As the limousine left the compound, Knox turned to Akbar Kamali, who had been shadowing him. Kamali nodded. Knox moved across to Peter Goncharov, standing with a group of guests.
“Peter, as you know, Akbar and I have to leave. We have to prepare for an early meeting tomorrow back in the States, so we must get airborne soon in order to make it. But I’m really worried about David. When you hear from him, please let me know. You’ve done a great job. I hope that all continues to go well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Knox.”
Knox turned just as the black Mercedes pulled up to the door. “Your bags are in the trunk,” Kamali said, as he opened the back door for his boss.
As soon as they left the compound, the driver stopped, smiled and produced a blue police light. He reached outside his window and fastened it to the roof. In broken English he said, “From friend with police. We go to airport very quick!”
“Good!” Knox said, as he sat back and they sped off.
Outside the Departures Area at LAX, Kristen exited the bus from the parking lot first, then turned and took Callie’s roller case as she stepped down to the sidewalk. It had already been a busy morning. They had awoken early at the hotel, driven to Callie’s apartment to pack her bag and leave a note for Alex, then head to the airport. Kristen, who had been shepherding her younger friend, finally breathed easier as they turned to walk inside.
“We’ll use the kiosks to check-in, and then I still have a card to the Business Class lounge from my USNet days, so we’ll get some coffee and Danish.”
Callie smiled. “Sounds great. Lead on.”
At that moment, just two miles away, Yusef pulled up to the mini-storage unit, got out, and, thankful that there was no one else on his row that morning, entered the code on the thick lock attached to the door.
Inside the corporate jet back in Moscow, David watched the white light speed closer to Moscow. Mustafin reduced the scale on the map as the missile came closer. At that moment David detected some slight movement in the red light, even though it was in Moscow.
The Russian in the video conference screen said, “All right, control has passed to you. ETA is about twenty-five minutes.”
“Yes. Thanks. I’ve got it. It seems to be tracking the GPS repeater perfectly.”
David sat and watched. The USNet reporter was interviewing a young Russian businesswoman who had attended the reception. When should I do something? Mustafin was quietly watching the screen, and he knew in the silence that the Kazakh would hear his attempt to pull the pouch from under the seat. Just then Mustafin turned around, looked at David, and smiled. “It won’t be long now. Knox and Akbar will be here soon.” He turned back to the console.
David edged to the left a few inches, so that when he leaned over, he would have a better angle to grasp the pouch. Will it just pull out, or is it fastened somehow?
At that moment the Russian general on the video phone said, “Hey, isn’t the GPS repeater getting very close to the Kremlin now?”
“Yes,” Mustafin answered.
“But looking at the ETA, that means the missile will hit inside the Kremlin walls!” the general said, clearly agitated. “We’ve always planned to hit them on the way to Kuskovo Park. You said they would leave the reception and drive there!”
“I guess they changed their plans,” came the nonchalant reply.
It must be time. Lord, please help me. And take me to you if I die in the next minute.
“But that was never the plan! You had us prepare to take them out in the car, not inside the Kremlin, for God’s sake.”
“Like I said, I guess they changed plans or something.”
“But we can’t destroy the Kremlin! I agreed to help get rid of a pious U.S. President and a weak Russian one—to reestablish strong leadership in our country. Not to destroy eight hundred years of our history.”
“I guess it can’t be helped,” Mustafin replied tersely, as he moved the range scale again, clearly showing the slow-moving red light to be inside the Kremlin, and the faster white one rapidly approaching the city from the southeast.
As David leaned forward and reached down with his right hand, the general on the screen was becoming angrier. “Whoever you are, you must abort that missile! We can’t blow up the Kremlin and the entire Russian government!”
David could just reach the pouch. He closed his eyes and slowly started to pull.
Mustafin raised his voice. “General, you’ll do whatever you’re told!”
Velcro. The pouch was held to the frame with Velcro, and just as Mustafin yelled, David pulled all the way. The pouch came off in his hand, and he sat up again, keeping the pouch low and behind his right leg.
“We’re making great time,” Kamali noted, as they raced down the last portion of Leninsky Prospekt before the Ring Road, the blue light flashing and the horn sounding every few seconds.
“Yes.” Knox smiled. “We might even get there in time to see the missile hit.”
“I hope so,” Kamali replied.
The case with the Stinger missile fit easily in the rented van. Yusef took time placing and wedging together the several parts of the bomb for the van, as Salim had shown him. First the explosives, then the bags of nails and ball bearings packed around them. Finally the detonator plug, which he would insert at the final destination, and the cell phone, which would be attached to the detonator, and whose ring would be the trigger for the conflagration. When he had finished and checked everything several times, Yusef said a prayer of thanks and drove off. He was headed to a high school located just north of the northern most parallel runway.
Unknown to him, Perviz in New York would soon arrive in his own van at a deserted housing construction site not far from the southeastern end of the longest runway at JFK.
Meanwhile, Kristen showed her card at the entrance to the lounge, and she and Callie went inside for some much needed caffeine.
The white dot was moving rapidly toward the outskirts of Moscow, and Mustafin and the general were now yelling at each other in Russian.
This is it! David pulled the pouch up and moved it to his left, where he grasped it in his cuffed hand. The flap was also held with Velcro. As quietly as he could, looking up, he opened the flap and reached inside for the flashlight. Full of batteries. It’s heavy.
Switching back to English, Mustafin said, “I don’t have time to deal with you, now.”
At that moment David stood, his legs unexpectedly weak from sitting, took one step forward with his right foot, and swung the flashlight for Mustafin’s right ear. Sensing the motion, or seeing the reflection in the console screen, Mustafin turned quickly to his right. Simultaneously he yelled, ducked, and started to bring his hand up. But because David swung low, the flashlight connected with the Kazakh’s right front temple. David heard a crack, and Mustafin fell off the seat and hit the floor. He didn’t move. Should I hit him again? Mustafin remained still.
Gotta move fast. David dropped to his knees, and with his right hand grabbed Mustafin’s leg to pull him closer. Reaching inside the coat, he found the automatic pistol and put it on the seat. Then he fished inside the Kazakh’s pants pockets, found the key, and unlocked his handcuff. For good measure he quickly brought Mustafin’s hands together and cuffed them.
The fall had ripped the small headset off Mustafin’s head, and it was hanging from the console. David quickly put it on and sat in the chair. The missile was eight minutes out.
“Hello,” he said.
The Russian general looked surprised and said, “Who is that?”
Focusing on the videophone screen, David said, “I’ve been here for quite a while, watching. I disabled the other man. Do you know how to stop this missile?”
“Control has passed to your side. We can do nothing. It’s going to be terrible.”
“I was listening to your argument, and I assure you that the plan has always been to destroy the Kremlin. He told me so a little while ago.”
The Russian appeared to curse. Th
en he turned to his right, and the other man came back into view. “Simon, did you know this?”
The other man shrugged. “What difference does it make?”
“What difference?” the Russian yelled. “You fool. I won’t be known as the man who destroyed the Kremlin! Dmitri, Sasha! Come and take Mr. North. We’ll settle with him in a few minutes. Now, who are you?”
“I’m David Sawyer. I’ve been watching what Victor has done, but I don’t know how to stop a missile. Can we abort it?”
“The codes are known only to those on your end. We have never seen them. You are only a voice. At any moment the missile will switch to terminal homing mode, the television camera in the nose will come on, and then no one can abort it.”
“So how can we stop it?” David asked loudly again, as he watched the flashing light cross into the Moscow suburbs.
“I don’t know.”
David looked up at the code in the digital window. “What about another GPS reflector code? Will it accept another code to home on?”
“I’m not sure. It would have to be one within its lock-on range. If the position is not acquired within five seconds, it automatically switches back to the previous one.”
“How do I give it a new code?”
“Scroll to the box, right click the mouse, type in each number, and then press Enter. But hurry.”
David painted all the boxes with the mouse, right clicked and then clicked the Yes box next to “New code?”
As each box came up he typed in 9-2-7-5-1-2, then pressed Enter.
The code in the box changed, and he held his breath. Suddenly the white light coming from the south turned to the left, the ETA box blinked, and a new number appeared: 2:47. Then the seconds began ticking down.
The Russian general said, “It took the new code! What is it?”
“The GPS in my ID. Here.”
“My God!”
David ripped off the headset, looked outside and saw the guard still standing watch.
He reached for his coat, pulled out his wallet, checked that his ID card was inside and threw it on the console.
He put on Mustafin’s coat, took the pistol, then bent down and struggled to lift the Kazakh’s upper body. As he dragged him aft, he noted on the screen that the picture had changed to that of an aerial scene above rooftops. Terminal homing mode!
He dropped Mustafin by the door and pulled the handle to activate the stairs. Keeping his back to the opening door, so that it might look to the guard like Mustafin, he picked up the Kazakh again, slid the pistol into his belt, and started backing down the stairs.
The guard saw one figure coming out, dragging another, but he didn’t realize until David had one foot on the ground that it was Mustafin being carried. He immediately cocked his automatic rifle, leveled it at David, and started yelling in Russian.
Help me. Please help me.
David turned slowly, his left hand barely supporting Mustafin, his right hand in the air. He was staring down the barrel of an automatic rifle, with an agitated Russian behind it.
He said the only Russian word he knew. “Nyet! Nyet!”
With his right hand he pointed to Mustafin. “Mustafin OK. Mustafin OK!” Then, before the Russian could react, he pointed to the airplane, and made the universal hand picture and sound for an explosion. “Boom!” Then he pointed at his watch and raised one finger.
While the Russian thought about that, David pointed at him, Mustafin, and himself. “We GO!” pointing toward the woods, and just for effect, he repeated the “Boom!” even louder.
Without waiting for a response, David nodded his head toward the trees and started dragging Mustafin.
The Russian looked at Sawyer, Mustafin and the airplane, and made his decision. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and grabbed Mustafin’s feet. “OK,” he said to a thankful David, as they picked up speed, almost running toward the tree line.
As they were nearing the drainage ditch separating the tarmac from the trees, David heard loud honking and looked back to see a black Mercedes with a blue light racing toward the aircraft.
The police? How? I need to warn them! “Here, get down in this ditch!” he said to the Russian, as they placed Mustafin in the depression, which was about four feet deep, and the Russian crouched down.
From in the car Knox and Kamali saw the plane’s open door, no guard, and two figures running toward the trees, carrying something. “That’s Sawyer!” Kamali exclaimed.
“Where’s Victor? Stop here by the plane. Let’s see what they’ve done inside!” Knox yelled.
As the car screeched to a halt, Knox leaped out of the left side and bounded up the stairs. Kamali came out the right side and saw Sawyer standing and waving. He pulled out his pistol and fired three shots at him. Sawyer quickly dropped down into the ditch. Then Kamali headed for the stairs.
Inside, it took a second for Knox’s eyes to adjust to the lower light. He ran up to the control console. There was a wallet open on it. He picked it up, saw Sawyer’s ID, then looked at the screen, which showed the view from the nose of the missile. For a moment he couldn’t make it out, since he expected to see downtown Moscow and the Kremlin. Instead there were fields…trees…an airport. A corporate jet parked alone. He turned.
Kamali had followed him into the cabin and had never seen such terror on a man’s face. “Get out!” Knox screamed, pushing Kamali aside and running for the open doorway.
From the edge of the ditch David and the Russian looked out. A fast moving object came hurtling out of the east, diving directly for the parked aircraft. David pushed the Russian down and covered his own ears just as a huge explosion ripped the air and shook the earth all around them. The heat from the fireball passed over them and singed the trees on the other side.
Half a minute later they crawled up again and looked. Where the plane had been there was now just a tremendously hot fire. Through the ringing in his ears, David thought he heard sirens. The Russian guard hugged him and gave him the universal thumbs-up sign. Suddenly very tired, David nodded, looked down at Mustafin, who was still unconscious, and lay back against the slope of the ditch, looking skyward.
“Thank you.”
But he only rested for a moment. Without looking at the Russian guard, who was now standing and surveying the destruction, David rolled Mustafin over and retrieved his own cell phone. For good measure he took Mustafin’s as well, and put it in his pocket.
Please work. As sirens started to blare from the main part of the airport, he clicked Tanya Prescott’s number from the Recent list and pushed the green button. It took a few moments, but he got her voicemail. He swore and dialed again. Voicemail again. Please! He dialed again. This time she answered.
“David? Is that you? Where are you?”
“Tanya, I’m at some airport. Vnukovo, I think. Knox and his team sent a missile to kill President Harper and President Temirov.” The sirens grew louder, and the Russian guard started to yell. David covered his ear. “But the missile exploded into Knox’s plane, and he’s dead.. A big fireball.”
“David, wait a minute. I’m parked outside the Kremlin, and the two Presidents just went inside. I can barely hear you. What did you just say about a missile? And what are those sirens?”
“Tanya,” David raised his voice. “You’ve got to listen carefully. I may be arrested any second. Knox tried to kill the Presidents. Move them to somewhere safe. Then come to Vnukovo Airport, and I’ll explain everything. But first call whoever is in charge of commercial flights in America and tell them that terrorists are about to shoot down an airliner at JFK Airport, and another at LAX in Los Angeles. Using missiles. He called the terrorists ‘martyrs’, so it may also involve suicide bombs. I’m not sure, but I am sure about the two airliners and the missiles. People are in great danger.”
“David, how do you know that?”
“One of the men who planned it is lying next to me, and you can ask him. But there’s no time. You’ve got to warn the two airports. It could
happen any minute. I…”
Just then a Russian policeman grabbed the phone from David’s hand and pushed him face down into the oily ground, a gun to his head.
Kristen and Callie had watched the last part of the President’s visit to the USNet factory on the television in the lounge. Now, as they were standing in line to board their plane, they watched a reporter on a live feed from just outside the Kremlin wall reporting that the state dinner was just beginning, and that there had been an explosion and fire at an airport on the outskirts of Moscow, but it was many miles distant and was of no concern to the President’s visit. Just as the segment was ending, the reporter turned back toward the red brick walls of the Kremlin as a massive gate opened and the President’s limousine could clearly be seen to be leaving, several hours ahead of schedule. The reporter look flustered.
As Callie handed her boarding pass to the attendant for swiping, she said to Kristen, “I wonder what that’s all about.”
Yusef pulled in and parked in the middle of the large, deserted parking lot at the high school. He had picked this location for several reasons, the main ones being its proximity to the ocean end of the runway, and the tall hedges around the parking lot which would hide his actions from the street, until the missile was fired. From this location it would be easy to pick up an airliner when it was at maximum thrust and climbing quickly, as one was doing at just that moment. The angle would allow for a perfect shot at the engines, as the plane headed out over the ocean. He just had to track the plane, listen for the lock-on tone, and then pull the trigger.
He worked quickly, even though he had about thirty minutes. He had to prepare and arm the missile, which he could do inside the van. Then he would insert the detonator into the explosives in the bomb, and carefully turn on and put one of the cell phone pairs in his pocket.
Enemy In the Room Page 40
