Tom Clancy - Command Authority

A two-man security patrol walked back and forth on the rear deck of the property, so there was no way for Ding and the others to get any closer without risking detection.

He realized that even though he could see Ryan, Ryan was still on his own.

Dom Caruso was closest to the water, hidden between a pair of oil drums and the boathouse near the pier. As he looked through his binoculars at the building up the hill in front of him, he heard a faint rumbling over the water. The engine of some sort of skiff, by the sound of it. He looked out into the darkness and fog and saw no approaching light.

A moment later the faint sound disappeared, as if the engine had been cut.

He whispered into his Bluetooth headset: “This is Dom. I’ve got some sort of watercraft approaching the pier. It’s not using any kind of light, and it’s cut its engine.”

Chavez said, “Sounds like trouble. I want everyone out of sight. Let me know what we’re dealing with as soon as you can, Dom.”

“Roger that. Any way we can warn Ryan if this turns into trouble?”

Chavez said, “Yeah, I can start shooting. Short of that, there is not a damn thing I can do to alert Ryan.”

While Hugh Castor talked, Jack could not help imagining the sixty-eight-year-old as a young intelligence operative. He was self-assured and intelligent; he seemed to Jack like some sort of long-lost uncle, so comfortable was the conversation, even though the topic involved Castor’s deceptions that ultimately led to the attack on Jack.

He realized the man had all but absolved himself of any sort of impropriety. He didn’t know if Castor really believed it, or if he was just an incredibly gifted liar. Jack figured it was often like that in the spy world, where nothing was cut-and-dried.

“Everything you do at Castor and Boyle is designed to protect the Russian government,” Ryan said, trying to get Castor to admit that he was, if not a traitor, at least a stooge.

Castor shook his head. “No, not at all. Am I remunerated for passing on information to key business leaders from time to time? Yes. Guilty of that, I’m afraid. Industrial espionage.”

Ryan said, “The business leaders happen to run the FSB and the government.”

“Do they?” Castor asked, with a sly smile. “I work closely with officials in Gazprom and its affiliates. What they do when they are not at board meetings is none of my concern.”

Ryan asked the question in the forefront of his mind now: “What are you trying to accomplish by telling me all this?”

Castor said, “Very soon, key individuals in Russia will get word that the man in Corby you met with was in the same gulag where Roman Talanov had his typhoid attack and made a confession in the medical ward. At that point, they will infer that I misrepresented my leverage over them. They might well determine there never was proof, there was only hearsay. As soon as they decide Oxley and myself exclusively have information that could prove to be their undoing, there will be no reason to allow us to walk the earth any longer.”

Ryan translated the man’s legalese. “Now that Talanov knows about you and Ox, he’ll figure out that you’ve been bullshitting him about having a videotape. When that happens, he’ll send goons to kill you.”

“That is my predicament, unfortunately. He isn’t the sort of man who will have a good belly laugh at the irony of being tricked. He is usually the one doing the tricking. I can surround myself with guards, but sooner or later Talanov will get to me like he did to Golovko and Zueva and Biryukov and all the KGB and GRU leadership he dispatched twenty years ago.”

“What do you want?”

“I am willing to barter certain information I have collected throughout the years in exchange for immunity from prosecution and protection by your government.”

“The American government?”

“Yes. I have committed, as I said, some industrial espionage. But I am no spy, I am no traitor. I can more than redeem myself with the information I have. Obviously, your father will not go against the wishes of the United Kingdom, but I feel certain he could encourage the UK to drop any investigation into me that might arise.”

“And you will tell my dad what, exactly?”

“I will prove that Dmitri Nesterov, the man who was funneled one-point-two billion U.S. dollars by the Russian government, is none other than a Seven Strong Men capo who operates under the alias Gleb the Scar.”

Jack looked at Oxley, then back at Castor.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Very sure.”

“That’s good, but it’s not going to be enough.”

“That’s only the tip of the iceberg, lad. Talanov’s control officer is still out there, and he is in play.” Castor grinned, he looked like the most confident man in the world. “But that’s my trump card. I’ll tell your father, face-to-face, when I am safe in the USA.”

Jack started to reply, but just as he was about to speak, a security officer ran in from the kitchen. In heavily accented English, he said, “Herr Castor. We have reports of men approaching the chalet from the lake. We have to get you upstairs!”

Caruso watched the men in black leave the boat at the pier, then race past the boathouse, over the small retaining wall, and up the hill toward the back of the house. They fanned out as they advanced, keeping themselves low and moving in two-man fire teams.

Dom presumed the men to be Russian; he couldn’t think of any other likely scenario. Whether they were here for Ryan, Oxley, Castor, or perhaps all three, he couldn’t say for certain. But he did see they were armed with submachine guns and they moved like a confident and well-trained fighting force.

Dom whispered into his Bluetooth. “They are past my position. If you want, I can open up on them from here.”

“Negative,” Ding said. “We get in a gunfight with these fuckers out here in the open and the Swiss will just fire down on us all from the chalet. They’ll target every muzzle flash in the dark and waste everybody.”

Chavez was shielded from the house by a grouping of pine trees. He said, “I’m going to fire one round in the air as an alert to Ryan. Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage.”

Chavez raised his weapon to fire, making sure the flash would not be obvious from the chalet. Just as he put his finger on the trigger, the rattle of automatic rifle fire ripped through the night.

It was a single security officer on the driveway at the side of the house, firing down on the attacking force, which was now spread out wide on the hill.

Ding lowered his weapon. “All right. If the Russians make it inside, we go in right behind them and engage any hostiles until we get Ryan out of there. Until then, we hold our positions.”

Sam and Dom responded in the affirmative over the radios, but it was difficult for Chavez to hear them now, because a raging gunfight with nearly two dozen automatic weapons had begun.

The security officer ushered Castor, Ryan, and Oxley up a staircase and into a back bedroom. Once they were there, he handed Castor a pistol, then headed back downstairs.

Castor held the pistol by his side, and he looked at Ryan. The Englishman’s confidence, so evident a minute ago, seemed to be faltering. “You brought friends?”

Jack replied, “Those guys aren’t with me, which makes me think they are probably Russians. Talanov figured out you’ve been lying to him even more quickly than you thought he would.”

The Englishman’s face morphed quickly, as he realized young Ryan was correct.

“My men will stop them.”

“Sure they will,” Ryan said. “Your Swiss security men here are better than an FSB Spetsnaz unit.”