by Joseph Badal
“Nothing like Iraqi jets, a fire fight on your base, going to DEFCON 1, and getting yelled at by your commander to make you see bogeymen behind every bush,” Michael said.
“Especially getting yelled at by your commanding officer,” Barrows said.
Michael laughed as he lurched against the pickup door. “You know, for a missile jockey, you’re not half bad.”
“Hah,” Barrows said, “for an Infantry grunt, you’re only half crazy.”
“High praise,” Michael said. “Okay, how are we going to play this?”
“A lot simpler than the plan you came up with. You would have had us drive to the top of the mountain, shoot our way through the gates, and then bust into the command and control trailer. Very Clint Eastwood-like.”
“We Infantry types aren’t nearly as smart as you Air Defense guys, but we do have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Tell me about it.” Barrows smirked at Michael. “All we have to do is disable power to the missiles.”
“Where’s the power cutoff switch?”
“That won’t work,” Barrows said, ”unless we disable the generators. There are backup generators that power up the instant regular power is lost. The generators are locked up and Kantelos couldn’t find the keys. I suspect Petroangelos hid them somewhere. We’ll have to break into the generator room.”
“You realize that if we hadn’t taken out those guys behind the exclusion area, this part would have been a lot more difficult,” Michael said.
“I’ve thought about that,” Barrows said. “That’s probably why those guys were hiding in the rocks, to keep anyone from interfering with the disabling of the launchers.”
Barrows roared through the gate to the exclusion area. Kantelos’ pickup stopped at the gate and dropped off half of his men to augment the pair of U.S. soldiers there. Then both drivers gunned their pickups and steered toward a steel building in a corner of the exclusion area.
Barrows leaped from the cab of the pickup and ran to the double doors on the steel building. He ripped a fire axe from its holding brackets on the front wall of the building. Michael was two steps behind Barrows as Barrows hefted the axe and began to raise it over his head.
“Hold it!” Michael shouted, causing Barrows to halt his backswing with the axe poised over his head.
Barrows lowered the axe and turned to Michael. “What?”
Michael shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know; this is too simple. If there is a plot to use a nuclear weapon against the Olympics, would terrorists sophisticated enough to devise a plan that complex have jeopardized the plan by ignoring the fact that the missiles could be so easily disabled by cutting electrical power?”
“We don’t have time to screw around,” Barrows argued, his voice sounding strained to the breaking point.
“Just give me a minute,” Michael responded. “Just one minute.” Barrows gave him a sour look, but nodded. Michael quickly moved to the generator building’s door and inspected it. Nothing seemed to be amiss. He then walked around the building, looking for evidence that the building had been tampered with in any way. The only window in the building was a wired glass square set six feet high up in one of the side walls. He stood on his tiptoes and peered into the ten-foot by ten-foot enclosure. It was pitch black inside.
“Get me a flashlight,” Michael shouted. One of Barrows’ men ran over and handed one to Michael. He shined the light into the generator building and almost immediately sucked in a deep breath. Someone had erected a steel plate between the generator and the door to the little building. Between the metal plate and the doors were at least six silvery wires. Michael couldn’t see where all the wires began or ended, but he could clearly make out that a couple of the wires were connected to the inside door handles on one end and on the other end to two Claymore mines resting on the floor, pointing toward the doors. The minute the doors were opened, the Claymores would detonate, spraying thousands of lethal metal fragments at anyone in the doorway. The metal plate inside the building would protect the generator from being damaged.
Michael returned to where Barrows and Kantelos stood by the doors to the building. He explained the situation to Barrows and Kantelos. “We can’t take the chance of forcing open these doors,” he said. “I can’t tell from outside how the building has been boobytrapped.”
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Barrows cursed.
“We’ll lower the launchers,” Kantelos said to Barrows. “Then you and your men can remove the cover plates and the arm plugs.”
“That’s going to take some time,” Barrows said, but he gave Kantelos a thumbs-up sign and ran with his men to the nearest launching pad.
Michael felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. Each of the missiles rested on a launcher that had been raised to almost a ninety-degree angle. They looked ominous and beautiful at the same instant.
“We’ve got to lower the launchers,” Barrows shouted at Michael. “Unfortunately, we have only enough men to lower one at a time.”
Kantelos opened a box at the back end of the first launcher and appeared to press something. The launcher immediately descended with a loud whining sound. Then one of Kantelos’ men disconnected a cable attached to the launcher, while one of Barrows’ soldiers went at a cover plate on the missile itself with screwdrivers. Once the plate was removed, one of the Americans reached inside a small cavity and unplugged a colored device about the size of a coffee cup. He handed it to one of the other U.S. soldiers, who, along with a second soldier, ran it over to the exclusion area gate and handed it to one of the two American guards there. Michael watched the two guards rush inside the guard shack.
“They’re putting the arm plug in the two-man safe,” Barrows explained.
The second launcher had been lowered by this time and the Greeks were working on the third one. Michael guessed the whole operation would take about ten minutes.
The arm plugs from the first four warheads were in the two-man safe and the fifth launcher was nearly in a locked down position. Kantelos was directly behind the last missile, ready to open the control box to lower the launcher, when a strange sound came from the still-elevated weapon.
Michael looked at Barrows, who stood directly behind Kantelos, and saw fear etching the man’s face.
“It’s launching,” Barrows shouted, as he grabbed Kantelos by the back of his uniform shirt and threw him to the side, just as the sound coming from the missile changed to a throaty roar, sounding like the revving motor of a giant hot rod. A blast of fiery air came from the rear of the missile and caught Barrows full in the face and chest, propelling him backwards about twenty feet. The missile moved a couple inches, as though in slow motion, while the noise coming from it gained in volume.
Michael saw Barrows take the full force of the blast from the cluster of four rocket motors. After a few seconds, the missile shot off its launcher and flew skyward toward the command and control area, and then cleared the top of the mountain. Michael leaped to his feet and ran for Lieutenant Kantelos, whose uniform was on fire. He stripped off his own fatigue shirt and pounced on the Greek officer, smothering the flames. He jumped back to his feet and looked toward the fence behind Kantelos. Barrows lay on the concrete. Smoke came off his body as though it seeped from every pore. The man had been burned beyond recognition.
Michael raced to the guard shack. He pointed at the telephone on the wall and demanded, “Can I get an outside line from here?”
One of the American guards answered in a quaking voice, “You have to go through the switchboard down at the headquarters building.”
Michael snatched the receiver from its wall mount and waited for someone to answer. When Lieutenant Schroeder came on the line, Michael gave him his father’s cell phone number from memory and told him to make the connection.
“What happened up there?” Schroeder asked breathlessly.
“Lieut
enant, I want you to make that call right now. No questions.”
“Yes, sir,” Schroeder said.
Michael knew his voice was at least one octave higher than normal; but there was nothing he could do about it. “Dad,” he yelled, “One of the missiles was fired. I couldn’t stop it.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
AUGUST 13, 2004
Bob, Tony, and Serifides were speeding toward Olympic Stadium when Michael’s call came through. After Bob cut off Michael’s call, he hit the speed dial button for Jack Cole’s phone at Langley. Jack came on the line after only one ring.
“Jack, they fired a missile at Athens. You’ve got to get word to the F/A-18D pilots. It’s—”
“Hold on, Bob,” Jack said, rare softness in his voice.
“Did you hear me, Jack; they fired a nuke at Athens?”
“We know, Bob. The F/A-18Ds picked it up the second it crested the mountain between Koropi and Athens. They got it before it detonated. They blew the damned thing to smithereens.” Jack coughed out a strangled laugh. “Now we just have to deal with one hell of a fire that’s raging near some ancient temple the Greeks and every archaeologist in the world hold sacred. Hopefully, we can keep the fact secret that there was a nuke involved.”
Bob blew out a blast of air. He felt weak and nauseated. “Any danger of radiation or fallout?”
“Naw, that’s a myth. Since the weapon didn’t detonate, all we wound up with is a high explosive fire.” There was an awkward moment of silence between the two men. Jack finally filled it. “I apologize for doubting you, Bob. I should have known better after all these years. If the F/A-18s hadn’t stuck around, we would have had a disaster of unimaginable proportions. The Greek jets were already on their way back to their base. If it hadn’t been for our planes—”
“Hold that thought,” Bob said, “I’ll get back to you.” Bob turned to Serifides and pointed at the black limousine on the other side of the road to the Olympic venue. “Those flags on the limo,” Bob asked, “whose car is that?”
Serifides looked out the window and stared for a second. “The emblem is for the Prime Minister or the Deputy Prime Minister.”
Bob looked at the dashboard clock. The opening ceremony should have finished by now. Argyropoulos was on his way to Delphi. “You armed, Inspector?” Bob asked.
“Yes, why?”
“How about you, Tony?”
“I never leave home without it,” Tony answered.
Bob explained what he was about to do and what he expected of them. He ordered Tony to call Grady McMasters’ cell number and told him what he wanted Tony to pass on to the FBI man. He then spun the wheel of the Tahoe and cut across the median into the oncoming lane, barely avoiding a collision with another vehicle and setting off a mad melee of car horns. He dodged several cars and raced after the limo, which was cruising at thirty miles above the posted speed limit. Bob overtook the limo, passed it, and then cut it off against the curb. Tony and Serifides ran from the Tahoe, as Argyropoulos’ two bodyguards leaped from the limo. Despite his limp, Tony was on one of the bodyguards before the man could raise his pistol. He grabbed the man’s gun hand, twisted the pistol from his grip, spun him around, and plastered him against the limo, his pistol pressing against the bodyguard’s temple. Serifides and the second bodyguard wound up in a Mexican standoff, each man pointing his pistol at the other.
Serifides held his ID wallet out and shouted, “Ministry of Public Order; I have an urgent message from the Prime Minister.”
At that moment, Argyropoulos stepped from the vehicle, followed by Ari Stokolos. “What’s the meaning of this?” Argyropoulos demanded.
“I have an urgent message from the Prime Minister,” Serifides repeated, as he holstered his weapon and moved toward the Deputy Prime Minister. The second bodyguard relaxed and lowered his own weapon when he saw Serifides put away his pistol.
“Why didn’t he call me on my—” He abruptly stopped talking when he saw Bob walk around the Tahoe. Then he caught a second wind and screamed, “Shoot that man.”
But Serifides was quicker than the bodyguard. He brought his hand down on the man’s wrist, knocking the pistol out of the bodyguard’s hand. Serifides scooped it off the pavement and pointed it at the bodyguard.
Tony frisked the man he was guarding and backed away from him. Serifides checked his man for other weapons, then pushed him over to where the other guard stood. Tony jerked his pistol toward the sidewalk and told the bodyguards to move over to it. Serifides followed them and used two sets of handcuffs to secure the men to a street sign. Tony and Serifides returned to where Bob was standing with his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face. Tony took Stokolos’ arm and dragged him over to the Tahoe. Serifides did the same with Argyropoulos.
“What do you think you’re doing, Danforth?” Argyropoulos shouted. He turned to Serifides sitting next to him in the backseat. “I’ll have your job for this. You and your family will be ruined.”
Bob climbed behind the wheel, while Tony got in the front passenger seat. Tony trained his pistol on Argyropoulos.
“Where are you taking us?” Argyropoulos yelled.
“You’ll see,” Bob said, pulling away from the curb and executing a U-turn. He drove the SUV at manic speed. He intermittently watched Argyropoulos in the rearview mirror and noticed that the closer they got to the Olympic Stadium, the more nervous the politician seemed to become. When the stadium came into sight, looming in the distance, Argyropoulos tried to climb over his aide, Stokolos, jerking the door handle.
“Take it easy,” Bob said, “the doors are locked. We’re almost there. The Prime Minister doesn’t want you to miss the rest of the ceremonies.” The look on Argyropoulos’ face was all Bob needed to see. The man was devolving into an emotional wreck. It may not have been a confession, but it was close.
Stokolos elbowed his boss back into the middle of the seat and muttered something under his breath.
“What did you say?” Argyropoulos screamed.
“I said you are a weakling; you make me sick.”
Argyropoulos wrapped his hands around Stokolos’ neck and started shrieking like a madman.
Serefides pulled Argyropoulos off Stokolos and planted his pistol muzzle against the man’s cheek. “Try that again, and I’ll shoot you right here.”
Bob pulled into the stadium parking lot and drove to the main entrance. A cordon of uniformed police officers bracketed the entrance. Two of them came forward and opened the Tahoe’s rear doors. Serefides got out and watched one of the men pull Argyropoulos to the pavement, while the other police officer did the same to Stokolos.
The policemen forced Argyropoulos and Stokolos to stand facing the entrance, down the line of other officers who suddenly came to attention. Out of the shadows of the arch over the entrance, Prime Minister Yiannis Ierides came forward. Grady McMasters and Constantine Angelou followed him.
“You left the ceremony so suddenly, Dimitris” Ierides said. “You and Ari are missing all the fun.” The Prime Minister turned and started back into the stadium. He called over his shoulder, “Bring them along.”
“No,” Argyropoulos cried. Two policemen, one on each arm, began dragging Argyropoulos through the entrance. He tried to drop to the ground, but the officers supported him and pulled him along.
Argyropoulos was sobbing now. “No, no, please, no.”
Ierides and Angelou suddenly turned back and approached Argyropoulos, who sagged in the arms of the two policemen. “What’s wrong, Dimitris?” Angelou said. “You seem frightened.”
“It’s going to blow up,” he whined. “A missile. Nuclear missile.”
“How do you know that?” Ierides asked.
“Greek Spring,” he cried. “They made me help them. They want to bring down our government.”
“And you were willing t
o murder eighty thousand people or more, is that right, Dimitris?” Angelou said.
Argyropoulos’ chin dropped to his chest. He had nothing more to say.
The Prime Minister turned to Stokolos. “And what was your role in this?”
Stokolos glared at Ierides, but didn’t say a word.
Ierides grabbed Argyropoulos’ chin, forcing his head up. “The missile was destroyed by American planes,” he said. “And Nicolaos Koufos told us everything.”
A supercilious look came to Argyropoulos’ face. “That’s impossible,” he said.
“Why is that?” Ierides said.
Argyropoulos’ mouth opened, then closed like a trap.
Ierides smiled. “Oh, you mean it’s impossible that Koufos could have told us about your involvement with terrorists, or about the plan to attack the stadium, because you murdered him. You’re right, he didn’t say a thing to the investigators. Not with his throat slit from ear to ear. But you should have checked his safe. He’d written everything down for the past fifteen years.”
Ierides growled to the policemen, “Take them away.” He half-turned to the stadium entrance, but turned back and looked at Bob, Tony, and Antonio Serefides. “Gentlemen, I would be honored if you would join me in my box.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Prime Minister,” Bob said, “I have something I have to take care of.”
Ierides grinned and said, “I assume you’re talking about your son, Michael.”
Ierides statement shocked Bob. “How—”
“We may be a third world country, Mr. Danforth, but we’re neither stupid, nor oblivious.” He laughed. “And we have our information sources. Your son is on his way here. Why don’t you come inside and wait for him?”
“What about the traitor at the missile site?” Bob asked.
