Don Pendleton - Domination Bid

“To what end?”

“As I explained, I was once a prominent member of the Libyan government. I was also a leader within what most of the world has dubbed the Arab Spring. But my reasons for that involvement were based solely on my desire to see the Libyan government leave behind the chains of despotism and tyranny that have so long plagued it, and enter into a new and true form of democratic government. A government elected by the people, not by sedition and fear.”

“A noble goal, if true,” Dratshev said, inclining his head to show respect for the idea. “But somewhat naive, don’t you think?”

Madari seemed unmoved. “Is it? You seem to forget my background. I’ve spent most of my adult life around scientists and I understand how they think.”

“Is that right?”

“It is. Stop and consider for a moment why you do what you do, Doctor. The mind of a genius is not motivated by something so abstract and banal as patriotism or thirst for power. Most are also not given to fame or fortune, despite their gigantic egos. No, Dr. Dratshev, I imagine you’re motivated by what most of your kind are—scientific curiosity and the thrill of discovery.”

“And that’s what you’re counting on with me?”

Madari produced a gentle laugh. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on. Come on, admit it. You are curious about the prototypes.”

“Perhaps,” Dratshev said with a shrug, although he knew Madari was too clever to be fooled. “But I won’t help you perfect them.”

“Well, I’m determined not to take no for an answer,” Madari said as he stood. “Would you be kind enough to accompany me to the range?”

Dratshev stubbed out his cigarette, pocketed the remaining pack and matches, and rose with a shrug. “I suppose there’s no harm. And it’s not as though I have a choice, eh?”

“Take heart, Doctor,” Madari replied. “I think you’re about to be impressed.”

As they walked down the long corridor that terminated in an exit, Dratshev said, “I must admit you have a very nice home.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me where we are.”

“Of course,” Madari said. “We’re in the Greek Isles. Although you’ll understand if I’m not more specific than that. Not that you could escape. Not unless you are an excellent swimmer and impervious to sharks.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I am curious about another matter.”

“You’re going to ask where I learned to speak Russian.”

“Very clever.”

“Not really,” Madari said. “As I noted earlier, I have a comprehensive understanding of scientific curiosity. Although, I’m hardly an enigma to be solved. While most would consider a native of the Middle East who lives in the Mediterranean and speaks fluent Russian—and I admit that on the surface it’s odd—you’ll remember I was trained in security at a military R and D facility in the northern region of Libya. I spent many years there. Some of our scientists were from other countries, including a few from the former Soviet Union. I spent four years training in a number of languages. I also speak English and Spanish. And Arabic, of course.”

“Of course.”

The pair walked the rest of the way in silence and it wasn’t until they reached the range that Dratshev understood why he’d not seen it during his earlier romps through the massive grounds. The range was accessed off a secured, gated entrance obscured by foliage woven directly into the chain links of the gate.

They passed through a narrow path created by a natural break between two hedgerows that stood well above their heads. They emerged on the other side and Dratshev immediately recognized the familiar sunken bunkers and supply buildings that probably housed an array of weaponry.

“My security team utilizes this as their training grounds, as well.”

“Impressive.”

“Not yet,” Madari said with a chuckle.

Madari led him to one of the short, squat buildings and rapped twice on a heavy metal door. The door opened and two men emerged, each carrying the oddest-looking weapons Dratshev had ever seen. They literally looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. The barrels, or what Dratshev assumed to be barrels, were thick and extraordinarily long—he estimated nearly nine feet. Directly behind the barrel was a boxy, transparent chamber containing some type of coiled tubing. The stock had a brushed steel finish but there were flutes in the superior line of the stock that looked like bubble levels. Dratshev’s mouth dropped open as he realized they were filled with liquid helium.

Madari looked wholly satisfied. “I can see from your expression that our designs aren’t that far off from your own.”

Dratshev clamped his mouth closed before responding. “Hardly. They’re not even close, actually.”

“Nice try, Dr. Dratshev, but I’d advise you to stick to the truth. You’re really not much of a liar.” Madari took one of the weapons and hefted it. “These are our phase-two prototypes, actually, the closest we’ve been able to come to your original design specifications. But I can assure you your government hasn’t come anywhere close to building anything like it. The barrel, you’ll note, is still too long to make the weapon practical in small-arms applications, but we’ve had difficulty producing sufficient energy pulses through anything shorter. This is one of things I hope you can help us with.”

“I’ve already told you—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Madari extended the weapon. “Here, you may hold it.”

“I don’t wish to hold it.”

“Please.”

Dratshev folded his arms, determined not to be swayed by Madari’s charms. And yet…something about seeing a prototype EMP of his design, even if they hadn’t gotten it nearly correct, seemed irresistible.

“Please,” Madari reiterated.

“Very well,” Dratshev said, taking the weapon gingerly from his captor-host.

It proved much lighter than he’d expected and he nearly dropped it from over-compensation. The barrel made it top-heavy and he had to angle it slightly to prevent the thing from landing in the gravel-and-dust floor of the range. Dratshev took a minute or two to examine the finer details and on closer inspection confirmed his suspicions about the liquid helium.

Finally he looked at Madari. “How did you—?”

“You’re going to ask how I knew about the specifications. As I already explained, everyone has a price. Your handler has been extremely cooperative.”

“My handler knew nothing about the designs.”

“On the contrary, your handler knew everything about your designs. He intercepted the plans you sent to the manufacturing facility. He also arranged your transfer, without authorization from your government, I might add.”

Dratshev didn’t want to believe it, but his gut told him Madari spoke the truth. So he’d been set up from the beginning. And Dratshev’s handler had probably come up with some story to their masters at the Kremlin about how Dratshev had arranged his own abduction as a means for defection. The leaders in Moscow were certain to have assumed by now that Dratshev was a traitor. Any FSB detachment sent wouldn’t be on a search-and-rescue mission—Moscow would send an assassination team. And Dratshev knew they wouldn’t rest until he was dead.

“Ah, I see the light has come on,” Madari said with a knowing grin. “You finally understand the truth. You see, Dr. Dratshev, I didn’t really kidnap you. I saved your life.”

“And now you think I owe you something for that.”

“Not at all.” Madari shrugged. “It makes no difference to me if you continue to maintain your loyalty to Mother Russia. But understand that if you don’t cooperate with me, I will be left with no other alternative.”