Sea of Greed

“Perhaps, but at a very high price,” she said. “Which is why I’d rather be paid by you not to release the counteragent. That would make this a win-win situation. But if I can’t win, no one will. Mark my words on that. If I’m not compensated fairly, you and your Consortium will suffer right along with me.”

Buran lost it. He reached into his coat, pulled out an ornate but deadly knife and stepped toward her. “I’ll kill you myself for such insolence.”

Tessa stepped back, but Buran froze as Volke’s men produced weapons far deadlier than a knife. Across from her, Buran’s honor guard raised their own guns. For a second, it appeared they all might die in a hail of bullets fired at close range.

“Everyone needs to calm down,” Tessa said. “We can all die here or we can all get rich. You and the Consortium are set to prosper for decades to come. The higher price of oil has already increased the value of your reserves by hundreds of billions of dollars. You don’t need to pay me out of pocket. You can borrow the money and transfer it. You won’t even feel a pinprick of pain.”

Buran glared at her. “You’ll never get out of Kazakhstan alive.”

“Not only will I leave here in perfect health,” she corrected, “you, Arat Buran, will ensure that I do so. Otherwise, the counteragent — which I have duplicated and stored in various locations around the world — will be delivered to specific government agencies along with detailed instructions explaining what it is, how to grow it and the quickest methods by which to benefit from it. Kill me, if you like, but all you’ll have done is triggered the collapse of your own — suddenly quite prosperous — empire.”

Buran’s face was purple-red. A vein throbbed like a lightning bolt in his forehead. “Where did this counteragent come from?”

“The French created it,” she said. “To protect themselves from the oil destroyer. It now protects me. I’ll send you the reports Millard smuggled out of France. That should be all the proof you need to motivate your associates.”

“Even if that’s true, even if we agree to pay, how are we supposed to justify transferring fifty billion dollars to you? In return for what?”

“You don’t have to justify it to anyone,” she said. “But if you must have something in return, you can buy my company. As you may have heard, it’s for sale.”

Buran stared at her.

“Consider it a double victory,” she said. “The counteragent remains under wraps and the fuel cells my people have designed never go to market.”

He continued to stare, but the intensity had diminished. He lowered the knife slowly. “You’re cunning.”

She met his gaze every step of the way. “Did you really think I would give away all my leverage, my dear Buran?”

The decision came to him quickly after that. The tension and fury left his face. He stepped back and put the knife away. At the wave of his hand, Buran’s men lowered their guns.

“I’ll take your offer to the Consortium,” he said. “Let’s hope the banks are as free with money as you believe.”

“With the economies of the world suddenly begging for oil, they’ll be shoveling cash into your hands.”

Buran turned on his heel and left without further comment. His men followed behind him, swept out of the room like leaves by a strong breeze.

Tessa stood in place, left behind with her people, her computers and her mounting list of problems. They were on a razor’s edge now. And she wasn’t the only one who knew it. She could feel Volke and Woods staring at her.

She knew what they were thinking because she was thinking the same thing. They had to go back to sea. They had to find the counteragent before Austin and NUMA or their lives would be worth even less than the failed fuel cell design.

59

JOE LISTENED as the departing helicopters traveled overhead and the staccato song of the rotor blades echoed through the shell of the old craft he and Priya were hiding in. They’d heard drones earlier, and trucks and other vehicles had come and gone with some regularity.

“Are they looking for us?” Priya asked. There was a raspy quality to her words, brought on by the dust and a lack of water.

“I don’t think so,” Joe said. Making his way to the cockpit, he put his face to the dusty glass, gazing through a tiny section he’d cleared during the night. “The helicopters are heading toward the mountains.”

“Maybe she was meeting with her broker,” Priya said. “Some of her gray money came from this region.”

“Gray money?”

“Of suspicious origin.”

Joe nodded. “She took more than money. By the look of things, she patched that plane together with parts from this place.”

“Which suggests a long history here and powerful friends. That doesn’t bode well for our efforts to escape.”

Joe knew that. Scrapped Russian aircraft, hot days and frigid nights told him they were somewhere in the high deserts of Central Asia. Most likely in one of the Stans—Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan or Turkmenistan. All former Soviet Republics with barren areas and plenty of leftover, cast-off Red Army equipment.