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  His master of computer science degree from Carnegie Mellon and his top-secret security clearance had landed him this job coding the targeting software used by the land-based portion of the National Missile Defense system. Today, his team would finish installing and testing the latest software upgrades to the missile detection and tracking systems at Fort Greely, Alaska.

  What the other members of his software development team didn’t know was that Dan had inserted a special subroutine in the final code drop and that routine had been compiled into the executable software they were delivering. Undetectable, the routine would lie dormant until very specific conditions caused its activation.

  Even Dan didn’t completely understand the code module he had inserted. He just knew that it had come from Nolan Trent and he knew from his brief study of the subroutine that it prevented successful tracking and targeting of a missile that followed a very specific arc. For every other missile path except this special one, all of the Ground-Based Midcourse Defense systems would function normally.

  This special trajectory made no sense for an intercontinental ballistic missile. ICBMs were programmed to travel the most efficient great-circle arcs from their launch points to their targets. For missiles launched from Asia targeting the United States, those arcs took them close to the North Pole and over Canada. But this path originated in Kazakhstan and passed over Japan in an initial arc that looked like a satellite launch trajectory, after which the fourth stage would perform an extreme maneuver to put it on course for the northeast coast of the United States.

  It certainly was not one of the scenarios anyone would model for an antiballistic missile test. And, as far as Dan knew, there were no intercontinental ballistic missile sites near the origin point, only the Baikonur Cosmodrome that launched satellites and spacecraft.

  Dan wrapped up his testing, and then made his way from station to station, reviewing and validating the test results of each member of his software integration team. By this time tomorrow night, they would conclude the final round of testing. Then they would be off to Vandenberg Air Force Base in California to repeat the process.

  Feeling a warm glow spread through his torso, Dan smiled. Nolan Trent would be very pleased with the results of his work. And somewhere out there, his dad would be proud of his only son.

  CHAPTER 67

  Evening found Jacob Knox strapped into a webbed jump-seat in the ass end of a modernized Soviet-era Antonov An-12 military transport aircraft. Modernized was a relative term, meaning most of the gauges worked. But the old airplane hadn’t crashed yet, so the odds were good that it would get Jacob to Shymkent’s 602nd Airbase in one piece.

  Shymkent, known in Russia as Chimkent, huddled near Kazakhstan’s southern border, just north of where Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan came together. Three hundred and fifty kilometers southeast of the Baikonur Cosmodrome, it was as conveniently close to Roskov’s warehouse complex in Kyzylorda as any landing spot in Kazakhstan, except Baikonur itself. But Baikonur was way too visible an entry point, so he’d do this the roundabout way.

  Jacob stepped off the plane onto the dark runway beneath a star-filled sky he hadn’t seen in three years. The flatness of the Kazakh landscape produced the illusion that he stood inside a giant snow globe, the night sky forming the upper dome, countless tiny white flakes stuck to its dark outer surface. The vast dark space within formed a mirror onto Jacob’s soul.

  The larger of the two men that awaited him stepped forward with an extended hand, the greeting rolling off his lips in slightly accented Russian.

  “Mr. Petrov?”

  As he shook the larger man’s hand, Jacob’s answering Russian carried the distinctive tempo and inflection of Moscow. “Yes.”

  “I’m Goran Dragi. Do you have any bags?”

  “Just this one,” Jacob said, nodding to the wheeled carry-on in his left hand.

  Dragi tossed it in the trunk as Jacob Knox slipped into the back seat and slammed the door, then took the passenger side front seat. Without another word from anyone, the black sedan accelerated, carrying Jacob through the night toward Kyzylorda and the man who awaited him there.

  While it didn’t have the tightly engineered feel of a European sports car, the Russian sedan had a powerful engine and the driver pushed it to its limit. What would have been a three-hour drive at normal speeds lasted ninety-three minutes. Shades of peach lightened the eastern sky as they stopped outside the fenced warehouse complex, ten kilometers southwest of Kyzylorda. One of two guards stepped forward, shining a flashlight onto the faces of the driver and the two occupants.

  Satisfied, the guard stepped back and pressed a button on the control box that sent the gate rumbling open along its track. The sedan rolled forward, passed through the double row of warehouses, stopping at the second one on the right, as a door large enough to accept big rigs rumbled up to allow them entrance. The harsh white light spilling from the warehouse into the vehicle momentarily dazzled Jacob as his pupils fought to adjust to the illumination.

  The car pulled inside, coming to a stop beside a black tractor-trailer backed up against a loading dock. As Jacob climbed out of the car to meet the familiar figure who walked toward him, the warehouse door rumbled closed. Extending his hand, Jacob met the other’s strong grip.

  “Jacob. Good to see you again, old friend.”

  “Hello, Vlad.”

  Roskov looked down at Jacob’s bandaged hand, then shifted his gaze to the cut on Jacob’s left cheek.

  “Had some recent trouble, I see.”

  “Not as much as the other fellow.” The lie rolled off his lips as naturally as the truth.

  Roskov laughed.

  “Just like Chechnya. Ah, those were good days, no? Only war lets you truly know a comrade from an enemy.”

  Jacob nodded. “Some things never change.”

  “I’m glad Trent chose to send you. Hungry?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Good. I’ll have some breakfast brought up to my office.”

  Vladimir Roskov nodded at Dragi and the man turned on his heel and disappeared around the semi-truck, followed by the driver. Jacob followed the Russian mobster across the wide concrete floor, between its jumble of shipping palettes loaded with crates and boxes, up a set of steel steps onto a raised steel-grate platform, and then through a door into a room with a view out onto an even larger section of the warehouse.

  Stepping up to the windows that formed most of the office’s far wall, Jacob stared out at the view that was so different from the loading bay he’d just left that he felt a bit of disorientation. White-garbed workers in masks and gloves worked at automated workstations, directing the robotic equipment operating on the apparatus at the room’s center. In addition to the robotic arms that were precisely installing or adjusting components on the Volkswagen-sized nuclear power package, white-clad scientists moved around the machines, observing and verifying the quality of each action.

  “Koenig’s manufacturing operation is impressive, don’t you think?”

  “The man doesn’t trust anything to outside suppliers. Koenig’s businesses build every component used in one of his designs.”

  “This one won’t live up to the world’s expectations.”

  Jacob nodded. Maybe not, but it was going to live up to Koenig’s expectations. And that was all that mattered.

  The knock on the door turned them in that direction, followed by a voice that Jacob recognized as Dragi’s.

  “I’ve got breakfast.”

  “Bring it in,” Roskov said, motioning the man to set it on the small conference table across the room from his desk.

  After setting the food tray and insulated coffee pot on the table, Dragi turned a questioning gaze on his boss.

  “Anything else?”

  “Make sure I’m not disturbed.”

  Dragi nodded and walked out, closing the door behind him. Roskov motioned for Jacob to take a seat.

  “Dig in.”

  As Jacob
seated himself and fashioned a cold cut and cheese sandwich, Roskov filled the mugs with Turkish coffee. The strong, thick brew had long been a favorite of Roskov’s and though it wasn’t something Jacob sought out, it was better than nothing. It didn’t take him long to polish off the sandwich and lean back in his chair, finally ready for the discussion that was coming.

  When he looked up, he saw the grin on Roskov’s angular face. “I see you still eat like we’re on the battlefield.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  “The wet work in Paris was your doing?”

  Jacob paused to study the bigger man’s face, noting the hint of displeasure in those blue eyes. He took a slow sip of coffee, felt the thickness of it coat his tongue, letting the aroma fill his nostrils, a heady compliment to the sensation storm on his taste buds.

  When he didn’t respond, Roskov leaned forward. “Did you know that Rachel Koenig had already called off her attack dog?”

  “I knew it.”

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Once again Jacob took the time for another sip, letting the silence hang in the air between them.

  “A man like Jack Gregory isn’t the kind of dog that lets go easily once his blood is up. Maybe he would have in this case, but I think not. So I controlled the situation.”

  “By launching him right here?”

  “This way, I don’t have to hunt The Ripper. I made sure he’ll come to me. And when he gets here, I’ll have a very nice welcome waiting for him.”

  “I want him alive.”

  “Not happening.”

  Jacob saw the snarl start to curl Roskov’s upper lip and reached across the table to place his left hand on the mobster’s forearm.

  “But I’ll give you his body and, with some CIA video wizardry, you’ll have your YouTube special.” He smiled. “Hell, after Paris, Director Rheiner will be glad to foot the bill.”

  Watching Roskov’s face as he visualized what had just been described, Jacob saw a grin replace the scowl.

  “That works for me.”

  CHAPTER 68

  The NSA had provided Jack and Janet with their new identities and Jack found them quite satisfactory. Drs. Elena and Sergei Kozlov were a Russian geological survey team that would be traveling from Prague to Kazakhstan to investigate possible new petroleum reserves in the southern province of Kyzylorda. Taking on the role of geologists had required some serious cram sessions, and even though they didn’t have to become real experts in the field, they at least needed to have mastered the Cliff’s Notes version.

  Tomorrow, without a gun or knife on their persons, Elena and Sergei would board a commercial flight for the five-thousand-kilometer trip from Václav Havel Airport to Astana. There, in Kazakhstan’s largest city, they would meet Janet’s NSA contact and pick up their new mission kits. If all went well, they wouldn’t be ambushed upon arrival. That would be a nice change of pace.

  “Are you going to study all night?”

  Seated at the small hotel room desk, Jack glanced up from his laptop at Janet Price, wrapped in a thick, white terry-cloth bathrobe, her blond hair such a striking change that, for a moment, he thought he was looking at another woman. Then he saw the hint of a smile lift the corners of her lips and realized that her beautiful eyes were laughing at him.

  “Like what you see?”

  Jack had to admit that he did.

  “I married you, didn’t I?”

  “Gramma said it was my cooking.”

  “Trust me. That wasn’t it.”

  “You know we’re wheels up at six thirty in the morning, right?”

  Jack turned back to his work. “Almost done here. I’ll switch off the desk lamp so you can get some sleep.”

  Her throaty laugh caused him to glance up again.

  “Did I say anything about sleeping?”

  Standing there, wrapped in the bathrobe, fluffing her hair with the white towel, she looked damn good. Funny how often he’d found himself thinking similar thoughts these last few days.

  As Janet let the bathrobe fall away and leaned back against the far wall, Jack felt himself pulled to her as if levitated by a spell, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in his wake.

  Janet’s slender fingers slid along the back of Jack’s neck, her delicate touch sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. His own hand responded, fingertips barely touching the hollow of her back, lingering there, the nerves so alert that it seemed each contact produced tiny sparks from her skin to his. He felt her ear touch his, the scent of her bare throat filling his nostrils.

  Her body moved against his in perfect rhythm, the feel of her full breasts against his chest robbing him of whatever self-control he still retained. Janet’s skin shone with sweat in the dim light and her breath came in small pants of exertion, barely audible above Jack’s thundering heart. Her bare legs encircled him and her body swayed. As Jack’s body writhed within her entangling limbs, Janet’s back arched until only his right arm kept her from falling.

  With the room misting red all around, Jack felt an amped-up dose of adrenaline course through his veins, fueling the white-hot fire that consumed him.

  CHAPTER 69

  Standing on the high balcony, I feel the embroidered toga flutter against my bare legs in the night breeze, as bright-orange flames lick the Roman night. It is beautiful and its heat infects me, coursing through my veins with such white-hot intensity that I expect my skin to ignite. As I lean farther over the high stone balcony, two pairs of small, cool hands tug gently at my left arm.

  “What mean you, my lord? Think you to walk forth? May we not put your night’s fire to better use?”

  As I allow the two naked maidens to draw me inside, to gently remove my clothing, and entangle me in supple limbs, that warm orange glow accompanies me into bed.

  Jack’s eyes opened, but he did not move. He lay naked atop the bed, a lean bare leg and arm draped across him as he passed from dream into wakefulness. Except for the moonlight streaming through the Prague night into his hotel room, darkness prevailed. Janet lay nestled against his right side, her head resting atop his chest, her steady breathing gently tickling his throat.

  For the thousandth time Jack wondered if he was going crazy. Maybe he was already there. It seemed that he stood astride a multi-world boundary, one foot planted in the present as the other stepped through times long gone, both feeling equally real. Something was dreadfully wrong with him, that much was certain. He had never feared death, but now he lay here next to this beautiful woman, deathly afraid. A quote whispered at the edge of his mind. A quote Patton had dearly loved. William Shakespeare.

  Cowards die many times before their deaths;

  The valiant never taste of death but once.

  Jack had already tasted death . . . and it had changed him. But it wasn’t death he feared; it was loss of self-control. And despite a year of intense effort, one thing had become abundantly clear over these last few weeks. He might never gain control of his inner demon. The harder he tried to suppress it, the greater the ferocity it unleashed upon him when it finally broke free of his restraining bonds.

  Either he was crazy or his deathbed demon really had come along for the ride. So he had a decision to make. He could choose which reality to accept. If he really was crazy, then he was good and truly screwed and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to change it. If, on the other hand, he had a demon rider giving him these dream memories and amping up his natural emotions and intuition, then that was a different situation. Maybe he couldn’t control it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t use it. He still got to choose what he did with all that extra juice flowing through his system.

  The bright memory of Janet’s laughing eyes staring at him as she lay by his side after their love-making filled his head. That look had pulled a real laugh from his lips.

  “What?” he had asked.

  “I like that laugh. It becomes you.”

  “It’s been a long time since I really felt like laughing.”
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  She’d propped her naked body up on her left elbow, her brown eyes suddenly shining with intensity.

  “After my mother’s death, I was lost in the dark. One thing my grandfather said helped me find my way out of that dark place. ‘This world will try to beat you down. Laughter is ammunition. Resupply often.’ ”

  As those words replayed in his memory, Jack understood. He’d been fighting his own amped-up nature for the past year, battling the fear that something else now controlled him. But by damming that river of emotion, he’d created the inevitable flood that periodically swept him away. No wonder he was so screwed up. He should have tried to channel its flow.

  Somehow Janet Price had revealed a fragment of the truth he’d been searching for. It wasn’t the whole solution, but at least it felt like a key that could unlock a couple of doors along that path.

  Jack absorbed the feel of the lean killer snuggled up against him. As he held her body close, for the first time in recent memory, he drifted into a calm and dreamless sleep.

  Through all the centuries of its association with the most exciting examples humanity had to offer, through all the adrenaline fueled lust, love, hatred, and fear its hosts experienced, Anchanchu had never been surprised. Until now. It was impossible, but it had happened.

  Despite Anchanchu’s manipulation of this host’s limbic system, something that should have crushed the man’s ability to resist his impulses, Jack Gregory continued to defy the mind worm’s will. And every time he did, the futures that rolled out before him shifted, not necessarily in a good way either.

  It was the thing that scared and excited the mind worm the most. It couldn’t see, with any degree of certainty, what was coming. Anchanchu just knew that this host was somehow bound to future-history more intricately than any of its previous hosts, bound in a way that would either support or pull down the temple of humanity.