Collateral (Tier One #6)

Pearl Hotel, Room 522

Odessa, Ukraine

0627 Local Time

From his hotel room balcony, Gavriil watched a ribbon of purple in the east turn slowly deep red as the sun clawed its way above the hazy horizon. Wrinkling his nose, he sipped at the mediocre coffee he’d made from the coffee maker in the room’s dinette. He’d had to run it through twice to make it strong enough to be palatable. It tasted like plastic, but the caffeine was already sharpening his mind.

It had been a long and exhausting night. After disposing of the fat Ukrainian’s body, he’d taken delivery of the Astrolog missile transporter and secured it in the warehouse. Next, he’d picked up Arkady at the airport and driven him back to the facility to see the Iskander missiles and talk with the missile technician, who would guard the unit until they returned. After that, he dropped Arkady off at his hotel so the old man could get a few hours of much needed sleep. By the time Gavriil got back to his own room, his circadian rhythms were telling his body it was time to wake up, despite the fact he’d never gone to bed.

His mobile phone chirped in his pocket.

He retrieved it, expecting the caller to be Arkady, but instead it was another number—one that raised his eyebrows in both surprise and concern.

“Yes?” he said, taking the call.

“The operation against Ember failed,” Kuznetsov said, unable to conceal his anger.

“And why are you calling me?”

“I’ve lost control of the situation. Otet is not responding,” Kuznetsov said, calling Arkady by his Zeta code name. “You are Prime. What should I do?”

“Is Ember out of the city with the CIA personnel?”

“Nearly.”

“And you are in pursuit?”

“Negative. We are but three men now and with no vehicles. Everyone else is dead. The Americans called in an air strike against us.”

Gavriil’s heart rate picked up. “What?” he said, incredulous.

“We had a Su-27 assigned to our operation and they shot it out of the sky.”

“You initiated close air support against the Americans?”

“Yes, they had snipers in position. I had no choice.”

“Nyet. Choice is the one thing we always have.” When Kuznetsov didn’t respond, Gavriil said, “Where are the Americans now?”

“Uncertain. Fleeing to the west. I might have been able to stop them if Russian armor and troops had moved in, but the order has not come. Our forces are waiting outside the city.”

“And they will continue to do so until you execute your other mission.”

“I told you, Otet is not responding. I need authorization to—”

“Stop,” Gavriil snapped, cutting him off. These were not Syrian Kurds they were fighting. The Americans could be listening right now. Despite Zeta’s advanced encryption, they most certainly should not be discussing battle plans.

“Apologies,” Kuznetsov said.

“Is the other operation set to go?”

“Yes. I have a separate team for that.”

He almost said, Detonate now, but caught himself. “Conduct the operation,” he instructed, assuming control as Prime.

“Now?”

“Yes, immediately.”

“The area in question is full of our peacekeeping forces,” Kuznetsov said. “The collateral will be—”

“Now,” he repeated.

“It will be done,” the Zeta said, and the line went dead.

Gavriil pocketed his phone and went back out onto the balcony. The news of Ember’s escape did not surprise him, but it made him angry regardless. No matter what we do, Ember always wins, he thought, but I have other problems to worry about.

He watched as a convoy of four American Humvees exited the soccer stadium and headed to the northern checkpoint. The arrival of the American Marines in Odessa was a new development. They’d not been here yesterday, and now this morning here they were. It was all unfolding just as Arkady said it would, which meant his operation would probably achieve its stomach-churning desired result. But for Gavriil’s mission to succeed, Kuznetsov needed to succeed first. They still needed a catalyst to draw Russian armor into the streets of Mariupol. The war for Novorossiya was a stepwise process: Create chaos. Send in peacekeepers. Kill the peacekeepers. Send in the tanks. Blow up the tanks. Then mobilize the entire Russian military for invasion.

And then what?

Would his mentor’s crazy plan really save Russia?

Or would it lead to World War III instead?

He looked at his watch and resisted the urge to refill his coffee. He had a few hours until it was time to go to the warehouse to complete the final launch preparations. Instead of drinking coffee, he really should be trying to sleep. Sleep was a weapon.

Perhaps in his dreams, Ember would come to him.

Perhaps in his dreams, next time he would win.