Pendleton placed another call.
“Yes,” Vice President Edmunds answered. “I’m headed to a meeting.”
“Be prepared to assume the Office of the President soon.”
Edmunds remained silent.
“You know we own you. I’ve been sensing reluctance of late.”
“I’ll be ready.” Edmunds grunted. “But damn it, you know this call makes me an accomplice to . . .”
“You’re not a bloody accomplice to anything. Just be ready.”
Pendleton hung up. Could he trust Edmunds? That didn’t matter. Edmunds would become the president and the E.U. and the W.F.C. would temporarily run things. Money and reputation rule in the end. The man wouldn’t go far in the new world government. He claimed to be a sincere follower of the Global Realm, but a sincere follower exhibited different qualities. Hans Van Meer and Milton Rogers were examples of true believers.
#
Homeland Security Agents Millwood and Clarke crept up to the old raceway repair building as dusk approached. Too much rain and too little slope had ruined their ability to identify other tire tracks. A trace on the tags of the truck parked near the building revealed the owner’s name as Lloyd Barker. The vehicle was a red Ford truck, license number DVL-4012, Virginia plates. If the owner of the truck or anyone else was inside that building, the only way out was to fight, surrender, or die.
Weapons in hand, the two hugged the north wall until they came upon the door.
“Try the knob,” Millwood whispered.
Clarke turned the knob and pushed the creaky door open. He flashed his badge as the two rushed in. “We’re Federal Agents. Drop any weapons and put your hands above your heads.”
The light filtering through the open door revealed old tires, motor parts, and miscellaneous tools partially covered by tarps. Dust, thick enough to write your name in, covered everything except a narrow swept lane leading to stairs. The stairs ascended to what appeared to be a loft. Millwood headed up while Clarke explored the lower floor.
“No one here,” Millwood called down. “They must have ditched the truck and left.”
Millwood came back downstairs to find Clarke coming out of a bathroom on the east wall.
“Someone’s been using this place. The toilet’s too clean for a place that’s vacant.”
“The upstairs has a window facing south. The window’s been removed and replaced.” A frown furrowed Millwood’s face. “By the looks of things up there, floor scrapes and nicks along the window frame, something heavy has been moved around up there.”
“Like a Stinger?”
“Maybe.”
“They’re on to us,” Clarke said. “I doubt we’ll find anything at Barker’s place either.”
“Not good. We’re running out of time.”
#
Pendleton’s steady glare mesmerized Latovsky as the two sat in the State Kremlin Palace. The power was all Pendleton’s and he knew it. He controlled his business partner’s fate. The Russian President paled as he drummed his thick fingers on the table.
“Why am I being forced to wait?” Latovsky grumbled. “In six months’ time, Russian forces could swarm Iran from two directions. The first wave rolls down the east side of the Caspian Sea and straight into Tehran. The second heads west, slashing apart Chechnya and Azerbaijan in the process. The two join forces near Zanjan, then move southwest into Iraq and Baghdad.”
“Two reasons,” Pendleton responded. “First, the Iranians and Syrians think their biggest threat is the western bloc—the E.U. and the Americans. As of today, they don’t consider you their enemy. Keep it that way, total surprise.”
Pendleton reached out and placed his hand over Latovsky’s drumming fingers, holding firm until the drumming stopped. “Second, I won’t give you the money until I’m ready. I’m not ready. Our brilliant mind is still a year away from sequencing for remote firing of American missiles.”
Pendleton smiled. “Success is in the timing.”
Latovsky tried to move his hand. But Pendleton didn’t budge.
“We’re looking at eighteen months then before we stand at the gates of Jerusalem?” Latovsky asked.
“It would be foolish to strike without my support,” Pendleton said. “And of course, the support of a United Nation led by Britain and the E.U. Jump too soon and you might find yourself in a war you don’t want to have.”
The Russian President shook his head. “When you put it that way, I guess I see the wisdom of waiting.”
“Don’t worry about the Israelis.” Pendleton released Latovsky’s hand. “The Israelis are giving us the motive by their continued missile assaults on Iranian manufacturing facilities. You move when I tell you. You’ll save thousands of Russian soldiers’ lives in the process. They’ll erect a statute to you more opulent than Lenin’s.”
“Yes,” Latovsky said. “It all makes sense.”
“Of course it does.”
“After tomorrow, it will seem even more logical.” Pendleton smiled. “Think about this. Right before World War I, the world was ruled by a handful of royal families. In one century, royalty crumbled. Only a few figureheads remain today.”
“Yes, but what are you getting at.”
“Today the surge is toward democracy, which is as weak a form of government as kingdoms. But by the end of the 21st Century, an enlightened leadership and a one-world government will rise, proving all other forms lacking.”
Latovsky nodded and extended his hand. “To the greater good,” he said.
Pendleton shook hands, turned, and left. Now he had to board a plane to Beijing. He didn’t expect this trip to be successful, but he had to try.
Chapter 27
Day 651
“I don’t understand why you can’t make a small incision and replace the implant?” Peacock smirked, as she stood, hands on her hips and ready to do battle. “It should be as simple as changing out a pacemaker.”
“There, there,” Ursa said in a patronizing tone that irritated her. “The device is far too complex. Proper transmission is unique to each individual. Both you and Magnus will have to wait at least three weeks before another receiver-transmitter is installed. Until then, I don’t want either of you on an active assignment. For you, other than working at Room 1515 and instructing at training camp, you’re off duty.”
“Who will replace me?”
“Felicia is taking your place in the search for Reed’s people.”
“If Felicia can go without an active implant, why can’t I?”
“Honestly, you’re too valuable. You have far greater capabilities. I lose her. I lose an agent. I lose you. I lose the equivalent of a team of eight.”
Her pursed lips turned up into a smile, and she nodded. Ursa knew how to stroke that huge ego of hers. Damn him. He did a great job of it. What a vain creature I am, she thought. Still she couldn’t bring herself to believe she would be in any danger. “What about my visit with Arthur in Los Angeles?”
“I guess you’ll have to wing it. I’ll give you instructions. You’ll have to find a more conventional way of relaying your findings.”
“Can’t I work in the command center alongside Carna and your team?” she grumped.
A hand to his chin indicated Ursa was considering her suggestion. Her attitude brightened.
“An intriguing thought, so I’ll offer a compromise. I’ll set-up a communication unit in your room. You can listen in on our operation real-time after your shift.
“Okay boss,” she said, “It’s your mission. I’ll do what I’m told.”
#
Assassinating Monroe and the upcoming visit to China consumed Pendleton’s waking hours. As he conversed with Reed via satellite, he hoped to hear something encouraging that would brighten his day.
“I’m quite sure U.S. Homeland Security hasn’t the slightest idea what our plan is. Now that we’ve changed the timing our chance of success goes up,” Reed said.
He strolled about his new communications room, ob
sessively brushing lint off his pants as they chatted. “They can only speculate whether there even is a plan to kill Monroe.”
“That depends on what they did or didn’t find in your home,” Pendleton answered. “Your people on the ground said they had a team on your property when the police unfortunately tripped your booby trap.”
“We don’t know if they ever got their team inside. The only way they could have gotten in was through the tunnel. I doubt they had time. Even if they did, they didn’t get out. Tomorrow we’ll kill Monroe.”
“A perfect ending to a perfect day,” Pendleton said. “Monroe travels to the West Coast, but his helicopter gets blown out of the sky. I’ll watch it on the telly. Keep me posted.”
His trip to Russia had been a success. He’d swaggered through the day, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to resort to Plan B. Still, he wasn’t as optimistic as Reed. Pendleton’s opponents were crafty, intelligent, and devious. Now, an hour before he boarded his plane to Beijing with Milton Rogers, he prayed that God would forgive him for doing what was necessary.
As Pendleton cut his satellite feed, his cell buzzed.
“Good afternoon Madam Prime Minister. In only a matter of hours, we’ll be a giant step closer to world peace.”
“With yet another murder to accomplish our goal,” she sighed. “Murder doesn’t make me feel all that happy, although I approved the assassination attempt. His wife is a sweet girl. Pity.”
“It’s justified all the same.” A twinge of guilt rose in him. But Monroe and the United States stood in the way of the W.F.C. and the E.U.’s plan for a one-world government. “As you yourself so aptly put it, ‘Zionists and Muslim fanatics have been a thorn in our side for centuries.’”
“I know our objective.”
“Latovsky is onboard, Madam. Whether Professor Cline accomplishes his programming or not, with Carter Edmunds in the White House, the Holy Lands will eventually be ours.”
Claymore cleared her throat. “At any rate, it’s a messy business. I’m not sure I have the stomach for much more.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” Pendleton said. Unfortunately, there was bound to be worse things than an assassination coming. But God and history were on his side. Eliminate religious bickering and prejudice, put the world economy in the hands of an enlightened leader, and direct the future unification of all nations. The goal demanded difficult things be done.
#
Hans Van Meer kept his left foot atop a briefcase with his new papers in it identifying him as Steve Petrie. He edged against the concrete wall at his observation point his cell in one hand and high definition binoculars in the other.
President Monroe, the First Lady, and their entourage came out onto the South Lawn at precisely 2:51 p.m. The Press Corp snapped pictures, as the President stopped for a moment and said a few words. His children with their dog at their side waved goodbye as the president boarded the helicopter.
Van Meer was about to relay a call, when he saw three black cars entering the parking garage and blocking the lanes below.
Legs move fast!
He was down the stairs, out of the garage, and down the block in seconds. Looking back, four men armed, vested for combat, headed up the stairs he’d just descended. Van Meer dialed as he escaped.
“The targets are both onboard. The tail number is 029.”
“Roger that,” Dunn answered.
Van Meer’s job was finished. Now he needed time to head home. He usually loved assignments like this. He had a head start out of the country before the actual crime was committed. But if the CIA or Herculean agents were in that parking garage looking for him, his position had been compromised and Reed was wrong about the U.S. Government not having a clue as to how things were going down.
A dark thought embedded in his mind. If this plot failed, Laverna Smythe Pendleton would leap to the top of the suspect list.
#
“He won’t be there.” Peacock swung around to face Ursa who watched the satellite scene unfold from her hotel room.
“Why not?”
“The best of our kind have a sixth sense.” Peacock shot him a nasty look. “He was out of that building before your people went up the stairs. They should have guarded the stairwells before the cars went in.”
Ursa grunted. “You’re right. I’ll mark that on my ledger.”
“You should have consulted me before sending them.”
Ursa didn’t acknowledge her remark.
“Where are Felicia and her team?”
“They’re patrolling by car near Andrews and Route 337. When the Stinger is fired, they should be able to get a line on where it came from.”
“If the Stinger’s fired, Monroe is dead regardless of our ability to catch the assassins. We’re operating on iffy information.”
Ursa’s smile made her feel like a two-year old again. He was condescending. Either he knew something she didn’t, or he was too arrogant to listen to reason.
#
Dunn pulled the truck into a thick grassy area well out of sight. Morgan tucked a large leather case as big as a golf bag under his arm and climbed the steps to the platform underneath the bridge at Old Auth Road. He had maybe five minutes before the target arrived.
There was a property cleared on the southwest side of the road that looked like it was being prepared for a parking lot. On the southeast side where Dunn had parked, a sleepy neighborhood lay beyond the grassy area. The people living in this neighborhood are about to become famous, Dunn thought as he scrambled up next to Morgan. He unloaded the missiles, as Morgan readied the Stinger.
“I’m rechecking the calibrations,” Morgan said, as he worked on the electronics. “You’ll fire the first missile on my mark, reload, and four seconds later fire the second one.”
The two sat in silence for a while. Then Dunn said, “Do you ever get nervous about these things?”
“Yes, so I chew gum. Want a piece?”
Dunn nodded. “Ah, Juicy Fruit, haven’t had Juicy Fruit since I was a lad.”
“There!” Morgan cried out. “Three helicopters coming in from the west. All right now, they’re at 2,000 feet.”
He adjusted the focus of his unit and scanned each aircraft. “Hold on, Sport, something’s amiss. Take a look. We’ve forty-five seconds. What do you think?”
Dunn looked through the sight. “If that’s a VH-71, I’m the bloody Prime Minister. Call Van Meer.”
When Van Meer answered, Morgan heard the distinct sound of Washington traffic. But he didn’t have time to question it.
“I think we’ve been made. The chopper marked 029 is not a VH-71.”
“That’s a decoy and a flimsy one.” Van Meer then spoke to someone about turning toward Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. “Be patient. My guess is another grouping will be coming along shortly.”
Another grouping and a little cat and mouse, Morgan thought. He stood up as the helicopters flew out of range. “They’re flying a decoy. Van Meer says be patient and wait.”
Dunn had just put down the unit and stretched when a black car appeared in the distance coming down the road toward them. “Duck down.”
A second came up behind the first, and the two cars crept along. Morgan touched Dunn’s shoulder and whispered. “Do you think they’re looking for us?”
Dunn crawled to the edge of the platform. The cars pulled over near Medford Ave. Two men got out of the lead car. They walked back to talk to a woman driving the other vehicle. After a moment, they went back to their car. Both cars turned left onto Medford, and disappeared.
“I suspect they are,” Dunn said. “But they don’t know where we are. They’re going the wrong direction.”
A grouping of dark objects caught Morgan’s eye. “Look out there a little lower on the horizon, I’d say 1,500 feet. What do you see?”
“Bloomin’ choppers.”
“There are three—all VH-71’s,” Morgan said. “Take your position.”
He calibrated distance an
d height. “They’re almost five kilometers away and changing formation. The one with 209 on its tail is partially blocked from view.”
“I see it. We’ve got maybe twenty seconds.”
Morgan looked for an opening. “Fire one.”
Dunn fired, and Morgan reloaded. “Fire two.”
The three helicopters veered and swerved. But to no avail. Both missiles struck Marine One ripping it to pieces mid-air. The wreckage fell to the ground in a ball of flame.
“See, just like I told ya. ‘Hail to the Crispy Critter.’”
#
Peacock’s mouth dropped open as the helicopter exploded. She swung her chair around and pointed at Ursa. “What the hell just happened?”
“Our enemies wasted their ammo on a decoy.”
The satellite feed Carna was operating from command central swung to an area near the south section of the Capital Beltway. Carna focused on two black cars, as Ursa said, “Felicia and her team are within two blocks from where the missiles were fired.”
#
Felicia slammed on her brakes. “Missiles fired no more than a couple hundred yards from here.”
“From the sound they have to be back off Old Auth Road,” a team member in the other car radioed to her.
“Turn around and head back.”
Ursa had ten two-agent teams patrolling along the flight path south of the Beltway between Brinkley Rd, Allentown Road, and Route 337.
“To all units, this is Unit One,” Felicia radioed. “Block off Old Auth Road at Route 337. We’re west of that location on Carswell heading back to Auth. The road’s closed to the north for construction, so the only escape route is south.”
Felicia swallowed back her excitement. Leading this important team gave her chance to show her capabilities. She loved Peacock. They’d gone through training together. But whatever she accomplished, Peacock beat her by a substantial margin. She’d accepted working for Peacock, and Peacock treated her well. She was in charge now and couldn’t let Ursa or Peacock down.
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