I Will Not Yield

by William Hogan

  “Natalya, explain at once!”

  “While you were prancing around Washington, the Redhead’s operatives stormed our location in New York. I got to his men before they got to me. There’s almost nothing left, and they got away with the nuclear material. Figured I would do you the favor of cleaning up.” She paused a moment to take a breath. “Two men were here in a shootout with Anton. I took care of it, but Anton was too shaky to trust, I cut his throat. Yevgeny’s on the floor here, an apparent suicide. I have all their phones, they’re powered down. I’ll bring them with me so we can determine their last calls.”

  Sokol interrogated, “Are any men at the New York compound left whom can trust?”

  “Five are left but scattered to the wind. We’ll need to set up the server so they can contact us.”

  Think. Sokol tapped his foot again. Think. “Shit, he killed twelve good men. The bastard’s too scared to flee the country with the material. Security’s too tight.”

  “No, he’ll move it to his closest base of operations in Chicago. He keeps a cell quartered in the Board of Trade building. He might even try to stop the operation tomorrow.”

  Ah, yes. Nice move, Redhead, but you are not the chess player I am. “Grab the server equipment and torch that apartment. Buy us some time.” He tugged his ear. “Contact everyone in Chicago and tell them to go into hiding until their mission.”

  “Already did.”

  My beautiful weapon. “Good. Set up at the backup location in New York. I need to test the EMP effects. Once the server is secure and running, get to Chicago, we are now officially part of the operation. I’ll fly there immediately. It’s been a long, eventful night.” The line went dead. I’ll have my damn revenge.

  CHAPTER 19

  Chicago

  Gun drawn, Sokol stood in the dark, a few paces away from a crack between two sheets of plywood that replaced the glass of one window. He observed Natalya and Yuri Ivchenko – both operatives in the morning’s operation – plod forward, faces bent down against the blistering wind, up a broken walkway to the crumbling, three-story Greystone house.

  Sokol holstered his weapon, unbolted the door, and let them in.

  Natalya glared at him. “Can’t believe you made us walk two blocks through this God forsaken trash heap! I almost pulled my gun more than once. Too much movement in the shadows.”

  Yuri, thin and pale, stamped dirt and snow from his feet before trotting inside. “You realize that Austin is absolutely the worst part of Chicago, don’t you Sokol?”

  “In the morning there will be a few more worse parts.”

  Yuri smiled and nodded his head. “Touché’”

  “Close the door.” Sokol aimed his finger at a coat rack. “Over there.”

  Natalya slapped the light switch, but nothing happened. “What? Late on the power bill?”

  “No one pays the electricity bill. The addicts squatting here are taking a dirt nap in the backyard. I should say, I had Eric cover them in trash out back.”

  “That’s the Sokol I know.” Natalya sashayed through the small, nearly empty living room, the heels of her knee-length boots echoing on the hardwood floor. She put her hands on her hips. “This place needs a lady’s touch. Good luck finding one.”

  Yuri pointed to the only chair in the living room, a small, tweed-patterned overstuffed chair. “May I?”

  “I meant to throw that out. It’s riddled with bedbugs, and I would be a bit worried about biologics. I can’t imagine what the previous residents did for fun.”

  “Perhaps I’ll just stand.”

  Natalya walked through an archway into the kitchen and dining area, pushed a newspaper to the floor, and sat down at a table whose laminate had ripped and peeled long before. “The warehouse was paradise compared to this trash, but I understand. Good luck to the Americans or The Redhead finding us here.”

  “That”--Sokol gestured around--“and except for the price of three bullets, it was free.” He gathered the newspaper off the floor and placed it on a nearby kitchen counter. “Hadn’t finished the crossword.”

  Yuri walked into the kitchen and rubbed his arms. “No heat, either?”

  “The heat coming from this house matches that of the surrounding buildings. Even the laziest and most ill-trained in law enforcement know how to search for irregularities in thermal profiles.”

  Natalya’s lips inched downward in a fashion model's smile. “You should not have hidden the bodies. Would have been more convincing to leave them on the porch.”

  Sokol sat down across from Natalya, gesturing for Yuri to do the same. “This is our last night in this luxury hotel. Let’s review tomorrow’s operation. Talk to as few--”

  “If you’re reviewing the complete basic training manual, I’ll need at least a glass of wine.” Natalya sat back, crossed her arms over her breasts.

  “Understood, but no wine that you would drink. The previous owners did not have a refined palette.” He winked at Natalya. “Our purpose in Chicago is two-fold. One, we will retrieve what is ours from The Redhead. Two, we blow up several utilities and dignitaries visiting the Board of Trade. We will put the blame on The Redhead’s group, claiming responsibility in his organization’s name.”

  Yuri pressed his glasses higher onto his nose. “You play with fire.”

  “No, Yuri. I command fire. There is a difference. In his arrogance, the Redhead’s base is on the sixth floor of the Chicago Board of Trade, convenient since the dignitaries are visiting tomorrow.” Sokol allowed the thought to sink in. “I’m sure that’s where he’s placed the nuclear material until he can smuggle it out of the country. Yuri your operatives will disrupt power, water, and communications, and cause widespread damage to their beloved road infrastructure as planned. Meanwhile, the two of you will continue to disrupt mass transit.” The stare he gave both Natalya and Yuri demanded attention. “Yuri, after you’re done planting your surprise package, Natalya will pick you up for a tour of the Trade building before it goes on lockdown. I will plant evidence on NSA computers that The Redhead coordinated it.”

  “Forget the wine. Where’s your vodka?”

  Sokol plucked a flask from his pocket and set it on the table.

  Natalya swallowed a long drag on the flask. She licked her lips seductively. “Damn good.”

  “Here is what I expect…”

  A tired Yuri paid attention to the morning foot traffic while Natalya slid to the curb on Adams Street in downtown Chicago. Their white, late-year model Saturn did not draw attention.

  Pushed his glasses against his forehead and glanced at his watch. Quarter to eight. He turned to Natalya. “Good, on time.”

  “I hope you did not expect anything different.”

  He shook his head no. His suitcase rested across his lap. He had been nervous the whole ride. The strain of his grip on the case caused his fingers to hurt. Relax.

  They were supposed to be a couple, so Yuri leaned in and planted a kiss on Natalya’s cheek.

  He whispered. “We still on for tonight?”

  “If you survive, I would not miss it for the world.”

  The words sounded cold to Yuri. He could not quite place it. There’s a rumor she’s a killer in bed. I can’t wait until tonight. The thought of her hard body sent a response to his nether regions.

  Natalya kept her gaze forward while Yuri kissed her. Sokol wants me to remove witnesses. Hope he doesn’t get us killed at the Merc, I will savor this one. The nerd’s friend was boring. Hands firmly on the ten and two positions on the steering wheel, she assessed the other passengers and visitors who stood along the train station. The moisture of his kiss evaporated in the air. How much more can I pull on this steering wheel before it breaks off in my hands?

  Yuri put on a hat, scarf, and prescription sunglasses before exiting the car. He departed gingerly and skipped around a patch of ice.

  After a few steps, he swung around and waved goodbye.

  Natalya waved back and drove away. Yes, tonight indeed. He amb
led south among enormous skyscrapers toward Jackson Blvd. Careful on lightly fallen snow, he used the oversized briefcase to maintain balance. Shit, if I fell here, Sokol would be pissed.

  Underneath his heavy wool jacket, he wore a conservative dark blue business suit with what he hoped was a boring tie so that no one would glance twice when he entered Union Station with his jacket open.

  He approached the entrance of Union Station. Amazing. All the history here. This is true mason work. He stopped, placed his hand on one of the many columns lining the front of the building.

  People leaving opened the double doors for him. He entered.

  Such a shame to waste all this history. Yuri’s gaze traveled across the delicate inlaid tile, stained glass windows, and high ceilings. But it does reek of class. Not much longer.

  Yuri searched for and found the restroom next to a newsstand. He still wore his hat and glasses when he set foot on the unwashed bathroom tiles. The scent of urine, soup, feces, and deodorant assaulted his nose. Why did I take off my scarf?

  He found a free stall near the back of the restroom and latched the door of the stall before sitting on the toilet seat with his pants on.

  Positioning the briefcase on his lap, he slowly raised the lid. He flipped open a small plastic shield and turned his wrist to check the time. A minute passed, then another. Now. He pressed a button. A blood red plastic button, an inch deep, sprung from the chassis, leaving a hole. A pin was exposed on the right side of the button. Yuri put the pin in his pocket and swapped it with another, conductive one. He applied pressure on the top of the button. It sank into the chassis, armed.

  He heard two clicks, click, the third. An indicator in the upper right of the device’s control panel flickered from green to red. There was no clock, no countdown screen, but Yuri knew the countdown had begun, and nothing would halt it outside of a blast.

  The conductive pin Yuri furnished would provide a path to ground for current to flow through a thin wire connected to a hobbyist’s solid rocket igniter. The igniter was buried in a compressed pocket of fast-burning black powder designed to ignite seventeen pounds of specially modified C-4.

  Yuri knew it had twice the blasting power of TNT, and because the C-4’s chemical reaction would expand at twenty-six thousand feet per second, there was no outrunning it. He sealed the lid and hefted the twenty-pound suitcase. Time to drop off the package.

  Leaving the restroom, he slid the briefcase under a bench and sat. He activated an app on his phone. The app caused a hidden scissor jack to raise the briefcase to the underside of the bench beneath him.

  During the briefcase’s rise, Yuri had a bitter phone conversation with no one. He wanted anyone who looked his way to focus on him, not below. Yuri felt a slight tap on contact. With the briefcase secure, he got up. He continued the imaginary conversation.

  He checked his watch. Good, enough time. He required at least two minutes for the strong adhesives that gushed from the suitcase to adhere. It only took thirty seconds for the scissors to fold back inside.

  He heard a screech and regarded the morning rush hour trains as they spewed out their human cargo. The crowd thickened. He anticipated the explosion would cut to pieces’ dozens, if not hundreds of commuters. Let my little toy be a gift to your decadence.

  Yuri put his hat, scarf, and sunglasses on and left Union Station. He retraced his steps. Outside on Adams Street, he waved his hand in the air. Moments later, he saw Natalya approach the curb. He tumbled into the car and snatched the laptop off the back seat. “Everything is in place.”

  “Good.”

  He fired up the laptop. Like their phones, the laptop used cascading encryption to protect the drive’s contents. Yuri had to enter a password for each algorithm; each password sixteen characters long and entered in sequence. Yuri remembered the codes because his life depended on it.

  After he had navigated the maze of passwords, the laptop’s desktop appeared normal. He launched a Tor Browser and entered an IP Address. He logged into the operation server.

  He searched for a shift in communication protocols. Finding none, he messaged Sokol. He typed ‘success’ and then shut down the laptop. “Done. Drive safely, I’m nervous about the bomb in the trunk.”

  Natalya did not take her eyes off the road. “Good, you should be. We’re off to the Board of Trade. Be alert.”

  Throughout the city, bombs concealed by other members of Yuri’s cell waited with inhuman patience for their opportunity to be heard.

  The explosive device locations included the Commonwealth Edison Substation’s high voltage towers, a broken-down gas tanker next to the concrete beams supporting the Spaghetti Bowl, and the James W. Jardine water purification plant. A red circle on a map represented each of them.

  The bombs varied in size and number but shared one thing, an 8:30 – 8:35 am detonation time, the timing staggered to create maximum chaos.

  Around 8:27 am, Mary Stewart flowed into Union Station with a crowd of travelers. She was there to greet a special friend she had not seen in two weeks. She had shunned him as long as she could, saying she was required to be by her sick mother’s side.

  He insisted they meet at the train station out of his wife’s prying eyes.

  Today the relationship ends, and I’ll be the one to end it. She turned her head in every direction. Where is he? She spotted him staring at her. His teeth shone brightly on his face as he walked toward her. Before she could resist, he engulfed her in a big bear hug.

  “Why little Ms. Mary Stewart, I do miss you.”

  The jerk. So melodramatic. “My, my, Doctor James, it hasn’t been that long. Besides your wife, fat and happy at home to snuggle with.”

  “Are you nuts?” He leaned in and planted a big smooch on her lips.

  Forced to comply, she did. After the long kiss and feeling embarrassed, she spun her head back and forth, anxious whether someone had noticed their public display of affection.

  When her head rotated left. So bright--

  Edison Commonwealth lineman Bill Dresden elbowed his co-worker and pointed to another exploding high-voltage tower. “Wow, Dwayne! There goes another one! Damn, better than the Fourth of July!”

  Dwayne’s eyes narrowed. The tower disintegrated in a cloud of fire and a thick, dense smoke, lit from within by blue flashes of electricity. He peered across the horizon and counted six plumes of smoke, all from high-voltage towers. “Thirty-four years on the line, and I’ve never seen anything like this. That last one served the ‘The Loop’ and downtown.”

  “Traffic will be hell with no lights. What’s caused it?”

  Dwayne shook his head, his mouth working. “I don’t know, but it ain’t natural. Everything was timed, the explosions were in a line. The bombs in the middle started first and expanded outward.” He turned to Bill. “All right, jackass. Grab that fancy phone of yours and call it in.”

  Bill raised his phone to his mouth. “Call headquarters.” Nothing happened. “Circuits are busy, bro.”

  They made it to the Board of Trade a minute before the traffic came to a stop. The stalled traffic gave them an excuse to abandon their vehicle in front of the building.

  Traders and tourists milled outside, some commenting on the power failure, others apparently not alarmed.

  Yuri, shivering, trailed Natalya into the Chicago Board of Trade, a small garage door opener in his hand. “Darling?”

  Natalya shoved her hand inside her wool coat and clasped her silenced sidearm. “Quit the couple act.”

  “I see that the lights have gone out. One would think the Trade Center would have backup power.”

  Natalya peered into darkened hallway. “Hm, I wonder what could have happened?”

  Yuri knew damn well she knew what happened. Sokol leaves nothing to chance.

  She nodded toward the nearest stairwell. Yuri got the message. She went the wall next to a window. “Get away from the windows.”

  “Yes.” Yuri slid next to her.

  “Put on your
goggles and ear plugs.” She compressed the plugs in her ears and put on her safety glasses. Yuri followed her example. She looked out the window.

  A few seconds later, Natalya clamped her hand on his arm. “Yuri. A fire engine. Get completely behind the wall and do it now before it passes.”

  Yuri smashed the button on the garage door opener. The car they drove here, parked in the no-parking zone in front of the Exchange, exploded when the fire engine passed by. The fire truck toppled onto its side from the blast, sliding into the next intersection and taking out several cars waiting stalled the unlit light.

  The explosion instantly killed everyone milling around outside and the people inside the entrance of the Exchange. The windows blew out on either side of them.

  “Now, quickly.” Natalya moved to the midnight dark stairwell, she put a small square of rubber in the doorjamb. “Up.”

  Pushing their way against men and women who were coming down, the two of them reached the third floor. Yuri started coughing. Shielding himself from the press of moving bodies, Yuri shook his head. “Sorry, asthma. I need a moment.”

  “Incredible. No wonder Sokol never used you in a real field operation. Give me the damn canister, I’ll do it myself.”

  Yuri handed her a small explosive device. “You’ll need to shield yourself, or the blast will rip you to pieces.”

  She thought of the wad of C4 putty in the bottom of her purse. “When I need demolition advice from the likes of you, I’ll ask for it.” She took the canister, slid it into her coat, and made her way to the sixth floor.

  Winded herself when she arrived at the stairwell on the sixth floor, the first thing she noticed was that no one came out of it. She slammed her shoulder against the door. Locked. Blocking the door so that people evacuating couldn’t see, she reached into her purse, grabbed one her blocks of C4 putty, and smeared less than a fifth of it across the lock. She jammed the pins of an electrical detonator, no larger than a cigarette lighter, into the putty, flipped its activator, and stood back.