The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(59)
Al-Asaad was on the terror watch list for suspected activity with Al-Qaeda from well back in the early 2010s. And he was on record calling for a nuclear strike against the United States, and known for trying to buy a suitcase bomb. He’d been off-grid for several years, assumed to be killed by the CIA in one of the cave bombings in the Afghan War.
But here he was, in 2015, on the coast of Corsica, drinking a glass of wine at a bar, alive and well. Nicholas and Mike were going to love this. So the renowned and respected, possibly crazy, Dr. Nevaeh Patel was in league with one big scary terrorist for sure—Al-Asaad—and that was why her minion had stolen the plutonium from the Idaho facility.
He reached for the phone, but Gray walked in at the same moment, hair standing on end.
“Did you sleep here?”
Gray nodded. “Didn’t feel like fighting the traffic. Why do you look like you’re about to burst?”
“Check this out.”
Adam turned the screen and explained what he’d done.
Gray said, “So, Al-Asaad isn’t dead. That’s a bummer. Where’s he been all this time? I’ll tell you, Adam, if he has anything to do with this EMP, we’re in trouble. I have a call with Strategic Command shortly. They’re the ones who’ve been tracking the satellite to see if they can find it. What we know so far: Dr. Patel lied when she said it didn’t make orbit, it did. Only it’s not in the place it was supposed to be. Looks like someone with serious hacking skills managed to reroute the satellite. It wasn’t damaged.”
“Patel claims Galactus has been sabotaged. She made a statement earlier.”
Gray said, “Sabotage. Clever. A story like that could buy her some time.”
“You think she launched it with code meant to move it from its original elliptical to another spot?”
“Exactly.”
“You know, if Strategic Command can locate the satellite, I might be able to break into the programming and shut it down.”
“Finding it seems to be an issue. Space is a pretty big place, and it’s a small satellite.”
“I was about to call Nicholas and Mike, tell them about Al-Asaad’s involvement—”
“Let them sleep. There’s nothing they can do from the air anyway. You can tell them when they land. Right now, you need to get some rest, too. No, don’t argue with me. Go grab a bunk, sleep for a few hours. Cross my heart, if something happens, I will come get you.”
Adam stood, dropping candy wrappers and crumbs on the keyboard. An empty can of Red Bull spun away with a clatter. Gray laughed.
“See? Man cannot live on junk food alone. Drink some water, for heaven’s sake, and while you’re asleep, I’ll see if we can’t track Al-Asaad.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Lyon, France
Galactus Headquarters
2013
Nevaeh had to admit that her boss and the founder of Galactus, Jean-Pierre Broussard, was proving to be a witty, brilliant man, but unavailable on a day-to-day basis. And this was why he had her, and she intended to prove herself as quickly as possible. She was happy being there, being back at work, using her mind to solve problems instead of obsessing over those who had destroyed her. She had hope, new hope, and she knew she’d figure out how to get herself back with the Numen. She was happy, optimistic.
Her first day on the job, she began the design work for a new space module that could carry people. She sketched and ran numbers and printed up 3-D models. She spent weeks refining every aspect, discussing options and possible flaws with the Numen. It was interesting how they always agreed with her, tossing her back the same questions she’d asked them, which, of course, made her think and rethink.
Finally, after six months, she knew she had something stable and sustainable to bring to Jean-Pierre—their very own manned spacecraft, designed for orbit, docking with the International Space Station, and eventual landings on the moon.
It was going to cost billions, but she could make it work. She would get them into space—and she would be on the first rocket there. The Numen were as excited about it as she was.
Jean-Pierre loved the idea, approved it immediately. The timeline they attached was nine years. Nine years, even less than the time that he’d originally planned. Still, nine years. She nearly wept when she told the Numen and they wept with her. She told them she had to cut it back, it was far too long, and they readily agreed with her, but how? They had no answer.
Jean-Pierre gave her a raise and they had a party on the yacht.
But she also had to run the company. There were board meetings, staff meetings, meetings with the distributors and the buyers, the people she was purchasing the raw materials from. She had to travel, extensively, to Russia and India and China and Malaysia, to other areas of Europe, and to meet up with Jean-Pierre as he floated around the world looking for treasure.
He was funding the company, funding her personal plans, so she could hardly complain. But all the busywork and management took away from her time to work on their manned spacecraft. She had to cut the nine years down. By a lot.
The years had slipped by. They built the rockets in-house, in a factory she’d designed on the Galactus campus, then shipped them by boat to French Guiana to launch. The first blew up. So did the second. The third made orbit, and the celebration was insane.
Kiera Byrne, Nevaeh’s new head of security, had short spiked red hair and long legs, and a brain. She was quiet, more taciturn, really, so very young. Nevaeh learned quickly enough she was also ruthless and bloodthirsty. Ah, but Kiera never left her side, and she felt safe, and then she began to feel more.