“We have a plan.” Dmitry turned in his seat. “You’re worth much more alive than dead. But the dead never misbehave.” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in the sound. He turned away. “So behave.”

Mironov worked harder at his bonds – they were a thin plastic type of cable-rope that was used for repairs. He’d been swiveling his wrists, and had made them bleed a while back now. The pain was excruciating, but he kept his face expressionless as he cut his flesh, his eyes on Dmitry the entire time.

The blood was impossible to feel against his skin, as it must have been close to the same temperature as the inside of the Prusalka. But the fluid had a purpose and there was design to his self-mutilation. The blood flowed, and the blood was slippery.

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 16

Sheslay, British Columbia, Canada.

– 58°16′00″N 131°48′00″W

The two black-clad agents waited in a shadowy twilight that was cemetery still. They were ex-Spetsnaz and recruited by Uli Stroyev himself. He had been pleased with their progress, but urged greater speed. He had reminded them their success bonus only came at the end of the job.

One tugged his collar higher, breathing out slowly so as not to create plumes of vapor.

“I thought Russia was cold.”

The other pulled field glasses from his eyes and turned. “You’ve been to Siberia?” He went back to scanning the cleared area of the forest. “This is tropical compared to there.”

Like Hobart Bay, Sheslay was a small settlement with just a few houses and some hunting cabins set in amongst forested mountains and situated at the convergence of the Hackett and Sheslay Rivers. Once again their target was a small building set apart from all the others. They knew that just like at Hobart Bay, inside the nondescript-looking shack, the metal communication silo that reached all the way down to the subterranean sea sat waiting patiently for its potential travelers below ground.

The agent lowered his field glasses again, and tucked them away. Once again there was no guard, and just a blind reliance on their technological sentinels. Like at the previous silo, they deployed the electromagnetic pulse and then waited a few seconds to ensure there was no other response.

“Remind me how westerners actually get anything done,” the man sneered. “They make our job so easy.” He nodded forward. “Let’s go.”

They sprinted again, staying low and zigzagging between trees and then pushing hard over the last hundred feet to the cabin door. One of the men grabbed the handle and turned to his partner, holding up three fingers. He counted them down – three-two-one – then both went in fast.