in architecture showed the cultural juxtaposition between old-world influence and modernization. Quaint residences and storefronts were dwarfed by several multistory structures. Yet the cobblestone streets gave the edge to the European style.

They secured the Bronco on the edge of the city in a public parking lot within view of the downtown live cam. They confirmed with the Den their vehicle was in plain view and, therefore, could be monitored while they conducted surveillance on Wagner and Derek.

Bear was to be at the ready to extract the team in the event of a hiccup. He played the role of a photographer wandering the streets of Bariloche, photographing the architecture and points of interest. In his flak-style jacket, his pouches were filled with magazines for the team’s sidearms as well as small explosives designed to create distractions.

Gunner and Cam, who were also armed with concealed pistols and knives, played the part of a couple touring the city while on vacation. They couldn’t be certain that Wagner or his security personnel hadn’t identified them previously, so they both wore dark sunglasses and hats to obscure their facial features.

They had been wandering the streets for more than hour before they noticed several men arrive in the Centro Civico area of downtown Bariloche. The weather was beautiful, as spring was coming to the region. The sunny skies and warmer temperatures brought out locals and tourists alike. This was a benefit to the surveillance team, as they were able to blend in with others. Fortunately, the men who arrived just before Derek and Wagner made their appearance were obviously private contractors. Their clothing and chiseled-jaw facial features gave them away.

After the Odessa security personnel made a cursory sweep through the open-air square, they took up positions inside the doorways of residential buildings or closed businesses.

Bear was the first to announce his observations into the comms. “I’ve got four, two stationed by the café and two more on the opposite side of the square.”

Gunner looked to Cam, who nodded in agreement. “Confirmed,” said Gunner. He directed a question to the Den. “Do we have a method of transportation?”

“Negative.”

Bear could be seen walking into the center of the square to take pictures of the historic stone town hall and the Alpine-inspired architecture of the museums. He whispered the word bingo into his microphone.

“Confirmed,” said Gunner. “Walking side by side through the arched tunnel. No additional security.”

“I agree,” said Bear.

Derek Gruber and Daniel Wagner strolled casually into the square filled with people. They headed directly for the café promptly at three o’clock, just as the Den’s intelligence had noted.

“They didn’t even check in with the hostess by the door,” observed Gunner. “This table on the edge of the outdoor dining area must be held for them. That tells me they’re recognized as regulars and highly respected.”

Cam laughed. “Or they own the place.”

“There’s that, too,” said Bear.

Gunner addressed his team on the ground and those watching via the live cam to get their opinions. “I don’t see any way to take them in the open. The security team appears to be disciplined. Their eyes remain focused on their employers. They’re not looking at their phones or pretty girls walking by. I can’t imagine that they’d leave their posts.”

Ghost responded to Gunner’s thoughts. “There will be a point when they pull out. If our analysis of the live-cam footage is any indication, the two targets will leave before five. The security detail will be split at that point. Most likely, two will leave to clear the route back to their transportation. The other two will follow at a safe distance.”

Gunner nodded as Cam pretended to window-shop. “Cam and I will eliminate the two forward members of their team. Bear can trail them out and eliminate the two on the back end. All hell will break loose at that point, but our targets will be unguarded.”

Ghost apparently liked the idea. “Bear, I need you to move your vehicle to the other side of town where the lake bends into downtown. They came from that direction. You need the truck in the general vicinity. When you’re done, come back to the square. Gunner, you and Cam take up positions down the street where the targets entered the square. We’ll keep you updated via the comms.”

“Roger,” Gunner replied.

Now, they’d wait.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Centro Civico

Bariloche, Argentina

As expected, Wagner and Derek Gruber casually walked along the cobblestone streets in the oldest part of Bariloche. It was a walk Derek had taken his entire life with his brother and mother. It always calmed his nerves, as the familiarity of the setting made him feel safe. It had been a welcome daily respite away from Castle Bariloche, where his increasingly nerve-racked brother dominated the conversations. He and Wagner discussed Odessa’s business while they were away from the castle. By contrast, their conversations were done with clear heads and without the emotion generated by Henry at times.

They took their seat at the table, which remained reserved for them at the outdoor café overlooking the square. They commented on the throngs of people taking advantage of the mild temperatures the region had been experiencing. Their usual waiter greeted them with drinks without asking their preference. Derek didn’t want to be bothered with the usual waitstaff pleasantries. He wanted their cocktails served immediately, followed by the café’s signature German fare added to the menu years ago at his mother’s request.

Bariloche had its own mayor and town council who operated its government. However, very little was decided, whether at a government level or within the retail community, that didn’t have the Jorgensen influence in mind. Brit Jorgensen’s guidance over these matters since her arrival in 1944 had served the once tiny hamlet well. It was now one of the top tourist destinations in Argentina.

After the waiter dropped off their drinks, the two men toasted one another out of habit and took a sip. Derek was pensive as he spoke.

“Daniel, I don’t like hiding things from my brother. It’s not that I’m concerned he might discover my betrayal, for you are the only pipeline to these matters. Recently, since my mother’s death, he seems to have been carrying the burden of Odessa entirely on his shoulders.”

Daniel leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “That’s not the way die Zwölf was designed. Am I right?”

“You are correct. To be sure, there would always be one among the twelve to take the seat at the head of the table, albeit a round table. While she was alive, that was my mother. Henry was next, naturally. I suppose I would follow in his footsteps.

“The assignment of duties and obligations for certain aspects of Odessa was always intended to be divided amongst the other eleven relatively equally. Most of the time, corporate and financial dealings were of paramount importance, so the bankers and lawyers took the lead. Geopolitical affairs permeated everything, hence the importance of my cousin Sophia.

“Our covert operations and security fell under my purview, with your assistance, of course, until you earned your own seat at the table.”

Wagner took a deep breath and studied Derek. The intent behind his question was not to sow discord but, rather, to gain some insight into Derek’s real feelings toward his brother.

“Does Henry have a tendency to micromanage the affairs of the twelve, and is that a concern of yours?” He slowly sipped his drink and peered over the top of his glass to study Derek’s facial expression as he responded.

“Yes, and, well, not yet. Despite the fact my mother had stepped away in her later years, she was still looked upon as the one who guided us all. After her death, Henry put undue pressure on himself as he followed in her footsteps to fulfill the vision of my grandfather.

“The discovery of the U-boat and its sarin cargo was a blessing. It was also, however, a curse for Henry to the extent he raised expectations for himself to accomplish Odessa’s goals.”

“Sehr kompliziert,” mumbled Wagner in German. Very complicated.

“Ja,” Derek replied instinctively.

Their early dinner was served.

A bottle of red wine was brought out first, followed by a plate of sauerbraten, spatzle, and rotkohl. An onion and red wine vinegar-based roast beef stew was served with egg noodles and red cabbage.

As the men ate, Derek questioned Wagner about the upcoming attack.

“Has everything gone according to plan?”

Wagner swallowed a partially chewed hunk of piece of roast beef and chased it with a sip of wine. “A freighter sailed from Jorge’s port several days ago. The ship’s manifest was altered to allow for the late edition of canisters. They were labeled as compressed air, but the manifest read medical supplies. This allowed them to easily avoid scrutiny upon their arrival at the Port of New Jersey.”

“They have arrived? This is confirmed?” Derek topped off their glasses of wine.

“Yes. It’s an intermodal freight company we’ve used in the past.” Intermodal referred to a transportation company that utilized ship, truck and rail methods of shipping in which the containers of freight could be moved from one mode of transportation to another.

“But not the same as the one used in Washington, correct?” asked Derek.

“Correct. The amounts of sarin deployed were much smaller on the West Coast than the quantity utilized for this attack. For one, the target is much, much larger, and our intended casualties are in the millions rather than the tens of thousands.”

“Has Hexane been effective in its task?” Derek continued his questioning. It was not that he’d lost confidence in his top covert commander. Although he didn’t want to admit it, or perhaps he didn’t recognize the character trait, he also had a penchant for micromanaging operations.

Wagner was not offended. In fact, he preferred to provide Derek all of the minutiae of the operations he undertook beforehand. He’d learned in the KSK that he couldn’t be criticized for something his commanders knew in advance.

“Oh, yes. We have their intelligence assets rushing from one major city to another in search of the next target. As is always the case, the Americans overreact rather than standing back to assess all possibilities. They allow their media and public opinion to drive their response.”

“Very predictable.” Derek laughed and sipped his wine before changing the subject. “Have you made any progress on identifying the three operatives who breached our security in Salzburg?”

“Some, but not as fast as I would like. With General Holzcraft’s assistance, we have begun a process of elimination in our efforts to identify them. The United States has many covert operations within their intelligence and military apparatus. The general is eliminating them without raising suspicions through his inquiries.”

Derek leaned forward. “Daniel, we cannot afford to have them interfere in our affairs. We are too close to achieving our goals.”

“I understand. This morning, we set into motion a plan to expose them, or at the very least, stop their ability to travel around the world. The Austrian Criminal Intelligence Service has labeled them as terrorists and murderers. They have reached out to Interpol and the U.S. Department of Justice for assistance. Soon, they will be flagged by every airport and border crossing in the world. Any attempt to meddle in our affairs will be met with arrest.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Centro Civico

Bariloche, Argentina

Gunner and Cam had been watching the two members of Odessa enjoy what appeared to be a casual conversation over dinner. They also noticed that the crowds in the Centro Civico, Bariloche’s town square, had begun to thin out. Their immediate concern was that the four men stationed throughout the square acting as guards for Wagner and Derek would notice the Gray Fox team lingering too long.

First, they pulled Bear off the surveillance detail just as the men’s dinner was served. He went back to the Bronco, put away his camera gear, and changed his outer clothing to lend a different look. Also, because he noticed two members of the Odessa security detail had bulges under their jackets, indicating shouldered weapons, he opted for a Sig Sauer P556 SWAT pistol that could be concealed under his overcoat.

As the two men completed their dinner, Bear reappeared in the square and took up a position near the café. Gunner and Cam entered a boutique hotel on the far end of the square. Once inside, they used the rear emergency exit to emerge in an alleyway. They dodged vehicles and trash receptacles to hustle through Bariloche to take up positions near the point their targets had entered the Centro Civico earlier.

“We’ve got movement,” announced Bear into the comms. “These guys either have their own communications with the security team, or their personnel know exactly when it’s time to leave. Anyway, two have peeled off from their posts and …” Bear’s voice trailed off.

Gunner was posted in an alley across Mitre Street from Cam, who was similarly positioned. He stepped out from his cover to make eye contact with her.

She shrugged and then spoke into the comms. “Repeat, please. You were cut off.”

“This is all kinds of FUBAR,” whispered Bear.

The chatter between the Gray Fox team became frantic.

“The two security personnel have moved toward the lake instead of east toward you. Our targets are standing as they leave money on the table. They’re on the move north toward the lake.”

“Jackal, can you get eyes on them?” asked Gunner.

“Negative. Our live-cam resources are limited. You can move north to intercept, but now your vehicle is in the opposite direction.”

“The other half of the security detail is on the move,” interrupted Bear. “We need a plan. Do I take them?”

“Follow at a distance,” ordered Gunner. He stepped out into the street and motioned for Cam to cross Mitre to join him. She raced in front of a small car and dodged pedestrians in the crosswalk.

“We’re four or five blocks out of position,” she complained.

“Double-time, airman,” said Gunner as he began to run along the sidewalk past the row houses interspersed with small shops. As they arrived at the third block, they found themselves near a four-lane divided street that ran along the shore. A lakefront hotel was just ahead of them, and to their left was a marina.

“This is my last chance to take them out,” said Bear. “They’ll be in the open by the time they reach the end of this street.”

“What about the targets?” asked Gunner.

“When they arrived at the main street, they turned toward the east.”

“Follow, but do not engage,” he ordered.

Bear responded, “Roger.”

Gunner grabbed Cam by the arm and ran into the Interlachen Hotel lobby. They couldn’t risk being seen rushing down the sidewalk to intercept Derek and Wagner, so they pretended to be hurried tourists as they pushed their way through the hotel’s guests lingering in the lobby.

At the other end of the hotel, they burst out into the open and searched for the Odessa targets. Derek and Wagner had crossed at a traffic signal, led by two of their security detail. The other two members of their team loitered about near the crosswalk, with their eyes studying the pedestrians moving about the waterfront hotels.

“Bear, we need you to grab their attention while we cross the street down here. They’re headed for the marina.”

“No problem,” he replied into the comms. The sound of his booming voice didn’t require the two-way communications. He began to sing on the sidewalk where the square met the road.

He began to belt out a bastardized version of “’O sole mio.” Luciano Pavarotti would’ve shaken his head in utter disgust.

However, his antics, accompanied by his baritone voice, began to draw a crowd as well as the brief attention of the security detail. Gunner and Cam ran through traffic to cross the four-lane street and made their way to the sidewalk leading down to the small marina.

They walked briskly toward the marina, Gunner holding Cam’s hand and pulling her along like a disrespectful husband might drag his wife because she walked too slowly.

Bear continued to bellow the words while his partners hustled down the concrete steps leading to the floating dock, where a variety of boats were tied off in their slips.

“Gunner, look. They’re at the end of the dock. They seem to be leaving the other two men behind.” One member of the security detail slipped behind the wheel of a remarkably well-preserved Chris-Craft Barrelback wooden boat. He started the inboard engine, causing a loud rumble as the exhausts roared to life.

“They’re with the advance team,” he observed. “Find us a boat.”

“What?” asked Cam, but Gunner ignored her as he walked slowly toward the end of the dock. He was careful not to draw the attention of the men as they pushed away from the dock and slowly made their way into the center of the lake.

Gunner ignored her question and provided Bear additional instructions. “Bear, you can release them now. We’re gonna try to engage the others on the water. Meet us at the insertion point near the castle. We’ll reach you by radio.”

Bear suddenly stopped singing and accepted the applause from the curious onlookers. “Thank you! Thank you! Tomorrow, I will sing again!”

Cam walked past Gunner and mumbled, “He’s such an idiot.”

“It worked, right?” said Gunner with a smile.

“Yeah, as usual. That’s what pisses me off.”

Gunner reached for her hand and pointed ahead of them toward an older man who was tying off his center-console fishing boat.

“There’s our ride,” said Gunner as he moved ahead of her. “The twin engines should be fast enough to catch up to the vintage Chris-Craft. Roll with me on this.”

Gunner approached the man and began to apologize profusely. “Sir, I am so sorry we are late for our charter.” Without permission, he stepped onto the boat’s transom and onto the aft deck of the twenty-eight-foot closed-bow vessel. He reached back for Cam’s hand to help her aboard. “We promise to make it up to you with a generous tip.”

The man began to object to Gunner and Cam’s entry upon his vessel. He became animated and waved his arms, complaining in Spanish that he was not a fishing charter.

Gunner pulled out a handful of twenty-dollar bills and thrust them toward the man. The man tried to avoid accepting the money and turned his back on Gunner. With a swift, nonlethal blow to the back of his neck, Gunner knocked the man unconscious.

The two operatives quickly bound and gagged the man before dragging him below the foredeck. After retrieving the keys from his pockets, Cam untied the dock lines, and Gunner fired up the twin engines. They pulled away from the marina, west toward the setting sun, in pursuit of their Odessa targets.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Lago Nahuel Huapi

Bariloche, Argentina

Gunner pushed down the throttle, and the two outboard engines responded by digging the props into the lake and forcing the bow of the boat upward. As the fishing boat picked up speed, it began to plane out on the water. They were driving directly into the setting sun, and their sunglasses only provided nominal relief as they tried to pick up the location of the Chris-Craft, which had a healthy head start.

“No cell service,” said Cam as she stood next to Gunner at the helm. “Do you remember anything about the lake?”

“Hell no,” said Gunner, who was angry with himself for not studying the body of water that connected Bariloche to the castle. He’d focused his preparations on the topographical map to determine the best way to approach the castle. It was surrounded on three sides by water, but he recalled nothing else other than the fact it was toward the Chilean border.

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Cam studied the natural lake and its shoreline. She was looking for evidence of the other boat’s wake.

“We’ve got a fork ahead,” she yelled over the roar of the motors and the rush of the wind in their faces. “There’s an island that splits the main channel.”

Gunner checked the compass mounted just above the wheel. It was dancing wildly as the boat reached its top speed.

“We’ll stay to the west,” he decided. “The mountains rise on that end of the lake.”

“Hey! You’re right,” said Cam, suddenly interrupting Gunner. “I can see the white tops of their wake rolling onto the shore.”

“Hold on!” shouted Gunner as he swerved to the right around a tree that was inexplicably growing well offshore. It barely broke the surface of the lake, so it wasn’t visible to Gunner until the last second. His hard swerve caused Cam to lose her balance and fall to the deck. After a chorus of expletives from the Sailor’s Handbook of Cursing, she pulled herself back upright.

She regained her composure and shielded her eyes to see. “Their boat’s really on the move. I think they’ve seen us.”

“Let’s introduce ourselves!” yelled Gunner.

Gunner was closing on them, so Cam steadied herself and pulled her sidearm. “I’ll be wasting ammo at this range. We’re gonna have to get close.”

“Bear said two of them are carrying shouldered weapons under their jackets. I wonder if it was these two guys.”

Without warning, one of the guards turned in the rear seating area of the Chris-Craft and opened fire. The staccato gun bursts sent several rounds skipping across the lake to the port side of the fishing boat, leaving brief splashes of water as they missed their mark.

“I guess that answers our question!” shouted Cam.

Gunner veered to the right to pull even with the fleeing boat. He slapped the grip bar affixed to the dashboard. Cam gripped with one hand and kept her handgun trained on the other boat. Gunner turned hard to the left and approached the Chris-Craft from the side, risking taking on fire but at least making their boat a much smaller target.

“Take the shot,” he shouted to Cam.

She released several rounds, two of which missed, but one struck the side of the boat just below the gunwale.

“They’re taking evasive maneuvers,” she shouted as the silhouettes of two of the passengers appeared to go below deck, and the other men readied their weapons. They returned Cam’s fire.

Bullets tore through the fiberglass hull of the boat above the waterline. Gunner set his jaw and continued, leaning down behind the wheel to lower his profile to the shooters. The fishing boat knifed through the water, and Gunner turned slightly to give Cam a better shot at the security personnel. He also pulled his weapon and steered with his right hand while he opened fire with his left.

The four of them fired wildly at one another, neither side hitting a human target while riddling each other’s boats with bullet holes. Suddenly, the half-windshield in front of Gunner exploded.

“We’ve got company,” he yelled as he pulled back on the throttle and swerved away from the Chris-Craft, skipping out of the kill zone to mount a defense against the newcomer.

A hundred yards away, another boat had appeared from the west, their approach obscured by the sun, which was dropping between the mountain ridges.

“Gunner, we’ve got a problem. One of their bullets caught the port engine. It’s leaking oil.”

Gunner turned to study the gauges just as the other boat began firing again. He ignored the warning signals and throttled down again, keeping the bow raised as he turned toward the oncoming boat. Their attackers’ first volley of bullets missed them, but the second one stitched half a dozen holes across the hull.

“They’re gonna be on us as soon as the hull drops,” he yelled. “We’ll have one shot at taking them out.”

Cam lowered her body against the port side of the boat, raising her handgun in case their attackers approached on her side. Gunner did the same.

The bow of the other boat appeared on Gunner’s side, so he shouted to Cam to join him. She rushed across the deck and slid on her knees to the side of the boat, her weapon pointed at the target as it appeared.

The two operatives fired simultaneously, their bullets exploding through the windshield of their pursuers’ boat, ripping through the head and neck of the boat’s driver.

One of the two remaining men opened fire, his bullets sailing high over Gunner’s and Cam’s heads. Then the pursing boat careened wildly out of control, taking a hard left, resulting in the gunman being thrown overboard.

Gunner opened fire on the last passenger on the Odessa boat, shooting him in the back as he struggled to gain control of the fast boat. As soon as the other gunman’s head bobbed above the lake’s surface, Cam fired a single round into his skull, killing him instantly.

The two were still on edge as they waited for anyone else to show themselves in the boat that uncontrollably drove in circles in the center of the lake. The sun had set, and visibility to the west had improved somewhat. They both watched for another vessel that might be trying to intercept them, but none showed up.

“I think we’re sinking,” said Cam. “The bow’s dropped quite a bit.” She unlatched the door leading to the cabin below the foredeck. There was some water accumulating on the floor in addition to the blood of the boat’s owner. The bullets that ripped through the bow had struck him multiple times. He lay in the lake water facedown.

Gunner glanced into the darkened cabin. He grimaced. He certainly hadn’t wanted the man to die. However, he didn’t have time to lament his choices. They were in the middle of the lake, and the boat was taking on water. Despite the warmer temperatures during the day, as the sun set, the icy waters of the deep glacial lake would be unbearable it they had to swim for an extended distance.

Without saying a word, he shut down the port engine and gave full throttle to the starboard side. The boat moved at half speed toward the shore below the rock formations rising out of the water. The tree-covered ridges stuck out into the lake like green, Grinch-like fingers gripping the dark water.

Cam slapped Gunner on the shoulder and pointed to their left. “I see it. There. See the silhouette?”

Against the clear, orange sky created by the setting sun, Castle Bariloche stood alone on top of the ridge, daring anyone to try to enter.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Puerto Cantaros

Lago Nahuel Huapi

Argentina

The fishing boat was still afloat when Gunner pulled it up against a fallen pine tree on the north shore of the remote west end of Lago Nahuel Huapi. Cam stepped over the bow onto the tree after confirming it was stable. Pulling a dock line, she steadied the boat while Gunner allowed the stern to swing around toward the bank. As it slowly made its way into position, he retrieved the dead fisherman from below deck and gently laid him behind the center console. He apologized again and then prepared to send the man and his boat back toward Bariloche.

“I’m ready when you are,” announced Cam as she grabbed the side rails of the boat so that it remained parallel to the fallen pine.

Gunner carefully stepped over the rail and dropped to his hands and knees on the pine. He leaned into the boat and gently pressed down the throttle to slowly power the vessel away from shore. The two operatives pushed the boat away from the tree, and at a steady pace, it disappeared into the darkness in the general direction of where the final gun battle had taken place.

They walked along the pine, using its decaying branches to maintain their balance. They’d just reached the shore and taken a seat on the rocks to rest when the faint, high-pitched sound of a boat motor could be heard in the distance.

They both looked toward the vessel they’d just pushed away. Its low rumble was consistent with a boat that was moving through a no-wake zone. Cam noticed the source of the new motor first. She nudged Gunner and pointed toward their right.

Two more fast boats rounded the bend, their spotlights leading the way, as they’d been dispatched to intercept the interlopers. Gunner and Cam had avoided being attacked again by less than five minutes. It would’ve been a battle they couldn’t have won.

Gunner reached into his pants pocket and retrieved his cell phone. He powered it on and checked for a signal first. He didn’t expect to find one, and he was right.

However, his global positioning app, which bounced a signal from the satellites flying in near-Earth orbit back to his cell phone, was working properly. He was able to retrieve the coordinates of their rendezvous point with Bear.

“A little over two clicks to the northwest,” he said as he showed Cam the display.

She nodded and said, “So much for the element of surprise, right?”

“Yeah. But we didn’t plan on knocking on the front door anyway, did we?”

Cam laughed and then took a deep breath. She knew they needed to get moving. “Just call me spider woman.”

Gunner stood and offered his hand to help Cam off the rock. The two dusted off their backsides from the sandy soil mixed with peat, and surveilled the side of the ridge they had to climb.

“There’s no easy way to do this,” observed Gunner. “We can make better time walking along the water’s edge, but we need to keep an eye out for their patrol boats. If we see them return, they could wash the shore with their spotlights.”

“It’s better than up one side of this ridge and then down the other, only to have to climb the next one to the castle.”

Deep in thought, the two crawled up and over some fallen pines along the shore while also climbing onto large rocks to make their way closer to their rendezvous point. At the base of the ridge where they landed was a natural treasure for that part of Argentina, known as the Cascada de los Cantaro, or Cantaro waterfalls. People came by boat to the dock at the base of the ridge, where they could then make their way on a self-guided hike to where the two ridges meet.

Castle Bariloche was on the next ridge at the top of a rocky cliff overlooking the lake. It was impossible to hike up the southeastern face of the bluff, so curious visitors to the falls made no attempt to get a closer look. Those who attempted to hike through the woods were met with armed guards and vicious German shepherds to ward them off.

Bear had to drive to the Argentina-Chile border in order to then backtrack to the top of the falls. The road was narrow and treacherous. Once he reached the trail to the falls, it was possible for him to drive around, or through, the barriers during the nighttime when there were no hikers present. Based on Cam’s calculations, assuming Bear didn’t run into trouble, they’d arrive just after he did in approximately two hours.

As they methodically made their way along the shore, fatigue began to set in for the two operatives. The boat attack had taken its toll, but the slow going through the wilderness was causing their bodies to tire. Their ascent up the cliff and onto the outer corridors of the south face would challenge their strength and stamina.

They didn’t have a choice. Having lost the element of surprise, two things were likely happening. Their targets were preparing to flee by whatever mode of transportation was available to them. And their security team would be on high alert as they defended their employers. The Gray Fox team’s only hope was to approach the castle via the nearly unapproachable southeastern wall.

At the base of the waterfall, they paused to drink the fresh spring water that cascaded through the rocks until it reached the lake. It was cold, pure, and refreshing. They took a break before they started their ascent up the ridge to meet Bear in the parking area of Cascada los Cantaros.

“Hey,” Bear’s baritone voice boomed through the quiet solitude of the forest. “You guys owe me for this.”

Gunner stood and swung around, his handgun gripped and pointed into the dense thicket of trees. “Bear? How did you find us?”

“There’s cell service at the top of the ridge. Jackal was able to track your phones. I figured you were making your way around the base, so I thought I’d save you a climb.”

“Thanks,” said Cam, who hoisted her body off a rock near the water’s edge.

Bear came into view with two large duffel bags slung over each of his muscular shoulders. He gently dropped them in a cleared area covered with pine needles. He illuminated the space with his flashlight and then bathed them in light.

“Y’all okay?” he asked as he noticed their exhausted faces.

“Yeah,” Gunner replied. “Had a little trouble on the water. Is this everything?” He pointed toward the duffels.

Bear knelt down and unzipped one of the bags. He removed clothing, weapons, ammo, explosives and the equipment that would make their climb up the side of the ridge as well as up the side of the castle much easier.

“It took me two trips, but we saved a lot of time and effort on your part,” he began to explain. “I take it our sneak attack ain’t gonna be so sneaky.”

Gunner joined Bear’s side and examined the contents of the duffel. “Unfortunately. We may have to change our approach to dealing with these Gruber guys and their bad boy from the KSK.”

“Has anything happened stateside today?” asked Cam.

“No. Lots of chatter on typical terrorist networks. The feds are spending a lot of time in New York and LA. Ghost is having to dodge phone calls from other agencies, who now believe he’s hiding intel from them. He’s having a hard time of it.”

“We’ll know a lot more by dawn,” said Gunner. He stood and patted his buddy on the shoulder. “I suspect we’re gonna come out of this fortress in a rush, if you know what I mean. I need you to either eliminate or distract as many perimeter guards as you can. It’s gonna be hard enough to escape once we’ve found what we need without being chased into hostiles waiting for us on the outside.”

“Ghost has a message that might help,” said Bear. “No prisoners required. Get all the information you can. He wants video and photo evidence. And then, he said, for all he cares, you can blow the damn thing off the cliff. His words. Not mine.”

Cam laughed. “Do you get the sense we need to get Ghost out into the field so he can let off some frustration?”

“Dude, he’s feeling the pressure just like the rest of ’em. People want answers for Levi’s Stadium and Detroit. But they’re also scared that the attacks aren’t over.”

Gunner nodded before turning around to stare up at the castle sitting atop the ridge. There was just enough light from the rising crescent moon to remind him of the near-impossible task ahead.

“Let’s roll, guys.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Castle Bariloche

Argentina

Gunner and Cam began their hike up the ridge toward the base of Castle Bariloche. The temperatures dropped as the evening wore on, and as clouds developed overhead, light flecks of snow began to drop on top of their heads. The thought of making the final treacherous climb to the castle in snowy conditions gave the pair a new sense of urgency, causing them to pick up their pace. Their gear was heavy. Both their resolve and will were strong enough to carry the load.

It took a little over an hour to make the steep trek up the rocky slope dotted with a variety of evergreens that sprouted out of the side of the cliff. At the two-hour mark following their departure below, Bear would roam the woods as an assassin, seeking out Odessa security personnel and quietly eliminating them. If they alerted Odessa personnel within the castle, it might draw them into the open and away from the climber.

The imposing castle was a marvel to view from the lake below. Standing at its base and looking up the chiseled stone exterior confirmed to the Gray Fox team how daunting their task was.

Approximately fifty feet from the base of the castle, a walkway had been built that ran the perimeter of the castle. Their goal was to reach this walkway, neutralize any guards, then find their way inside. Unlike their entry to the Knight Gruppe offices, they were completely in the blind on this mission. There were no floor plans on file with any governmental entity. No architect drawings were proudly displayed on a website. There was nothing online in the form of a blog or even a comment from anyone who’d entered the mysterious structure. If they successfully ascended the wall, once on solid footing again, they’d have to rely on instinct and logic rather than advance knowledge of the castle’s layout.

Gunner knelt down and began to organize his gear. He glanced up at Cam, who was still in awe at the towering structure. “Are you ready? It’s been a while since we’ve used these things.”

She rubbed the side of the chiseled granite walls. “Yeah. The surface is a little rougher than I’d hoped for. Do you think the peevac will grip it?”

“We’re about to find out,” replied Gunner.

Cam joined Gunner in preparing their PVACs, an acronym for personal vacuum-assisted climber. First developed by students at Utah State two decades ago, the original device consisted of a vacuum motor that powered two suction paddles. It was capable of sticking to any surface, including glass, stucco, and brick.

After being purchased by the Air Force, thanks to several technological advances, the PVAC was redesigned to make it more lightweight and much quieter. The early models sounded like an actual vacuum cleaner when in operation, certainly not what a covert operative needed when scaling a wall. Also, the hoses attached to the paddle grips were gangly. Using technology by Dyson and Miele, manufacturers of vacuum cleaners, the Air Force redesigned the PVAC to run whisper-quiet with only the faint sound of a fan motor running, and the hoses were reduced to the size of an air-compressor hose.

The suction paddle grips on the original model were also modified over time. Instead of a large round disc that popped loudly as it was engaged or disengaged, the newly designed PVAC had gloves and kneepads for the user that resembled the tentacles of an octopus. These new additions enabled the climber to ascend a wall vertically, sideways, and even descend face-first as if he were crawling on a floor.

Gunner and Cam checked one another’s gear to confirm everything was firmly affixed. They decided to scale together, except a dozen feet apart to avoid being a single target if seen from above. If necessary, the gloves provided sufficient dexterity to operate a pistol, but accuracy would suffer.

“Comms check,” said Gunner into the small microphone affixed to the black balaclava covering his head and face. His earpiece was firmly in place with the additional support of the tight headgear.

“Five by five,” responded Bear. “Sitrep?”

“In position,” replied Gunner as he looked up the castle wall again. “Hold your position for thirty minutes.”

“That’s ambitious,” Cam commented.

“Nah, we’ve got this,” Gunner reassured her.

If all went well, the climb to the exterior corridor of the castle would take under twenty minutes. The additional ten minutes would provide the operatives time to eliminate any threats and get their bearings.

Bear was all business. No jokes about spiderman. Nothing about cat burglars. His response reflected the tension surrounding the assault on Castle Bariloche.

“Roger. Out.”

Gunner turned to Cam and gestured toward the wall. “Ladies first.”

Cam powered on her PVAC and reached overhead to place her right hand on the wall. The suction cups on the palm of the glove and four of her fingers, except the middle finger, immediately grabbed the wall. The middle finger of each hand had controls within the tip that sent wireless signals to the left and right suction devices. Training and practice by the two operatives led to being proficient in toggling between right hand release or grip, and right knee release or grip.

At first, it was slow going, as Gunner and Cam had to remind themselves how to crawl. Just as a baby learns to reach one arm forward and bring the opposite knee forward next, the pair of climbers had to focus on their commands to release and grip in the proper order.

After fifteen feet of their slow ascent during this refresher course, the two got the hang of it, resulting in a friendly competition between the two operatives, who’d been one-upping each other since they were kids. Cam had always been determined to show Gunner she could hang with the boys, as her mother always said. What she lacked in strength, she made up for with catlike quickness and coordination. It was their penchant for playing outdoors and spending time in a variety of environments that led them to being part of a team completely attuned to one another.

Dressed in black, with the only ambient light from the crescent moon now obscured by cloud cover, they made quick work of their ascent. There was only one time when Gunner thought he’d seen the silhouette of a guard pass along the corridor above them. He paused to pull his weapon, but the man never looked over the side of the wall. It was doubtful they’d ever expect an assault from the southwest face of the castle.

They were wrong.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Castle Bariloche

Argentina

Gunner took the lead, easing his head and shoulders atop the outer corridor. There was no exterior lighting outside the castle, so he had to rely on movements of shadows and sound. He reached over the ledge and hoisted his body over it. Cam dutifully waited until he gave her the all-clear signal. It took Gunner less than twenty seconds to remove his PVAC and ready the silenced automatic weapon slung over his shoulder.

The southeast-facing wall of the structure was approximately a hundred yards wide. In the darkness, it was near impossible to see to the two corners with the naked eye. He raised his rifle and used the night-vision scope to illuminate the corridor. It was clear for the moment.

Gunner reached over the wall and slapped it twice and motioned for Cam to join him. He dropped to a knee and trained his scope on the turret towers at each corner, looking for security cameras. He was surprised not to see any. He was beginning to wonder if the occupants of the castle considered it to be so impenetrable that they chose not to institute the types of security protocols found at Knight’s offices in Austria.

“Which way?” asked Cam as she moved next to Gunner. She’d pushed their PVACs into an alcove inset in the castle’s wall.

Before Gunner could answer, he heard the sound of a helicopter’s engine starting, followed by the rotors whipping into a frenzy. Without a word, he began running toward the west of the castle. All he knew of the grounds was that the eastern side was heavily wooded and was adjoined by a steep drop toward the waterfalls.

Just as Gunner rounded the corner, he ran head-on into a security guard dressed in all black. The man was standing with his back to Gunner, observing the chopper lift off. The collision sent the smaller man flying forward, and the impact on the stone corridor dislodged his weapon from his grip.

Gunner had lost his balance, but Cam was ready to deal with the stunned guard. In one deft motion, she shouldered her rifle, pulled her knife, and pounced on the man’s back. He made a fruitless attempt to roll over. It was too late, and Cam plunged the blade deep into his throat and twisted it before he could scream. As blood gurgled from his still-breathing body, she finished the kill.

Gunner moved ahead to get into position to view the clearing near the castle’s entrance. The helicopter pad was partially obscured by tall pine trees that blocked any attempt to get an accurate, clean shot at the pilot or its occupants.

He and Cam raced toward the towering entrance marked by an arched, cathedral-like stone wall. The helicopter lifted into the air and began its turn to head northward. Gunner and Cam both arrived on the corridor above the entryway at the same time. They immediately unleashed a barrage of bullets toward the chopper.

Although their silenced weapons barely emitted a spit as they fired, the bullets themselves ricocheted off the skids and the sides of the chopper as it began to speed away. Each of the operatives emptied a thirty-round magazine. Before they could insert a full one, the chopper was racing off into the night.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out, sending bullets over their heads and ripping into the granite façade of the castle. Gunner and Cam dropped to a knee, using the half wall for cover.

“I still haven’t seen a way to get in,” she whispered as her head swung back and forth, looking for a target.

“Let’s go around to the other side,” he said as he slapped her shoulder.

Cam led the way, moving quickly at a low crouch and allowing her night scope to illuminate the walkway. Gunner walked backwards, matching her pace while watching their backs. When she reached the corner, she stopped. She fell to one knee, turned her body sideways, and eased her rifle around the corner to see if she would draw any fire.

Nothing happened. This time, she looked through her scope and peered around the corner. Her body was low, barely three feet off the granite surface. She waited and then slowly rose to her feet, never taking her eye off the long walkway.

“Moving,” she whispered as she disappeared around the edge.

“Move,” said Gunner. He backed over to the corner, glanced down the walkway, and then joined his partner, continuing to watch both forward and backward.

The sound of Cam’s rifle spitting out several rounds grabbed his attention. Two men dressed in black pants and sweaters emerged from a small alcove on the side of the castle. The moment they revealed themselves, Cam fired without hesitation, killing them both.

She kept her rifle trained on the opening and walked quickly, heel to toe, minimizing the sounds she made in the incredibly quiet evening.

“Three kills.” She spoke into the comms for the first time.

“Two out here,” reported Bear before adding, “The Den has eyes on the chopper.”

“Good,” said Gunner as he slipped past Cam to the other side of the alcove. “Going in now. Happy hunting.”

Bear let out a laugh as he responded, “Roger that. Out.”

“I expected a bigger security force,” said Cam.

“Me too, but think about it. Why would they? This place has existed for over eighty years and has never been compromised. They may rotate a dozen guys or so. We killed two on the water, three just now, and Bear’s bagged two more.”

“That might explain the chopper,” she added.

“They bugged out.”

Cam nodded and took the lead, walking past the heavy wooden door through the two-foot-thick exterior walls until she entered a small room. She swung left, and Gunner, who was on her heels, swung to the right. The empty space resembled a break room complete with tables, chairs, and a small kitchenette. It was barely lit by the illumination from the appliances’ LED readouts.

They moved toward the single door leading into the castle. Gunner reached for the knob as Cam dropped to a knee to lower her profile. The door creaked open, and the orangish glow of a cavernous room greeted them. The walkway outside the break room was surrounded by a concrete railing sitting atop carved-wood spindles. A musty, old smell filled their nostrils together with the sounds of a crackling fire.

Keeping their bodies low and pressed against the walls, they eased out onto the walkway that formed a balcony overlooking the grand hall of Castle Bariloche. Cam was the first to notice the adornments.

“You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me,” she whispered.

The open hall extended two stories below their position and one story up to a ceiling supported by massive wood beams. The glow of the fire and the gas lanterns built into the walls caused the shadows to dance as if a hundred spirits were enjoying a concert led by the ghost of German composer Richard Wagner himself.

But it was what hung from the ceiling that stunned the two operatives. Two red flags, each three stories tall, were suspended from the ceiling. They were crimson with a large white circle in the center. Each held a black swastika in the center of the circle.

As Gunner’s shock wore off, he became hyperaware of his surroundings. The air was dank and the castle deathly quiet except for the fire. There was no sound coming from the forced air of a heating system or the steady hum of electronics running. The castle appeared to be devoid of life.

“It’s too quiet,” he whispered. “This place is not empty. I can feel them.”

“There’s no security system unless they’re using micro cams,” she added.

“They never thought they’d need it.”

Cam’s eyes darted around the grand hall and continued to take in the massive Nazi banners. “Let’s flush ’em out.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Castle Bariloche

Argentina

The two operatives moved along the walkway overlooking the massive Nazi banners. Using the pillars holding up the ceiling and dim light for cover, they made their way to the wide winding staircase that connected the three-story grand hall. The stairwell lent the appearance of a severed nautilus shell from above as it descended deeper below the main floor of the castle.

Slowly, one quiet step at a time, the two moved down the stairwell. There was a similar winding staircase on the opposite end of the grand hall that rose upward into a tower. Gunner and Cam pointed their rifles in all directions in search of any moving target. As they did, they observed the Nazi paraphernalia that decorated the entire space. It was if they’d been transported back to the early 1940s.

Gunner stepped onto the marble floor first. An air pocket in one of the logs burning in the fireplace shot sparks into the room.

Crack! Crack!

The sharp crackle sounded like a tree branch splitting in two.

He snapped his weapon tight into his shoulder and swung toward the sound. As he did, gunfire opened up from the top level of the grand hall. Bullets ricocheted off the marble floor and skipped across the floor near their feet.

Gunner flung himself out of the way in an attempt to evade the bullets. He rolled over twice along the marble floor until he landed hard against the wall. He rose to his feet and was joined by Cam.

The two operatives raced around the spiral staircase in search of cover. Automatic gunfire rained down on them from above, splitting the wood spindles on the staircase while chipping away at the concrete banister rails.

Gunner and Cam stood with their backs pressed against the wall beneath the staircase. Running feet slamming the marble floor grabbed their attention. Some were coming up the stairs from below while others appeared to be on the marble floor in the grand hall.

Gunner motioned for Cam to move to a position on her left, and he’d take the right side. They nodded to one another and revealed themselves, squeezing the trigger of their silenced weapons until they found their mark. The chests of the two men racing toward them across the marble floor exploded in a torrent of bullets. One man crashed into a bronze bust of Adolf Hitler, sending it crashing to the floor. The other spun wildly in a circle before face-planting onto a sofa.

The two operatives wasted no time getting in position to intercept the two guards rushing up the stairs. They timed their appearance at the top of the stairwell perfectly. As the two security personnel were only a few steps away, they were greeted with a barrage of bullets that sent them flying backwards down the stairs until they rolled to a stop.

Once again, other than Gunner’s and Cam’s heavy breathing from the adrenaline-filled shoot-out, the grand hall was completely silent. Walking sideways, back-to-back, they confirmed their kills in the center of the room. The barrels of their rifles swung from side to side and up and down in search of hostiles.

They were becoming increasingly comfortable and decided to search some of the rooms connected to the grand hall. First a library and then a dining room were discovered. Both were vacant and the lights were turned off. They made their way toward the red-carpeted stairway that led up into the tower on the north side of the castle.

Adjacent to the stairway, a large wooden door was slightly ajar, and a flickering light could be seen emanating through the crack. Gunner tapped Cam on the shoulder, and the two separated to flank the doorway. After they were in position, Gunner held his rifle with one hand and kept it pointed forward. He slowly pushed the door open until it revealed a single occupant, an older man sitting in front of the fire, sipping a glass of brandy, with his back to the door.

“Don’t move!” Gunner ordered as he entered the room.

Cam moved swiftly to the left to ensure there weren’t any armed guards hiding behind the desk centered in the room.

“Clear,” she said calmly.

The man never turned around to acknowledge Gunner and Cam’s presence. He was fully clothed in wool slacks and a turtleneck sweater. It was his customary form of dress although not for the wee hours of the morning. The half-empty crystal decanter of brandy indicated he’d consumed several glasses as he sat alone.

“My name is Henry Gruber,” he began without emotion in his voice. “I suspect this will be my last day alive. It has been a life I’ve enjoyed without regret.”

“Who left in the helicopter?” asked Gunner.

Henry didn’t answer, but he casually waved his right hand with a shrug as if to ask what difference does it make?

He responded to Gunner, “I know of you and what you have been doing. Your search ends here.”

Gunner kept his rifle pointed at Henry as he walked toward the bookcases flanking the fireplace. He nodded to Cam to keep an eye on the door.

Gunner sensed the older man wished to relieve his conscience of his burdens before his death. He tried to pry the truth out of him by striking up a conversation.

“Why don’t you tell me what it is I’ve been looking for?”

Henry glanced up at a pendulum wall clock before taking another sip of brandy. It was just after four in the morning.

“The last Nazi. That is who I am. The grandson of Reichsführer of the Schutzstaffel Heinrich Himmler.”

“I doubt you’re the last,” growled Gunner. He didn’t like being toyed with, but he managed to remain patient. “Who left in the helicopter earlier?”

“They’re not who you seek. Everything you seek is here, in Castle Bariloche, in this room and at your feet.”

The clock ticked closer toward five. Bear whispered into their comms, “Clear outside.”

Cam stepped into the grand hall and looked for any signs of life. The fire was burning out and the room grew darker. She replied to Bear, instructing him to bring the car to the entrance. She suspected it would take at least thirty minutes for him to arrive, more than enough time to interrogate the old man and search the castle for intel.

“What are you planning?” Gunner pressed.

“My life is over. You have seen to that. I have fulfilled my obligation to the Reich by bringing us one step closer to a triumphant return. We have risen from the ashes, just as my grandfather envisioned.”

“No, Gruber. You’re going to live the rest of your life in a concrete and steel jail cell. I’m tired of fooling with you. On your feet.”

Henry began to laugh. It was a sincere, throaty laugh that sent chills up Gunner’s spine. It had an element of evil that he couldn’t quite understand, yet.

The old man reached over to the side table to take the final sip of his brandy. Instead, his fingers nudged the glass to the side, and he picked up a clear capsule containing white powder.

“Nooo!” yelled Gunner as he lunged for the old man, but it was too late.

Henry Gruber shoved the cyanide capsule into his mouth and bit down on it until it burst, spreading the deadly poison into his body as he swallowed hard.

Within seconds, the head of die Zwölf had died in the same manner as so many of his Nazi predecessors.

Chapter Forty

Castle Bariloche

Argentina

“Dammit, Cam! I should’ve seen it coming. He was too calm.” Gunner roamed through Henry’s study, running his hands through his sweaty hair. He’d finally taken off the black balaclava. As he strode back and forth berating himself, Cam walked up to the pendulum clock.

Cam said, “He knew he was gonna die. Obviously, it was planned to be at his own hand. However, I noticed him do something while he spoke to you.”

Gunner stopped and turned to address Cam, who stood in front of the clock. “What was it?”

“Maybe it was habit, or maybe he was concerned about time? Regardless, he took a long look at the clock.”

It was now a quarter ’til five.

“Like something was going to happen?” asked Gunner.

“Yeah. Didn’t you get the sense he was stalling as long as he could?”

Gunner looked around the study. “He definitely was talking nonsense. He was prepared to die, which is why he had the cyanide pill.”

“I think he wanted to make sure he was waiting for the right time,” said Cam. Then her voice showed her concern. “Gunner, we need to get out of here.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got a feeling.”

Gunner shoved Henry and his chair out of the way and looked beneath. He suspected an explosive had been planted in the room.

Cam raced out of the study and into the grand hall. She began looking around at the walkways and stairwells. She studied the furnishings.

“Maybe I’m wrong?” she asked.

Gunner joined her. “We can’t leave empty-handed if this place is gonna blow. You take that stairwell into the north tower, and I’ll look below the castle.”

Cam started toward the rotund tower that curved in to the Great Hall. Then she suddenly stopped and turned.

“No. Gruber said at your feet,” she said. Then she repeated his words. “In this room and at your feet. Gunner, he was directing us into the lower levels of the castle.”

“Come on!” shouted Gunner as he led the way to the same winding stairs they’d used to enter the main level. Cam ran through the sofa seating in front of the fireplace and hurdled over the dead body on the area rug. Seconds later, the two operatives were rushing down the steps as the circular staircase wound its way lower and lower into the castle.

Suddenly, a cavern larger than Gunner could imagine opened up at the bottom. It was cold and dimly lit. It was wider than the base of the castle by at least double. As the duo wandered into the enormous space, Cam pointed out the stalactites that dropped from the ceiling on the outer edges of the room. Castle Bariloche was built on top of a massive cave.

Most of the floor was smooth, matte stone although the outer edges were natural rock that had been chiseled flat and then swept clean. The room was divided by half-walls and cubicles. Even though it contained overhead lighting in the form of small gas lanterns suspended from the ceiling, the room appeared to have been vacated by any Odessa personnel.

A rush of air swept over them, instantly causing them to raise their weapons, as they presumed a door had been opened. The two operatives ran deeper into the cavern in search of another opening. They didn’t find the source of the air, but they did locate something else.

“Jeez, Cam. Those are the sarin canisters.”

“I gotta film this.” Cam retrieved her cell phone and began filming, narrating as she walked through the rows of shiny canisters.

Gunner continued to inspect the space. He marveled at the weapons cache located beneath the castle. He then found the source of the cool air that had swept over them earlier. A dark tunnel led away from the space. He found a pair of steel doors with small air vents built into the top of them. An internal lock could only be released with a retina scan.

He caught up to Cam, who had just finished recording. Then something caught Gunner’s eye. It was a single red blinking light near the shelves full of ammunition. He raised his rifle and zigzagged through the crates of weapons, which included rocket-propelled grenade launchers.

He pushed through several boxes of bullets placed in front of the device. The timer was blinking rapidly as it approached its end.

5:00 a.m.

Four minutes.

And then it would detonate the explosives wired to it.

Gunner retrieved his phone and fired up the flashlight app. He studied the wiring and traced them in both directions to C-4, a plastic explosive used by the military. More wires rose through the ceiling via gray conduit. Gunner was about to dismantle the device when Cam called out for him.

“Gunner! I’ve got a bomb over here! It’s on a timer counting down to five.”

“I have one, too!” he shouted back. “We’ve gotta go. It may have a backup trip wire.”

Cam didn’t hesitate as she turned and ran for the stairwell. The timer had just passed the four-minute mark. Gunner ran and tried to reach Bear on the comms as he started up the steps. They were too far underground to make contact.

“Come on!” Cam shouted, who had a healthy head start on Gunner.

“Get outside! Call Bear!”

By the time Gunner reached the Great Hall, Cam had located the front door and exited the castle. He turned toward Henry’s study and rushed through the doorway. He pulled his knife from his sheath, cut off the man’s bony thumb, and shoved it into his pocket.

“DNA,” he mumbled as he ran into the Great Hall and raced toward the foyer of the castle. Just as he reached the twelve-foot-tall carved wood doors, an enormous explosion shook the ground beneath his feet, sending him into the air and onto the concrete entry steps. Gunner tried to recover, but several additional explosions rumbled beneath him.

The ground lurched upward and then began to drop downward. The groan of the castle’s foundation giving way sounded like the side of a mountain falling down.

“Gunner!” Cam’s voice could barely be heard through the rumble of the castle’s collapse and another series of explosions, smaller but devastating nonetheless. The castle wall broke apart, separating from the north tower, the sanctuary designed to pay homage to Heinrich Himmler and that acted as the meeting room of the twelve heads of Odessa—die Zwölf.

The deafening roar of the castle’s collapse confused a stunned Gunner. He fought to regain his orientation. Suddenly, two powerful arms lifted Gunner off the ground. Bear wasn’t gentle as he pulled his partner away from the collapsing building that had imploded and was now sliding down the ridge into the lake. The ground shook as if an earthquake or volcanic eruption had triggered a massive landslide.

Gunner made it to his feet, and the two men ran to Cam, who stood near the car a hundred yards away. By the time they arrived by her side, Castle Bariloche, for the most part, had either been reduced to rubble or had fallen a thousand feet or more into the water. The only part of the castle left standing was the north tower although it was perilously close to the edge.

“We need to contact the Den and have them warn the town,” said Gunner after he got over the shock of being so close to the initial blast. “The sarin might spread downwind, but it will certainly affect their water supply.”

“I’ll do it,” said Cam, who immediately dialed the number.

Bear patted Gunner on the back. “We got ’em.”

“This time, maybe. Somebody got away in that chopper.”

“I heard it lift off. I was in the middle of a kill when it happened.”

Gunner turned to look at the north tower, which appeared to have survived the destruction. Not knowing what was inside the tower built as an exact replica of Himmler’s, he wouldn’t know the symbolic victory it would have on the remaining members of Odessa. However, something inside Gunner told him this was only one more battle in an upcoming war with the Nazi idealogues.

He took a deep breath and viewed the carnage. He shared his thoughts with Bear. “They’re well funded. Organized. And they continue to follow a dead leader who built a nation on hate. I don’t think this is over.”

Part IV

“The only thing predictable about life is its unpredictability.”

Chapter Forty-One

The Den

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

Gunner and the Gray Fox team returned stateside via the same Gulfstream jet that had delivered them to Argentina from Munich. They all slept hard on the flight and were somewhat rested by the time the plane touched down in nearby Arlington. A chopper was awaiting their arrival to immediately ferry them to their homes for a night of showers and some downtime. The next morning, they were to report to the Den at oh-nine-hundred for a debriefing.

As they arrived the next morning, the debriefing was placed on hold, as the Den was once again abuzz with activity. In the early morning hours, President Taylor had raised the threat level for New York City to critical. Working with the governor of New York, the president ordered mandatory curfews, nonessential business closures, and public transportation to be shut down. The mayor of New York ordered some parts of the city, namely the Wall Street financial district and the hotels in Midtown, to be evacuated.

Gunner was the first to arrive that morning and was immediately whisked into Ghost’s office, where the two had a frank discussion behind closed doors.

“This is much bigger than we initially thought,” he began with a dour expression on his face. He took a sip of his coffee and set it down. Ghost rubbed his temples, which drew Gunner’s attention to the stress his former mentor was undergoing. “I’ve assigned Jackal to undertake certain aspects of this investigation. Although I trust our team implicitly, some of the evidence we’ve uncovered boggles the mind.”

Gunner tore open the Velcro flap of his cargo pants and retrieved a Ziploc baggie with Henry Gruber’s thumb in it. He gently set it on Ghost’s desk.

“Here’s some more evidence for ya. You know what they say. Thumbs up, big guy.”

Gunner rarely joked with Ghost during a tense moment, but he felt this was a time his boss needed a laugh. It worked, and the change in the color of Ghost’s face and his overall demeanor revealed why the two men shared an excellent personal relationship.

“Gee, thanks,” said Ghost with a chuckle. He reached for the bag and held it up to examine all sides of the severed thumb. “Mr. Gruber, I presume?”

“Unless the old man who bit down on the cyanide was lying,” replied Gunner. “I wouldn’t put anything past these people. The more we talked about it on the ride back, it was obvious he was stalling us in the final moments of his life so we’d blow up with the rest of his damn castle.”

“I’ll have the team analyze it against all known DNA databases. This was quick thinking on your part.”

Gunner leaned back in the chair, and his eyes grew wide as he exhaled. “Well, if I had been any less quick, you’d be looking for my body parts floating in the lake.”

Ghost got back to what was troubling him. “As you’ve heard, Homeland Security, based on supposedly credible sources, has elevated the threat level for New York City to the highest level since 9/11.”

“What are they expecting?”

“That’s the thing. They don’t have specifics. They’re focused on everything from the contamination of the regional water supply to multiple targets for the release of sarin gas throughout the city. The president, governor, and mayor are working together to shut everything down.”

“Okay.” Gunner stretched out the word as if he was skeptical of the decision. “Until when?”

“That’s the thing. It’s indefinite. Are they shutting down until Odessa strikes? Or are they going to shut down until, say, a week from Tuesday? Or until somebody gives the all clear?”

Gunner shook his head. “That’s a lot of questions. Terrorists tried to take down the World Trade Center in ’93. They waited eight years to try again.”

“And during those eight years, America became complacent and let its guard down. The administration is pulling resources from around the country. It’s a decision that’s logical but leaves other targets highly vulnerable to attack. At least now we know who and what we’re dealing with.”

Gunner wasn’t so sure. “Do we? Okay, we’ve proven Odessa is real. Ghost, you should’ve seen that place. There was Nazi shit everywhere. I mean, huge, three-story banners with swastikas, bronze busts of Hitler, Himmler, Goebbels, and some I couldn’t identify. It was like a shrine to the Third Reich.”

Ghost furrowed his brow and became pensive. “Jackal has provided me a lot to think about. There were strong ties between Nazi Germany and America dating back to the war. Operation Paperclip infused thousands of scientists, all of whom were once Nazi sympathizers, into our universities and government. At the time, the biggest names in our financial markets, like Rockefeller and Kennedy, supported the rise of the Third Reich. International banks are knee deep in their stolen money and gold. Hell, they still are.”

“Obviously, they never stopped fighting the war while America and the rest of the world rebuilt Germany for them,” added Gunner.

“Gunner, I want your gut feeling on all of this. Do you think Odessa is out for revenge on behalf of the failed Reich? Or is it something bigger like taking over the Motherland or some such?”

Gunner sighed and responded, “I don’t know, Ghost. I’m a patriot not a politician. I do have a gut feeling about this guy Gruber. He was almost like a man without a country. He, or his family, created this castle like all the others you can visit in Germany. Only, their choice of décor was vintage Nazi.

“The evidence we’ve uncovered and the historical information provided by Professors Bale and von Zwick confirm our belief that Odessa was formed to continue the Reich. As I said earlier, terrorist organizations, whether al-Qaeda or Odessa, are very patient. They’re idealogues.

“Sure, there’s an element of revenge, I guess. But these guys seem different. They’re calculating. I haven’t seen Jackal’s research into Knight Gruppe, but I can only imagine they’ve got a lot of fingers in every pie around the world.

“These recent attacks all came to fruition after they beat us to the sarin in that submarine. It’s as if they’ve been waiting for a weapon that leveled the playing field. Revenge is part of it, but I believe destabilization of governments and society is their broader goal. When America and the West is in turmoil, they’re weak and also vulnerable. It opens the door for despots and tyrants like Nazis.”

Ghost mindlessly examined Gruber’s thumb. “Your analysis makes New York the logical target. When most people talk about 9/11, they don’t mention the Pentagon or that field in Pennsylvania. The conversation always centers around the World Trade Centers and New York City.”

“Okay, let me play devil’s advocate for a minute,” countered Gunner. “Why attack Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara? There was an NFL game scheduled in New York. MetLife Stadium is adjacent to the Hackensack River. They could’ve delivered the sarin in the same manner and struck their primary target.

“Also, consider the cyberattack on Detroit’s power grid. Why Detroit? Con Ed has been hacked before, and it sent the city into a tailspin. Nobody outside of Michigan cared.”

“Misdirection?” asked Ghost.

Gunner shrugged. “Maybe? Or is this a different kind of attack? It’s not designed for worldwide headlines like New York City generates. It’s aimed at hitting all parts of America. Spreading the love, in a morbid sense.”

Ghost stood and began to pace the floor. He opened his door and bellowed for Jackal to join them. Cam and Bear had arrived also. He summoned them all into his office.

The three filed in and immediately sensed the tension. None of them spoke.

Jackal had her laptop tucked under her arm and awaited Ghost’s directive.

“Take a seat, everyone,” said Ghost. He turned to Jackal. “Earlier, I asked you to search Knight Gruppe’s corporate holdings for ownership in any shipping companies. What did you find?”

She promptly opened her laptop and began to type on her keyboard. “Nothing owned directly by Knight, but I did find a connection. Based on the team’s discovery of Henry Gruber, I began cross-referencing the name Gruber to all known transportation companies. I got a hit.

“Henry Gruber Jr., son of the man the team identified at the castle, is the president of ASTARSA, a shipyard in Mar del Plata, a small city two hundred fifty miles south of Buenos Aires. ASTARSA is owned by a subsidiary of Knight Gruppe. A week ago, a container ship made its way north. After a one-day stop in Natal, Brazil, it continued on to the Port of New Jersey.”

“What was its cargo?” asked Ghost.

“Varied and sundry,” she replied. “Food products like soybean, corn, and wheat. Also, the new Mercedes X-Class pickups and related parts. However, we just dug a little deeper into the ship’s manifest. There was medical equipment manufactured by Airgas Healthcare. They manufacture everything from medical gas canisters to the cylinder valves that hospitals connect their hoses to. They also make ventilators liked they used during the pandemic years ago.”

“There ya go!” shouted Gunner.

“That’s it,” added Cam.

“Okay, okay, people. Hold on.” Ghost tamped down the enthusiasm. “What’s the status of this shipment?”

“It arrived at the Port of New Jersey two days ago.”

Ghost clapped his hands. “Get on it, Jackal. Now! Everyone needs to identify and track those containers.”

Jackal scurried out of the office. She closed the door behind her, but her voice could be heard barking out orders.

Gunner stood and wandered behind the desk. He gestured toward Ghost’s computer. “May I?”

“Go ahead. What are you thinking?”

“I said these people are only partly ideological, and their overall purpose may be to breathe new life into the Third Reich. That said, there were less than two hundred canisters left in the castle. Their next attack may be very large. Why wouldn’t they try to make a huge impact on the American way of life while taking out the very people they sought to exterminate during the thirties and forties?”

“Jews,” replied Ghost. “All the more reason they’d target New York.”

“Maybe,” mumbled Gunner, who opened Google and searched for the largest Jewish-populated areas in the U.S. “Okay, let’s see what we have here.”

Everyone huddled around Gunner as he scrolled through the results. He found a website with a chart including ranking, area, population and percentage.

“New York, two million,” said Ghost.

“LA is second with six hundred thousand,” added Cam.

Gunner scowled and shook his head side to side. “Yeah, but that’s on the West Coast. I don’t think they’d deliver the sarin to New Jersey when they could cut through the Panama Canal and save a lot of time. Take a look at number three on the list. South Florida. From Miami to West Palm Beach. Well over half a million. They also have the second largest by percentage of the total population, almost equal to New York.”

Ghost patted Gunner on the shoulder and paced through his office again. “It’s a possibility. We need Jackal to confirm where the contents of that container went; otherwise, we’d be chasing the proverbial wild goose.”

Gunner stood. As he made eye contact with Cam and Bear, he made a suggestion. “The feds are pouring everything into New York. The three of us aren’t gonna make a difference. Let us stage in South Florida and wait for the results of Jackal’s research. If something breaks in New York, we can always come back. But, if my hunch is right, we may be too late, especially if we’re sitting here waiting to react.”

“Where to?” asked Ghost.

“I’m thinkin’ Patrick Air Force Base. I met the commander down there years ago. We’ve got a pretty good relationship. I think he’ll give an assist.”

Ghost sighed and looked toward the ceiling for guidance. “Let’s go with your gut. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Patrick Air Force Base

Brevard County, Florida

By the time the jet carrying the Gray Fox team landed at Patrick Air Force Base located halfway between Cocoa Beach and Melbourne, Florida, the analysts at the Den had performed some incredible cyber-detective work under enormous time constraints. The pilot of the aircraft had barely taxied to a stop when two base security vehicles raced to its side. As the door was opened and the stairs lowered, Gunner immediately recognized a familiar face waiting on the tarmac.

Colonel John Dobbins had been the longtime commander of the 920th Rescue Wing located at the base. As the hugely successful Space Force spread its wings, so to speak, throughout the Air Force, personnel were shuffled, creating an opening for a new base commander at Patrick. Colonel Dobbins got the nod.

He and Gunner first met when Heather was going through her training for space flight. The two men hit it off instantly. When one of Gunner’s test flights went awry years ago, it was the 920th who assisted in the search for the former Air Force pilot who’d ejected from the disintegrating jet.

Later, prior to Gunner’s trip into space, he spent a day with Colonel Dobbins at Patrick for orientation on safety protocols in the event his spacecraft malfunctioned upon reentry. As it turned out, malfunction was hardly the term Gunner would’ve used.

Gunner bounded down the final few steps and heartily shook Colonel Dobbins’s hand. “Congrats on the promotion. Well earned, John.”

The two men shook hands and exchanged a bro-hug. “When I got the call from our mutual friend that you needed a staging area, my first thought was great, Gunner’s off to lasso another asteroid. I just got the intelligence file transmitted to my office. To be honest, I hope they’re wrong. This will be a helluva problem if they’re not.”

“Colonel, I’d like you to meet Air Force Major Cameron Mills and Lieutenant Barrett King, both retired, if you know what I mean.”

Colonel Dobbins chuckled and smiled. “It’s a pleasure. Thank you both for keeping my friend in one piece.”

“There’s no more difficult job on the planet, sir,” said Cam with a wink to Gunner.

Bear shook hands with the base commander and then pointed past his shoulder to a solitary helicopter sitting on the tarmac near the control tower. “You’ve scored one of the rare Grey Wolf choppers.”

Colonel Dobbins took a deep breath and then made eye contact with each of the operatives. “Yeah, in fact, it was brought out here for a reason. You might need it.”

“Sweet,” said Bear. “I’ve heard all about that sucker.”

Colonel Dobbins gestured for them to follow him to the administrative building where his office was located. “Let’s hold off on discussing your mission until we’re inside with the file. In the meantime, let me brief you on the Boeing MH-139. The Grey Wolf, as we call it. The military began to phase out the dated Sikorsky HH-60Gs over time.”

“We’ve flown the Pave Hawk many times, haven’t we, guys?” asked Bear, who was most excited to learn the features of the new Grey Wolf.

The colonel continued. “You’re going to enjoy a substantial increase in speed, range, and maneuverability. It also has a survivability factor that’s unsurpassed. With the increased ability for domestic terrorists to obtain RPGs, the Pentagon needed a chopper that could withstand a direct hit. The Grey Wolf can survive one.”

Bear pointed towards the helicopter as they passed it. “The five-blade rotors reduce its noise levels.”

“Good observation,” said the colonel. “One of the advantages to the Grey Wolf is now a pilot can practically sneak up on a target rather than telegraphing its approach from a distance. Everything about it is state of the art, yet its control panel is remarkably similar to other choppers our pilots have flown. That’s one of the reasons that I plan on loaning it to you.”

Bear smiled and gave the colonel a thumbs-up. “We’ll bring it back in one piece. I promise.”

He stopped and turned to the operatives. “Colonel Bradford at Eglin told me you’d say that.”

Gunner gulped. “Sir, any accidents are my responsibility.”

“Yes, Gunner, they are. And Barrett’s, too. Maybe yours if I get mad enough.” He pointed at Cam and smiled.

“We promise to do our best, sir,” said Bear half-pleadingly.

“I know, Lieutenant. Now, let’s get inside so you can unpack this intel. It should be supplemented with more specifics by now.”

They hustled into his office, and he instructed his aides to give them privacy. Jackal had sent additional information to the team, and the picture she painted was dire.

Cam summarized the Den’s findings as Gunner and Bear studied a series of security videos on a second computer screen.

“The cargo container that held the medical supplies, as it was listed on the ship’s manifest, was transferred at the dock to a truck, where it in turn was transported to a chlorine chemical plant in South Kearny, an industrialized area located on a peninsula between the Hackensack and Passaic Rivers.

“The security videos you are watching came from the Alden Leeds plant as well as adjoining industrial facilities on the highway leading into Kearny Point. Jackal and her team monitored every chlorine vessel that left the Alden Leeds plant. Most left in their delivery containers and were dispatched around the northeast to legitimate end users.

“Then there’s this. The company made several trips the night before last to the CSX train yard in South Kearny near the Meadowlands. These railcars full of chlorine were bound for South Florida. Look. Here’s the CSX railroad map for the I-95 corridor. It follows the Atlantic Seaboard, runs through the center of Florida, and cuts back to the east coast after it passes Orlando.”

“Where’s the train now?” asked Gunner.

Cam navigated to the most recent update from the Den. She clicked a link that provided access to the CSX tracking system. They saw the blinking dot moving systematically past Lake Okeechobee until it turned due south toward West Palm Beach.

Gunner’s phone rang, startling the trio. He glanced at the display and mouthed the word Ghost. He connected the call.

“I’ve got you on speaker. We’re reviewing the intel.”

“You’ve gotta move. Now! CSX reports that their onboard engineers are not responding to their calls. They’re now considering the train a runaway.”

“Can’t they stop it remotely?” asked Cam.

Ghost paused ever so slightly. When he responded, his voice was eerily dire. “Their systems have been hacked.”

Gunner grabbed the cell phone and led the way as the Gray Fox team raced out of the administration building and into the bright Florida sun. Colonel Dobbins was speaking with two of his subordinates when he snapped his head around to see them running across the tarmac.

“What?” he asked simply.

“We’ve got our confirmation,” replied Gunner. “Are the weapons hot?”

“Yes.”

The three ran past the surprised colonel toward the helicopter. Minutes later, Bear had them airborne and racing to intercept the train.

Chapter Forty-Three

West Palm Beach, Florida

There were eighty-six chemical plants across the U.S. that used chlorine gas to produce bleach and also repackaged the bulk chlorine for resale in smaller containers. Most of that moved around the country by rail. Nearly sixty-four million Americans, one in five people, live in close proximity to these railcars crisscrossing the country, making them vulnerable to accidents or terrorism. Acute exposure to chlorine gas can be deadly.

Odessa took it one step further. They dispatched a freight train pulling six railcars ostensibly filled with chlorine to treat municipal sewage and drinking water. The facilities in South Florida servicing the highly populated counties of Dade, Broward, and Palm Beach were the destinations listed on the train’s manifest. Only chlorine wasn’t on the train. Sarin was.

“I’ve got eyes on the train,” said Bear as he leaned into the controls. He lowered the chopper until it was a hundred feet over the last set of railcars.

“I count six chlorine railcars,” said Cam. “They’re marked PROCOR, confirming Jackal’s research.”

“Get out in front of it, Bear, and let’s see if anybody’s drivin’ this thing,” Gunner calmly ordered.

Bear sped ahead and then expertly spun the chopper around so it was facing the train’s blue-and-yellow locomotive head-on. The train continued to speed toward them without slowing. As it passed underneath the helicopter, they were able to make out three men dressed in black clothing looking up through the rectangular windows. When they saw the Grey Wolf, they hustled toward the rear of the locomotive, out of sight.

Gunner called Ghost. “We’re tracking the train, and they’ve seen us by their reaction. I don’t believe the engineers are in control at this point. Do you want us to take them out?”

“You can’t without being able to gain control of the train. CSX has lost all remote capabilities, and the hack destroyed their network. They’ll never get it under control in time.”

Gunner paused and looked to Cam. “Have you looked around back there? Is this thing equipped with rescue gear?”

“Yeah, typical stuff. Rope ladders. Long lines. Vests and chairs.”

Gunner looked to Bear. “Can you steady your speed to lower me onto the train?”

“No problem. They don’t have any evasive moves in their arsenal.”

Gunner turned his attention back to Ghost. “I’m gonna drop onto the train. Get somebody from CSX to text me instructions for manually stopping the locomotive. Also, just in case, I need to know how to uncouple it while moving, if that’s possible or even advisable.”

“Roger,” said Ghost. He was about to disconnect the call when Jackal hustled into his office.

“Gunner? Wait.”

Cam readied the rescue line that would drop Gunner to the top of the railcars while Ghost spoke to Jackal. He finally came back to the line.

“Complications. Two, actually. CSX has been monitoring their security cameras along the railroad from West Palm Beach to Homestead. There was suspicious activity picked up at one camera in Fort Lauderdale.”

“Regarding the tracks?” asked Gunner.

“Yes. They believe two men installed shunts near their Yamato milepost, just north of where Yamato Road intersects with the railway.”

Bear input the information into the onboard GPS of the helicopter. “What do you mean by shunts?”

“I’m ready, Gunner!” shouted Cam.

“Not good,” replied Gunner. “Keep her steady.”

Shunt devices used a combination of wires and magnets to force malfunctions in basic railroad functions. They would be placed across railroad tracks in order to disrupt low-level electric currents on the railroad tracks, which in turn disables safety features such as applying Positive Train Control, an emergency brake and stop procedure. Based upon their placement, however, they can be used to intentionally caused derailments.

Once the locomotive crossed the shunt, it would cause the PTC to engage the emergency braking system, resulting in a catastrophic failure of the draw bar—the mechanism that couples train cars together. The decoupling created a division of the cars from the locomotives and would likely result in a toppling-type derailment of the hazardous-material cars.

Bear hovered over the single passenger car just behind the third locomotive in line as Gunner opened the door. He used the step loop attached to the carabiner at the end of the line. Cam, using the winch, slowly dropped him downward forty feet until he had a foot firmly placed on the top of the third locomotive. Gunner then stepped off and released the line.

She reversed the winch and hollered to Bear, “He’s clear! Pull up to take some of the turbulence off him.” While she helped the line back into the chopper, her phone rang. It was Ghost.

“He’s on the train,” she said immediately.

“Good. We have another problem.”

Cam slammed the door shut, immediately reducing the noise level so she could hear. “What is it?”

“Jackal has identified two more tanker trucks headed your way. They left the same chlorine plant in New Jersey.”

“Do you have a location?” she asked as she joined Bear in the cockpit.

“Jackal has accessed the Florida Department of Transportation toll-road cams and highway patrol surveillance video. They were last picked up on the turnpike near Palm Beach Gardens. One exited there and turned west.”

“What’s out there?”

“The Grassy Waters Preserve, a part of the Everglades that supplies fresh water to West Palm Beach.”

Cam slapped Bear on the arm and pointed backwards with her thumb. She mouthed the words go back.

“What about Gunner?”

“We can’t help him,” she replied, pointing at the GPS. “Find Grassy Waters Preserve.”

She turned her attention to Ghost and asked, “What about the other one?”

“It turned off earlier toward Lake Okeechobee. Both of these are the fresh water sources for communities on both coasts. We think they’re carrying liquid sarin in the chlorine tanks.”

Bear gave the chopper full throttle as he cruised over the rooftops west of Interstate 95. “I see the preserve up ahead.”

“What are our rules of engagement, sir?” asked Cam.

“We believe the trucks have been hijacked and have no authorized destination. At this point, shoot to kill, Cam.”

She glanced at Bear, who nodded. He navigated along Florida’s Turnpike until he located the exit off the toll road at Palm Beach Gardens.

Cam received a text message. It contained an image showing the West Palm Beach water supply.

She studied the GPS on the chopper’s control panel. “There. Follow Northlake Boulevard to the west. It runs parallel to the M-Canal identified on this map. There’s a control structure just to the southwest. They’ll turn left in about—”

“Got it!” exclaimed Bear.

“We’ve got houses everywhere!” Cam complained.

“Then don’t miss. Weapons hot, Camster.”

Bear was feeling confident. He buzzed past the tanker truck and then abruptly did a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn, enjoying the Grey Wolf’s superior handling. He was now facing the oncoming truck. Inside the cab, two men pressed their faces against the windshield after the helicopter suddenly appeared in front of them, hovering above the road.

He turned the chopper broadside to the approaching truck so his door gunner, Cam, could take a clean shot. She slid open the window, another feature of the Grey Wolf, and unleashed a quick barrage from one of the two M240 machine guns mounted between the cockpit and the main door. Bullets tore up the asphalt in front of the tanker truck, forcing the driver to slow down the rig. He had almost come to a stop when Cam opened fire again. They didn’t have time to contend with the two terrorists, who were killed instantly.

The truck had just slowed to a stop in the middle of the road when Bear pointed through the front window. “Here comes the clean-up crew.”

Two Florida Highway Patrol cars led a train of hazmat vehicles and Palm Beach sheriff’s department patrol cars down Northlake Boulevard. Bear didn’t wait to see how they handled the bloody mess Cam left them. He whipped the chopper around and headed northwest across the everglades toward Port Mayaca, the approximate location where the other tanker truck would approach Lake Okeechobee.

Jackal called this time. “We’ve got a report of suspicious activity at the Port Mayaca locks. Two boaters reported a tanker truck slowly approaching the small dam on the service road. They’re locals and said there would be no reason for the chlorine truck to be out there.”

Bear glanced at the GPS and mumbled, “Two minutes.”

He swept low along the everglades so Cam could be ready to take the shot as soon as the opportunity presented itself. They were blinded for a second as the sun reflected off the tanker, confirming its location.

“I see them!” Cam exclaimed. “They’re on the road, dragging hoses toward the water’s edge.”

“On it! Showtime!”

Bear buzzed past them, grabbing their attention long enough to freeze them in place. He whipped the chopper back and once again aligned it so Cam could take the shot. She unleashed the M240, sending a hundred 7.62-millimeter rounds ripping up turf and concrete until they found their mark, tearing holes in the two men, who never had a chance.

“Done!” she shouted as she spun around and gave Bear a high five. “Let’s go get our boy!”

Chapter Forty-Four

CSX Railroad

Broward County, Florida

Gunner had never train-surfed before. He was agile and certainly capable of keeping his balance on water skis and boogie boards. When he was growing up, he’d heard about thrill seekers in Europe who got a cheap and exciting adrenaline rush by riding atop a speeding train. He also recalled that eighty teens died in Germany in 2008, and just three years later, a hundred lost their lives train-surfing in Russia.

The three locomotives made his task much easier. Also, the relatively flat top compared to the string of tanker cars that followed the passenger railcar was a plus. This enabled him to move quickly to the front of the train.

He drew his sidearm and began to walk steadily toward the front. Where the locomotive connected to the passenger car, he took a few quick steps and focused on planting his right leg just at the edge of the car. The six-foot jump was not ordinarily a long one, but atop a moving train there was no margin for error.

He landed on the third locomotive and made his way forward. He slid down the yellow nose and used the steel rungs protruding out of the locomotive to hold on to. Because there was not a continuous exterior ramp and railing from back to front, he climbed to the roof of the next engine and continued forward. Before Gunner climbed down again, he peered over the edge in search of the three men he’d seen inside the cab.

He eased down onto the platform and wrapped his arm through the steel rungs at the back of the locomotive. He prepared mentally to take on the three men, when he suddenly smelled cigarette smoke. He looked above him and to his right, searching for the source. He crouched down and peeked around the corner.

On the catwalk running to the cab door, one of the three men, a burly guy with a bushy red beard, stood staring toward the vehicles, waiting for the train to pass an upcoming railroad crossing. The flashing lights and the lowered arm held the cars at bay until the train filled with sarin passed.

The man’s casual attitude told Gunner two things. One, they were unaware that the train might be destined to derail in less than ten minutes. Second, the man, who looked more like a train engineer than an Odessa operative, might have been hired to hijack the train without knowledge of his employer’s purpose.

As Gunner studied the man, who lit another cigarette off the one he was completing, a classic chain-smoker habit, he contemplated allowing the man to live. Then the hefty man turned forward, revealing a shoulder holster under his right arm. The weapon sealed his fate.

The man was left-handed. He held his cigarette in his left hand. He was totally unaware of Gunner creeping up behind him. He never had a split second to pray to his maker as Gunner placed a bullet through the back of his skull, which exited out of the man’s forehead. His body remained upright in suspended animation for a second or two before toppling over the protective rail and onto the gravel railbed with a rolling thud.

Gunner stayed in his crouch and checked his watch. Five minutes. When neither of the other men emerged from the cab to check on their friend, he moved forward toward the exterior stairs leading to the control-room door.

A small porthole window enabled him to look inside without being detected. When he only saw one of the men navigating the internet on his cell phone, he became concerned about whether he’d only seen two operatives in the train’s cab instead of three. And if they’d killed the CSX engineer, where was he?

Gunner readied his silenced weapon and slowly turned the latch to open the cab door. As the door creaked to provide just enough of an opening for Gunner to take aim, the man’s eyes were averted from his cell phone. The last thing he saw was Gunner’s face peering through the crack as a single round struck him in the heart. He died instantly.

Two shots, two clean kills.

But was it over?

The cab was small, barely large enough for a couple of train engineers. Another door led toward the rear of the locomotive. Gunner aimed his weapon to shoot the center of any target that revealed itself. With his left hand, he flung the door open and prepared to fire.

The third operative revealed himself. He kicked the door outward, and it struck Gunner’s arm, causing him to lose his grip on his pistol. The man lunged onto the floor, landing across Gunner’s legs, in an attempt to reach the weapon.

Gunner pushed the man off his legs and tried to reach for the gun. The man was quicker, rearing back and landing a kick to Gunner’s rib cage that threatened to knock the wind out of him. The momentum of the kick shoved Gunner into the swivel chair that sat atop a stainless-steel post attached to the locomotive’s floor.

The attacker reached for the gun just as Gunner pulled his knife out of its sheath. He deftly twirled the seven-inch knife in his fingers until he had a firm grip on the blade. Then Gunner let it fly.

The perfectly balanced knife struck the man in the right side of his neck. Stunned, he instantly reached up to pull the knife out, causing even more damage to the many blood vessels and arteries that fed the brain.

Gunner was somewhat mesmerized by the man’s eyes as they suddenly froze open, staring blindly forward, until he toppled over onto the locomotive’s console. He scrambled forward to confirm the man was dead. He quickly retrieved his gun and holstered it before safely tucking away his knife.

He checked his watch. Two minutes.

Gunner ripped open his cargo pockets and retrieved his phone. He found the text message.

JACKAL: Trains don’t stop quickly.

“No kidding,” mumbled Gunner. He rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. The average freight train, moving at fifty-five miles an hour, needs a mile or more to stop after the engineer fully applies the emergency brake.

JACKAL: Look for a red handle on the console. Pull it down to the word emergency.

Gunner pulled the handle down as instructed. The train screeched as the brakes were applied. The sudden momentum shift threw him forward. He lost his balance and crashed sideways into the control panel, striking his ribs in the same place as the last man had kicked him. He regained his balance and looked through the rectangular window toward the ground, where sparks were shooting out. He returned to the text message stream.

JACKAL: Check the speed dial. Is it decelerating?

Gunner responded aloud, “Check.”

JACKAL: If so, get the hell out. Jump and run!

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Gunner stepped over the dead men and emerged back into the bright sun. He rushed down the walkway and made his way to the lowest step at the back of the locomotive. The train was slowing, but time had run out as he saw another rail crossing coming up. He knew he was close, so he didn’t hesitate.

He jumped with the momentum of the train and immediately tucked into a fetal position to protect his neck. He rolled through the gravel and came to a stop on the sandy ground. Then two sounds filled the air. One was familiar. The other sounded like the cry of a banshee.

Chapter Forty-Five

Boca Raton, Florida

Just as the three locomotives cleared the crossing over Yamato Road, a high-pitched squeal filled the air, followed by horns honking as the drivers of the vehicles waiting for the train to pass got a front-row seat to the unfolding wreck. The locomotives began to tilt, one at a time, until they fell over toward the back of a retail building.

Panicked drivers blared their horns to urge those behind them to move out of the way. When they didn’t respond fast enough, the drivers threw their cars into reverse and tried to shove their vehicles out of the way.

Gunner watched it all unfold as if it occurred in slow motion. One by one, the locomotives listed to the right before their four hundred thousand pounds of steel crashed to the ground. The passenger car was next; its lightweight structure never had a chance as the chain reaction took place. The twisted steel connecting the four railcars tried to hold them upright, but they were no match for gravity.

“Gunner! Gunner!” yelled Cam from behind him. Bear had straddled the railroad tracks with the helicopter while Cam rushed out to check on him.

He stood and brushed off the sand and crushed oyster shells that helped break his fall. He spoke to her without taking his eyes off the train.

“I’m fine. We need to order an evac.”

“It’s already done. Come on, let’s get you clear.” Cam grabbed him by the arm and tried to pull him away.

Then the groaning of steel stopped. The first sarin-filled railcar turned very slowly on its side and landed in the sandy mix of crushed shells and sparse turf similar to what Gunner had rolled through after his jump. The remaining tanker cars remained mostly upright.

“Unbelievable,” he mumbled as he allowed Cam to pull him away. He turned to her. “You guys took off. I was surprised—”

She interrupted him. “There were two tanker trucks filled with liquid sarin headed toward Lake Okeechobee and another reservoir. They planned on emptying the stuff into the fresh water supply.”

“You stopped ’em?”

“Duh! You didn’t think you’d have all the fun, did you?”

Gunner glanced back to confirm the carnage had come to an end. He laughed. “Bear needed some action. I think he was getting soft.”

Cam laughed with him as she led him to the helicopter. She pointed at Bear, who was waving happily through the windshield.

“We’ve got a problem.”

“Now what?”

“Naturally, he wants to keep it.”

Gunner looked at the ground and chuckled.

After the trio reunited in the chopper and exchanged war stories, they headed back to Patrick AFB. Gunner called into the Den and spoke to Ghost.

“Hey, Ghost. Are you feeling better now?” Gunner asked.

“You have no idea,” he replied. “The rest of the Gray Fox team is as well. They’re still high-fiving each other. Of course, my reviews from above are mixed, but I can deal with that.”

“Whadya mean?” asked Bear.

“Oh, you know. Great job. Your unit saved the day and all of that. Then they beat me over the head for keeping the operation to ourselves. We were called cowboys. Lone wolves. Not team players. The usual. I’ll take the heat as long as the threat is eliminated.”

Gunner spoke up in their defense. “DC will never understand how we have to operate. Bureaucracies have leaks. They’re also full of fiefdoms. Nobody wants another unit to step on their turf. We never could’ve pulled this off today if we had to go through a bunch of interagency cooperation.”

Ghost laughed. “I know that. Listen, I’ll take my licks behind the woodshed when the time comes. I’ll promise to be good and never do it again. But when the situation calls for it, we’ll handle it the exact same way, right?”

“Ride or die, baby!” bellowed Bear.

“Yup, we stick together,” added Cam.

“Agreed. You guys take a day to decompress, but we do need to debrief everyone together. I want to close out this operation with everyone’s thoughts. I plan on calling in Professor Bale and also Dr. Randolph to see if they have anything to add. How’s that sound?”

“Sure,” replied Gunner.

“Hey, um, boss,” began Bear. “Since we don’t have a ride back to the house, I was wonderin’ if we could add another—?”

“No!” Ghost’s response was stern. “I’ve already heard from Colonel Dobbins, who asked about the condition of his chopper. You didn’t scratch it, did you?”

Gunner and Cam laughed as they fist-bumped one another. Bear scowled, then reluctantly turned the Grey Wolf toward the Atlantic Coast over Melbourne.

Chapter Forty-Six

The Den

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

Spirits were high at the Den when Gunner, Cam and Bear strode in triumphantly for the first time since the attack on South Florida had been thwarted. Spontaneous applause greeted them. Gunner shunned the accolades, as did Cam. Bear, the man-child that he was, ran through the rows of workstations, giving everyone high fives. After the excitement wore down, Gunner said a few words to the team, with Ghost and Jackal watching from the back of the operations center.

“I’m gonna keep this short. I want you all to know something. The three of us owe you our lives. What you do in this room keeps us alive when we’re out there. No mission gets accomplished without the efforts of everybody here. Most importantly, at least to us, anyway, we kinda enjoy living, and the three of us have you to thank.”

“Hear! Hear!” shouted Bear.

“Yes, thank you!” said Cam as she joined in the high-five celebration.

“Bonuses for everyone! Raises, too!” Bear kept the jubilant celebration going.

Gunner glanced over at Ghost, who shook his head and smiled. He was going to allow the team to have their moment, but there were still things to discuss and appointments scheduled.

“Yes, thank you everyone for a job well done,” Ghost said as he stepped into the middle of the operations center. “As a reminder, Dr. Kala Bale from William & Mary will be joining us in an hour. I’ll need Jackal and her aides to join us in the large conference room. Thank you.”

Ghost motioned for the Gray Fox team to join him in his office. They dutifully followed, and Jackal hustled in last with laptop in hand. Ghost shut the door to give them privacy and immediately began. His appearance had changed remarkably since the attack had been thwarted.

“Well done, people. This has been a helluva couple of weeks for all of us.”

“Sir, you look better,” said Cam.

“Thank you, Cam. The attack on Levi’s Stadium shocked me to my core. The heinous, callous act of killing that many innocent people infuriated me, but it also caused me to lose faith in humanity.”

Gunner took a deep breath. “It was like I said that day before we left for Berlin. Hatred doesn’t die with its leader. The mentality of Odessa is no different than the attitude the Nazis had toward the Jews or any other group of people they considered impure. After all these years, their hate guides their actions. So, in my opinion, they have to be dealt with harshly in order to prevent that mindset from rising again.”

Ghost nodded in agreement before giving his assessment. “Well, you certainly dealt a decisive blow in Argentina. Based upon your debrief reports and Cam’s video footage, the cache of weapons and the remaining canisters of sarin gas were destroyed. Your actions set them back decades in their quest to regain power.”

Gunner leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath before allowing the air to escape through his puffed cheeks. Cam noticed his somber demeanor.

“Gunner?” she asked.

He sat upright in his chair again and responded, “Yeah, sorry. Um, something still bothers me about what happened in the castle. Henry Gruber, if that’s his real name—”

“It is,” interrupted Jackal. “I’ll expand in a minute.”

“Okay, Henry Gruber was prepared to die. That was a given. He could’ve easily left with the other two guys on the chopper. I also understand why they rigged the castle with explosives. There was probably more evidence in there, and they didn’t have time to remove it. The same applies to the weapons.”

“I sense you have a but,” said Ghost.

“Yes. But why would they destroy those two hundred canisters of sarin? They’d been preparing for many years to discover the wreckage of U-1226. This was the weapon Odessa needed to achieve their goal of recovering what they considered to be rightfully theirs.”

“Maybe there’s more somewhere?” suggested Bear.

“Other agencies will be analyzing the volume of sarin contained on the train and the two trucks that left the New Jersey chemical plant,” replied Ghost. “They will try to apply that amount to the size of the canisters used to transport the sarin in the U-boat.”

Gunner continued relaying his thoughts. “Again, this is what troubles me. Two hundred canisters represent twenty percent of their chemical weapons capabilities. Forget the guns and ammunition, even the military-grade stuff. They have plenty of money to buy more. Manufacturing that much sarin without getting caught would be near impossible.”

“Are you suggesting they were empty to lead us into a false sense of security?” asked Cam.

“I think we have to operate under that assumption. Yes.”

Ghost jutted out his chin and lowered his eyes. The wheels in his mind were spinning. “I’m going to have the EPA and the CDC offer to analyze the rubble. We contacted the Argentine government and suggested the evacuation of Bariloche, which they did. Their own environmental people will analyze the water quality in the lake. However, they’re ill-equipped to send in a team to sift through the remains of the castle. Hell, it’ll take a herculean effort for our people to do it. It’s not the easiest of terrain to work with.”

Cam laughed. “Yeah, we know. My muscles are still pissed off.”

“Okay. I’ll make that happen,” said Ghost, who then changed the subject. “Gaining access to the Knight Gruppe servers and the old journals in the CFO’s office was very helpful. Their cyber people moved quickly to lock us out, but Jackal has amassed enough data to paint a pretty big picture of their financial holdings.”

“Yes, and their value is in the trillions. Cash, precious metals, real estate, equities. You name it. They’re as diverse as their entities are widespread across the globe. Unfortunately, I don’t think we got into what I’ll call the good stuff. Conglomerates of this size didn’t get there without the assistance of dirty politicians and career government employees. Money talks, and I can’t seem to find the smoking gun evidencing payoffs to high-ranking governmental officials. They must’ve had another way of making payments.”

“Shell corporations?” asked Cam.

“Probably,” Jackal replied. “We’re running them down. They can also use dark money donors. Dark money donations are used all the time to influence politicians, and the source isn’t disclosed.”

“What about the principals of these companies? Is there a connection to the Grubers?” asked Cam.

Ghost glanced at his watch. “Good segue, Cam. Professor Bale should be arriving about now. I want to meet with her in Jackal’s annex.”

Ghost rose from his chair and escorted his team through the Den and down the hallway toward the large conference room where Jackal had adorned every wall with the research obtained from Professor von Zwick. As the investigation progressed, she’d supplemented his work with her findings in an effort to produce a visual of Odessa’s history and possible current connections.

Once they were in the hallway, she reached for Gunner’s arm and held him back. She turned to face him so she could look into his eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

A look of concern came over Gunner’s face. “What is it?”

“Colonel Robinson is dead.”

Gunner studied Jackal’s face as his mind raced. U.S. Army Colonel Maxwell Robinson was the Department of Defense’s appointed liaison between NASA and Roscosmos, the Russian Space Agency. He was the man who’d helped cover up Heather’s murder.

An inner debate had raged within Gunner since the moment he discovered the truth about her death in space. The mention of the man’s name sent him into fits of rage that had to be suppressed to prevent Gunner from brutally murdering the man himself.

He’d had conversations with Jackal, the ex-FBI agent, about what his options were. In the end, he’d decided to leave the man’s life up to fate just to put the issue out of his mind. Now this news had brought it back, front and center.

“How?” he asked.

“Robinson took a leave of absence from his position at NASA to visit Hawaii. He’d recently sought counseling for his depression, and he visited doctors there to discuss life-ending medications. When he found out about the twenty-day waiting period, he visited Mount Kilauea, which has been erupting lately. He flung himself into the lava and burned to death one night.”

Gunner seemed skeptical. “Did he leave a note?”

“No, but the FBI investigation confirmed his depression from his coworkers.”

“Family?”

“Nope. Sadly, he died very much alone.”

“Jackal?” asked Gunner, stretching out her name.

Before she could answer, a member of base security appeared with Professor Bale in tow.

She greeted them first. “Hi, guys. I’m sorry I’m late.”

Jackal turned away from Gunner to address her. “Your timing is perfect. I believe Gunner and I just closed out another case. Didn’t we?”

She turned to him and raised her eyebrows. It was obvious to Gunner that Jackal, who was now a trusted friend, had helped him solve the problem he’d wrestled with for years.

“Yes. Case closed.” He smiled and winked at Jackal before turning his attention to Professor Bale. “So, did they tell you about the thumb?”

Chapter Forty-Seven

The Den

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

“What we are proposing to do is the equivalent of a massive DNA or genealogy project,” began Jackal after she and Professor Bale laid out what they’re extensive research had generated thus far. “The gathering of the DNA samples would have to fall under our purview and the Department of Justice. Kala will handle the genealogy side of it.”

Dr. Bale expounded on Jackal’s introduction. “What I envision is basically the construction of the Odessa family tree. Something similar has been done by Nazi hunters for years, but their focus has always been on locating former guards or employees of the concentration camps. This endeavor would be different. We now know Odessa is real. And, with the thumb, we can begin to study the bloodlines that may somehow connect Gruber to high-ranking members of the Nazi Party.”

Gunner relayed Gruber’s final words. “Before his death by cyanide, he mentioned the vision of his grandfather, Himmler. Something about rising from the ashes. Could he be Himmler’s grandson?”

“That’s possible, but let me remind everyone of something,” said the professor. “The Lebensborn, the so-called fount of life, especially in Norway, could all lay claim to being the descendent of Himmler. There could be dozens of them. I mean, those who participated in this Nazi program to breed a blond-haired, blue-eyed master race may have fathered hundreds.”

“All connected by their DNA,” added Cam.

Jackal stepped in. “Now, that’s not to say they’re all guilty of being Odessa.”

“Very true,” said Professor Bale before issuing a caution. “The Nazi hunters, those who made it their life’s work to uncover former prison guards or employees, crossed the line many times by associating family members with the misdeeds of their parents or even grandparents. We can’t go that far.”

“Exactly,” added Ghost. “As Jackal pointed out, this is our equivalent of pursuing a RICO case against the mob.” RICO was an acronym for the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, commonly used to take down organized crime syndicates using both civil cases and criminal prosecutions.

“We can use it as a cross-referencing tool between these corporate holdings and Odessa, right?” asked Gunner.

“Absolutely,” replied Professor Bale.

“Let me add one more thing,” said Jackal. “The popularity of DNA-harvesting companies like 23andMe have now become excellent resources for the DOJ to investigate crimes. Recent court rulings have given the FBI subpoena access to those genetic results. Through our government’s ability to reach into the databases of these thousands of health and ancestry services, we can begin to construct the Nazi family tree.”

“All starting with Mr. Gruber’s thumb,” added Professor Bale.

Cam laughed. “I always wondered why people would voluntarily submit to a DNA analysis that was then stored in a database.”

“Heck, they pay to do that,” added Jackal.

Bear shared something from growing up. “It reminds me of the women who sat outside grocery stores, urging parents to have their kids’ DNA taken to put into a database in case they were kidnapped. Man, I grew up in a bad neighborhood. These moms were unknowingly providing law enforcement a DNA match to any crime their kids committed fifteen or twenty years later. Don’t get me wrong, we want criminals off the street. But given the choice, I think most mothers would think twice about snitching their kids out. By volunteering up their DNA, they unknowingly did it years in advance.”

Ghost checked his watch. Dr. Randolph was due to arrive shortly, so he had to wind the meeting up.

“Professor Bale, I can’t think you enough for the help you’ve provided us and our country. I want you to know that because of your involvement in this investigation, we’ve been required to conduct a thorough background check on you. You passed with flying colors. As we proceed, of course, as an adjunct member of this team, you’re sworn to secrecy. I take it you agree?”

“Absolutely, sir. I’m a patriot.”

The group said their goodbyes, and Professor Bale was escorted out of the building by Jackal. While they waited for Harper’s arrival, Ghost relayed what he’d learned about two men Gunner had overheard speaking while in Salzburg.

“Before they get here, let me follow up on one thing I forgot to mention. At the Bilderberg conference, you relayed bits and pieces of a conversation of a man named Herbert who mentioned Coca-Cola. You also reference the person he was talking to was possibly a South American named George or Jorge.”

“That’s right,” said Gunner. “They seemed to be discussing politics and a possible candidate, if I remember correctly. George seemed to think his group, whoever that might be, would be pleased.”

“Okay, good. We’re still working on the George side of the conversation. That’s gonna be part of Jackal’s task.”

Jackal raised her hand. “My theory is the man is Henry Jorgensen Gruber Jr. Our dead man’s son. He goes by Jorge. Not confirmed, however.”

“Understood,” said Ghost as he continued. “I knew who the other man was when you mentioned two key points, his name and business. We confirmed the gentleman was also on the conference’s list of attendees.”

Ghost walked away from the group and pointed to several new photographs attached to the wall. He tapped his knuckle on a black-and-white photo of Herbert Brittain.

Gunner turned to the group. “I remember seeing him milling about during the cocktail party. I never heard him speak, so I couldn’t place his voice. I definitely remember seeing him.”

“He’s Herbert Brittain, CEO and majority shareholder in Coca-Cola. He lives in Atlanta, but he has residences around the globe. You could call him Mr. Moneybags and it wouldn’t be inaccurate.”

“He fit in with all the others from what I could tell,” said Gunner with an eye roll. “He must have a politician on the take and ready to insert into the White House.”

“Don’t all rich guys claim they’re responsible for getting a president elected?” asked Cam.

“Yeah,” replied Gunner. “It makes them feel like big shots.”

“I think they also convince themselves their money made the difference,” Cam added. “There is always a quid pro quo.”

Ghost heard voices in the hallway, so he wrapped up the loose end. “Anyway, he and George may or may not be Odessa related, but Herbert made the wall of shame until he’s excluded.”

“Everybody,” Jackal announced loudly as she opened the door in case classified information was being shared, “Dr. Randolph is here, and she brought her husband, Congressman Joe Mills.”

Gunner stepped away from Ghost and walked up to Joe. “Long time no see, Congressman.”

“Hey, Gunner! You’re the covert guy, not me. They all know where to find my hiding spots.”

The two men shook hands and then gave one another a bro-hug with a hearty slap on the back. After they finished their animated greeting, Gunner said hello to Harper.

“I’m glad you brought the ball and chain so he can see what real work looks like.”

She took a playful slap at her husband, a powerful congressman who chaired two of the most important committees on the Hill.

“I know, right? He sits up on his perch on Capitol Hill and beats the poor opposition party over the head with his fifty-four-percent-majority gavel.”

“Colonel, very few people are aware of what you and your team did for our country, but those who are send their hearty regards,” said Joe as he pumped Ghost’s hand.

“Please, Congressman, call me Gregory. But I’m only the guy who barks out the orders. Let me introduce you to the rest of the top members of the Gray Fox team.” Jackal introduced herself as Theodora. Cam waved hello, as did Bear.

Congressman Joe Mills had a larger-than-life, infectious personality that dominated most conversations. He had a casual way about him that made him approachable while at the same time, he commanded the respect of everyone he met. He continued heaping praise on Gray Fox.

“Well, let me say that come budget-appropriations time, your unit will never be on the list of cuts, and I will always make sure you have more than you need. Your bravery and capabilities to thwart an even larger terrorist attack will be unsung, but appreciated by every American.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jackal. “Harper, may I show you something?”

Jackal, Cam and Bear pulled Harper away to look at the photos of the sarin canisters and the satellite images of Castle Bariloche after it had been destroyed. While they spoke, Ghost and Gunner showed Joe around the room.

“This is very impressive,” commented Joe. “Maybe I can get you guys a larger facility? Private offices. A bigger space to work. Your own armory.”

“All of the above,” said Ghost with a laugh.

“Sir, may we borrow you for a moment?” asked Jackal, who was hovering over the conference table with Harper and the others.

“Gunner, fill Joe in on where we’re headed with this,” Ghost imparted as he walked away.

Gunner and Joe made their way around the room. He provided Joe a little more detail on how the events unfolded, and then he relayed what had led to the encounter at Castle Bariloche. The old acquaintances had a hearty laugh at the expense of Henry Gruber’s thumb just as they arrived at the start of Jackal’s wall section devoted to the Odessa family tree.

“We’re in the early stages of trying to fill in who the players are. Some of these faces are upper-echelon corporate execs of Knight Gruppe, the company we think may have been formed by the Nazis who were part of Odessa at the end of the World War II. Others are people who might be closely related to Odessa. Again, all of this is preliminary. We’re still catching our—”

Joe gently pushed past Gunner to point to the photo of Herbert Brittain. “Why is he up here? Is he Odessa?”

“Well, we don’t know,” replied Gunner. “As I mentioned, we had to infiltrate the Bilderberg conference to gain access to the Knight servers at their offices in Salzburg. While I was waiting on Cam to secure the building access and that thumb for the biometric locks, I overheard a conversation involving this man. His name is Herbert Brittain, and apparently he’s the CEO of Coca-Cola.”

“I know who he is,” said Joe dryly.

There was an awkward silence for a moment. Joe turned to observe the others, who were still huddled around the conference table. He grabbed Gunner’s elbow and led him farther away to the other side of the room. As he did, he leaned in to Gunner and spoke in a low tone of voice.

“Gunner, I need you to tell me exactly why this man’s photo is on the wall with the rest of these people.”

“Joe, it may be nothing.” Gunner tried to calm his friend, who was clearly nervous.

“Please, just tell me.”

Gunner explained what he could recall. “I overheard a conversation while we were inside the Bilderberg conference between two men, one with an American accent and another with a Spanish accent. Maybe South American. They referred to each other as Herbert and George. Joe, it was hard to hear, and that’s not what we were there for.”

“How do you know it’s the guy on the wall?”

“He mentioned Coca-Cola. We confirmed the CEO, Herbert Brittain, was there. I confirmed that I saw him in another part of the gathering.”

“So that’s the only reason he’s connected to Odessa?” asked Joe.

“We don’t know. The only reason we’ve decided to look into him is because he told the fella with the Spanish accent that he was grooming a replacement for Taylor, and the other guy, George, said his associates would be pleased.”

Joe dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly wandered away, deep in thought.

Gunner glanced over his shoulder and saw that Harper, Ghost and the team remained preoccupied. He caught up to Joe and touched him on the shoulder to force him to stop.

“Come on, Joe. You and I have the kind of relationship built on years of trust. I know you. What’s the matter?”

Joe looked Gunner in the eyes. “This replacement he thinks he’s grooming to take on President Taylor? You’re looking at him. He’s talking about me.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Broken Hart Raw Bar

Tangier Island, Virginia

The Gray Fox team, including Ghost and Jackal, descended upon the Broken Hart Raw Bar later that afternoon. With beers in hand, they spilled out into the parking lot of Sammy Hart’s new place to watch the sun set over the west side of Tangier Island. As the orange ball disappeared over the marsh, they returned inside, where a raucous crowd was slamming down shots chased by pints of Sammy’s Suds or tearing into Chesapeake Bay clams and oysters. The restaurant had become a huge hit on Tangier Island, and the Gray Fox team had declared it to be their official hangout.

Cam and Bear had a great time shooting pool on Sammy’s new outdoor pool table installed on a deck adjacent to the building, which resembled a lean-to in a MASH unit. The ceiling consisted of camouflage netting, and the sides had roll-up curtains of mosquito screening.

Jackal struck up a conversation with one of Sammy’s bartenders, a fellow techno-geek. The two spoke in a language of their own, one that could’ve belonged in a Star Wars movie.

Meanwhile, the three adults in the room, or the old guys, as they referred to themselves, made their way up to Sammy’s Crow’s Nest, a private deck on top of his building that had a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of Chesapeake Bay and Tangier Island.

Now that Sammy was able to hire additional staff, he wasn’t required to micromanage the restaurant. He spent his time slapping backs and getting to know his customers. Plus, he had a never-ending supply of interesting stories to tell that kept the locals and tourists coming back for more.

The three old guys took up seats on the deck of the Crow’s Nest and sipped their beers. Gunner mentioned to Ghost that Sammy had been in the Navy.

“That’s right,” said Sammy. “Spent five years of continuous service before I decided to move on to greener pastures.”

“Where were you stationed?” asked Ghost.

“Matter of fact, just down the bay in Norfolk. I enlisted for four years initially, proudly starting on the ground floor as an E-1 seaman. After four years, I decided to give it another go for a year to see how it went.”

Ghost took a sip of his beer and said, “Well, by then you should’ve been around an E-5, heading toward petty officer status.”

Gunner laughed, choked and spewed out some of his beer. He began to laugh so hard his eyes watered.

“What?” asked Ghost, who truly didn’t understand what Gunner found so funny about such an innocent statement.

“Theoretically, right, Sammy?” Gunner burst out laughing and had to set his beer down to keep from spilling it. He wiped his eyes as tears sprang out.

Sammy addressed Ghost. “Well, um, here’s the thing. You know, all things considered, if you do as you’re told and pay your dues and pass a few tests and all of that, you’re gonna come out of the Navy with an E-5 or so. I had a couple of hiccups along the way.”

This caused Gunner to lose it once again. He couldn’t control his laughter. Twice he tried to speak, and he gave up on himself.

“What kind of hiccups?” asked Ghost. “Did you get court-martialed?”

“Nah, that would’ve been too much work,” Sammy replied. “The thing is, I received an honorable discharge, but I came out as an E-2.”

“E-2?” asked Ghost, who was confused. “All you have to do is complete boot camp and you’d be an E-2. Why didn’t you advance?”

“Oh, I did, but then they’d bust me back down,” said Sammy. “Hell, they would’ve made me the first E-0 in the history of the Navy if they could’ve.”

Gunner recovered. “Tell him what you did. No, not all of them. We don’t have time for everything. Tell him about the hookers.”

Ghost laughed. “Now you got my attention.”

Sammy took a deep breath, finished his beer, and then poured another one.

“Okay, this whole thing was really no big deal. Me and the boys used to go to this strip club called Headlights near Naval Station Norfolk. I mean, actually we became regulars. We didn’t have a lot of money to pay the girls to dance and stuff, so we had to find other ways to compensate them.”

“They were hookers?” asked Ghost.

“No, not really. They were strippers. There’s a difference. These girls were really hot, and they took their clothes off to make money. A few of them were married with kids or working their way through college.”

Ghost was intrigued. “You guys went there to party, but you couldn’t afford the table dances or whatever.”

“Right.”

“So you paid them some other way?” Ghost asked.

Gunner started laughing again. He couldn’t even look at Sammy as his old friend told the story.

“Yeah. We didn’t have much to offer, so we gave them something nobody else could do. A ride. Well, actually several rides.”

Ghost was genuinely confused as his eyes darted between Sammy’s serious storyteller face and Gunner’s childlike giggling.

“Rides on what?”

“At the time, the Russians were running their subs up and down the Atlantic Seaboard, roaming around the Caribbean and then back up the coast. The Navy redeployed several Cyclone-class patrol ships as a show of force. They stayed docked most of the time, but our crew was responsible for taking them through the paces. You know, to knock the barnacles off the props and all that.

“So, anyway, we had a really good time with the girls one night, and we were pretty drunk, so we came up with an idea to trade with ’em.”

“Tell him,” said Gunner as he continued to laugh.

“At one in the morning, after Headlights closed, we took eight or ten of the strippers for a ride on the USS Tornado, which had just been recommissioned after a few years with the Philippine Navy.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Ghost as he shook his head side to side.

Sammy laughed. “Yeah, actually we did. In fact, it became a regular thing. The girls were really into it, too. We’d pull out of Norfolk and head south along the coast past Kill Devil Hills and Nags Head. We’d barely pull out when the girls got naked, dancing all over the ship and taking selfies. It was one helluva party.”

“No doubt,” said Ghost, still amazed at Sammy’s antics.

“Tell him how many times you did it,” said Gunner.

“Five. The party got bigger and bigger. Soon, dancers from the other clubs joined in. Then we got busted because we were so loud the base police heard us returning early one morning.”

“Why didn’t they court-martial you?” asked Ghost.

A sly smile came across Sammy’s face. “They couldn’t do that. Can you imagine the scandal? The Navy had just been rocked with that sex-trafficking business in Bahrain. Something like this down the coast from DC would’ve sunk a lot of ships, if you know what I mean.”

“So they busted you back to E-1?” asked Ghost.

“Yup. And we learned then that we could have a great time while we served if rank and rate were immaterial. Call us what you will, but we did our duty and had fun at the same time.”

Suddenly, one of Sammy’s cooks appeared at the spiral ladder leading to the Crow’s Nest. “Hey, Sammy. We got the first batch done. Y’all wanna come down and try it?”

“Yeah,” replied Sammy. “Come, gentlemen, we’re working on something special to sell in the gift shop.”

“Gift shop?” asked Gunner.

“Yeah, man. I’m killin’ it here. We’re gonna expand to sell gifts to the tourists.”

Gunner laughed. “Does Dowling know how much money you’re making? He’s gonna cut back on your allowance.”

Ghost pretended to be surprised at Gunner’s statement. He looked the other way to hide his facial expression.

So Gunner busted him. “I know all about the arrangement Dr. Dowling made to keep an eye on me. I’m sure you know the details, too.”

“Maybe,” mumbled Ghost.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Gunner. “It worked out for everybody.”

They arrived at the bottom of the spiral staircase to a crowd lined up at the bar, craning their necks to see what the bartenders had displayed. Sammy walked around the end and motioned for Gunner and the Gray Fox team to join him behind the bar.

Lined up on the teak bar top were a dozen plates of fruit cake sliced into bite-sized portions. They were neatly arranged for everyone in the restaurant to get a look.

“My mom, God rest her soul, was an incredible baker, especially around the holidays. I know we’re a ways off, but I wanted to recreate one of her favorite recipes. Presenting Doris Hart’s Dark Fruit Cake. Grab you a slice.”

The feeding frenzy began as everyone jumped at the opportunity to taste Sammy’s mom’s recipe. He explained some of the differences between her recipe and others.

“If you’re a fruitcake connoisseur, you’ll notice a few ingredients that many others don’t include in their fruitcake, like chocolate, a touch of cinnamon, and lots of nuts. We Harts were a nutty family.”

Everyone laughed as they heaped praise on Sammy, his kitchen staff, and his mom for creating a fruitcake recipe that was unique, moist, and definitely tasty. While the Broken Hart Raw Bar was turned into the equivalent of a massive family gathering, Gunner wandered out the back door onto the fishing dock that extended through the marsh into the bay.

It had been a long time since he’d had this much fun. Sure, after the Gray Fox team came together that night on Dog Island, he, Cam and Bear had been in great spirits. However, there was also uncertainty about what the future would hold for the trio.

Their unit had evolved since then, and their capabilities were proven with a successful mission that saved a lot of lives. On a personal level, a change had come over Gunner. It was more than the news that Colonel Robinson was dead. That lifted a burden off his shoulders and gave him some closure.

In Rome, after he’d kissed the socialite Bianca Morosini as part of his undercover mission, an overwhelming sense of guilt had come over him. Then, in Salzburg, he’d had to kiss Cam not once, but several times. She was like his sister, and it meant nothing except to create a ruse to fool the security personnel.

The thought of dating another woman, much less sleeping with one, had never crossed his mind since Heather’s death. He was fiercely loyal and loved his wife as much now as the day she died. Yet, twice, in a matter of days, he’d done the previously unthinkable. He’d kissed two women, one of whom had introduced him to Heather.

Gunner stood at the railing, looking off to a trawler slowly passing in the night. The outdoor string lights that wrapped the deck railing provided just enough illumination to prevent a wayward fishing boat from crashing into it. He enjoyed the moment of solitude despite the rambunctious crowd partying in Sammy’s bar invading his thoughts.

“Maybe I’ll take a little trip down to Eglin and see Dr. Dowling,” Gunner said aloud. “He has a way of unpacking all of this shit in my head.”

Gunner leaned on the rail and watched the trawler disappear from sight. He looked down into the dark waters of the bay, and something caught his eye. The string lights reflected off the slow waves lapping against the piers, but there was something else.

He dropped onto his belly and pushed his body under the bottom rail until he was half on and half off the decking. Gunner stretched his arm down and blindly felt in the water. Then it struck the back of his hand. He splashed through the water until he was able to grab the object that had floated up to the dock.

It was a glass bottle. With a cork stopper. Similar to the one he’d found on Dog Island that night years ago.

Epilogue

Two Months Later

Boldt Castle

Thousand Islands, New York

Over a hundred years ago, hotel owner George C. Boldt began building his Rhineland-inspired castle on tiny Heart Island in the Thousand Islands’ region of upstate New York. Just months before completion, his wife, Louise, died tragically, leaving Boldt devastated. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the castle, and it sat unoccupied for seventy years.

Eventually, the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority purchased the property and finished construction, restoring the Boldt Castle to the glory intended by its original owner. The beautiful island estate included the one-hundred-twenty-room castle, its own drawbridge, numerous outbuildings, and the magnificent Alster Tower.

The tower was modeled after one built in the Alster River Basin in Hamburg, Germany, for Kaiser Wilhelm, the German emperor who led the nation into World War I. The tower rose high above the shoreline and displayed the American flag atop the granite parapet walls.

However, inside the tower and the rest of Boldt Castle, the present owners had sworn allegiance to a different flag. One that hearkened back to the dark days following Kaiser Wilhelm’s reign. One that was born out of love of country but later became associated with hate—the flag of the German Reich.

A decade ago, after America went through a serious economic downturn as it battled a deadly pandemic, many governmental agencies and partners were forced to shut down or sell off assets to survive. Boldt Castle had been a tourist destination that generated just enough revenues to pay the upkeep and staff. However, when the state of New York shut down all nonessential businesses and forbade public gatherings, Boldt Castle became a significant burden on the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority.

They sold Heart Island together with all of the structures on it to a real estate investment trust whose owners were undisclosed. After the sale, nobody set foot on the island or into Boldt Castle except for grounds personnel and the security guards.

Today, it was seeing a flurry of activity for the first time since the sale. Boats came from all directions to ferry passengers to the castle. A solemn gathering was taking place inside, hidden from the public and guarded in secrecy. It was a meeting not unlike the one held several months prior near the tiny hamlet of Bariloche in Argentina.

On this occasion, like before, the group in attendance paid their respects for the loss of one of their own. Henry Gruber, son of Brit Jorgensen, and grandson of Heinrich Himmler, had died a hero in the eyes of those in attendance. He would be remembered for his leadership and vision.

The men and women hadn’t seen one another in one place in many, many months. Ordinarily, during a transition such as this one, a deceased member of their inner circle would be buried, mourned, and then promptly replaced. However, under the circumstances, it was necessary for this close-knit group to remain apart until the proverbial dust had settled.

America and the world had recovered from the terrorist attacks of the prior summer and early fall. Winter was coming. New geopolitical matters had consumed the media and American politicians. Those in attendance would continue to operate in the shadows as they always had, but protocol required a meeting of die Zwölf to welcome a new member to fill the seat of Henry Gruber.

“Everyone, it’s time,” announced Derek Gruber to the attendees. Those who weren’t part of die Zwölf remained behind. Only Derek and eleven others made their way through the all-stone passageway leading beneath Boldt Castle and underground until they arrived at a spiral stairwell leading upward into Alster Tower.

Odessa leadership had removed the two-lane bowling alley, the billiard room, and the theater. Alster Tower would be a place of reverence. Not an arcade or a pool hall.

The windows had been replaced with completely opaque glass to prevent prying eyes from peering inside. Artisans from Germany, those with pedigree and discretion, were brought in to renovate Alster Tower. When they were done, the magnificence of the north tower at Castle Bariloche and Wewelsburg was recreated, including the Black Sun symbol embedded in the entry hall floor.

Covering the walls were the customary ceiling-to-floor crimson-red banners with the black swastika symbol in the center of a white circle. As the group entered, all but two for the first time, they marveled at the resemblance to Himmler’s north tower.

“Everyone, please take a seat,” said Derek. “Welcome to our new Obergruppenführersaal, the new Hall of Generals.”

He made eye contact with the other eleven in attendance. Sophia Weber and her husband, Remy, the American president’s chief of staff. U.S. General Holzcraft. Friedrich Bauer, the banker. Henry’s son, Jorge. The man who orchestrated the bioterror attacks, Daniel Wagner. A few others as well as the new addition, the man who would take the seat once occupied by Henry Jorgensen Gruber.

Derek continued. “Many might consider our efforts a failure. I disagree. We have proven that we can use the combined assets of our business and political interests to force our will on others. With the discovery of my grandfather’s weapon, we struck fear into the hearts of Americans.

“Through my brother’s bravery, not only did we mislead the Americans by destroying a largely obsolete weapons arsenal and two hundred empty canisters, we also led them to believe that we were severely weakened. Now that is certainly not the case, as your appearance here proves.

“I am honored to take his seat at the head of this glorious round table, one that was created in the likeness of my grandfather’s. I am honored to have earned your trust to take the reins of Odessa as we plot our course for the future.

“I am also pleased to fill the seat of my brave brother with Mr. Herbert Brittain. His ancestors played an important role, spying on England during the war on behalf of the Reich. The success of their effort courses through his blood, and he will be a valuable addition to die Zwölf.

“Before we discuss our future in detail, let me remind us all, Odessa will never cease to exist. We will never die. We will simply pass the torch on to others. We will make new allies. It may require us to embrace those who thrive on hate and whose methods don’t comport with ours. However, they will stand with us nonetheless. Just like before, we will rise from the ashes to strike again.”

Then Derek Gruber snapped his right arm upward toward the Nazi banner hanging in front of him. The other twelve members of die Zwölf stood and saluted also.

Then they shouted, “Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!”

THANK YOU FOR READING ODESSA STRIKES!

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Prologue

Sunday, December 16

National Earthquake Conference

University of Missouri’s Jesse Auditorium

Columbia, Missouri

Dr. Charlotte Lansing stretched her legs under the speakers’ table and shifted her weight on the chair. A seismic hazard and insurance risk specialist droned on about the potential losses to the insurance industry in the event of a catastrophic earthquake along the San Andreas fault. She tried not to allow her inner thoughts to manifest themselves in her facial expressions. Too often, the impact of catastrophic events was measured in terms of damage to structures or economic costs. Dr. Lansing understood there was much more at stake. Namely, loss of life.

When she’d been invited to speak at this year’s National Earthquake Conference held at her alma mater, the University of Missouri, she readily accepted. The final day of the conference happened to fall on the anniversary of the first New Madrid earthquake of 1811.

Her research into the timing of large earthquakes based upon mathematical patterns had finally received some recognition by her peers. While it was still a work in progress, especially as it related to the New Madrid Seismic Zone, or NMSZ, her speech at the conference not only gave her an opportunity to discuss the threat this underestimated fault presented, but she was also able to introduce her mathematical pattern theory to the audience.

She looked around the Jesse Auditorium, where she’d spent many days as a graduate student at Mizzou. The doctoral program within the Department of Geological Sciences had enjoyed a reputation as one of the top ten in the nation. While many in her class focused on the environmental issues of the day, she’d sunk her teeth into rocks. She was a science nerd and proud of it.

Unlike most of her classmates, Dr. Lansing was a traditionalist who looked at geology as the study of the Earth—its origin and developmental history together with its structure and composition. The planet was a living, breathing thing in a constant state of flux and evolution. The data derived from firsthand field observations and laboratory analyses of minerals, sediments, rocks and landforms fascinated her.

Growing up in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, Dr. Lansing naturally learned about geology close to home. The small city located on the Mississippi River was an hour north of New Madrid and located within the New Madrid Seismic Zone, or NMSZ. Her high school science and history classes had delved into the subject regularly. Whenever there were extracurricular activities involving exploring caves or studying sediment, Dr. Lansing was the first to volunteer.

She’d spent countless hours in the library, studying old accounts of the 1811 to 1812 earthquake swarm that rocked the region and much of the Eastern United States. As she got older, her fascination with the NMSZ and geology in general led her to a career path as a geophysicist with the United States Geological Survey, or USGS. Now she was the director of the National Earthquake Information Center in Golden, Colorado, commonly referred to as the NEIC.

It was almost her turn to speak, so she sat up in her chair and glanced at her notes, not that she needed them. Dr. Lansing was passionate about her work. She was not shy about public speaking and fashioned herself a bit of a storyteller. Unlike loss-mitigation specialists or structural engineers extolling the virtues of constructing buildings to achieve vertical stiffness while allowing for counter-directional forces, she got to tell them about the drama unfolding beneath our planet’s surface.

She helped the attendees understand why the pressure builds and what causes it to release. She left them with the warning that earthquakes can happen anytime, without warning, with deadly consequences. It was never her intention to scare the wits out of people but, rather, to scare the wits into them. To raise their awareness to the sleeping threat that could change the topography of America in an instant.

After introducing herself, she drew in her audience by helping them visualize what was going on underneath their seats. As she spoke, she couldn’t help but notice the attendees look down from time to time, wondering if the heinous beast lurking beneath the ground was stirring. She oftentimes wondered that herself.

“Every year, fifty thousand earthquakes are noticed by people without the need for seismic instruments. The ground shudders, swells, and stretches, leading to a massive tweet-storm that reads something like did you feel it?

“Social media junkies flock to Facebook and mark themselves safe from the earthquake in X or Y location. Friends commiserate back and forth about how the wine in their glass rippled or Aunt Bessie’s vase fell off the mantel. What they really should’ve been thinking about is what is going on around our planet’s mantle.

“Over two hundred years ago on this date, at around two o’clock in the morning, the first of three major earthquakes rocked the New Madrid Seismic Zone. An immeasurable pressure had been building along an ancient plate boundary. Born out of frustration, and feeling underappreciated, the New Madrid fault announced itself with a vengeance.

“You see, five hundred million years ago, the North American Plate tried to form a plate boundary along the center of the continent, running from north to south. The struggle during these formative years was intense, but the splitting stopped before the new plates could be formed. What we have beneath us are the remnants of this struggle in which the North American Plate is still settling down. In other words, a seismic event that began five hundred million years ago is still in the process of resolving itself. There remains a jagged scar buried below the surface, evidencing this epic struggle. And it’s never healed.”

She adjusted the wireless microphone attached to her headset and abandoned the podium, much to the dismay of the event coordinator. Dr. Lansing was in the zone, and she wandered along the front of the elevated stage so she could make eye contact with the attendees as she told the story.

“So imagine, if you will, that it’s the early morning hours of December 16, 1811. Very few people lived up and down the Mississippi River. The United States had just purchased the Louisiana Territory from France. Our war with Britain in 1812 was brewing but not yet underway. The only means of navigation were canoes, flatboats, and rafts that were one-way in nature, as in downstream only toward the Port of New Orleans.

“Underground, the North American Plate, at this ancient boundary, began to disintegrate in part. The vertical shelves that butted up against one another moved. Not much. Maybe half an inch. However, it was enough for the rock along the boundary to disintegrate.

“The centuries-long stalemate beneath the planet’s surface had a change in dynamic. One side of the plate saw an opportunity, an opening, so to speak, to exert pressure on this primeval crack. It forced its will upon its opponent, and the vertical shelves became snagged on one another. As one snag became weaker than the other, one side shifted upward just below the surface of the earth.

“The scrum continued until it held for a minute or so. Then the incredible strength of the always-moving earth pushed again. This time, the snag became an ever-widening crack below the surface, and the first earthquake rocked the region.”

Dr. Lansing stopped her casual stroll back and forth across the stage. With a pensive look on her face, she touched her fingers to her forehead and focused on several educators sitting along the front row.

“Remember, it’s 1811. Google didn’t exist back then. We have to look at the historical record of this event as told by residents in their correspondence and journalists in their newspapers. Obviously, we can only estimate how powerful this series of earthquakes was. Earth-shaking fissures opened up along the fault that were felt far and wide. Boston; Charleston, South Carolina; and Richmond, Virginia. It was felt at the White House, as we know from a letter sent to Thomas Jefferson by our fourth president, James Madison. Even Dolly Madison, his wife, shared accounts of the quake.

“During the third massive quake in February of 1812, vast swaths of land sank while other areas were lifted. Landslides occurred. New lakes, like Reelfoot in West Tennessee, were created. For a brief time, those who relied upon the Mississippi River to deliver goods to the Port of New Orleans found themselves facing the unthinkable. A fluvial tsunami forced the river to run backwards the day of the third earthquake.

“Here’s the thing. As geophysicists and those who make a living based on our field of study, we recognize a major event like the 1811–1812 New Madrid earthquakes as a mere geologic blink of the eye. Yet the quakes reshaped Earth’s surface. And it had happened before, based upon our sediment study, including major upheavals in 2350 BC, AD 30, AD 900, and AD 1450.”

Dr. Lansing paused to catch her breath. It was time to introduce her theory.

“It’s natural for those in government whom I have to answer to, or even representatives of the insurance industry, to ask—when will the next big one strike the NMSZ? I believe I’ve identified a mathematical pattern called the Devil’s Staircase.”

A murmur went through the crowd as she introduced her designation for her findings. Dr. Lansing wasn’t sure if the audience thought she was serious or leading them into a joke of some kind. She got right to the point.

“In conjunction with quake activity, I have been able to identify a mathematical pattern where clusters of large shallow earthquake events were separated by long, somewhat irregular period of seismic inactivity. Heretofore, geophysicists focused their study on the classical seismic modeling that suggested quake activity would occur quasi-periodically based on cycles of buildup followed by the release of tectonic stress.

“In regions like the Ring of Fire, for example, large earthquake sequences, those with a magnitude six or greater, are characterized by a clustering of quake activity in bursts. This is a near-certain predictor of a much greater earthquake event to follow.

“In my study of the NMSZ, the irregular gap between event bursts shows how difficult it is to predict the next major quake event. The Devil’s Staircase pattern, as I call it, can be applied to recent large earthquake events in Australia, the plate boundary off the coast of western Algeria, and more recently, at the Dead Sea Transform fault west of the Golan Heights that many labeled as biblical in nature.

“The fact is that these quake events show a pattern of stress transfer between fault segments near identical to the New Madrid fault. What I am suggesting is this. In the United States, most of the public awareness of the devastating impacts of earthquakes is focused on the faults running along our West Coast. Those faults, frankly, are far more predictable than the NMSZ. As a result, warnings can be issued with relative accuracy and in a somewhat timely manner.

“In the case of a fault line like New Madrid, we have what’s commonly referred to as a high-impact, low-probability event. An analysis of the Devil’s Staircase pattern, which I continue to expand upon, indicates a massive New Madrid earthquake is not as low probability as most contend. In fact, it is a relative certainty based upon the patterns, and most likely will occur in our lifetimes.”

Part I

Living at the Edge

We live our lives. Work. Love. Play. You never know the day before a catastrophe strikes that it was, in fact, the day before. If you did, you’d prepare your mind, alter your way of life, and even get right with your maker. However, we don’t do that. We live on the edge of an unforeseen, unpredictable catastrophe that could be the end of the world as we know it, blissfully unaware of the consequences of our inaction.

And then, one day, the universe says let’s shake things up a bit.

Chapter One

Monday, December 17

St. Louis, Missouri

Jack Atwood had led a charmed life. He was a small-town boy, growing up near Dyersburg, Tennessee, just eighty miles north of Memphis and a dozen miles east of the Mighty Mississippi River. He’d had his share of good luck growing up. He’d been labeled reckless by his parents and a miscreant by his schoolteachers. Then, suddenly, all that changed.

They say cheating death can have a profound effect on a man’s soul. Well, it certainly changed Jack. He was a senior in high school when his parents gave him the green light to embark on his first spring break trip with his friends. Like so many his age, they loaded up their cars, stopped by the Short Stop on the way out of town to lie their way towards the purchase of several cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and drove nonstop to Fort Liquordale—Fort Lauderdale, for those who’ve never experienced spring break in the Florida coastal city.

His best friend’s car was far too powerful for him, or anyone else for that matter. The fire-engine red Chevy Camaro boasted five hundred forty horsepower, way too much power for a teenager.

“This thing will run right out from under ya,” his best friend proudly claimed when he first took Jack for a spin. And spin, they did.

Their spring break trip to Fort Liquordale was filled with wine, women, and song. The party never ended until the kids passed out or got arrested. The next day, they sought out the hair of the dog and started all over again.

On the third day of their weeklong drunkfest, Jack’s life changed. After about a fifth of Jim Beam being consumed between the two of them, they decided to roar down A1A along the beach, letting the horses run, as Jack’s buddy said. The hundred-mile-an-hour joyride didn’t go unnoticed by two motorcycle officers, who’d been writing a ticket to another spring breaker for public nudity.

They immediately gave chase, and the Camaro responded. Weaving in and out of traffic, they tried to evade their pursuers and were easily pulling away. That was when the boys realized you can’t outrun a radio, as they say.

A roadblock appeared ahead, thwarting their escape and access to the causeway. “I’ve got this, bro!” his friend exclaimed as he gripped the wheel and slammed on the brakes. The rear end of the Camaro slid sideways as he cut the wheel, an expert maneuver he couldn’t reproduce if he tried to replicate it a thousand times while sober. He punched the gas and roared down a side street toward the intracoastal waterway.

Until he ran out of road.

Jack gripped the dashboard and closed his eyes as he braced for impact with the guardrail. His mind raced as he hoped for the best result— the muscle car floating on top of the water long enough for them to swim to safety or be rescued. His mind drifted away, recalling the common myth among teenagers to allow your body to go limp during a wreck to ensure your survival.

The next few seconds could only be described as surreal. It would be many years before Jack repeated his vision to anyone. Just above the hood, floating peacefully throughout the ordeal, Jack saw what he’d inwardly refer to as butterfly people. They weren’t butterflies per se, nor would he recall them as angels as might be depicted on television or in books. They were an indescribable presence that provided him a sense of comfort. Defying any scientific explanation, he focused on the two who stayed with the car as it whipped to the left and to the left again. Mentally, he felt protected. His body, however, suffered somewhat.

The tires screeched, and he was thrown against the passenger door, cracking open his head against the glass. The centrifugal force exerted so much pressure on him that his body was forced against the side of the Camaro in an effort to throw the locked door open.

Then he was tossed back toward the center console with such a kick that his eyes were forced open just as his head crashed into the windshield. Seconds later, the car was surrounded by Fort Lauderdale’s finest with their weapons drawn. And the butterfly people were gone.

Jack’s buddy had accomplished the impossible. He’d managed to control the Camaro through a hairpin turn under the bridge. Perhaps with a little help, Jack later surmised.

Initially, he didn’t look at the incident as if his life had been saved. In his mind, he’d almost been killed and vowed to never put himself in that position again. As he grew older and replayed the event in his mind, he became convinced the butterfly people played a role in his safety.

The near-death experience, coupled with the presence of the butterfly people, turned his life around. The hospitalization. The arrest. The lecture from his family. All contributed to a real game-changer in Jack Atwood’s life, one he’d never take for granted.

He stopped and gazed upward, taking in the six-hundred-thirty-foot-high Gateway Arch. The structure’s stainless-steel surface reflected the last vestiges of daylight as the sun set over the St. Louis skyline.

“I can’t believe we’ve never done this.” Tony Chandler, his brother-in-law and junior partner in his financial planning practice, interrupted Jack’s thoughts. “Naturally, I’d rather be throwing down some oysters and chasin’ them with the coldest beer Anheuser-Busch has to offer.”

Jack shook his head. He always had his hands full when he and Tony traveled alone to conduct financial planning seminars. Despite the fact he was married to Jack’s wife’s much younger sister, who happened to be seven months pregnant together with being saddled with the challenges of raising a three-year-old son, Tony couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of adulthood and responsibility.

After their second group of seminars in Chicago a year ago, when Jack busted his brother-in-law slipping his wedding band into his pocket while out drinking one night, he curtailed their social activities the best he could. He’d taken to visiting points of interest while they were away from home, like the Gateway Arch.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” said Jack, although he’d rather be settled in their corporate apartment in downtown St. Louis. After Beth and Tony had their first child, he’d promised his wife to take his brother-in-law under his wing to help him mature. On a business level, Tony was perfect for the firm. On a personal level, he was a handful.

The two men exited their car and were immediately hit with a blast of cold, damp wind. The temperatures had suddenly fallen, and a cold mist had overtaken the city as the afternoon wore on. Jack had watched the weather system that crossed the middle part of the U.S. He hoped the snow would hold off so he wouldn’t have to cancel the seminar. This was the last of five he’d been conducting in the cities where his offices were located up and down the Mississippi River.

St. Louis was one of his best producing offices, as it drew prospects from Illinois, Iowa, Kentucky, and Missouri. The cost and logistics of planning this seminar, especially prior to Christmas, were daunting. It was also necessary, as his prospective clients had just a couple of weeks to undertake last minute tax planning before year end.

The guys entered the attraction through the west entrance, and Jack ponied up the $26 fee to take a tour, including a ride to the top of the Gateway Arch. They boarded the tram that would take them upward along the famous monument along with three other passengers. At six feet four, Jack was slightly claustrophobic during the small tram ride. The ride was only four minutes to the apex, where the observation deck, a gift shop, and a museum were located.

For his part, Tony was enthusiastic. Or, perhaps, Jack thought, it was the attractive young woman who acted as their tour guide. Within seconds of their ascent to the top and the observation deck, Tony had abandoned Jack’s side and snuggled up to the tour guide to become her number one sightseer.

Once they exited, the group eagerly followed the young woman, who pointed out the sights as she explained the history of the Arch. Jack took extra effort to locate One Metropolitan Square, where his offices were located and the location of their four seminars that week. From there, he got his bearings to view the St. Louis area and took in the gorgeous sunset.

The tour guide began to take questions, when Jack’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. A smile broke out across his face, and his heart leapt. After ten years of marriage, the mere sight of his wife’s picture and name on his phone screen still gave him butterflies in his stomach.

Chapter Two

Monday, December 17

Gateway Arch

St. Louis, Missouri

“I miss my handsome husband,” Jill Atwood said sexily into the phone before Jack could say hello. “And, lest I forget, suave and debonair, too.”

Jack laughed as he stopped following the tour group. He turned away to whisper to his wife, “Well, maybe I should’ve stayed home. ’Tis the season to get lucky, you know.”

Jill chuckled. “You got lucky last week, mister.”

“That was my birthday,” he shot back. “I mean, that’s a given, right?”

“Yeah, and Christmas is coming. That’ll take care of your forty-year-old man-child needs for a while.”

“Until New Year’s, anyway,” he replied with a laugh.

“Good grief. You’ve been hanging around Tony too much.” Jill paused as she held the phone away from her mouth to speak with their daughter. When she returned to the call, she asked, “I don’t hear any music in the background. Are the bars and strip clubs closed for the holidays?”

“Very funny,” replied Jack, who stepped a couple of paces back toward the tour group. While the other two attendees wandered into the gift shop, Tony had the young guide cornered as he poured on the charm. “No, I convinced our boy to see the Arch with me. He seems to be getting into it.” Jack cringed and rolled his eyes as the words came out of his mouth.

“Good. I’m glad you guys aren’t headed out for the night. You know he changes when he has a few drinks.”

Jack, who helped out on his parents’ farm as a boy, responded with the perfect analogy. “Like the difference between a horse grazing and a wild mustang. You know, I can’t keep tabs on Tony twenty-four seven. As it is, I’ve done things like the corporate apartment as a deterrent to him slipping out of a hotel room at night.”

“Or slipping something into the room, right?”

Jack sighed. “Yeah, that too.”

Jack had his doubts about Tony’s fidelity. His keen sense of observation picked up on his brother-in-law’s attempts to pick up women. He’d seen him chat up attractive females on numerous occasions, but he’d never actually seen him cross the line. After a while, he found it counterproductive to report Tony’s actions back to Jill. It would simply add fuel to a fire that was smoldering within her.

She had a difficult challenge of her own to avoid relaying reports of Tony’s disrespectful indiscretions to her sister. Beth was juggling a three-year-old boy with autism along with a near-seven-month pregnancy.

“You’ve been a great influence on him, honey,” said Jill. “Beth knows and appreciates the sacrifices you’ve made, both financially and timewise.”

“I’d do anything for you,” Jack interjected.

“It’s more than for me. It’s for Beth, too. Let’s face it. She wants what I have. I’m not saying she’s jealous in a pea-green-with-envy sort of way. She’d settle for a husband who simply paid a little attention to her and treated her with respect. Guys like you who worship and adore their wives are few and far between.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, ma’am.”

Jill continued. “Listen, she’s young, too. They should’ve never gotten married straight out of college. She visualized this utopian dream of a knight in shining armor doting over her while she had babies. Instead, she got a guy who looks like a prince, but whose eyes, and maybe hands, continue to wander. Sometimes our conversations are consumed about the relationship you and I have rather than anything positive about her own. For Pete’s sake, she even wishes she had cutesy names like ours.”

“Jack and Jill?” he asked.

“Duh. Cute, right?”

Jack couldn’t disagree and then said, “Don’t get me wrong. Tony certainly has a problem remembering he has a wife and kid at home. I can’t babysit him night and day. From a business perspective, he may have been one of the best hires I’ve ever made. It enabled me to take my practice in a whole different direction that’s paid off for all of us.”

Like Jack, Jill was anxious to move their conversation away from the Chandlers’ marriage, a topic discussed far more often than they wished to. “So are you excited for this week?”

“Yeah,” he quickly replied. “Actually, other than being away from home this close to Christmas, I think it’s gonna be a good week for us. Today, we coordinated with the catering staff at the Top of the Met to get ready.”

“I’m so glad you were able to get it reopened,” Jill added.

“Kemoll’s left a big hole when they pulled their restaurant off the fortieth floor and shut down the banquet facilities on forty-two. It didn’t seem right to fill the space with only a fitness center. My client, the retired Applebee’s franchisee, couldn’t wait to fill the void.”

“Does he give you a discount?” asked Jill with all sincerity.

Jack laughed. “Hell, he charges me double. Just kidding. No discount, but he personally supervises most of our soirees. You can’t ask for much more than that.”

Jill added to the conversation, but Jack couldn’t hear her. The Gateway Arch began to noticeably sway back and forth. A child shrieked, and a man yelled, “What’s happening?”

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Jill asked.

“Um, nothing,” Jack mumbled as he turned in a full circle to get a grasp of what was happening. “Listen, let me call you back tonight once we get settled in, okay?”

“But, sure. Why do you have to—?”

“I love you!” he said emphatically into the phone as if it were the final words spoken between them.

Jack rushed down the observation deck toward the group as the swaying subsided. Ever the gentleman, Tony held the attractive tour guide to help her stay on her feet. The disheveled young woman fixed her hair and shyly smiled to show her appreciation. Jack had seen that kind of look between people before. It was often the precursor to something else.

“It’s okay, everyone,” she said loudly in an effort to calm down the dozen or so people who rushed onto the observation deck from the other areas atop the Arch. “This is not out of the ordinary.”

“Was it the wind?” asked an older man who’d been in Jack’s tram.

“No. Probably a slight tremor,” she replied. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. We get them here in St. Louis from time to time. That’s one of the magnificent aspects of the Gateway Arch. Its structural design is truly a wonder of engineering.”

She spun around and immediately adopted her tour-guide persona. “The first three hundred feet of the Arch consists of carbon-steel walls with reinforced concrete in the middle. All of these are covered with stainless-steel skin, kinda like two slices of bread creating a sandwich. This combination of stressed-skin design connects at the top to make it resistant to earthquakes much stronger than the little tremor we just experienced. In fact, it can sway up to eighteen inches in either direction during a quake while also withstanding hurricane-force winds up to one hundred fifty miles per hour.”

“What’s the strongest earthquake in St. Louis since the Arch was built?” the older man asked.

The young woman, who’d regained her composure, clasped her hands together as she adopted a schoolteacher posture. “That happened in 1968, only five years after the Arch was completed. The magnitude 5.5 shock was centered just south of here and was felt in twenty-three surrounding states.”

“Wow, that was a big earthquake!” exclaimed a young boy, who still held his mother’s hand with a death grip.

Jack wandered away to study the now-illuminated St. Louis skyline. He muttered to himself, “Not as big as it could be.”

Chapter Three

Monday, December 17

Atwood Residence

Cordova, Tennessee

“I love you back,” Jill Atwood replied as Jack disconnected the call. He’d seemed to rush her off the phone, which wasn’t like him. She shrugged it off, chalking it up to something Tony related. She set the phone down on the kitchen island amongst the cookbooks, recipe cards, and her iPad opened to CountryLiving.com, her go-to website for holiday meal planning.

Jill was organized in a frantic week-before-the-family’s-arrival sort of way. Notepads and multicolored pens were used for meal plans, shopping lists, and an agenda of daily activities. Sure, there were apps for all of that. However, Jill had learned about running a household from her grandmother, who wanted nothing to do with those newfangled thingamajigs.

“Mom! Can we change the channel? We’ve been watching these movies since Halloween. I’ve seen this one at least three times.”

Her twelve-year-old daughter, Emily, had been by her side for most of the Christmas decorating. One of their family traditions during the holiday season was watching the Hallmark Channel. Each year, the network would begin presenting their Christmas-themed programming earlier and earlier. It used to be considered bad form to start the Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations prior to Halloween.

As retailers began inching their holiday merchandise releases into October, Hallmark followed suit and began to show their Christmas movies earlier, too. Now, in October, you could watch Freddy Krueger slash open some poor soul on Elm Street on one channel, or switch over to see Candace Cameron Bure serve up chewy ginger cookies on Hallmark’s version of Elm Street, USA.

Jill returned to the family room, where their Christmas tree stood partially decorated near the fireplace. The flames flickered through the split-oak firewood, providing plenty of heat and an abundance of ambience. Her mantel was decorated with garland, stockings, and their holders. Above it, the TV showed a young couple falling in love below the mistletoe, staring dreamily into one another’s eyes as faux snow fell around them. It was the quintessential happy ending to a Hallmark Christmas movie. She’d seen it so many times before, and it always warmed her heart.

“Okay, Em. Whadya wanna watch?”

“The Grizzlies are on,” mumbled her son, Tate. The fifteen-year-old never took his attention away from his iPhone as he scrolled through the timeline of one social media app or another.

“No!” Emily voiced her objection. “We watched football all day yesterday. Basketball sucks anyway.”

“Language, young lady!”

Emily looked at her mother and tilted her head as if she had no idea what she’d said wrong. Somehow, the word sucks had eased its way into the American vernacular as a way to describe something undesirable or disappointing. Few people regularly using the term realized it derived from the term meaning to perform oral sex.

Tate, who was generally indifferent to television unless it involved a sporting event, made a suggestion. “We’ve got The Walking Dead season finale in the can from last night.” In the can was Tate’s way of referring to the movies and shows stored on the cable box DVR hard drive. Jack used in the can to announce where’d he’d be when it was time to go to the bathroom. They were boys.

“Eww, gross,” Emily objected again.

Jill rolled her eyes. Tired of acting as a referee between the kids, she switched the channel to digital radio so she could listen to Christmas music. Nowadays, television programming sucked, she thought to herself, generating a slight giggle.

She turned to the kids and put her hands on her hips. “Okay, let’s get back to the job at hand. We’ve got a tree to decorate and lots of boxes to put away. Who’s ready?”

Emily’s arms shot up. Tate didn’t move.

“Okay, Em. I’ll have you help me with the Shiny Brites. Tate? What about you?”

He raised his eyes from his phone for the first time. He glanced around the room before responding, “I’ll take cleanup.”

“Okay. Okay. That’s good. You can repack the empty boxes and put them in the garage. But don’t you wanna help decorate the tree? I could use some help with the star tree-topper.”

“How about I get the ladder?” he offered.

Jill studied him for a moment. In the six months since he’d turned fifteen, his attitude toward family events had changed dramatically. He was a sophomore at Memphis University School, a private school for boys in grades seven through twelve. It was a very disciplined college-preparatory school that he’d attended for two years. His grades hadn’t fallen off, and to the contrary, he was excelling in most of his subjects.

His extracurricular activities centered around sports. The entire enrollment of MUS was around seven hundred boys. Their sports program was limited, so many of the young men showing an interest in athletics played multiple sports. Tate, as a sophomore, had been invited to play football, baseball, and basketball on the varsity teams. He was tall for his age, making him an ideal addition to the basketball team, but football was his first love.

Every parent was warned to watch for sudden mood changes in their teenagers. It could be an indication he was running with the proverbial wrong crowd. Maybe drinking or drugs were involved. She and Jack discussed it from time to time as they watched for the telltale signs, including secretive behavior, failing grades, or a general lack of interest in anything other than new friends or social media.

Social media had always been a concern for them. Other than his after-school practices, Tate spent any extra time away from his studies interacting with others on Instagram and Facebook. Tate despised Twitter, constantly referring to the app’s users as vile human beings. Jill checked out the Twitter feed from time to time and found herself both agreeing with her son and admiring him for the good sense to avoid it.

“Okay, big guy,” she replied. “You grab the ladder while Emily and I adorn this magnificent tree with the brightest Shiny Brite ornaments known to man. Right, Em?”

“Right! I’ll start with this one.” She pulled out a pink mercury glass bauble with a snowy scene depicted all around it.

The Shiny Brites, along with their home, were something Jill and her sister, Beth, inherited from their grandmother. Like their family roots stretching back to Germany, Shiny Brite ornaments were of German descent. They had been created by German-born Max Eckardt following World War I. He and his brother were toymakers. Soon, the popularity of the glass ornaments stretched across the Atlantic to America. In 1937, he formally founded the Shiny Brite company, so named because the insides of the ornaments were coated with silver nitrate in order to remain shiny Christmas after Christmas. By 1940, he’d partnered with the Corning glass company to produce three hundred thousand ornaments a day. After the war, he assisted in the rebuilding of Germany by adding ornament factories there.

Jill’s grandmother used to talk about German work ethic and the pride their toymakers took in creating Christmas decorations. Jill and Beth would spend hours listening to their grandmother explain what Christmas meant to her, both as a family gathering but also as a way to celebrate the birth of Christ. One of her favorite sayings was remember the reason for the season. It was her grandmother’s strong influence that gave Jill the strength to persevere during a period of great emotional loss. That same strength would serve her well in the near future.

Chapter Four

Tuesday, December 18

USGS

Golden, Colorado

Dr. Lansing liked to jog to the USGS offices located on the campus of the Colorado School of Mines in Golden, Colorado. The weather conditions had little impact on her decision unless the sidewalks were covered with ice. It was her way of allowing her two worlds to meet. A transition, of sorts, between life at home with her husband and live-in mother-in-law and the job she loved.

Despite being the middle of December, temperatures were in the low fifties courtesy of the jet stream trapping cold air in the polar regions. She’d left the house thirty minutes earlier to burn a few calories picked up during her three-day stay in Missouri. Between the carb-filled foods at the earthquake conference and the delicious meals served up by her mother in Columbia, Dr. Lansing had gained ten pounds. She was sure of it.

She picked up the pace as she passed the marijuana dispensaries on Ford Street. The increase in homelessness in suburban Denver continued despite arguments from the pro-legalization lobby. Denver had become the unofficial legal marijuana capital of America. The homelessness rate leapt eight percent the first year following the implementation of the marijuana legalization initiative.

To counter the negative publicity surrounding the influx of Californians seeking a Rocky Mountain high, old unprofitable hotels were converted to government-run affordable housing. The newly arrived homeless were given a free place to live. They now had an address. Therefore, they were no longer homeless, technically speaking. Problem solved.

Except there were still homeless people huddled near the intersection of Ford and Tenth, where Dr. Lansing jogged back and forth to work most days. Usually they ignored her. Sometimes they didn’t, which made for a few uncomfortable confrontations.

As she ran, she glanced over at Coors Brewery, one of the few vices she allowed herself. Empty calories, to be sure. Another favorite vice in which she indulged only occasionally was Bob’s Atomic Burgers to her right. The retro-style burger joint was a local favorite, especially in the summer, when patrons sat outside to enjoy an incredible view of the South Table Mountain, a mesa just beyond the brewery.

She slowed her pace to a walk as she approached the National Earthquake Information Center. The NEIC, part of the USGS, was tasked with identifying, as rapidly and accurately as possible, the location and size of significant earthquakes around the world. They would then disseminate the data to associated national and international agencies, catastrophic response entities like FEMA, and lastly, after approval from the White House, to the public.

The NEIC was also a data-gathering entity. It was a central hub to collect extensive seismic reporting and research compiled from digital helicorders around the world. Prior to advanced technology, these devices recorded signals from seismometers onto a piece of paper wrapped around a drum. A pen drew the signal on the paper, jumping at small intervals when seismic activity occurred. The bigger the shake, the bigger the quake.

Now, the raw data was processed digitally and strained, as they say, through a band-pass filter to separate global events from localized ones. The public didn’t realize some earthquakes were of such a large magnitude they could be felt in other parts of the world.

For Dr. Lansing, landing the position of director at the NEIC was like allowing a kid alone in a candy store. There was never enough data for her to analyze. Everything that happened, even on the dull and mundane days, caused her excitement and was worthy of study. She considered herself more than a trained geophysicist. She was Mother Earth’s personal physician.

She made her way into the lobby of the NEIC and was immediately greeted by the receptionist.

“Good morning, Doc!” The young intern from the Colorado School of Mines worked for minimum wage when she wasn’t attending to her studies. She was one of several students who had been selected out of hundreds of applicants for the opportunity to simply work inside the hallowed halls of the NEIC. It was a résumé builder for them.

“Hi, Jasmine,” said Dr. Lansing, returning the young woman’s beaming smile.

Jasmine stood and handed the director a stack of phone messages. “Also, here’s your copy of the FEMA Daily Operations Briefing.”

“Thank you,” said Dr. Lansing as she began to make her way to the operations center, her normal first stop upon arrival. Jasmine stopped her.

“Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you.” She handed Dr. Lansing the morning copy of the Golden Transcript, the second oldest newspaper in Colorado.

Dr. Lansing playfully scowled as she turned the newspaper over and examined it. “What’s this?”

“A newspaper.”

“You mean they still make these silly things?” she asked with a grin on her face.

“Sure, people still read them. Besides, everybody likes to read about themselves in the paper.”

Dr. Lansing opened it to view the headline on the front page. The Colorado governor had just resigned after allegations of campaign finance fraud. Not everybody, she thought to herself. She flipped it over to check the headlines below the fold.

“Are you saying I’m in here?”

“Yes, ma’am. About your speech at the conference.”

“Why would the local paper care?”

Jasmine laughed and then replied, “Are you kidding? When you talk about sexy things like Devil’s Staircases, what media outlet could resist?”

Dr. Lansing wasn’t sure if the Devil’s Staircase reference was quite as sexy as a soon-to-be-indicted governor, but she’d take it. Then a look of concern came over her face.

“Were they kind to me?”

“They said you were knowledgeable and informative. You know, generally great.”

“Generally?” asked the woman who was arguably one of the nation’s leading geophysicists.

“Well, yes. Except for the part about you being the prophetess of doom.”

Dr. Lansing scowled and muttered to herself, “Nice.”

She made her way into the operations center, debating whether to drop the paper in the trash or read about herself somewhere on page six.

“Hi, Dr. Lansing,” said one of the geologists who assisted her in the field on most research projects. “I watched the closed-circuit broadcast of your presentation. I thought you were fantastic. Newspapers are really stupid for many reasons. You know what they say about—”

Dr. Lansing waved her hand to cut him off before he finished. She caught his drift. “Would you mind getting me a bottle of water and a banana?”

He turned to retrieve both items off his cubicle desk. He was one step ahead of her.

“I figured you’d take a longer run today.”

“Because of the article?” The whole prophetess of doom reference was eating at her. She’d never incorrectly pulled the trigger on any earthquake warning. In fact, her forecasting capabilities were second to none. However, New Madrid was unique, and she’d take every opportunity to remind the scientific community of that.

“No,” he replied. “Because every time you travel, you complain of weight gain. It’s never really the case, but you say it every time.”

These people know me too well. “Okay. Follow me.”

She walked into the center of the operations center, where cubicles, computer monitors, and maps encircled her. Geophysicists of all levels of expertise were manning their stations.

She raised her voice to announce her presence. “So how’s our patient today?”

Most of the personnel swung around in their chairs. They acknowledged the arrival of the woman they all highly respected and enjoyed working for.

Oliver, one of her longest serving geophysicists, who hailed from England, replied, “Good morning, mum. She’s a little gassy this morning.”

The group laughed. Dr. Lansing decided to play along.

“Well, that would make any woman fussy. What exactly did she eat to produce this gassiness?”

“Mum, we’ve recorded a series of quakes along the AFZ in Northern Chile,” he explained. The AFZ was an acronym for the Atacama Fault Zone. Chile was one of the most active seismic regions in the world.

“Can you classify it as a swarm?” she asked.

“Yes, mum. We can. It’s actually triggered some volcanic activity in the region. There are reports of gas and nonexplosive lava emissions around the Puyehue-Cordon Caulle volcanic edifices. The ash from the emissions has floated in a southwesterly direction toward Bariloche in Argentina.”

Dr. Lansing grimaced. Not again. The quaint hamlet in Southern Argentina had been covered in a thin ashy powder mixed with sand and pumice stone just three years prior when the Chilean volcano had a moderate eruption. It was a reminder of how the study of seismic activity can be directly related to volcanic eruptions.

“Okay, keep me posted on developments,” she said with a nod of thanks. “Anything closer to home?”

Another geologist assigned to the Mississippi River Valley region and the Upper Midwest responded, “We have reports of tremors in Chicago as well as Cairo, Illinois. They might be false positives.”

Dr. Lansing smiled. Residents of Illinois and people who studied geography knew to pronounce the city’s name as care-ro, not ki-ro, as in Egypt.

“Ice quakes?” asked Dr. Lansing. An ice quake, sometimes referred to as a frost quake, occurred when rock saturated with water or ice began to crack or expand. The sudden changes exerted on rock formations often generated a seismic warning. It was common for ice quakes to occur in the Upper Mississippi River Valley during the winter months.

“We’re monitoring them now, ma’am,” he replied before continuing. “We’re exploring a possible connection to tremors felt in St. Louis yesterday afternoon. The surface temperature readings don’t suggest a correlation, but we’re exploring it nonetheless.”

Dr. Lansing slowly nodded her head. “Send me everything you’ve got on both seismic events, please.” She wasn’t a believer in coincidences.

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