Maden Mike - Tom Clancy Firing Point

Snow Dragon would be the largest joint Chinese-Russian naval exercise ever held, and it was taking place in the Bering Sea. Snow Dragon was part of an alarming trend of cooperation across the spectrum by both governments hostile to American interests. Snow Dragon in particular was aimed at the Sino-Russian drive to exploit Arctic natural resources and newly opened Arctic shipping lanes.

In the relationship—Ryan likened it to a shotgun wedding between the Hatfields and McCoys—Russia brought to bear its technological and engineering expertise in Arctic oil and gas production. China brought its enormous banking and credit reserves to fund those operations, including a GazNeft facility now pumping over sixteen million tons of super-cooled liquefied natural gas from beneath the polar ice.

The Chinese Politburo had released an official white paper six months earlier outlining their plan to create the “Polar Silk Road,” an extension of its global Belt and Road Initiative. The BRI was China’s grand strategic plan to bring about a Eurasian economic zone. This would ultimately lead to political and military integration of the Eurasian landmass, an existential threat not only to the United States but also the rest of the world.

The Polar Silk Road through the Arctic would shorten the sea route from Shanghai to Hamburg by more than three thousand miles. A major military exercise in the Bering Sea within shooting distance of Alaska gave a whole new meaning to the idea of a new “cold” war.

“Let’s get this Christyakov his papers, and then we’ll see what he’s made of.”

“I’ll get right on it, Mr. President. Any chance I can watch? I’ve never seen two scorpions in a bottle fight it out before.”

“It’s better if I handle this on my own. It won’t take long for either of us to find out who has the bigger stinger.”

24

MARIN COUNTY, CALIFORNIA

The modest two-story ranch was set back three hundred feet off the two-lane asphalt road, surrounded by stands of cypress and pine.

Marin County Sheriff’s Office vehicles stood either in the uncut grass or on the gravel road surrounding the home, including the coroner’s meat wagon. Yellow crime-scene tape marked SHERIFF’S LINE DO NOT CROSS was strung across the broken-down porch, blocking the entrance.

Sergeant Ralph Browning watched the CSI team taking pictures, documenting the crime scene. The nude and desecrated corpses of Chris and Cari Fast were nailed to the wood floor, their outstretched limbs crucified to the pentagrams drawn in their own blood. White blowfly larvae were already hatched and squirming in the soft tissues of their mutilated eyes, open mouths, and abused genitals.

Thirteen black waxen candles had melted in dark pools in the circles around them. Their two small dogs were nail-gunned to the peeling walls and SATAN RULES! was written in blood beneath the furry corpses.

Sergeant Browning stood next to the young deputy who’d been called by a suspicious neighbor. He’d seen a lot in his years on the force, including a couple of head-on collisions. This was the first time he ever felt like throwing up.

“I thought they only did this shit in the movies. You ever seen anything like this before, Sergeant?”

“In twenty-two years on the job, I never seen nothing like it.”

“Makes me think I need to start going to church again.”

“First lesson on the job: People are evil.”

Sergeant Browning checked his watch. The FBI agent should be arriving at any moment. The Feebs had put out a bulletin on the two missing Google scientists after they failed to report to work. Browning was the point man from the investigations division heading up the case. He called it in to the FBI field office in San Francisco after the bodies were identified. Nothing was to be removed from the crime scene until one of their agents arrived. “National security” was the only explanation given or needed.

“One of the techs said that the woman’s Uber app had been hacked. Fake driver, fake car. Is that true?”

“Looks like it.”

“Kinda ironic, isn’t it? A couple of computer geniuses getting hacked?”

“I’m going outside for a smoke,” Browning said, the bile in his throat rising from the stench. He was getting too old for this shit. He already had a hard time sleeping. After today, he might never sleep again.

His ex-wife told him he should’ve retired two years ago. As usual, she was right, he thought as he lit up a Marlboro, trying not to think about the horror inside.

25

BARCELONA, SPAIN

Jack arrived at the consulate ten minutes early for his appointment with Dick Dellinger. He wanted a face-to-face meeting and a phone call wouldn’t cut it. Nothing like being in the room to get a read on somebody. E-mails and texts could be ignored.

Jack needed Dellinger’s attention badly. His back was against the wall. He’d hit a couple of major dead ends, first on this Sammler guy and then on Sorry Man.

At least now he had Dellinger’s attention as he sat across from him, the man’s dark brown eyes locked with his.

“What is it that I can help you with today, Mr. Ryan?”

“Yesterday, you said I should contact you if I needed any assistance.”

“Of course, that’s why I’m here—and why I cleared my schedule so that I could meet with you on short notice.”

“And I really appreciate that. You also said that you take the deaths of Americans very seriously.”

“I do.”

“Then if you don’t mind my asking, what the hell is going on with the Spanish government? Why are they dragging their feet on this investigation?”

“Dragging their feet? It’s only been two days since Ms. Moore was killed, so if you’ll pardon my French, you need to cool your jets, son. Besides, this is Spain. Spaniards only have two gears in the gearbox: slow and siesta. Don’t get me wrong, they do a good job, but they do it on their own damn time.”

“If Renée were your friend, your daughter, your wife—you’d say the same thing?”

Jack wanted to gauge Dellinger’s reaction. Was Renée important to Dellinger? That would confirm he was a CIA operative like her.

Dellinger didn’t miss a beat. He was a slick customer. Too slick. He didn’t take one second to process the question in order to try and imagine Renée as an intimate acquaintance. That meant he was either blowing smoke or he didn’t have to imagine her as important to him because she already was.

“Yes, of course I’d say the same thing.”

“You’re not telling me something.”

Dellinger sighed.

Processing? Jack wondered. Or spinning up his bullshit generator?

“Look, Jack, you’re a smart guy. You know how the world works. You probably have heard about the independence protests going on, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, Spain’s politics are very delicate and raw right now, especially when it comes to the separatism issue. Ms. Moore’s death sits right in the middle of the controversy, so we—the American government—must tread very carefully. Spain is an important member of NATO, and the alliance itself is feeling some tension. So we can’t be seen as pressing too hard, one way or the other. There’s a bigger picture here to consider.”

Dellinger leaned forward on his desk for emphasis. “But trust me, Jack, the Spaniards are working the case. I’m keeping close tabs on things. I have friends in the Spanish government. In fact, I have a contact at the CNI and I was actually planning on putting a call in to him later this afternoon. If I find out anything that I’m allowed to tell you, I’ll give you a call and fill you in. Is that acceptable?”

“Sure. And I appreciate it.”