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  As she walked to the right hand sink to begin applying her makeup, Rolf stepped up behind her, running his hands around her stomach from behind, his lips gently brushing her left ear. The gentle, appreciative nature of that touch sent a chill through her body. It felt, for all the world, like one last goodbye.

  “I think I owe you an explanation of what is about to happen to us . . . to everyone.”

  Rachel’s hands froze in the midst of unzipping the makeup bag, just for a moment, but Rolf’s slight smile said that he had noticed.

  “I know that it seems unusual to get dressed up to go to the launch site, but it is important that we be seen together by the news media, if only from a distance, proud parents of my mining robot, celebrating its last night on earth.”

  Rachel turned to face him. As she looked into those sparkling blue eyes, she could sense the excitement within her husband, so much so that it spilled over into physical excitement. She was sure that, had he not been in such a hurry, he would take her right here on the bathroom counter.

  “Won’t the press be there for the launch tomorrow?”

  “They’ll be there; they just won’t be in a position to broadcast anything.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Rolf reached up to stroke the side of her face with the long fingers of his right hand. “Before tomorrow morning’s launch, most of the assembled press corps and all the official launch control personnel will be dead.”

  Rachel felt her mouth go dry.

  “And my dear, your performance tonight will very much determine whether or not you join them. So put on your makeup and the black evening dress that is laid out on your bed, and be ready to wave and smile. Don’t worry, I’ve done enough interviews today that they don’t expect us to actually talk to them tonight. But they will get a bit of video as we make our way from our limo to the Control Room.”

  When he leaned in and kissed her forehead, it felt like she’d just been kissed by her mortician, right before he placed a penny on each eye. Then Rolf turned and walked out of the bathroom, the leather soles of his black shoes scuffing ever so softly on the tile.

  Too shocked to respond, Rachel felt her body go through the motions of applying her makeup and getting dressed, while her mind replayed the unreal scene that had just happened. She’d heard the truth in Rolf’s voice, had seen it shining brightly in his eyes. This went far beyond her worst imaginings.

  Tomorrow, her husband was going to cause the death of dozens of people, possibly many more. But for what purpose? And why had he told her after keeping this secret for so long? She had no answer to the first question and the one that came to her for the second left her shaking so badly that she had difficulty sliding into her high heels.

  Rolf was certain that he had all his pieces arranged so that no one could stop him now, so certain that he’d offered her a lifeline. She could climb onboard or get sucked down in the maelstrom that was about to swallow so many others.

  Staring at herself in the mirror as she finished doing her hair, she battled back the tears that threatened both her mascara and her life. If it had been a magic mirror from a fairy tale, perhaps it could have relayed the words that whispered from her lips.

  “Oh Jack. I need some help here. Where the hell are you?”

  CHAPTER 83

  Jack watched Janet as she continued downloading the latest satellite imagery of Roskov’s warehouse complex. They’d spent the afternoon checking all the equipment they’d gotten from Zhaniya, cleaning and loading weapons, and going through all the photographs they’d been able to get from the NSA. To do that, they’d had to set up the portable satcom antenna that provided the link for their Secure Terminal Equipment, and that encrypted STE link was what Janet was using to pull down the imagery. Some of it was at such high resolution that the downlink took a long time. But those hi-res photos were worth the wait.

  One thing that concerned him was the increased level of activity shown in today’s imagery versus images from prior days. The sniper positions on the rooftops and in the five guard bunkers positioned at the outer fence corners and at the entry gate were still manned. But a number of vehicles had disappeared from the compound and guard posts at several of the warehouses were no longer manned.

  “Got it,” Janet said, turning the laptop to give him a better view of the latest image.

  Jack pulled an oak chair around the kitchen table so he could sit beside her. Janet let him study the overview until he was satisfied and then, section by section, zoomed in so they could both study the fine details. There was no doubt about it. Something important was happening in the compound. Now, only three vehicles were visible: a white panel van parked near the guard bunker just inside the entry gate, and two others that had been captured pulling inside one of the large central warehouses.

  “What the hell is going on there? And why today?” Jack asked.

  “That’s not the question.” Janet’s silky voice carried a hint of excitement that indicated that she sensed the same thing that had Jack’s blood heated. “The real question is: what is about to happen?”

  “Yes. Something’s going down, but not right now. Tomorrow.”

  “I think so.”

  Jack stood up. “Pack it up. Time to roll.”

  A scream from upstairs was accompanied by the pounding of fists on a wood door. Jack saw Janet draw her weapon as he felt his own fill his right hand. They reached the top of the stairs at the same time. Jack looked down the hall. Aside from the yells from within the master bedroom, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. But the agony in those cries pulled him to the door.

  With a swift motion, Jack’s blade cut the cord that bound the door handle closed. Then he was inside, his H&K leveled. The force of his shoulder driving the door inward had sprawled the old farmer on the floor, but not for long. As if in slow motion, the old man struggled back to his feet, almost clawing his way to his wife’s bed, draping himself across her lifeless body.

  “My Anna,” he cried, his anguished brown eyes rising to lock with Jack’s.

  And as Jack’s gaze met the older man’s, he felt it drain the life from him, imparting an unquenchable longing and misery.

  “My Anna.”

  Jack felt his gun hand drop to his side. “Jesus!”

  To his left, he saw Janet sag back against the doorway.

  “Please, sir. Kill me. Just kill me now. Let me follow my wife into the dark.”

  The misery in the old man’s eyes ate at Jack like a zombie. He took a deep breath, walked to the bed, and placed a finger against Anna’s right carotid artery. Nothing.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to do that.”

  The man sobbed, his old shoulders bent and shaking as he hugged his dead wife’s body close to his chest. When he turned his head and opened his eyes once again, the feeling in those eyes was so intense that Jack had no chance of denying his last request.

  “My religion forbids it, but I cannot go on without her. I beg you. Send me to my Anna.”

  Jack heard the sound of the suppressor screwing into the barrel of the H&K without realizing that his fingers were doing it. Had he made the decision that had carried him to this moment or had he allowed something else to make it for him?

  He raised the weapon, felt a tremor in his normally rock-steady hand, and hesitated, as each passing second siphoned the strength from his body.

  Then, with intense sadness flooding his soul, Jack looked across the handgun’s sights, directly into those pleading brown eyes, and squeezed the trigger.

  Blood and brains splattered the headboard and wall, but the farmer’s head fell onto the pillow against his beloved Anna’s. As Jack raised his eyes to see the shock in Janet’s, he judged himself. The results of that judgment were far from favorable.

  He straightened, unscrewed the suppressor from the barrel of his pistol, and turned toward the door.

  “Let’s go.”

  When Janet failed to respond, it didn’t surprise him. Why should
she? After all, she was learning what he truly was . . . The Ripper.

  CHAPTER 84

  Jacob stared at his cell phone, more than half tempted to hurl it into the cement floor and then grind it to bits beneath his heel. Nolan Trent had lost his mind, unwilling to allow Jacob an extra three hours here at the warehouse complex to allow The Ripper one more chance to show. Normally Jacob was the one who did everything in strict adherence with the plan. That was what made him even angrier that his request for an exception hadn’t been given consideration. He was ordered to move out with Roskov and the remainder of his men at precisely eight p.m.

  Trent had made it very clear that Jacob’s plan to lure Jack Gregory to him at the warehouse complex had been given plenty of time and it had failed. The fact that there had been no sight of The Ripper or Janet Price since Salzburg meant they had probably both gone to ground. Even if they hadn’t, they were too late to stop what was about to happen at Baikonur. But Jacob risked screwing it up if he didn’t stay on schedule. It was his job to stay with Roskov to make sure he succeeded in taking control of the Cosmodrome, and then to shoot him in the head when the time came. Only in that way would all the blame fall on Roskov and his mythical North Korean puppet masters. Then Jacob could kill Gregory at his leisure.

  None of that was news to Jacob. But it didn’t feel right. Two dangerous loose ends had not been tied down despite all his assurances that he would deal with them.

  Putting his cell phone back in his pocket, Jacob turned to walk back across the floor of Warehouse Five to Roskov’s office as two of the last three guard vehicles drove into the building, turned into the tunnel, and disappeared. It didn’t really matter anymore. His trap had been dismantled.

  Climbing the steel steps that led up to Vladimir Roskov’s office, Jacob opened the door and stepped inside.

  As he had known it would be, except for a small table, the steel case desk, a swivel chair, and Jacob’s bag sitting by the door, the small room was empty, having been cleared earlier in the day. Only one more thing to do.

  Jacob opened his case, his gloved hands extracting a single thin folder. Sliding open the bottom-right desk drawer, he pushed the folder into the gap behind it, and then closed it once again, a final piece of incriminating evidence for the authorities to find after this was all over.

  A glance at his watch showed that it was now 7:48 p.m. It was time to turn out the warehouse lights, stow his gear in Roskov’s big black sedan, and move on to the last phase of the operation.

  When he walked back down the steps and around the corner, he saw Roskov standing beside the car smoking a cigar. The Russian grinned at him.

  “I take it Trent gave you the bad news.”

  “I got the picture.”

  “Cigar? They’re Cubans.”

  Tossing his bag in the trunk, Jacob accepted the offer.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Taking the cigar, Jacob accepted a light, took a long pull, and held it before letting the smoke out in a long stream. As he climbed into the limousine, he watched Roskov lift his cell phone and issue the command.

  “Lock the front gate and pack up. We’re rolling.”

  As they drove into the tunnel, he glanced back, watching the ramp close behind them. With the headlights illuminating the narrow underground road ahead, Jacob pulled the smoke into his mouth, savoring the rich taste of the leaf tobacco. Sitting in the back seat beside Roskov, separated from the driver and bodyguard by a panel of bulletproof glass, neither man moved to crack open a window. With their faces briefly illuminated by the orange glow from a fresh drag on a Cuban, they rode along in silence.

  Jacob knew that, at this reduced speed, it would take about ten minutes to reach the small warehouse where this tunnel ended. Then they would make their way to Highway M32 and by eleven p.m. they would reach the spot just south of the Cosmodrome where Rolf Koenig would be waiting. After that, they would get this show started.

  In the meantime, Jacob would lean back, enjoy the cigar, and, for the first time in a long while, just let his mind go blank.

  CHAPTER 85

  Night-vision goggles weren’t comfortable to drive in, but they weren’t comfortable for doing anything. Having driven the last three kilometers on seldom-travelled dirt roads with his headlights off, Jack was glad to have them. Both he and Janet had their windows rolled down in case they needed to use their weapons sooner than they were planning to. As was often the case in Kazakhstan with fall’s approach, the warm day had been chased away by night’s cool breezes.

  The vehicle lurched over the rough road hard enough that Jack and Janet both had to tighten the straps on their goggles to keep them in place.

  “How much farther?” Janet asked, shifting the AS50 sniper rifle so that it rested across her body, with its barrel out the window.

  They were the first words she’d spoken to him since he’d killed the old man. Jack couldn’t blame her for that. Why had he chosen that house? Had it been because he subconsciously sensed death there? Maybe Anna would have died today anyway, but he didn’t believe it. And Jack had killed her husband without even asking his name. He was just a farmer, just an old man.

  “I think we can get to within three hundred meters before we have to get out and walk. About a kilometer from here.”

  Jack slowed the SUV until it felt like it was crawling through the night, finally stopping two hundred meters short of where he had planned, unwilling to take the risk of the vehicle noise being heard by the gate guards.

  Turning off the engine, he got out and walked around to open the back hatch. The problem with having a lot of equipment available to you was that you had to pick and choose. As a general rule of thumb, the more important a piece of equipment was to your operation, the heavier it was. That was certainly true of the scanning laser with its tripod and its portable battery-capacitor hybrid power supply.

  They had preloaded their packs before departing the farmhouse, distributing the weapons, ammunition, and tactical radios. They’d strapped the tripod and laser to the outside of Janet’s backpack and the power supply to Jack’s. The good news was that they would be setting up the laser at the over-watch position, two hundred meters from the front gate. The bad news was that, until they got there, Janet would be carrying a hundred and fifty pounds and Jack’s load was well over two hundred.

  Janet turned to face away from him and Jack lifted her pack into place, letting her slide her arms through the straps and take the weight slowly.

  Jack walked around her, double checking the straps and fastenings, grasping and shaking them to ensure there was no give.

  “Good to go.”

  “Lovely,” she said, leaning forward to grab the AS50.

  Walking back to the hatchback, Jack positioned his pack at the rear edge, straps facing out so that he could kneel down and slide into them, and then lean forward and stand. With a grunt of effort he climbed back to his feet.

  “Makes you wish you were infantry, doesn’t it?” Janet’s grin was a bright spot in the infrared lens. “Then you’d get to do this on a daily basis.”

  Picking up his AK47 rifle, he nodded.

  “It’s always been my favorite part of the job. Right up there with pain and hunger.”

  On nearly every deadly non-solo mission Jack had ever participated in, such banter preceded the action . . . a last touch of light to ward off the coming darkness.

  Jack quietly closed the rear door and led the way into the night. While the terrain was mainly flat, there were folds in the ground and Jack stayed down in the lowest of these, working his crooked path toward the spot they had preselected as their objective rally point, the spot where they would prep the equipment they would take on their final assault. As the straps of his load bit into his shoulders and chest, he thought of the woman beside him, carrying a man’s load with no hint of complaint, no whisper of fatigue or pain, and he remembered.

  Janet Alexandra Price. The first woman to ever successfully graduate from the nine week
s of hell that was the U.S. Army Ranger School, a woman who, as a child, had emptied a pistol into her own father. And yet, Janet was a person who had managed to reintroduce joy into her life, something Jack had not yet accomplished.

  At least for this mission, she was his partner. It was a thought that left a nice, warm glow in the pit of his stomach.

  CHAPTER 86

  Having dropped the heavy packs and clipped the equipment they would be carrying for the assault onto their utility vests, they mounted the scanning laser to the tripod, attached the power supply, and raised it into position. As Janet switched the laser to standby and verified the RF remote controller was working, Jack crawled forward to survey the compound.

  “What the hell?”

  Jack’s voice in her radio earpiece pulled her to his side at the top of the gentle rise. Low crawling into position, Janet looked down toward the Roskov complex. Completely dark, her night-vision goggles picked up no hint of engine or body heat, no roving guards, no snipers, not even at the front gate.

  Removing her NVGs, she slid the AS50 into position to look through its infrared scope. Sweeping the scope across the entire compound revealed no sign that it was anything other than completely abandoned.

  “Got anything?” Jack asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Cover me.”

  Jack moved out low to the ground, moving in quick bursts from firing position to firing position as Janet looked for anything to shoot at. The laser range-finder showed that the front gate was two hundred and thirteen meters from her position, the nearest warehouse, two hundred seventy-eight, the farthest, eight hundred sixty. She judged the wind speed at only six to eight knots, directly into her face from the west. She couldn’t ask for better.

  Upon seeing Jack settle into position on the near side of the paved road across from the gate, his body white hot in the IR sight, she spoke into the jaw microphone.

  “Clear.”

  Immediately he was on his feet, running across the road, angling at the chain-link fence twenty meters left of the closed front gate. When he reached it, he knelt down, laying the AK47 on the ground to his right as he worked to thread a strand of detonation cord through the wires.