Off to the side, Utkin’s body was covered by a tarp.
“Redemption,” Tucker said. “I think he purposefully drew the chopper out of hiding, so I’d have a chance to take it out before the others arrived.”
“But why? Did he do it out of guilt?”
Tucker remembered his last words.
. . . my friend . . .
Tucker laid a hand on Kane’s side. “He did it out of friendship.”
27
March 18, 8:00 A.M.
Istanbul, Turkey
Tucker followed the embassy aide into the conference room. The space looked ordinary enough: white walls, burgundy carpet, maple table. Someone had set out glasses and pitchers of ice. He also smelled coffee, one of life’s necessities at this early hour after such a long night.
Bukolov and Anya joined him as he settled into one of the leather chairs. They all squeaked heavily into place for this private meeting.
Anya’s left arm was in a cast from midforearm to her knuckles. She had broken two bones in her wrist as a result of the plane crash. Her eyes were still glassy from pain relievers.
For this meeting, it would just be the three of them, seated around a speakerphone.
“Your call is being routed,” said the aide, a young man in a crisp suit. He promptly left, sealing the door behind him.
Despite the unassuming decor, Tucker knew this room in the U.S. consulate was soundproofed and electronically secure. No one else would be listening in.
Tucker stared across the table at the other two.
Anya looked haunted.
Bukolov defeated.
They’d flown straight from the Caspian Sea to Turkey, arriving well after midnight. They’d been given rooms here, but it looked like none of them had slept well. Tucker had left Kane behind to give the shepherd some extra downtime.
The conference phone on the table trilled, and a voice came over the speaker. “Your party is on the line. Go ahead.”
After a series of beeps, followed by a burst of static, Ruth Harper’s voice came on the line.
“Tucker, are you there?”
“Yes.” Again he felt the comfort of her familiar soft twang. “I have Doctor Bukolov and Anya here also.”
“Very good.”
In Harper’s usual brusque manner, she got right down to business. “Let’s start with the most pressing concern of the moment. Stanimir Utkin. How much information do you believe this mole shared with his superiors? With this General Artur Kharzin?”
Tucker had already given Harper a condensed version of the last twenty-four hours, including the betrayal and ultimate redemption by Utkin.
Bukolov answered angrily. “How much information? How about all of it? He had access to all my research material. I never suspected him in the slightest.” He glanced over to Anya, his voice dropping further into defeat. “I never suspected anyone.”
Tucker stared between them.
Anya looked down at the table. “I told Abram last night. About my involvement with Russian SVR. About my assignment. I thought he should hear it from me first.”
“Anya Averin,” Bukolov muttered. “I didn’t even know your real name.”
Harper spoke into the awkward silence that followed. “I made some discreet inquiries. As far as I can tell, Anya’s story checks out. She was falsifying intelligence to her superiors.”
Anya glanced to the doctor. “In order to protect you, Abram, to protect your research, so it wouldn’t be abused.” She reached her right hand to him. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”
Bukolov turned slightly away from her. “Does she need to be here? She’s of no use to me now. I have all of De Klerk’s diary. I can handle the rest on my own.”
“Not your decision to make, Doctor,” Tucker replied.
“Not my decision? How can you say that? She betrayed me!”
Anya said, “Abram, please. I gave them nothing of your work. I protected—”
“I am done with you! Mr. Wayne, I refuse to allow her to accompany us.”
Harper cleared her throat. “Let’s put a pin in this, Doctor, and get back to Stanimir Utkin. For now, we must assume he gave Kharzin everything. Including the information from Paulos de Klerk’s diary. Is that correct, Doctor Bukolov?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Then let’s move on to the threat posed by that information, about the danger of LUCA falling into the hands of Kharzin?”
Bukolov took on a defensive tone. “You must understand, that if handled properly, LUCA could be an unprecedented boon to humanity. We could turn deserts into—”
“Yes, I understand that,” Harper said, cutting him off. “But it’s the phrase handled properly that worries me. Correct me if I’m wrong, but even if we’re able to find a viable specimen of LUCA, we still have no way of controlling it—not you, not Kharzin’s people. Is that right?”
Bukolov hesitated, frowned. “Yes,” he said slowly. “No one has developed a kill switch. But I am convinced the mechanism for controlling LUCA does exist. So is Kharzin convinced. The general would only have to introduce a few ounces of LUCA in a handful of strategic locations, and without a kill switch in our possession, the organism would spread like wildfire, destroying all native plant life. There would be no stopping it. But the larger threat is weaponization.”
“Explain, Doctor,” said Harper.
“Take smallpox, for example. It’s one of the most feared biological weapons known to man, but that threat alone is not enough. To be sure of infecting the maximum number of victims, smallpox must be weaponized—it must be deliverable over a wide area in a short period of time, so it overwhelms the population and the medical infrastructure. Kharzin will see LUCA in the same light. He’s a military man. It is how they think. Weaponized LUCA, delivered strategically, could reach critical mass in hours. Yes, yes, LUCA in its raw form is dangerous, but not necessarily catastrophic. There would be a chance we might be able to stop it. If he weaponizes it . . . it’s an endgame move.”
“End?” Harper asked. “As in end of the world?”
“Without a kill switch, a way of controlling what’s unleashed, yes. We’re talking about the fundamental destruction of the earth’s ecosystem.”
Harper paused, digesting the information. Tucker pictured her removing her thick set of librarian glasses and rubbing her eyes. Finally she spoke again. “How confident are you about this kill switch, Doctor?”
“I’m sure I can develop it. Even De Klerk hinted at the possibility in his diary. I just need a sample.”