The Project 05 - The Tesla Secret

blue like arctic sky, his short hair blonde. His face was square, with a trace of reddish shadow on his jaw. He had a small, crescent shaped scar on his chin.
    Korov had been summoned to Vysotsky's office. He stood at attention in front of the General's wide desk.
    "You are going to Italy, Arkady." Vysotsky opened a drawer, took out a bottle of Vodka and two glasses. "Sit." He gestured at a chair.
    "Sir." Korov sat. Vysotsky poured, handed him a glass.
    "Na Zdrov'nya."
    "Na Zdrov'nya."
    They emptied the glasses. Vysotsky poured another and sat back. "You will work with the Americans again."
    "The Project?"
    "Yes. This is a mission of highest secrecy. There must be no hint of your involvement."
    Arkady noticed the choice of words. Your involvement. Your, not our. It meant he was on his own if anything happened.
    "I understand. What are my orders?"
    "You will meet Harker's team in Florence. They will provide weapons and logistical support. The target is a man called Foxworth. Harker says he is the leader of AEON, the group that was behind the CIA conspiracy against us. She says Ogorov acts on Foxworth's orders."
    "Why is she telling you this?"
    "She's worried. She showed me proof something secret is happening here and she thinks AEON is behind it. It is as before, there is a threat to both our nations. Or so Harker believes. I have looked for myself. There is a significant project, but I find no official authorization, no records. Harker says it is Ogorov. Your orders are to try and confirm his association with Foxworth and AEON."
    Korov lifted his glass and considered his vodka. "Minister Ogorov has been interfering with our operations."
    Vysotsky nodded. "Just so. Ogorov has the ear of our President. If he is plotting against the Motherland I must have proof of treason before I go after him."
    "And this man, Foxworth. You want him questioned about Ogorov?"
    "Exactly. That is Harker's intention. I am impressed by her determination. She risks everything by working with us. I don't think her President knows about it."
    "That would be consistent," Korov said. "She doesn't strike me as someone who is bound by the rules."
    "That makes her a valuable ally and a dangerous enemy," Vysotsky said. "Go to Italy. Find out which she is."

CHAPTER FORTY -ONE

    Selena walked with her dog on the beach near her childhood home in California. Her older brother was there, except he was much younger than she was, only three or four years old, making a sand castle on the beach with a red plastic bucket. Her dog had been gone a long time. She knew that, yet there he was.
    She watched a black cloud grow large on the horizon. She looked around for her brother, but he was gone. She looked for her dog, but he was gone, too. The beach was empty. She was alone.
    A moment before it had been bright and sunny, but now it was cold. Dark. She looked again at the ocean. The cloud was huge, closer. Bolts of lightning flashed inside it, great crackling streaks of electricity that hurled themselves into the waters.
    A harsh, biting wind whipped grains of sand around her. She was cold and afraid. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm. She tried to call out, but no sound came from her mouth.
    The cloud was almost upon her. Beneath it, a towering, dark wave rushed toward her, twenty, thirty, forty feet high, foam curling and boiling on the top. It terrified her. She tried to run, but her feet wouldn't move. She couldn't feel her feet. She opened her mouth to scream. The wall of water crashed over her. She couldn't breathe...

    Selena gasped and opened her eyes. It took a moment to understand where she was. She was lying in a bed. A hospital bed. The ceiling above her was cream colored. The sheets under her were crisp. She turned her head to one side. A tier of machines stood by the bed. Green blips moved in a constant line across a screen. Digital numbers monitored her life signs. A plastic bag of fluid hung on a rack with a tube running down to her arm.
    She couldn't feel her legs. She had a headache. There was something wrong, but she didn't know what it was. She turned her head the other way.
    Nick was asleep in a chair by her bed. He was unshaven, his jacket off, showing the .45 he wore in a shoulder holster. He looked ten years older, his face drawn and tired.
    She couldn't remember how she'd gotten here, wherever here was. The last thing she remembered was the jungle. They'd been in a firefight, she'd shot someone.
    I was hit. I