Eian downed the margarita with one long swallow, placing the empty glass down in front of Dan, indicating he’d like another.
Dan nodded. “You are one of us, Eian, an adrenaline junkie. Now as I see it, we owe you $250,000 from our last trip, and if we are successful on our next one, you could clear close to $1.2 million. How does that sound? Such a beautiful figure, wouldn’t you say?”
Eian’s eyes went wide. “If I heard you say $1.2 million, then it would be a pleasure to do business with gentlemen of your caliber.”
Jim moved toward the boat’s aft head, gaining Eian’s attention as he did. “All right, gentlemen, enough of the petty stuff. Let’s get down to the reason why we are here. This information is coming to us via our new partner,” knocking on the door leading to the boat’s head, waiting for its occupant to exit.
An older man emerged, wiping his hands on a paper towel, a forced smile upon his face.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce you to someone who has kept the authorities running in the wrong direction over the past few months, Mr. Perluci, formally of the Vatican Intelligence Bureau.
THE END
***As an added bonus, the following 8 pages are from “Fury from Within”, Francis Joseph Smith’s first book.***
FURY FROM WITHIN
Prologue
Berlin – April 1945
He shuffled into the bunker corridor-half bent, dragging his left foot, the left arm shaking uncontrollably. Although he was 5 foot 8 inches tall, now, with his head and body twisted to the left, he looked much smaller. The eyes that his admirers had once called “magnetic” were feverish and red, as if he had not slept for days. His face was puffy, and its color was a blotchy, faded gray. A pair of pale green glasses hung from his right hand; bright light bothered him now. For a moment he gazed expressionlessly at his generals as their hands shot up and out to a chorus of “Heil Hitler.”
The corridor was so crowded that Hitler had some difficulty getting past everyone to reach the bunkers small conference room. Slowly, as though in pain, Hitler scuffled to his place at the head of the table. He motioned for those about him to sit before turning to the colorful maps that were spread out on the table in front of him. He managed a slight smile as he anxiously tapped the maps of his ever shrinking empire.
His hands trembled as he shuffled his notes, deciding it best to lay them on the table. He knew the Russian threat had to be taken seriously. They were at the very edge of Berlin itself. As he was about to speak, there was a loud commotion in the hall and the vast bulk of Goering filled the doorway of the little conference room. Pushing his way in, Goering heartily greeted those present, pumped Hitler’s hand vigorously and excused himself for being late.
He then addressed Hitler: “My Fuhrer,” he began, “What you have asked of me a fortnight ago has been accomplished.” He smiled about the room as if a child who had just pleased his parents.
Hitler suddenly came to life. He pounded on the table in front of him. “Faith!” he yelled. “Faith and a strong belief in success will make up for all of your inefficiencies!” He looked about the room as if 10 years younger than when he entered. His face now crimson, the gray since vanished, his eyes vibrant once more. “Field Marshall Goering has brought me the best news of the war.” He turned to his generals assembled about the small table. “I will tell you,” he yelled, if you are conscious of the fact that this war should be won, it will be won! If your troops are given the same belief—then you will achieve victory, and the greatest success of the war!”
In the tense silence that followed, Hitler dismissed all about him but Goering, motioning for him to stay. Goering nodded before closing the room’s door. Now, just the two of them stood face to face about an empty room.
Hitler took the seat at the head of the table; Goering took a chair beside him. It was remarkable the change in Hitler’s health, if just for the moment.
“My Fuhrer,” Goering began, “I can still have you flown out within the hour. We don’t have long before the whole city is surrounded. You can go to Bavaria and bring our product to our engineers. They have been working for years to achieve our miracle. They only lacked the material to set the bomb in motion. In a matter of days they could have a working prototype ready for use against our enemies. It must be you, My Fuhrer!”
Hitler shook his head. “No,” he said meekly, “I have made my decision to stay. I shall not leave Berlin. I will defend the city with my troops to the end. Either I will win the battle for our Reich’s capital or I shall die as a symbol for the Reich.”
Goering thought his decision was madness. “I must insist,” he said to Hitler, “you must leave for Berchtesgaden within the hour.”
Hitler refused to hear anymore. “I want you to fly to Berchtesgaden but not before our guests arrive,” he yelled at Goering, before leaving the room.
A ½ mile from the Bunker, along the East-West Axis—the broad highway running from the river Havel on the west to the Unter den Linden on the east—a plane suddenly swept in and landed, maneuvering up to the Brandenburg Gate. It was a small Fieseler Storch piloted by General Ritter von Greim and a well known German Aviatrix named Hanna Reitsch. The two had been summoned to Berlin by Goering and Hitler.
Goering knocked once on the door leading into Hitler’s private quarters before entering. As he entered he saw Hitler sitting in a chair facing a painting of Fredrick the Great; he was having a one-way conversation with the painting. He cleared his throat before announcing: “My Fuhrer, they have arrived!”
General von Greim and Hanna Reitsch were escorted into Hitler’s private quarters. Hitler beamed as he gracefully took Hanna’s hand, kissing it softly before releasing it. He curtly nodded to General von Greim. “I have a mission for you that could help save Germany,” he said before providing them the details. Ten minutes later they were escorted back to their awaiting plane and a metal suitcase was placed in its rear.
Their plane never arrived at its Salzburg destination; crash landing somewhere within the Soviet lines. Its case disappearing for 30 odd years……….
Chapter One
Washington DC - Capitol - Present Day
The senior congresswoman from Pennsylvania anxiously tapped the senate podium's angled microphone, verifying its acoustics for the third time since her one-on-one meeting with the President—a meeting where he had overtly threatened her life.
Her hands trembled as she shuffled her notes, deciding it best to lay them on the podium. She knew the Presidents threat had to be taken seriously due to his former directorship at the CIA. The President had informed her that she would be signing her own death warrant if she went public with her claims.
Washington hardball—just the way she liked it.
Eye contact with her husband in the visitor’s section provided some sense of reassurance via his boyish smile. She mustered a slight nod in response.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the worldwide press,” she began. “I would like to thank-you all for attending my impromptu news conference.” She looked about the room, amazed at the full turnout on only an hour’s notice before continuing. “I don’t want to keep you from enjoying the rest of this beautiful day. As I stand here today, it is with a heavy heart that I disclose certain facts to you. Facts so sensational that the governments of both Russia and the United States will ardently deny what I am about to tell you.”
She removed a small pair of wire rimmed reading glasses from her jacket pocket before referring to a single sheet of handwritten notes before continuing: “In September of 2012, I had the privilege to meet with General Alexander Lebed, the onetime head of the Russian Department of Defense. I will not bore you with the details, but it was during a low point in our meeting that General Lebed excused himself from the table, motioning for me to follow suit. Once out of earshot, he proceeded to inform me of something that his Government would ardently deny, and will still deny to this day.
In disgust, the congresswoman absently pushed aside her notes, the w
ords already burned into her memory. She cast a nervous glance towards her husband. He smiled in return. She wondered if she were doing the right thing. She turned to the assembled reporters only to be greeted by their bored expressions.
That would soon change.
She continued. “The General realized the life-threatening position he faced, openly discussing a subject that only nine people were even aware of. It was then that he spoke the words that have haunted me each and every night since our meeting; ‘Russian authorities cannot account for dozens of portable nuclear weapons that were once in the Soviet arsenal, and now thought to be lost somewhere in the United States of America.’ ”
The audience gasped.
Reporters anxiously called their editors, begging for airtime. In their ever-changing world, a new top story was crowned.
In the visitors’ gallery, Lawrence Trevers, straightened his United States Capitol Police officer’s uniform, only minutes removed from its original owner. He moved easily among the tourists as he searched for just the right position to accomplish his mission. His high and tight haircut, lean body, and quick, darting eye movements betrayed that his true identity lay somewhere else, another employer.
Originally instructed to be in position before the congresswoman’s speech, a traffic jam in DuPont Circle put an end to that notion.
She had their undivided attention, of this she was sure. “After our impromptu meeting,” the Congresswoman continued, “I waited until the initial shock wore off before approaching Defense Minister Pavel Sergeivich for confirmation. I simply wanted him to state that my source was misinformed. His silence confirmed my worst fears.
Minister Sergeivich went on to inform me that such devices existed, and that yes, they are indeed missing in the United States.”
The room came alive once more, reporters camera’s snapping picture after picture of the Congresswoman. The news media cursed at the absence of a television crew.
Who could have known?
Trevers circled to the rear of the visiting crowd. Satisfied no one was watching him—he screwed a bulbous silencer into the tip of his 9mm before placing it back into his jacket pocket.
No one took notice as he maneuvered into shooting position, looking perfectly normal to anyone who glanced in his direction.
The congresswoman continued.“Minister Sergeivich said he would never officially restate his comments. He considered his comments strictly—off the record. Within two weeks of my discussions with Minister Sergeivich, he was killed in an apparent burglary to his home. The FSB, the KGB’s heir apparent, are considered the prime suspects in his death. As for General Lebed, an assassin’s bullet found him while attending a veteran’s reunion. The same crooked fingers pointing to the FSB.”
She paused once more, the stress of the past several weeks evidently weighing on her. “I thank-you for your time,” she said. “That is all I have to say right now. More statements will be forthcoming over the next several days.”
As the Congresswoman walked from the podium, reporters shouted questions at breakneck speed, searching for additional details, only to have her casually wave them off.
Crossing before the Senate Master at Arms chair, a red dot suddenly appeared on her forehead.
The bullet had clearly hit its target.
On September 13th, 2012, Russian officials issued a statement denying they had fielded such weapons, and denounced the powerful ex-congresswoman for causing potential hysteria.
On September 14th 2012, highly placed United States officials admitted to the Government Accounting Office that the Soviet Union had indeed placed nuclear devices in the United States. They also went on to state that all of the weapons had been accounted for and dismantled by the end of 2002.
Someone was lying………………
Angels Fallen Page 25
