Brad Thor - The Athena Project

Walsh didn’t know what to say. “That’s it? You don’t have any other leads?”

“We’re chasing down a rumor right now about a hit that happened yesterday in Croatia.”

“Croatia?”

“Yeah,” replied Farnsworth. “A former KGB official and his three-man bodyguard detail were ambushed. Lots of AK47s and an RPG were used. The hitters appear to have been imported for the job.”

“What’s this got to do with Bianchi?”

“It doesn’t. This is about Abressian. Supposedly, he and this deceased KGB man, a Viktor Mikhailov, had some sort of falling out.”

“Over what?” asked Walsh.

“We don’t know. Like I said, this just happened yesterday. I’m getting it all out of a source in Moscow. We’ll probably have more in a week or two.”

“Do you think Abressian was behind it?”

“I don’t know,” replied Farnsworth. “Mikhailov was no choir boy. I’m sure he’s made more than his share of enemies.”

“Interesting.”

“Yup,” said the CIA man, wrapping up the call. “Listen, don’t forget to get me anything you’ve got on Abressian and the Taliban. The more I hear about him, the more I don’t like him.”

“Me too,” replied Walsh. We’ll get something over to you as soon as we can.” With that, the two men said their good-byes and hung up.

Jack Walsh then immediately dialed Rob Hutton at Fort Bragg.

PREMANTURA

ISTRIAN PENINSULA

CROATIA

Armen Abressian had planned his ambush of Viktor Mikhailov down to the very last detail. He had kept it all a secret, even from Thomas. The only person who knew the full scope of what was going to happen was his head of security, Marko.

Both Armen and Marko knew that Viktor would leave word with his men that if anything happened to him, they should assume Abressian had done it. That was why Marko arranged to have a team of contract killers brought in from the Ukraine.

After the Ukrainians successfully ambushed Viktor’s Audi and killed all of its occupants, Marko and his men killed the Ukranians. Two of the hired killers then had cell phones planted in their pockets that showed calls back and forth with several members of another organized crime network very hostile to Viktor’s. As corrupt as the local police were, they weren’t stupid.

It wouldn’t take long for this information to get to Viktor’s men. With their boss dead, they would follow the carefully laid trail of money transfers Armen had put together. There were a couple of other clues he had buried so deep that no one would probably ever find them, but if someone did, they would never suspect anyone had gone to that much trouble. It was the kind of orchestration that Abressian was very talented at.

When Sanders was brought in on the plot, he was quite relieved. He had no problem with the Bratva going to war, as long as it wasn’t with them. His boss never ceased to amaze him. The man always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else. He assumed it was the result of exceptional analysis and thorough planning, but figured there had to be just a bit of good luck thrown in as well. Somewhere at some point in his past, Abressian must have done something right to have stored up such a trove of good fortune.

That was the thought that came back to Sanders’s mind when he was combing the email accounts he used as electronic dead drops and found a note left in one of the draft folders. This was the modern version of how spies used to leave messages hidden for each other in parks or under bridges, except now it was a much simpler process. An email account was created and two parties had the user name and password. Instead of sending messages across the internet to each other that could be intercepted or traced, they simply read and erased messages left in the account’s draft folder.

It was in just such a folder that Sanders found a wonderful piece of news. Getting up from his desk, he walked into Abressian’s office. “I have good news, Armen.”

Abressian turned from where he had been looking out the window. Despite the hour, he already had a drink in his hand. “What is it?”

“The shipment has arrived.”

“What shipment?”

“ The shipment,” said Sanders. “From Bianchi. I just heard from the man in Ljubljana. As soon as the money transfer is confirmed, they’ll make the shipment available. He wants to know is if we want it packaged the same as last time.”

Abressian wasn’t sure how to react.

Sanders studied his employer. “You don’t seem pleased.”

“I don’t like it. Bianchi was taken four days ago.”

“You think this might be a trap?” asked Sanders.

Abressian bowed his head in thought.

“This isn’t any different from the way the deal unfolded last time,” continued Sanders. “Think about it. We gave Bianchi a substantial down payment just like before. The process was probably in the works before he was grabbed. Just because the railroad boss gets hit by a train doesn’t mean all the trains stop running.”

“Perhaps. But I’m still concerned.”

“So what should I do? Tell the guy we don’t want them? Tell him that he should just keep our deposit?”

Abressian held up his hand. “I’m trying to think.”

Sanders knew not to press his boss. Laying his hands on another shipment of EMP devices was all Abressian had been thinking about. He was under a tremendous amount of stress over it, as evidenced by the cocktail he currently held in his hand.

Abressian looked out the window for a long time. Finally, he said, “We’ll do it, but I want you to double our security precautions. I don’t care how much it costs. I want to make it impossible to follow this shipment.”

LJUBLJANA

SLOVENIA

WEDNESDAY

In the eastern warehouse district of Ljubljana known as Smartinska, Gretchen Casey, Alex Cooper, Julie Ericsson, and Megan Rhodes sat in a nondescript vehicle watching a steel garage door a half block away.

“Nino Bianchi knows we’re coming back and taking him for another swim if this is BS, right?” asked Cooper.

Casey smiled. “If he’s lying, I’ll drown him myself.”

“You girls are so dang violent,” stated Rhodes from the backseat. “It’s no wonder neither of you can ever hang on to a man.”

“Please,” replied Casey. “I have no problem hanging on to men.”

“Handcuffs don’t count, Gretch,” offered Ericsson.

Cooper pointed at Casey. “I knew it. It’s always the quiet ones. The freak runs deep in them.”

“You’re looking at the wrong sister, sister,” stated Casey, pointing over her shoulder at Megan and Julie. “You want to talk freak, talk to them. They run the Freaky Town Rotary Club.”

“It’s always the dog without the bone who barks,” teased Rhodes.

A chorus of oohs rose inside the car over that response.

“Thank you,” said Rhodes. “I’m here all week. Try the veal.”

“By the way,” replied Ericsson. “If I had known we were going to be spending so much time in Eastern Europe, I would have stopped shaving my legs and threaded my eyebrows together.”

“Some women will do anything to get laid,” said Cooper.

The car erupted again.

“You’re really coming into your own on this trip, sweet stuff,” said Rhodes.

“Jules, I was only kidding,” offered Cooper, afraid that maybe she had hurt her teammate’s feelings.