Yes, Peter had been there for him and was now overseeing almost his entire operation.
It occurred to Vasily that when he died, Peter would be the man he left everything to. There was no one else.
As he had that thought, another floated into his mind. The Jordan man. He looked like a young man but was not. How? How was it possible that a man in his sixties or seventies could look so very young. Perhaps this man, Jordan, had a secret better than his brilliant granddaughter.
Peter came back into the room with a tray of food, two Russian newspapers, and a carafe of vodka. Vasily laughed at the younger man.
“You know me well, old friend,” he chuckled.
“It’s my honor to know you well, sir.”
“Peter? When we go home, is there someone waiting there for you? A wife, girlfriend? Do you have children?” he asked. He should have known these things but as long as his men were devoted to him, he didn’t really care.
“No, sir. I had a wife. A very long time ago.”
“You’re divorced?” he asked.
“No. I killed her.” Vasily froze for a moment. Killing his own wives because it was ordered was one thing. Killing your own wife without order was something different.
“What did she do?” he asked, assuming it was the woman’s fault.
“She threatened to expose you to the government and to a man she met at the U.S. embassy in Stockholm. She said she could not live with a criminal and a killer. I told her that was unacceptable and I killed her. I disposed of the body and that was that.”
“Peter, were you not upset by this?”
“I was upset because when I killed her, I killed my daughter. That’s all.” He turned, leaving Vasily to stew on his words. As he stared at the plate of cabbage, carrots, beets, and corned beef, he was reminiscing about home as well.
First he would kill the Jordan man, or have Peter kill him. Then he would make arrangements to return home and find others who would willingly follow his dream. Russia was full of brilliant minds. He would just find those young minds and ensure that his dreams were fulfilled.
Staring out at the icy cold water of the bay, he knew that just a short flight would take him over the Pacific Ocean, then the Beiring Sea, and finally, home.
“I will avenge you, my son. You will feel the satisfaction from where you stand in heaven.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Beneath the cover of the stealth netting Moose, Ham, and Tobias slowly made their way toward the private jet sitting like a fat cat on the runway. Her wings were sleek, shining silver, her body a vibrant red.
“Bastard isn’t trying to hide, is he?” frowned Ham.
“Nope.”
Moose pointed to the belly of the plane, noticing several communications arms that would be used while in the air for not only verbal or visual communications, but most likely could launch missiles from somewhere.
“Disable that first,” said Tobias. Ham nodded, slowly unscrewing the main outer hood, then cutting the wires beneath.
Moose took the engine, ensuring that everything was damaged, sliced, or removed and placed in his pocket. They wanted no wires or pieces of the plane visible on the runway.
Tobias stepped up into the cockpit and began tinkering with the controls. If they tried to escape, nothing on the plane would work. Absolutely nothing. What he didn’t expect were the plans laid out on the table.
Maps of major military installations around the world, including in the U.S. Dozens more showed countries, once part of the USSR, with circles around major cities, highly populated and vulnerable.
Tobias rolled up the papers, tucking them beneath the stealth cloak. Looking out the window of the cockpit, he saw a man walking toward the plane. He quickly took the steps down and stepped beneath the belly of the jet. Moose and Ham were beside him.
“Why are the steps down?” he yelled back at another man.
“Boss said he wanted it ready in case he had to leave suddenly,” said the man.
“It takes two seconds,” he growled. “Keep the steps up and watch for anyone messing with the engines.”
