BooksBarbecue
Back The Asset Save as PDF

The Asset

Saul Herzog
Chapters (86)
  1. Foreword
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. Afterword

Foreword

I’d like to take a moment to thank you personally for buying this book. A lot of time and work has gone into it and I truly hope you enjoy the story I’ve come up with.

If you have any concerns at all about this story, if you spot any typos or errors, or if you’d just like to get in touch to say hello, please feel free to contact me at any time.

I can always be reached by email at:

[email protected]

Alternatively, you can sign up for updates from me at:

I am always thrilled to hear from readers so please stop by, say hello, let me know what you think of Lance Spector and the world he inhabits.

God bless and happy reading,

Saul Herzog

1

Sofia Ivanovna looked out over the vast tundra with a feeling of foreboding. In those parts, the locals had a saying. The better the vehicle, the farther you had to walk back when it failed. The permafrost was unforgiving at the best of times. Now that it was thawing, it was downright treacherous.

She was at the head of a convoy of eight Russian-made, Trekol all-terrain six-wheelers. They’d been plowing through the endless Siberian waste in a straight line due east for six days.

Seven of the vehicles carried fuel, supplies, and laboratory equipment. The eighth held the tools and parts necessary to equip the entire convoy with heavy-duty caterpillar tracks. That hadn’t been necessary, yet.

Just a few years ago this ground was frozen solid, and had been for thousands of years.

That was changing.

She leaned her forehead against the window.

The president had called her personally the night before they set out. It was meant as a show of support, but it only added to her unease. No one, whatever they said, wanted a call from the Kremlin. She felt like Frodo under the eye of Sauron.

“Our tundra’s warming at twice the rate of North America’s,” the president said.

Sofia was well aware of the fact. It seemed global warming was one more war in which Russia would have to fight as the underdog.

As head of the Permafrost Pathogen Institute, a secret laboratory headquartered in the military industrial compound in Yekaterinburg, she was one of the Motherland’s secret weapons on this new front. A wild card that would level the playing field.

“My little Katyusha,” the president called her.

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“What is it our American friends say?” the president told her. “When life treats you like shit, drink lemonade?”

That wasn’t exactly right, but she got the point.

“Are the sat phones still working?” she asked Vasily.

“Sofia, relax,” he said.