Storm Front

Storm had never known Volkov to bother with electronic surveillance this elaborate — he usually just did his reconnaissance the old-fashioned way. What’s more, the bug Storm had pulled from the coffee table was not the cheap kind he had gotten familiar with in his private investigator days. It was top-of-the-line. But perhaps the setup of the house, with all those trees and all that land around it, had required it. Or perhaps Volkov was changing, growing more sophisticated.

Cracker was struggling to keep up. “So how did you… I mean, you just walk into my house and… What? Could you smell them or something?”

“I saw a few things that made me concerned the moment I walked in. I’ve bugged a few houses in my time. You have to know what to look for. Whoever did it was very good, but they weren’t perfect. For example, as I walked in the house, I saw a piece of wallpaper that had been recently peeled back and then reglued. But whoever did it was a little hasty about it and the glue didn’t entirely take. I guarantee you’d find a bug tucked in there. There are probably a dozen others on the first floor alone. Under furniture. In light fixtures. All over. They’re all small, which means they’re not very powerful, which means you have to use a lot of them. They’re likely transmitting to a unit that’s hidden somewhere in your house. If we went up into your attic, we’d probably find it buried in some insulation. That’s where I’d put it anyway. Depending on what they’re using, the transmitter could be as small as a fist and yet powerful enough to send the signal anywhere within a mile of here.”

“But how is that… Who would bug my house?”

“Quite possibly the same person who’s trying to kill you,” Storm said.

“What?!?” Cracker exploded.

“Mr. Cracker, are there children inside the house?”

“Yes, they’re upstairs. Their mother… my wife, Melissa… she’s putting them to bed, but…”

“Forgive the bluntness of this question, but I don’t have time to be polite: Your wife, can she handle herself? Or is she a trophy?”

“Oh, she’s whip smart,” Cracker said. “Much smarter than me.”

“Then you should bring her outside and tell her to get ready to leave. And, naturally, she should take the kids with her,” Storm said.

“Yes, of course, but… I’m sorry, could you go back to the part about someone wanting to kill me? I’m still sort of stuck on that.”

“Let me put this as plainly as I know how: We have a strong reason to believe your life is in grave danger. A Russian assassin named Gregor Volkov is on his way to your house right now to kill you. But before he kills you, he will torture you for your MonEx Four Thousand password, which he is providing to someone who wants to trigger a worldwide financial catastrophe.”

Storm expected to see some demonstrable reaction to this news, but Cracker’s face betrayed no emotion.

“I see,” he said. “And you expect me to believe this… why?”

“Think hard, Mr. Cracker. Have you noticed anything unusual in the last few days? Someone following you, perhaps? I’ve tangled with Volkov before. He’s the best of the best and leaves nothing to chance. He doesn’t normally use bugs, but they’re evidence of his presence. His normal procedure is to have advance teams in place to perform surveillance anywhere from a day to a week ahead of when he strikes. Maybe you noticed a car behind you on your way to work?”

“No, no, nothing like that. You said the man’s name was VolKoff?” Cracker said, over-pronouncing the name. “And he’s Russian?”

“That’s correct. Don’t bother trying to place him. You don’t know him. Volkov is working for someone else. We just haven’t figured out who yet.”

“Ah,” Cracker said. That was it. Just “Ah.”

Storm surmised the man must be in shock. A perfect stranger had waltzed into his life and told him he was about to be murdered. He just wasn’t processing it yet.

“This is serious, Mr. Cracker. Volkov is a brutal killer. There are five investment bankers dead already. We have reason to believe you’re going to be the sixth.”

“And why is that?”

“Are you familiar with the Click Theory?”

Cracker tilted his head, wore a brief look of concentration, then said, “No. What’s the Click Theory?”

“A quantitative economist named Rodney Click has re created the foreign exchange market in an elaborate computer model. He has used it to predict that six currency traders, properly placed in the right institutions across the globe, could trigger a precipitous plunge in the value of the U.S. dollar if they all bailed on the dollar at the same time.”

“Interesting,” Cracker said. “And why would this Volkov fellow want this to happen?”

“Again, Volkov is just the muscle. He’s giving the MonEx codes to someone else. Until we know who that person or group is, it’s almost impossible to guess motive — other than that it’s someone who wants to cause a major financial calamity.”

“And Volkov has killed five people already?”

“That’s right.”

“How terrible,” Cracker said. “But what makes you think I’m going to be number six?”