by Jeff Buick
"The superintendent at the stadium already called."
"He called. We didn't. Not yet. First thing tomorrow. I want to hear from the city that they ordered the outages."
"Okay," Evan said. He made a note in the small notebook he carried with him at all times.
"We need to get into the tunnels near the stadium, but if they're planning on taking down the substation that feeds it, we may need to expand our search area."
"Maybe not," Evan countered. "The further from the station they are, the more area they black out. Then it looks like the city screwed up, not the promoter. And, if you're talking about a substation, you're talking about very high voltage. That gets very dangerous."
Julie mulled it over. "Good points. Still, get some plans showing the main feed into the stadium." She glanced at her watch. "Shit, it's already the 22nd. We have three days until the concert." She was starting to show signs of the panic she was feeling.
"One more thing," Evan said, consulting his notebook. "The truck with the backup generator broke down in Belarus."
Julie cocked her head a bit to one side and stared at him. "And when the hell did you find out about that?"
"Last night, about midnight. The driver pulled in for fuel and a bite to eat and when he went to leave, the truck wouldn't start. The computer is shot."
"How long will it take to get it fixed?"
"At least a week by the time they can get a part through Customs and to the truck."
"Can we bring in one of the other generators?" she asked.
Evan shook his head. "We don't have one close enough to Moscow."
"Damn it," she said.
Carson listened as they dove into the rest of the details. Julie was intelligent and focused. She peppered Evan with questions about the security setup at the concert, from the turnstiles to the front-row seats and every step in between. Backstage routes of getting the band in and out - always with an alternate. Food, water, dressing rooms, flowers, seating areas for family and friends, bodies to man the gates, the aisles, the access to the floor, the stage - the list was long and arduous. For every question she threw at Evan, he had an answer. But underlying the back-and-forth banter, their tone made it obvious that they were worried. Carson could tell from the intensity of their conversation that the threat was real.
He closed his eyes, blocked out their voices and tried to force the image of Nicki's face into the blackness. He wanted to call her, to tell her how much he loved her and that things were going to be fine. That she would get healthy and they would have a long and wonderful life together. Aside from the fact that he loved her, everything was a lie.
The driver pulled up in front of their hotel and they piled out onto the sidewalk. Julie motioned for him to come and he followed them through the lobby to the elevators. Evan already had a key for him, and he and Julie stopped and checked out his room before heading up to the suite they had rented.
"Stay in the room until we come back for you. We'll call first, then come to the door a minute later. Don't open the door for anyone. No one. Not the hotel manager, or the cleaning staff. Do you understand?"
Carson nodded. "Yes."
"We'll be at least two hours. Probably more. Get some sleep."
The door clicked behind them and he clamped the security bolt in place. He fell onto the bed and within seconds he was asleep.
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Chapter
58
Moscow, Russia
Trey listened to his contact inside Langley with great interest. Grant's passport had been scanned late Saturday evening on an outgoing flight from Stockholm - destined for St. Petersburg. It was now Sunday afternoon, and Grant was already in Russia.
Trey picked up a pad of paper with the Korston Hotel logo at the top and sat in a wingback chair near the window. He started a chronological list of Grant's apparent involvement in Fleming's private affairs. At the top of the list was the intrusion into Fleming's e-mail account at Platinus Investments. There was no doubt that he had read all four e-mails concerning the Moscow gig. Which meant he had certain keywords to work with. Team. Lindstrom. Maelle. Petr. Alexi. Plus, Grant had the e-mail header, which was how he sourced out the sender.
Once Grant knew who had sent the e-mails, he had some bit player named Aaron hack into the CIA database by inserting a Trojan Virus in an employee's computer. That gave Grant Trey's entire CIA file. Grant also had three other names to work with. Of the three, Lindstrom was the most damaging. Somehow, Grant had managed to connect Julie Lindstrom to the chain of evidence he was building. Then he eluded a killer who seldom, if ever, missed a target. The fact that Grant ran out with a sick fiancee and didn't use the front door indicated he knew Androv was waiting. But how?
He stood up and paced the room. Grant had flown from the US to Frankfurt, then caught a flight to Stockholm, which was a short hop from Russia. From there he flew over the border to St. Petersburg. Grant was no fool. He knew if he flew directly into Moscow, Androv's team would be waiting for him. He was thinking and acting like a professional, which meant the Wall Street trader wasn't working alone.
Trey sat at the table and pulled out his file on Julie Lindstrom and her company, Details Matter. Everything he had learned about the woman was inside and he read through it. The fact that she had spent fifteen years with the FBI pretty much explained everything. Lindstrom got to Grant and his fiancee first and spirited them out the back of the building. And they weren't heading for St. Petersburg, they were on their way to Moscow. Lindstrom had connected Fleming's e-mail to the concert. He picked up the phone and dialed Maelle's room.
"We're checking out," he said when she answered.
"Problems?" Maelle asked.
"Maybe. Probably. Get packed and come down here. I'll fill you in."
He called Petr's room but it went to voice mail. He tried the Russian's cell number with the same result. He left a message. Check out and keep your cell phone turned on. Do not return to the Korston under any circumstances. Then he made one more call. Alexi answered after a few rings.
"He's in Moscow," Trey said.
"Who? Grant?" Alexi asked.
"Of course." Trey was having trouble keeping his anger in check. The Russian should never have missed. This was causing problems that were going to escalate. "You need to be back here, now."
"Is Fleming sending his plane?"
"Are you fucking nuts?" Trey spat into the phone. "If Fleming had you in his sights right now, he'd kill you. Get a commercial flight and do it now. Call me on my cell when you arrive in Moscow."
"You're worried about some Wall Street schmuck?" Androv asked.
"He's with Julie Lindstrom. I'm worried about her." Trey was seething.
"She's just a bitch. We can take care of her."
Trey's angered boiled over. "Don't underestimate her, Alexi, or she'll take you out before you even know she's in the room." Hand-to-hand combat, small arms and explosives weren't things a typical female was familiar with, but they were in her file. "She spent fifteen years with the FBI in counter-terrorism."
"Whatever."
"Get back to Moscow. And don't come to the Korston. We're checking out."
Trey slammed the phone in its cradle and started working on dismantling their communication and work center. He rolled up the plans of the tunnels, taking time to mark which grid each one covered. The transmitter to trip the low amperage remote that would then send power to the contactors was carefully stored in a padded box. Without it, the mission was a complete failure. It operated on a specific frequency and was encrypted so no one could start or stop the process without the password. It was Alexi's work, and it was brilliant.
There was a knock on the door and he loo
ked through the peephole. It was Maelle. He opened the door and she pushed in dragging her suitcase behind her.
"What's happening?" she asked.
He filled her in on Grant's escape and Julie Lindstrom's appearance on the scene. "Her job is to protect the band," he said. "By now, she knows what Grant knows. It's not going to take her long to figure out what our plan is."
"So we're dead in the water?" Maelle asked.
Trey shook his head. "I don't think so. Petr should have the last contactor in place by now. Everything is live and ready to go. They're well hidden behind the panels, so unless Lindstrom and her team know where to look, they'll have no idea where we've cut into the system. All we need to do now is stay under the radar for three days then push the button."
"Where are we going to hide out?" Maelle asked.
"The Hotel Akvarel. It's central and they don't ask questions. I'm worried that Lindstrom is going to search the area for new leases or purchases and find our retail space. If she finds that, she finds our access to the storm sewers."
"That's not good," Maelle said.
"Not good at all," Trey agreed. "C'mon, it's almost noon. Help me pack."
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Chapter
59
North of Kandahar City
The armored column met light resistance as they nearedKneh Gerd at 15:00 hours on Sunday afternoon, and the joint US-Canadian force cleared out the few Taliban hiding in the grape-drying huts on the near side of the river.
Across the Arghand, the village ofKneh Gerd was engulfed in vineyards, cornfields and olive trees. Beyond the village were a series of rocky peaks, thrusting another thousand meters above the fertile valley. The terrain was dangerous to the attacking troops on all levels. The low mountains provided an ideal spot for the Taliban to dig in their artillery, and the heavily foliated fields next to the river were a breeding spot for the insurgents to lie in ambush. The armored LAVs and Strykers were targets for RPGs and any routes in and out of the town were guaranteed to be rife with IEDs. The column slowed as it approached the access to the bridge. Crossing the river was going to be a challenge.
A team moved ahead of the main column, checking the surface of the road and underlying culverts for explosives. They found four IEDs and blew them in place. The craters the explosions left in the road were a couple of meters deep, but the vehicles had no problems navigating through or around them. They reached the river and the first vehicle started across the bridge. Taliban artillery from the hills to the west opened up immediately. Shells were dropping everywhere, and the stalled column took a couple of direct hits. One was a shaped charge, the copper cone transformed into a hot, molten jet on impact. The liquid metal pierced the half-inch armor on a LAV and sprayed the inside of the vehicle. The soldiers' flak jackets protected their torsos, but their legs, arms and faces were severely burnt. Screaming and the putrid smell of burning flesh erupted from the LAV as the men threw back the hatches and piled out. Choking smoke poured from the openings, staining the clear, blue sky. Medics raced up the column and were at the disabled vehicle in less than a minute.
The column thrust ahead across the bridge and moved into the town. The fire coming at them intensified. Infantry leaped from the Strykers and LAVs and spread out into the town, moving from house to house, clearing the way for the advancing line of armor. The slower-moving tanks, which had dropped back on the highway, caught up to the rest of the force and started shelling the artillery position in the hills. Puffs of smoke gave the tank gunners targets and they were deadly accurate with their return fire. The barrage of artillery slowed to a trickle. Choppers landed on the east side of the river to MEDEVAC the injured men. What had been a quiet Afghan village was now a vicious battleground. The house-to-house sweep by the infantry was proving costly, and radio reports were coming back with the casualties. There were numerous more injured and one killed. The Taliban were entrenched and not giving up ground without a fight.
Andrew, Bobby and Russell were part of the force flanking the village on the south side. They had six other soldiers with them and their objective was to get through town quickly and circle back on the Taliban from the rear. Bobby was in the lead, two other men directly behind him, then Russell and Andrew and the final four men. They kept to narrow alleyways. If the enemy tried to come up in front or behind them they could only get one man in position to fire. Bobby was moving fast, his shoulders rubbing on the rough stone walls until the alleyway widened, then he slowed. Now, the buildings on both sides had windows and doors where the Taliban could hide and take potshots. The men split into two lines and moved cautiously. A door opened and eight guns jerked around. A woman stood in the doorway, a look of shock on her face. They waved her back inside and kept going.
They rounded a sharp curve and Bobby threw himself backwards into the wall. A split-second later, bullets chewed into the bricks on the opposing side of the street. Bobby held up three fingers, then motioned for the four men in the rear to cut into an alley leading to their left. Flank them. Come up from behind. Bobby spoke quietly into the radio. Watch for trip wires on the detour. The group divided into fours, Russell staying with Andrew and Bobby.
The street was bordered on both sides by single-story mud houses and Andrew backed up five meters to a door and tried the knob. It was locked. He stepped back a couple of paces and kicked the door. It flung inward on its hinges and he disappeared into the dark hole. Thirty seconds passed with no sound and he poked his head out.
"Clear," he said. "And it has an access to the roof. I'm going up to have a look."
Bobby nodded that he understood. "Radio us once you're in position."
Andrew ducked back into the house and a minute later he called down to them from the roof. He was directly overhead, leaning over the edge. "These houses are all joined, and there are stub walls all over the place up here so I should be able to stay out of sight. I'm moving forward."
"Not alone," Bobby said. "I'm coming up."
He motioned for the last two men to stay put, then glanced at Russell as he headed for the door. "You comin'?"
With his camera in hand, Russell fell in behind him. Little sunlight penetrated through the small windows, and the interior of the house was dark. A woman grasping two small children huddled against the far wall, watching but not making a sound. Russell wanted desperately to capture the look on her face - her eyes told him she would die to protect her children - but he let the moment go. This was her house and they were already violating her space. They spied a rudimentary ladder, constructed of scrap wood lashed together with dried hemp. Bobby went first, then waved for Russell to follow.
The sunlight was blinding. Russell's pupils had adjusted to the darkness inside the tiny house and he squinted to cut down the glare. Bobby was motioning for Russell to keep his head down below the level of the short mud walls that delineated each rooftop, and the journalist dropped onto his knees. Cisterns for storing water stuck above the walls at irregular intervals and laundry was hung out to dry, flapping in the low breeze. Andrew had cleared a couple of the short walls and was visible only when he stuck his head up. He waved them to come ahead.
They joined him on a roof a few houses ahead. He pointed due west. "Check this out," he whispered. "There's about five guys hanging out up here. I think they're working the remote detonators on the IEDs."
"Can we get them?" Bobby asked.
Andrew stayed focused on the area where he had seen the Taliban. A head popped up, stayed in sight for ten or fifteen seconds, then disappeared. A minute passed and it happened again. The spotters were watching a specific location, ready to detonate the IED when troops were overtop.
"It's going to be tough to get close," Andrew said. "If they look this direction when we're going over a wall, they'
ll see us."
"Shit, man," Bobby said. "This is bad. We gotta get close or they'll duck behind the wall and take shots at us."
"If we don't take them out, they'll blow up our guys."
"Let's split. I'm over there," Bobby pointed to the right, to the edge overlooking the road. "You're over there." He jerked his head to the left, into the warren of walls and cisterns. "When you're ready, I'll lay down some fire. They'll be all over me and not noticin' you."
"In theory," Andrew said.
"Don't be theorizing' nothin' with me, dawg. This is gonna work."
"On three."
Bobby settled back into the wall, breathing fast. "Why always three? Why not two?"
"Okay, on two."'
"Naw, I'm just fuckin' with ya. Three's good."
The adrenalin was pumping and the quick one-liners helped with the incredible stress. "Okay, on three," Andrew said. "You're sure."
"I'm sure. On three."
They split, Bobby angling toward the edge and Andrew scampering over the walls leading into the maze. Each time they cleared a wall, they waited until the Talib lookout peered down to the street then ducked out of view. It took almost five minutes for them to get into position. Andrew checked with Bobby on the radio.
"I'm about twenty meters to the southeast of their position. There are three more walls between me and them, including the one they're hiding behind."
"Roger that," Bobby said. "One, two, three..."
Both men emerged over the walls, Bobby in firing position with his M-4 and Andrew running hard toward the enemy. They felt the impact of his boots on the rooftop and five heads popped up. Their bodies started twisting toward Andrew, their guns leveling off. Bobby pulled the trigger. Nothing. The M-4 jammed. He pulled once more with the same result, then let go of the automatic weapon, his right hand moving at an impossible speed, yanking his pistol from its holster. The Talib had a clear shot on Andrew, who had reacted quickly to the lack of cover fire and was bringing his M-4 to bear. Bobby raised the pistol and started firing. The distance was over fifty meters, the targets mostly hidden by the mud wall. The bullets from his pistol slammed into the first Talib, then the second and a third. The fourth shot missed, but the fifth was deadly accurate, the bullet tearing a hole in one of the men's chests.
