Sea of Greed

The Gryphon took several hits, noted by bowl-shaped dents in the armored roof and wall. Hairline cracks that spread from each one told Kurt all he needed to know about the shape of the armor.

“We can’t take much more of this,” he said. “Paul?”

“Radar is still jammed. I can’t get a lock.”

“Just aim and fire,” Kurt said. “Maybe we can scare him off.”

Paul checked the helicopter’s position on the camera system. “Target is to the south of us. Here goes nothing.”

He selected a section of the sky, set an arbitrary target point as near to the helicopter as possible and launched a missile. It streaked from what looked like a supply locker on the side of the top deck.

Kurt turned as soon as the missile fired. If the pilot took evasive maneuvers, he might get within Gamay’s range.

Watching the video screen, he saw the missile racing into the dark. It went nowhere near the attacking copter, but, as Kurt had expected, the helicopter took an evasive course anyway. It turned to the right, setting itself up broadside to the Gryphon. Gamay opened fire, holding the trigger button down and filling the sky.

The Gryphon raced under the helicopter, which continued past and then turned to come back once more.

“What do we have to do to get rid of this guy?” Kurt said.

“Radar is up,” Paul said. “You must have hit something.”

On-screen, the helicopter’s nose turret began flashing. More dents appeared and the panel guarding the left window was torn away. Glass blew into the wheelhouse. Kurt and Gamay ducked, but Paul was locked in and so was the radar.

He fired a second missile as the helicopter flew past, this one tracked it, turned and scored a direct hit on the engine compartment. The helicopter burst into flames and spiraled into the sea.

“Nice work!” Kurt said.

“Are we clear?” Gamay asked.

Paul looked at the radarscope. “Clear,” he said, turning toward them.

He had blood coming down the side of his face where shattered glass had hit him and his hair was whipping in the breeze.

Kurt backed off the throttle, let the Gryphon level off. A search for survivors proved fruitless. And with the distinct possibility that they might be attacked again foremost in everyone’s mind, Kurt powered up and took the Gryphon west with the night.

58

CENTRAL KAZAKHSTAN

TESSA LOOKED OUT through the dusty, pitted window, nine stories up in the old air traffic control tower. The windstorm had passed and, with the air now clear, the entire base stretched out before her. The view was a sea of derelict planes, discarded machinery and junked vehicles, including tanks and trucks and armored personnel carriers, all stripped of their guns, tracks and wheels. At the far end, a giant smelter worked twenty-four hours a day melting down the scrap, which was shipped out and sold as recycled steel.

She turned to Volke, who stood off to one side. “During the Cold War, this base was home to hundreds of frontline Russian aircraft and two Special Forces brigades. Now it’s a boneyard.”

He nodded slightly. “Your point?”

“Things are discarded when they’re no longer needed. A situation we seem to be falling into.”

“I thought this was our moment of triumph,” Volke said. “The price of oil is going through the roof, the news media are reporting on the crisis twenty-four/seven. Buran is finally coming to pay us. Not to mention the IPO.”

It was true. When viewed from the outside, everything Tessa had promised seemed to be coming true in spectacular fashion. But up close, each glittering reality faded like a mirage.

“The American government is holding up the IPO,” she said. “They haven’t blocked it outright. But until it’s approved, the private investors will never bite. Even if the American SEC relents, the longer it takes, the more difficult it will be to get the money we hoped for.”

He grew agitated. “Why is that?”

“Because the fuel cells don’t work,” she said. “More accurately, they don’t work for long. They’re fragile, easily overloaded and twice as costly to manufacture as our worst-case estimates.”

“Aren’t Yates and his design team working on that?” Volke said.

“Yates is dead,” she told him.

“What?”

“He was going to quit and tell the world what I just told you,” Tessa explained. “I had no choice.”

Volke put the dominoes in order. “Without the fuel cells, no one is going to invest. Without Yates, there won’t be any redesigned, operative fuel cells. Any more good news?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s enough. We’re dead in the water.”

She nodded. He stared. The silence lingered.

“Now I see why this meeting is so important to you,” he said. The edge grew sharper in his voice as he spoke. “Except Buran is the one element in this equation that we’ve never been able to control. Now you’re telling me he’s our only hope of getting anything.”

“It would seem that way.”

Volke shook his head in disgust. “And just how do you propose to force a man who’s already gotten what he wants to give us anything at all?”