Colony Benjamin Cross (korean ebook reader TXT) 📖

the man shifted and replied in a well-spoken Russian accent, “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, not exactly?” Ptarmigan said. “Unless by some gazillion-to-one chance you’re just caving in the wrong place at the wrong time buddy, then you’re Finback’s man.” He paused. “Say, have we met before? You sound awful familiar.”

The man took a commanding step forward into the light.

Chapter 10 Finback

1

The man in front of Ptarmigan was imperiously tall. He wore a dark woollen hat pulled down over his ears, a navy-blue jacket and a pair of highly polished black boots.

“Mr Peterson,” Volkov said, his eyes piercing in the gloom. “How nice that you could make it.”

Peterson attempted to speak, but the sides of his throat felt as if they were glued together.

“Congratulations are in order,” Volkov continued. “You have done very well. Please excuse me.”

There was a sudden flash, accompanied by a loud bang. Peterson jumped at the sound of the gunshot, while around the cavern every last seal dived from its perch and disappeared from view. Silence descended.

“Apologies,” Volkov said, reholstering his pistol. “But I do not like to shout.”

Still tongue-tied with shock, Peterson could only nod.

“Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Congratulations. You have carried out your task with dedication and professionalism, and I thank you.”

“You… you thank me?” Peterson stammered, slowly regaining his voice. “But… I destroyed your ship. All of your equipment, your research…”

Volkov laughed out loud. It was a coarse, braying laugh that tore into Peterson’s ears. It was a laugh that made the former seal chorus sound like the tittering of a new-born. “Nonsense,” Volkov said. “You destroyed exactly what I wanted you to destroy. An old ship that should have been decommissioned years ago, a bunch of foreign meddlers and very little else.”

Peterson shook his head. “An old ship? I took the tour, remember? That ship was state of the art.”

“Correction,” Volkov replied. “The parts of it that you were allowed to see appeared state of the art. But there was no equipment of any real value on board, and I assure you, the restricted areas were clear of valuable restricted activity and personnel. In reality, your target was only a shell. A floating hotel, and a small price to pay.” A menacing grin cut across his cheeks, and his pale, emaciated face glowed in the gloom like a fresh skull. “You would do well to learn that all that glitters really is not gold.”

Peterson fought to reconcile the flood of new information. “I don’t understand. Do you work for Finback too?”

Volkov’s grin disappeared. He drew himself up and raked a finger through his neatly trimmed moustache. “According to Forbes magazine, I am currently the ninth richest man in Russia, with a net personal fortune of some ten billion of your American dollars. Of course this is an oversimplification of my circumstances, but suffice it to say that I own hundreds of companies across the globe and have substantial shareholdings in everything from office stationery to space technology.”

Peterson’s jaw dropped. “You mean… you’re Finback?”

Volkov nodded then raised a small voice distortion box to his lips. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Ptarmigan.”

Sure enough, it was the same robotic drawl that had so raised Peterson’s hackles over the phone. Just the sound of it again was enough to jolt him out of his stupor. “But I still don’t get it. I mean, are you nuts or something? Why the hell would you authorise an attack against your own venture? Your own damn ship?”

Volkov tossed the voice distorter carelessly into the sea. “It may not surprise you to learn that one of my principal shareholdings is in the Russian partner company in the G&S Consortium.” He indicated the G&S emblem on the shoulder of his dark-blue jacket.

“But—”

Volkov held up a gloved hand.

Peterson thought about carrying on and having his say regardless. Then he closed his mouth. The one fact staring him straight between the eyes was that Mr ninth-in-Forbes didn’t really have to tell him anything at all. In fact, he hadn’t even had to turn up for their little rendezvous. He could have said to hell with it, and there wouldn’t’ve been a damn thing Peterson could’ve done. But he had turned up. So far he was keeping his end of the bargain, sort of. And if he was willing to spill a few beans, then it would be well worth keeping schtum.

Volkov: “As I mentioned during our little show-and-tell hour back on the Albanov, Russia continues to lead the world in the production of natural gas. What I did not mention is that we have been spoilt by our vast inland reserves.” He began pacing slowly back and forth, his eyes trained on Peterson’s. “Until recently there has been little incentive for investment in our off-shore Arctic drilling capabilities and we have been forced to turn to our international neighbours. Our Norwegian partner company has been invaluable in passing on hard-earned experience, some of it knowingly, some of it not so knowingly.” He paused to take a last drag on his cigarette, before dropping the nub to the floor.

“But Russians have always been fast learners, Mr Peterson, and our need for foreign input is over. My associates and I are now confident that we have the knowledge and techniques to allow us to benefit from our off-shore Arctic resources without the need for further international assistance.”

“So you’re cutting them loose?” Peterson said.

Volkov’s eyes met with his. “As we speak, a buy-out is being finalised by a consortium of other interested parties.”

“Let me guess. Volkov Associates Limited?”

Volkov smiled. “You can be very insightful, Mr Peterson. That is one reason why I selected you for this project.”

Peterson scoffed. “Dare I ask the others?”

“Your passion for the environment, your experience of clandestine eco-terrorism—”

“Cut the crap!” Peterson spat. “This has got nothing to do with the environment or eco-terrorism. It’s about getting your Norwegian partners to hand you control of the entire company. You’re hoping they’ll baulk at the failure of your