A few kilometers farther on, he slowed and pulled in behind a silver-gray late model Mercedes sedan parked just off the road. Dismounting, he stripped off his helmet and unzipped his jacket. Even in the shade provided by the trees, the summer heat was oppressive.

At his approach, the driver of the Mercedes slid out from behind the wheel. With a silent nod, he opened the sedan’s rear door. A slight bulge in the man’s dark business jacket revealed the presence of a shoulder holster.

Petrov raised an eyebrow. So even here in this rural backwater, his host felt the need for a bodyguard. Perhaps such vigilance was an inevitable by-product of the acquisition of great wealth. If so, he thought with satisfaction, he might someday soon learn the value of caution himself.

He slid into the back of the air-conditioned Mercedes and nodded politely to the older, heavier-set man waiting there. “Everything is on track,” he said confidently.

“There were no problems at the factory?”

Petrov shrugged. “The Tupolev guys are pissed, but no one’s willing to stick his neck out to protest openly.”

“They are wise,” the older man said, with the hint of an icy smile of his own. Dmitri Grishin was one of Russia’s most powerful oligarchs, a man who had made his fortune through close ties to Moscow’s political, industrial, and defense elites. Either on his own or through intermediaries, he owned significant stakes in many of the nation’s most successful and profitable enterprises. “Our president does not appreciate having his decisions questioned.”

“Fortunately for us,” Petrov agreed, matching the oligarch’s wry expression. His eyes narrowed. “What about the other elements of our special project? Are they moving ahead?”

Grishin nodded smoothly. “My people have everything well in hand. They’ve found a valley deep in the wilderness in Alaska that’s perfect for our purposes. All will be ready when you are.”

“What about the Americans?” Petrov asked. “Is there a chance they could stumble across your team at work?”

The oligarch shook his head. “Relax, Colonel. The Alaskan wilderness is enormous and almost entirely uninhabited. I doubt anyone’s even visited the site we’ve found since the end of the last Ice Age, more than twelve thousand years ago. The Americans won’t see a thing.”

Reassured, Petrov slid back out of the Mercedes and then leaned back in. “Until the snows fall, then.”

“And the icy winds blow,” Grishin agreed. He glanced up at the younger man. “Fly safe, Colonel. We both have a lot at stake here.”

Petrov shot him a grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the PAK-DA prototype like it was my very own.”

Moments later, as he stood watching the limousine pull away, Petrov felt a sudden stab of pain lance through his left temple. “Fuck,” he muttered. He’d been resolutely ignoring a mild headache since leaving the Tupolev plant. But now it was getting worse. Frowning, he fumbled out a couple of aspirin tablets from a packet in one of his pockets and then pulled out a stainless steel hip flask. Embossed with the badge of the Soviet Union’s Red Air Force, it was the one item he’d inherited from his father that he genuinely valued.