Yusoff had lost a lot of political capital, money, and credibility. What remained was a hatred that burned deep. He had personally ordered Mironov’s assassination, but the man had fled with his billions to the west, and while he was there, he was relatively safe. But once outside of his guarded towers, well, then his head belonged to Yusoff.

“It seems his hobby draws him out. He mounts an expedition to somewhere in Alaska, and now, at great expense, he has bought a Priz Class submersible, and hired a crew.” Yusoff clasped one fist in another. “We must find out where.”

“He gives us many clues. Mironov is also organizing an engineering team – miners and geologists.” Stroyev tapped the screen’s satellite image of the colossal body of subterranean water. “I think maybe it is not in Alaskan waters he plans his mission, but somewhere inland.”

“What clues?” One of Yusoff’s eyebrows lifted a folded eye a little wider.

“I have a friend… a miner. He told me once that the deeper you go into the earth, the hotter it gets – in fact, one-degree increase for every seventy feet you travel down. It is called a thermal gradient, I think, and it is why some deep mines are like blast furnaces. This underground body of water Mironov seeks is very deep in some places and will be much warmer than the outside temperature.” Stroyev stroked his chin. “So we look for warmth in a frozen land; where it comes close to the surface, it will give itself away.”

“Good.” Yusoff’s big head bobbed again. “Once the spider crawls from his hole, then he can be trapped. On the surface he will be guarded. But once he is in the submarine he is alone. You said he is hiring a crew? Maybe we should assist in picking that crew, hmm?”

“My thoughts exactly, Minister.” Stroyev grinned. “But Mironov will be vigilant in running background checks on his chosen team members. Our man must be inserted later – perhaps as a substitute?”

“Go on.” Yusoff leaned closer.

“There is someone, a commando who was a submariner. He is awaiting execution for murder. He could be adapted to our needs. He would be the perfect assassin,” Stroyev assured.

“I want Mironov brought to me. I want to look him in the eye, and then blow his brains all over the wall, personally.” Yusoff glared.

“You wish to do it yourself?” Stroyev’s brows knitted.

“Yes. I have waited decades for this opportunity. This man we send, he must be prepared to do anything, everything, for this mission. Will he?”

“He could be made to kill for us,” Stroyev said evenly.