Boundless Ambition: (Kyle Achilles Book 5) Read online

  Chapter 4

  The Invitation

  ACHILLES WAS AT ONCE SHOCKED and not the least bit surprised. He was shocked because he thought his White House involvement had ended with President William Silver’s second term. And yet he was not surprised because politicians were often the source of devious schemes.

  As he waited for White House Chief of Staff Rex Rowe to explain why two brutes were in his backyard under false pretenses, Achilles was surprised to find himself more excited than upset. He didn’t need Katya to tell him why. He missed the big game. The excitement of high-stakes missions. Especially the kind that President Silver had used him for. Small-scale, off-the-books operations with minimal bureaucracy, maximal impact and unlimited adrenaline.

  After leaving office, the former President had used a kind thank-you note to imply that Saxon might also want to make use of his special skills and situation, but up until that moment, Achilles had not dared to believe it.

  “Thank you for speaking with me,” Rex Rowe began. “Let me begin by apologizing for the aggressive behavior and explaining why you have two of my men in your backyard. I sent them there on a mission, an important mission, and believe it or not, they were successful.”

  Achilles respected public offices even when he didn’t care for the people who occupied them, so he restricted his reply to a simple, “How so?”

  “They completed all three objectives in quick order with minimal fuss.”

  The phrasing effected a paradigm shift in Achilles’ mind, and he immediately understood everything.

  Katya was less familiar with covert ops—and she probably had a headache from the hair grab—so Achilles wasn’t surprised when she pushed back. In fact, he found himself smiling as she did. “Minimal fuss? If you’d waited two more seconds, your men would be stretched out in an ambulance rather than seated in my backyard.”

  “Point taken, however my men were willing to accept those lumps—because of what I needed to know.”

  “It was a test,” Achilles said, meeting his wife’s eye.

  “What did you need to know?” Katya asked, catching on.

  “Given that your husband has been out of action for a while, and that I’m relying on a recommendation rather than direct experience, I asked them to determine three things. Your husband’s loyalty, his mental acuity, and his physical capability.

  “He didn’t betray his work for President Silver. He did figure out that Richardson and Reed weren’t actually FBI agents.” Rex paused there to glance at Achilles. “How did you do that, by the way?”

  “Their credentials look brand new. The wallets clearly haven’t spent years going in and out of pockets. And both men are big and young. It’s usually the senior guys who get assigned to Washington. While those could be considered circumstantial evidence, I confirmed my suspicion beyond a reasonable doubt when both men fumbled before answering how long they’d been with the Bureau.”

  “Right.” Rex turned back to Katya. “Mental acuity confirmed. The third thing I needed to verify was your husband’s physical prowess. It’s now obvious that he hasn’t been rusting away on the shelf. So mission accomplished.”

  “How can I help you, Mr. Rowe,” Achilles said, cutting to the chase.

  “Please, call me Rex. And you can help your president by hopping on an airplane about three hours from now. Alaska Airlines has a direct flight to Dulles departing San Francisco at 3:45.”

  Achilles recalled the suitcases waiting upstairs. The ones they’d been packing when Richardson and Reed began pounding on the door. “When can Katya expect me home?”

  “You’ll be back by noon tomorrow, leaving you plenty of time to catch the overnight flight to Fiji—should you still choose to take that trip.”

  C C C

  The dashboard clock displayed 12:44 a.m. when an Uber dropped Achilles at the front entrance of the Hay Adams Hotel. After politely waving off the doorman and waiting for his ride from the airport to depart, Achilles walked south on 16th Street. He cut through Lafayette Square and crossed Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House’s Northwest Appointment Gate.

  As instructed, Achilles said nothing to the Secret Service officer standing at the window. He had half expected it to be either Richardson or Reed, but neither he nor the officer behind him looked familiar. Rex hadn’t divulged who actually employed the two men who visited his house, but Achilles figured the Secret Service was a good guess. It went with keeping the circle small, something this evening’s setup indicated to be a primary concern—as it had been with all his prior White House assignments.

  The attending officer remained silent while his eyes darted back and forth between Achilles and the screens that undoubtedly displayed his picture and the results of various ongoing scans. After a few seconds, he nodded, exited the booth and began walking toward the West Wing.

  Achilles followed, through the dimly lit lobby and to the right, then left past several dark offices, then left again past a few more until they were standing in a corridor with the Roosevelt Room on one side and a door set in a curved wall on the other.

  The Secret Service agent gestured toward a decorative niche. “Leave your iPhone out here. Just don’t forget it when you leave.” Achilles did as he was told, impressed that the scan had correctly identified his cell phone brand.

  Turning toward the door, he considered knocking but thought better of it. Soundproofing might prevent him from hearing a reply, and in any case, his arrival was clearly choreographed. He would not be surprising President Saxon.

  The thick door swung soundlessly on heavy hinges to reveal a room only slightly brighter than the hall. As the lock latched behind him with a slight but solid click, Achilles found himself standing on the far left side of the Oval as viewed from the desk.

  Above him, dimly lit by recessed lights, was the domed ceiling with its raised Presidential Seal. Across from him, currently covered by curtains, was the exit to the West Colonnade and the Rose Garden—a tidbit he drew from the memory of a daytime visit. To his left, the famous fireplace with two yellow chairs poised for photo ops. To his right, past the bookcases and couches, was the more-famous desk.

  Leaning against that historic antique was a now-familiar male in his mid-fifties whose dark eyes retained their spark despite the hour. While clearly a man of power and poise, he was not the official owner of the Oval Office. He was not the President of the United States.

  “Good evening, Achilles. Thank you for coming.”

  Chapter 5

  The Mission

  AFTER THEIR FACETIME CHAT some ten hours earlier, Achilles read up on the distinguished politician now standing before him. The White House Chief of Staff graduated from both Harvard Law and Harvard Business School, where legend had it he bonded with each and every one of his fifteen hundred peers.

  After graduation, Rex parlayed his classmate connections and uncanny charisma into what quickly became one of the most influential lobbying firms in Washington. Rumor had it that over the years, he’d been offered the chairmanship of both major political parties and a few Cabinet positions, but he’d declined all overtures—until Saxon made him one of the most powerful backstage operatives in the world and certainly the most dominant in D.C.

  “Again, my apologies for the crude introduction earlier. I trust you understand why it was a prudent move on my part.”

  “I do. Happy to be of service,” Achilles said, trying not to show his disappointment over President Saxon’s absence.

  They shook hands, then sat facing one another across a carpet displaying the Presidential Seal. Although the sofas were soft, both men sat forward in engaging postures, with hands clasped and elbows on knees.

  Rex opened with a question. “Are you familiar with DelMos Technologies?”

  “The name rings a bell, but little more. It’s a joint-venture, right? Delhi and Moscow?”

  “That’s right. DelMos makes missiles. The DelMos I is a hypersonic cruise missile compatible with ship, submarine, aircraft
and land-based mobile launchers. It’s as good as anything we have. The forthcoming DelMos II is rumored to fly considerably further and faster.”

  “Rumored? You don’t know?”

  Rex shook his head. “We know the size and weight, but not the speed, range or other more-sophisticated indications of what we’re up against. The Russians are masters at misinformation campaigns, and the Indians aren’t bad either. DelMos Technologies is known to falsify internal reports and documentation in order to keep even their own people unaware of the current state of affairs.”

  “Rendering both humint and sigint suspect,” Achilles clarified, referencing human and electronic intelligence-gathering techniques.

  Rex straightened up. “President Silver was right; your mind moves as fast as a fencing foil.”

  Achilles ignored the flattery. After reading about Rex’s ability to bond, he was expecting something of the sort. No doubt the chief of staff had an arsenal of colorful compliments locked, loaded and ready to fire as required.

  “Since we can’t use indirect methods of ascertaining and replicating the threat, we’re forced to use the direct one.”

  “You need to inspect a prototype,” Achilles guessed.

  “Precisely! Although need is an understatement. It’s imperative that we learn exactly what we’re up against as soon as possible. I can’t disclose the specific reason why, but the fact that you’re getting this assignment at a midnight meeting in the Oval Office—”

  Achilles saw another compliment move from the magazine into the chamber as Rex trailed off, but the chief of staff didn’t pull the trigger. His people-reading instincts were stellar.

  Rex changed directions. “Stealing a top-secret military prototype is casus belli. That wouldn’t necessarily be a prohibitive risk if the target were a third-world dictatorship, but India is both an ally and the world’s fourth-ranking military power—after the U.S., Russia and China. And Russia, well, you understand the ramifications of poking the bear better than I do.”

  Achilles did understand. He spoke Russian, had extensive covert experience in Russia, and was married to a Russian—a Stanford mathematics professor whose PhD was from Moscow State University. “The risks outweigh the rewards.”

  “They do. Bottom line: the United States government can’t be caught stealing the DelMos II.”

  Realization struck Achilles like an icy river—one that quickly gushed from his brain to his gut. “Emphasis on the United States government.”

  Rex flashed a candid smile. “I’ve got to admit, I was skeptical. When President Silver recommended you, I thought it was a common courtesy. A throwaway offer meant to make both parties feel good in the moment. A ‘look me up if you ever come to town’ kind of thing.” He made air quotes as he spoke.

  Achilles found himself feeling friendly. Rex’s charisma was working its magic despite the forewarning. The man really did have a gift for guessing and pressing buttons. “What convinced your boss otherwise?”

  “We did a discreet background check, of course, and what we found was plenty impressive, but it was the context of the recommendation that did it. Silver put your name in the traditional presidential letter to his successor.”

  “Really?” Achilles asked, surprised.

  “Yeah. He did it in a postscript on a separate page, presumably so that it could be omitted from the official record. Along with some other personnel tips. Saxon figured there was no reason for Silver to bother if he wasn’t sincere.”

  Rex reached into his breast pocket and extracted a manila envelope too thick to be a copy of the letter. “Here’s a printout of the information we have on the DelMos II. Read it, then shred it. The envelope also contains passports and a flash drive. The flash drive has biometric security. It opens when pressed top and bottom with your right thumb and index finger.”

  “What’s on it?”

  Rex tapped the envelope against his own open palm with a gleam in his eye. “Access to a bank account with a seven-figure balance, and the number of an extraordinary procurement officer.”

  “A procurement officer?”

  “An extraordinary one. Your own personal genie. Someone you can text for anything you need to complete the mission.”

  “Anything?”

  Rex shot Achilles a sideways smile. “From blueprints of the Kremlin to a chartered submarine.”

  Achilles was liking Rex more and more. “Sounds intriguing. Anything else on the drive?”

  “Do you need more? Don’t millions of dollars and Aladdin’s lamp strike you as enough?”

  “Perhaps a plan?”

  “I understood that those were your forte.”

  One had to admire the masterful way Rex manipulated emotions using wonder, gifts and flattery. Had Achilles not been primed, he might have been misdirected. “Meaning you want to be able to raise your right hand and swear that you knew nothing about the plan—if it fails.”

  Rex stood and turned toward the door. “I’ll give you a ride back to the hotel.”

  Achilles didn’t follow his host’s lead. “I haven’t said yes.”

  Rex stopped and turned but didn’t backtrack. “Saxon is convinced that Silver wouldn’t recommend a man who says no. Come on, car’s this way,” he gestured.

  Achilles felt both honored and aghast. Was he that predictable? That manipulable? Was everyone putty in this man’s hands?

  Achilles collected his phone and followed Rex to his personal vehicle. The Executive Parking Lot was actually just a blocked-off section of the road that separated the West Wing from the neighboring Eisenhower Executive Office Building.

  Not surprisingly, Rex unlocked the closest car. His black Cadillac CTS looked new, but the headlights marked it as an older model. Achilles found the implied frugality and modesty to be both surprising and endearing. Perhaps there was more to Rex than a golden mind and a silver tongue.

  He’d likely never know.

  They would probably never meet again.

  That was the nature of covert ops. Of puppets and their masters.

  “You don’t use a driver?”

  “They offered me one, but I declined. I come in early and leave late, so traffic’s not an issue, and this fifteen-minute commute is about the only alone time I get. I find it relaxing. Cars are much easier to control than governments.”

  The Cadillac’s ignition brought a wired cell phone to life, its screen displaying a short stack of text messages. For a second, Achilles found Rex’s behavior odd. Why would someone keep his phone in the car rather than take it into the office? But of course, the answer depended on the office. The White House had protocols regarding recordkeeping and the use of personal electronics, plus a prohibition against conducting private business in federal offices. Rex undoubtedly had confidential legacy engagements he couldn’t commingle with his official new ones.

  What a life these guys lived. Achilles was happy to play his part, but grateful that he got to do so from the outside.

  The drive to the Hay Adams took about sixty seconds. Neither man spoke. It was late and both had a lot on their minds.

  Rex put his car in Park, then turned in his seat to offer the manila envelope.

  Achilles accepted it.

  He immediately noted that the contents didn’t feel right. The envelope had more heft than he’d anticipated.

  Rex picked up on this and gave a go-ahead nod.

  Achilles pried open the metal clasp and peered inside. “Four passports?”

  “American and Russian—for you and Katya. It wasn’t just you we were testing.”

  Chapter 6

  The Recording

  AS HER HUSBAND walked through the front door, Katya sensed that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Given the time zone difference and the fact that he’d been in the air for longer than he’d been on the ground, they hadn’t spoken since his White House meeting.

  She kissed him and they retreated to the kitchen where she had mugs waiting for her tea and his coffee. Whi
le Katya poured, Achilles turned on a workout playlist and increased the volume. Then he put an arm around her shoulder and guided her to the bench in the backyard beside the gurgling Spanish fountain.

  Katya understood the implications. He was worried about being overheard. Not a good sign. “What did the President ask you to do?” she whispered.

  “He wants me to acquire a prototype missile. Steal it and sneak it back into the United States without anyone knowing who really took it or where it went.”

  “Steal it from where?”

  “Either India or Russia. It’s being produced by an Indian-Russian joint venture called DelMos, although most of the work is done in Delhi.”

  At least it wasn’t North Korea, Katya mused. A swarm of questions began buzzing around her brain, but rather than spit them straight out, she took a second to think.

  Achilles complicated the situation before she completed her initial analysis. He set down his coffee mug and pulled a half-size manila envelope from his pocket. He slid out four passports and presented them to her, covers closed. Two were dark blue, two were burgundy.

  She opened the first, a dark blue one from the United States. It displayed Achilles’ picture, but the name was Kyle Adams. The second, also American, was even more surprising. “Kate Adams?”

  “Rex suggested that you accompany me for safety reasons. He thinks I’ll attract less attention traveling as a tourist with my wife. Turns out he wasn’t just testing me yesterday. While he’s obviously right about you and your capabilities, he’s wrong in his assessment of the mission—as non-operatives often are. Taking you doubles the risk.”

  Again, Katya bit back an impulsive response. She didn’t want Achilles to dig in. Instead she selected the second of the passports with the familiar burgundy color, and flipped it open to the data page. As anticipated, it was Russian. Also as expected, it displayed her photo. The name beside it was Katya Akulova. “Let me guess,” she said, pointing to the cover of the last passport. “Konstantine Akulov?”