Jack Du Brul - Vulcan's forge

With one million dollars in cash and a promissory note of an additional five million dollars, Kerikov bought someone high up in Ohnishi’s personal staff to report on all of the eccentric billionaire’s activities. If the coup in Hawaii was unnecessary, Kerikov wanted to ensure that Ohnishi would not continue his end of the plan. The mole was his insurance that Ohnishi could be controlled. Permanently, if necessary.

At the same time, Kerikov set into motion a plot to steal the wealth of the volcano for himself. Had the Soviet Union remained the world power that it had been when Dr. Borodin launched Vulcan’s Forge, Kerikov would have been proud to turn over the marvelous achievement to his superiors. But the decades since then had seen Russia degenerate into a Third World country, a nation whose very survival depended on loan guarantees from America and Western Europe.

After quietly capitulating the Cold War in 1989, Russia had suffered a cruel peace. She was turning into a market for goods and a source of raw materials, much the way Europe had once treated the backwaters of Asia and Africa. In just a few years, the Soviet Union had toppled from superpower to colony, and the decline was far from over.

Watching dispassionately as his nation rotted, Kerikov decided that if he could not save the Rodina , then perhaps the Motherland could save him. Since Russia no longer possessed either the political clout or the financial resources to develop Vulcan’s Forge, Kerikov opened negotiations with a group of men who could.

The nine members of Hydra Consolidated, a Korean-based holding company representing billions of dollars of real estate, manufacturing, and electronics, recognized the value of Vulcan’s Forge when Kerikov approached them. They did not balk at the one-hundred-million-dollar price tag that he attached to the volcano and its unusual riches, for the strategic element being produced in the charnel guts of the volcano would make its possessor the most powerful force on earth, in both the literal and figurative sense.

Just a week after initiating talks with the Koreans, Kerikov learned of the proposed meetings in Thailand to discuss the Spratly Island situation. Sensing that the Bangkok Accords could aid his plan, Kerikov pulled in some favors and employed a little bribery and blackmail to get Gennady Perchenko assigned as the Russian delegate to the meeting. He also managed to get the Taiwanese ambassador to act on his behalf in return for some information that would ensure Minister Tren the prime minister’s office whenever he wanted it.

Even before the accord meetings began, Kerikov knew how he would use his two agents-in-place to solidify possession of the volcano when it crested through the Pacific swells.

When his second Scotch arrived, he glanced at the Piaget watch on his wrist. Perchenko would arrive at any moment. Kerikov looked at the maitre d’. It was his first night here at the Royal River, yet he seemed comfortable in his job.

The regular man hadn’t arrived for work this afternoon. His body was secured to several cement blocks in a canal about ten miles from the city.

An hour after receiving the confirmation from Borodin, Kerikov had killed the maitre d’ as the ultimate insurance that he would never discuss his dealings with the Russian delegate to the Bangkok Accords. After dispatching the young Thai, Kerikov phoned his sociopathic assistant, Evad Lurbud, in Cairo and ordered him to commence his housekeeping. This would mean killing an Egyptian arms merchant and then flying to Hawaii to take care of Takahiro Ohnishi and Kerikov’s mole.

Kerikov might have left behind some loose ends when he fled Russia, but he’d be damned if there would be any from the final gambit of Vulcan’s Forge. In just a few days, he’d be spending the one hundred million dollars from the Koreans and there wouldn’t be a soul left alive who would know how he got it.

Kerikov spotted Gennady Perchenko leaping from a Riva River taxi onto the quay of the Royal River. In a moment, the new maitre d’ would guide the diplomat to his final briefing.

The big Greyhound over-the-road bus hissed to a stop just outside the city’s main terminal, near the convention center. Mercer was stiff legged as he trailed Tish down the three steps of the bus to the already sizzling pavement. His whole body ached, not only from his ordeal in New York but from the torturous seats that all transportation manufacturers seem intent on using. He tried, without success, to knuckle the kinks from his lower back as he and Tish ambled into the bus terminal. Announcements echoed off the tiled walls, mixing with the din of the passengers arriving and departing. The terminal stank of the homeless who spent their nights on the steel benches.

“I still don’t understand why we had to take the bus back to Washington,” Tish complained, swiveling her head to stretch her tense neck muscles. They had cabbed to Newark and caught the bus there.

Mercer grimaced as he stroked the new beard that stubbled his face. “Because by now the FBI will have the train stations staked out and I needed time to think before we turn ourselves in.” He strode to a bank of telephones and dialed an international operator. “After I make this call, we’ll give up.”

Mercer waited a full five minutes for the connection to be made, then spoke in French. Tish, not understanding the language, walked over to a bench and sat down. Mercer joined her after a few minutes.

“All set,” he announced.

“What was that all about?”

“I had to call an old fishing buddy in the Ruhr Valley.”

Tish had learned not to be surprised by any of Mercer’s actions. “Did he tell you what you needed?”

“He sure did.” There was a sense of triumph in Mercer’s voice that cut through the exhaustion etched around his eyes.

They grabbed a taxi in front of the terminal and Mercer gave the driver his home address.

“Why don’t we go straight to the FBI?” Tish said, and leaned her head against his shoulder as she had for much of the six-hour ride from New York.

“If we showed up at the Hoover Building, it would take them hours to verify who we are and direct us to the person who was in charge of your protection at the hospital. This way, the agents at my house will take us straight to him.”

“Clever.”

The cab ride took nearly forty-five minutes in the snarled downtown traffic. The driver refused to use the car’s air-conditioning, so great blasts of hot air blew into the taxi, plastering Tish’s hair around her face.

“Since you fell asleep as soon as we got on the bus this morning, I just want to thank you for the way you handled yourself in New York. You came through like a true professional.”

Tish smiled at him, her beautiful lips framing dazzling teeth. “Jack Talbot didn’t raise a daughter who couldn’t take care of herself.”

Mercer laughed. “No doubt about that.”

“Mercer, what’s going to happen to us once the FBI picks us up?”

“I don’t know, Tish. I think the information we’ve gotten in the past couple of days points to the people responsible for the Ocean Seeker disaster. Once we deliver it to the FBI, we should be out of it.”

“What if they don’t believe us?” she persisted.

“We just have to make sure they do. The story I have to tell is too chilling to be ignored.”

The cab stopped in front of Mercer’s house. He paid the driver, unlocked the door of the house, and keyed off the security system. He almost had the door closed when a voice from behind interrupted him.

“Dr. Mercer, please step away from the door and place your hands over your head. This is the FBI.”

Mercer backed away and turned to the FBI agent, his smile ironic. “The last person who told me that was left tied up in an office in New York and he already had his gun drawn.”