CHAPTER FIVE
Dante didn’t hurry.
Varying his routine for Eve would only give her an entitled sense of power. She had too much of that as it was. He dressed as he normally would have—black jeans and a charcoal shirt he left untucked, the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. He left his feet bare and his hair damp.
The living area of the condo was dark. She’d used the remote to lower the blackout shades and made herself comfortable in one of the sleek gray armchairs, her legs crossed and her attention focused on her phone. His mouth twitched. She was letting him know that she wasn’t in a hurry either.
The living room was similar in style to his bedroom—sleek, modern, and expensive. The artwork was all original—he never would’ve tolerated a fake. The wall between the living area and kitchen was a floor-to-ceiling saltwater fish tank that cast the room in an eerie undulating blue. He didn’t spend a lot of time here because of his work with The Gravediggers, but when he was home he wanted to be completely comfortable.
He liked fine things, and he never made any apologies for it, although the guys liked to give him a hard time. They knew only part of his background—that he’d grown up privileged and that he’d joined MI6 more out of boredom than a sense of duty to his country, though he’d found he had a rather strong loyalty to his country after all.
But the others didn’t know the real Dante. They didn’t know the full scope of his talents. They didn’t comprehend his burning desire to see something extraordinary and know that it could be his. Between MI6 and his life as Simon Locke, he’d managed to defeat the boredom and find a semblance of purpose in his life.
Dante noticed that Eve had made herself at home, and a bottle of water sat on a coaster on the glass end table. He’d never seen her drink anything else, but it wasn’t as if their visits were frequent, although she probably spent more time with him than with anyone. But only because he was useful to her. He didn’t fool himself into thinking it was for any other reason.
When it came down to it, he didn’t know a thing about Eve Winter. And he’d looked. On more than one occasion. She’d recruited him to be a Gravedigger for his skill at getting into and out of secure places and taking what wasn’t his, though it was no longer art that he stole, but sensitive information.
The secrets that were most important to keep were never put in a database—technology was too easy to breach. But he’d been in the bowels of the Pentagon and the CIA, in the archives of his own country and many others. And never had he seen a file for her. Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t exist. Simon Locke no longer had any files either. Even the hard copy files Liv had kept locked in the safe in her apartment were gone.
But Eve—and he doubted that was her real name—had seemingly come out of nowhere. Her accent was indiscernible, her speech patterns indefinable. He didn’t know where she called home. If she had a family. She was an enigma. And like a piece of art that was seemingly unobtainable, she fascinated him.
“I’m assuming you’re not here for a social call,” he said, taking a bottle of wine from the fridge below the bar and getting a corkscrew out of the drawer. He was in the mood for a crisp white, and he had an Australian blend that would satisfy.
She looked up and arched a brow. “I didn’t realize you were in need of friends. I’ll itemize the request and put it under ‘miscellaneous’ in the report I send to The Directors.”
“If the others only knew what a smart-ass you are,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re really missing out on these great bonding moments. Maybe you should come clean.”
“Maybe you should,” she countered. “I’m sure they’d be fascinated to know about Simon Locke.”
“Who?” he asked, smiling. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. And if I recall, there are no records he ever existed. Not even a Google search will pull up an article.”
Her mouth quirked at the corner, but there was no humor in her smile. “I’m sure a file exists somewhere,” she said.
“I’d be disappointed if it didn’t.”
He wasn’t a fool. He’d known the moment she recruited him that she knew everything about him, down to the darkest detail. He had to admire her for it. No one else had ever been able to put all the pieces together. He still didn’t know how she’d done it. He’d thought back and checked his work, his alibis. He’d been careful. There was no hint of Dante Malcolm and Simon Locke being one and the same. But still, she’d known.
“Maybe if we’re done bonding we can get to work,” she said, uncrossing her legs and coming to her feet.
He pushed a button on the underside of the bar. There was a slight whir as the large abstract painting behind the couch was pulled back into the wall and replaced with a screen, while the coffee table rose to waist level, the tabletop flipping over so the underside was exposed. It was opaque white and lit up as it slid fully into place.
A panel appeared atop the bar’s smooth surface and he placed his hand on it, waiting for it to turn green and activate the system.
“Good evening, Lord Malcolm,” the computer said.
“Hello, Elaine,” he said. “Lovely to hear your voice as always. Please allow access to Eve Winter as well.”
Elaine was the perfect union of technology and robotics. There was nothing anywhere in the world like her. She had an incomprehensible knowledge of all things. She was free to think on her own and had developed her own personality, much to the amusement of them all. She was the glue of The Gravediggers, and could be found wherever the mission called them.
“Of course,” Elaine agreed. “Good evening, Miss Winter.” Elaine’s voice went cold as she spoke to Eve, and Dante couldn’t help but grin. Eve tended to rub everyone the wrong way.
“Scan for any breaches in security or listening devices,” Eve ordered.
They waited a full minute before Elaine responded, “All clear.”
“I’m overriding authority by voice command,” Eve said. “No portion of this conversation will be recorded. Send systems check once completed.”
“Authorizing voice command,” Elaine said. “Approved. Conversation will remain in clandestine mode until otherwise ordered.”
“What do you know about Shiv Mittal?” Eve asked him.
Elaine was programmed to follow conversations, and a picture of Mittal appeared on the screen along with pertinent information.
Dante checked his wineglass for spots, then poured a small amount into it, swirling the wine for a few seconds before taking a sip. Deciding it was just what he needed, he poured more.
“Not much,” he said. “He’s a billionaire playboy and tech wizard. And he holds the title of sultan, though Najd no longer recognizes itself as a sultanate and has been absorbed into Saudi Arabia. He’s made his home in Dubai, I believe, though his family is still in possession of the sultan’s palace and other properties. His ties and loyalties are unknown, as he tends to stay out of politics. He’s young for someone of his position and power, maybe forty at the most. He’s well educated, holding multiple degrees, but his father is the real bastard. He’s been linked to murders, terror attacks, and human trafficking.”
“That is correct,” Elaine said, pulling up a picture of the father. “He has more than a hundred wives, and he buys them as young as age thirteen. Shiv is the only son of his first wife. It is unclear whether the son has continued the father’s practices.”
“We wouldn’t be here if the son wasn’t as corrupt as the father,” Dante said.
“What if I told you he has nuclear launch codes?” Eve asked.
“I’d ask what the bloody hell he’s going to do with them without a weapon or a remote detonator,” Dante said. “I’d have heard if the Saudis or UAE had recently acquired either. How did he get the codes?”
“Won them in a poker game,” she said.
He put down his wineglass and stared at her. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“My bullshit hour is over, so no, I’m not kidding.”
“Whose codes are they?” he asked.
“Russia’s,” she said. “They can’t keep a lid on anything these days. They’ve got so many leaks they might as well put everything on a Wikipedia page and save everyone some time.”
“You’re full of jokes today,” he said. “The situation must be dire if you’ve resorted to humor.”
“Look, two nights ago, Mittal held an intimate dinner party for two hundred on his yacht. He, the Russian ambassador to Syria, al-Baghdadi—the head of ISIS—and two other unknowns held an impromptu poker game. The intelligence community collects data on players like Mittal, especially when they show no particular allegiance to anyone but themselves. So far he’s kept his nose clean. But now he’s a threat. You can imagine the intelligence community’s response when they found out who was sitting in on that poker game. Every agency in the world is creaming their pants at the opportunity to keep a bead on al-Baghdadi.”
“I’d think they’d be more interested in how it slipped past their notice that one of them was walking around with nuclear launch codes to begin with.”
“It’s being dealt with,” she said. “Clearly there’s a weak link somewhere when it comes to international security. What we know at this point is that North Korea was able to steal the launch codes and certain weapon components from Russia. As fucked-up as North Korea is at the moment, it was more of a power-play move than for a strategic purpose. They already have nuclear weapons. What they needed was cash. And Russia is flush with cash at the moment, so North Korea sold the codes back to Russia. And the ambassador was lucky enough to be the one to make the exchange.”
“I’m sure he’s sorry he was volunteered for the job,” Dante said.
“I’d say so. His mistake cost him his life. He was found in a cemetery, his grave already dug. He’d been tortured and dismembered. Slowly. Now every unsavory country on the planet has their eye on Shiv Mittal. For a genius, he sure is stupid. Sometimes I wonder why we even bother.”
“Because the innocent need to be protected,” he said. “A man like Mittal isn’t equipped to deal with the fallout of owning nuclear launch codes. He’s basically a rich nerd. Anyone who wants them is going to be gunning for him. They’ll eat him alive. I can’t imagine why the ambassador would put them up for ante in the first place.”
“He thought he had a sure win. They both must have had a hell of a hand. Mittal bet his oil reserves, which is more than a billion-dollar pot. The codes were the only thing the ambassador could offer to stay in the game.”
Dante was speechless. He brought his wine into the living room and took a seat, reading the information that was scrolling on the screen.
“Did I mention North Korea also managed to steal the remote detonator?” she asked. “It’s still in their possession. They’re waiting for Russia to come up with more cash before they return it, but now that the launch codes are no longer in Russia’s possession, North Korea has decided to open up bidding for the detonator.”
“Christ,” he said. If the detonator and those codes were put together, the nuclear weapon could be launched from anywhere in the world. Russia would have no control over it without finding someone who could manually deconstruct the weapon. A task not as easy as one would think, as only a handful of people in the world were qualified to know how to construct and deconstruct all the components of a nuclear weapon.
“It’s a clusterfuck,” she agreed. “We believe Mittal is going to open up bidding for the codes. From what we gather, Mittal is not a terrorist or a criminal. His plan is to force Russia to buy back the codes for an exorbitant amount of money. We believe he knows the danger he’s put himself in. He’s boosted his security. He and al-Baghdadi have been nothing more than acquaintances up to this point. Now they’re enemies. The UN has appealed to him to turn the codes over to them for safekeeping, but he knows that could be just as dangerous. The UN is scheduled to meet tomorrow morning, but the meetings I’ve had today show a disinterest in waiting for the UN to come to an agreement on anything in the next twenty years. I’m uninterested as well. It’s time to take matters into our own hands before this blows up in everyone’s face.”
“I’m going to assume what you have in mind isn’t a Gravedigger mission,” he said, finishing off the wine and setting the glass on the side table. “Otherwise you’d be addressing all of us instead of interrupting my Saturday night.”
“Surveillance hasn’t been able to breach Mittal’s palace in Dubai. We’ve got someone integrated with the household and we’ve got aerial shots, but no sound or recording devices. Special guests are brought in armored, tinted vehicles and driven underground to enter the palace. He has a secured vault that can only be reached through his office. The place is a fortress.”
“Which is where I come in, I presume.” He thought about it for a moment, running the probabilities through his mind. He was definitely tempted. And more than intrigued. “What’s my compensation?”
Her expression didn’t change, and he knew she’d been expecting the question. For a job of this magnitude, he needed something more than just the thrill.
“It’s my understanding that Mittal is in possession of a J. M. W. Turner painting. I believe he’s one of your personal favorites, yes? The last Turner brought more than thirty million pounds at auction. This one is worth quite a bit more, but it can never go on the auction block.”
He read between the lines easily and his brow arched in surprise. “It’s the one that was stolen from the Hermitage a dozen years ago?”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about that?” she asked.
“I don’t suppose I do,” he said. That was one of the last jobs he and Simon had worked together. Dante had never agreed with stealing from museums, but even he had to admit there wasn’t another rush quite like it. This job would come close.
“How much time do we have?”
“You need to leave in twenty-four hours,” she said. “You’ll have a week to prepare.”
“If you’re only giving me a week, there had best be something at the end of this besides a Turner. Cash always works.”
He’d normally need a month for a job like this. He needed time to observe the staff and anyone else who came in and out of the palace on a regular basis. He wanted to watch security and see if there were any weaknesses. And he needed space to run simulations.
“Half the amount of the painting’s worth has already been deposited in your account. The other half will be deposited when you return with the codes. Don’t let them out of your hands. If you’re captured, destroy them.”
“Elaine,” he said, “please gather all information on Shiv Mittal’s palace in Dubai. I want blueprints and any additional changes he’s made. I want aerial and ground-penetrating radar. I need a penthouse suite where I can see the grounds through a long-range scope. Arrange transportation for tomorrow. I need to get a feel for the area. I’ll have a list of equipment I need in the next two hours.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Elaine said flirtatiously. “I’ve anticipated your needs, and I’ve found we own a property in Dubai that will meet your criteria. It has a private, secured elevator, and I’m built into the server, so you won’t have to use portable me. You’ll be able to use me to my full potential.”
Dante couldn’t help but grin. “Elaine, my love, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” He checked his watch and looked at Eve. “I’m not due for vacation anytime soon. The others aren’t going to be happy if I request it. And I believe the last time you sent me off solo, I had to call in with the flu. Which was quite embarrassing, by the way. I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”
“There are other ways to get rid of you for a while,” she said. “Agent Malcolm, you’ve officially been suspended for insubordination until further notice.”
“Lovely,” he said, and meant it.