Page 83 of Gryphon

“A ULB is an unmanned Little Bird. It is a stealth-rigged version of an MH-6 helicopter capable of autonomous flight. The Mark 46 is a two-hundred-and-thirty-kilogram torpedo. The former is fully capable of carrying and delivering two of the latter over four hundred kilometers. Perhaps twice that distance if it’s the Mission Enhanced Little Bird with the AACUS unit, that’s Autonomous Aerial/Cargo Utility System, installed.”

The general scrabbled at the top buttons of his trench coat, then reached inside to extract his phone from a breast pocket. He hurried away as he dialed.

She and Meg looked at each other, then resumed their walk.

Miranda hoped that he rebuttoned his coat properly this time.

66

Pavle felt the phone buzz against his thigh.

Elene often texted him funny little messages to brighten up his day. She also often sent him photos of her favorite bird, the Eurasian blue tit, a brightly blue, yellow, and black relative of the American chickadee.

But after last night’s strategizing how to avoid war, she’d looked beaten, no more than a wisp of her usual self.

He hadn’t been negative, honestly trying to consider her ideas, but the well he’d fallen down ran deep and the sides were too slick to climb. Every idea she’d put forth, he’d found too many reasons it wouldn’t work.

When it buzzed again only seconds later, he risked slipping it out. Her innate positivity must have somehow reemerged since this morning. He wanted to bask in that for even a few seconds.

Kurbanov and Kancheli were discussing next steps, though all three of them agreed none should be needed. The next stage of the plan would create such a catastrophic event that battle would be engaged within hours.

It made the events to date appear to be mere harassment in comparison.

Pavle glanced down. No picture. A message, piled on top of two others.

Pavle. Call me.

Now, Pavle.

Please answer me.

What could possibly be so urgent?

He glanced at Kurbanov and Kancheli. They stood side-by-side gazing southeast out the office’s big window. The morning sun sparkling off the Tbilisi Sea. Kancheli stood at a distinct cant, as if the winds of time were preparing to finally blow the chief aside. Couldn’t happen soon enough.

Can’t. Busy. He sent back.

The phone buzzed in his hand before he managed to return it to his pocket. He almost dropped it in surprise.

Now, Pavle! Call or meet me at the Chronicle.

He stared at the message; for her there existed no higher tone of urgency. If there was ever one place in Tbilisi—in the world—that Elene would never go under any circumstances, it was the Chronicle of Georgia.

Her father’s first job out of school had been the first day of work on that monumental piece of art. From 1985 to 1991, he’d risen from laborer to the site manager’s job. He’d become very close to the artist Zurab Tsereteli. His career and his fortune were made.

Until the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. The monument had been underwritten by the USSR. When work here in Georgia had stopped, Tsereteli had moved on. But not Elene’s father.

Out of work, his reputation smeared by his work for the despised Soviets, the man had never recovered. Russia had occupied, then subjugated Georgia for two hundred and eight years and no one would forgive him such a trespass.

The Chronicle towered less than a kilometer to the north, clearly visible from Kancheli’s office. Its thirty-five-meter-tall pillars of stone, bronze, and copper offered an all-round view that included the sea, the city, and the southern Caucasus Mountains. The life of Christ on the lower section of the pillars. Kings, queens, poets and artists above. And celebrations of Georgian life, like the harvest and world’s oldest winemaking tradition reaching back over eight thousand years adorned the pillar tops.

Pavle had visited there many times—before Elene.

The work on the monument had continued slowly, but her father had refused to return to the site. Elene, raised to want no part of her brooding father, wanted no part of the work that had destroyed him either.

Pavle tucked the phone away. Keeping a hand on it in his pocket to suppress any further incoming buzzes, he crossed to stand beside Chief Kancheli.

“There are some things I must see to. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

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