by Bob Blink
Chapter 46
When Jake had haphazardly agreed that he might work with Tony again some day it was one of those comments one makes never really expecting it to mean anything. Instead, less than a week later, here they were teamed up again.
“Have you been to Florida before,” Tony asked after picking Jake up at the airport. It couldn’t be the same vehicle, but Jake would have sworn this was the SUV they had used in Chicago when they dealt with Graper and his friends. Tony looked the same, other than the fact he was dressed in far more causal clothes as fitted the hot temperature of the southern state.
“You are going to want this,” Tony said as he grinned and handed Jake the familiar Sig. “Hey, don’t look at me. This was Susan’s idea. She said there was zero chance of this working without you being here. I can’t see why she is so certain, but have you ever tried arguing with her?”
Jake grinned and slipped the gun into his belt. He’d had his own long talk with Carlson, and she had a powerful argument. They had one shot at Varennikov from what Jake had told her, and the President wanted to send a message to his superiors. Therefore they should do everything possible to ensure this worked.
It was Tony’s mission. More correctly, this was a CIA mission, not something assigned to the FBI. When the President had been debriefed on the full extent and involvement of the Russians, despite the lack of presentable evidence, he’d decided that if they could, they should try and bring Varennikov down. Catching him was pointless. He wouldn’t admit to anything, and locking him up would only mean he’d sit until an exchange was required. The President wanted to send a stronger statement.
The Director of the CIA had chosen Tony even though he was actually assigned to a different agency. He was chosen both because of his abilities and because he had been involved in the attempt to catch the Russian agent, which meant he already was familiar with what he looked like, and to some degree his habits.
The intelligence that suggested Varennikov might be found in Florida had reached the CIA through a remarkable route. Jake had related to Carlson before leaving Washington what she had told him about Varennikov months after the end of the terrorist’s affair the first time around. One of her agents had spotted the Russian briefly near the yacht of Masud ibn Tahir al-Baghdadi. It had been their belief he had left the country on the yacht when it left. It had been too late to act on the sighting. Now, given his shifting around in time, that event would be tomorrow. Carlson had included the information in her formal report to the President, couching the idea that given the relationship between Varennikov and Masud, it might be reasonable to expect him to show up in the Florida city. It was tantalizing enough, the President had directed the CIA to plan for the eventuality.
“You think there will be a chance to get a shot at Varennikov?” Jake asked.
“It’s a long shot,” Tony replied as he turned away from the airport and headed into traffic. “I can think of any number of easier and faster ways to get out of the country compared to sailing away on a yacht. There would have to be some important reason for Varennikov to go this way.”
That would have been Jake’s assessment as well, except he knew that Varennikov had been spotted. Whether he actually left via the yacht remained unknown. It was possible he simply had some instructions for Masud, and had slipped away unnoticed after delivering them.
“Why is everyone so certain that Varennikov won’t show until tomorrow?” Jake asked. He wanted to get a read on what the official version of events was.
“Masud is being careful. Perhaps he thinks he might be boarded and inspected, so he doesn’t want someone like Varennikov on his yacht until the last minute. If he shows, it will probably be just before departure.”
Tony drove them to Fort Lauderdale, taking a side street so that they could pass by the berth where the yacht was located. Along with half a dozen super yachts, the gleaming white finish shone in the late afternoon sun. In the distance to their left Jake could see the Atlantic Ocean on the far side of a narrow strip of land, and on their right, a number of upscale hotels packed with tourists. Then Tony drove them inland where they stopped at a much less impressive hotel.
“We’ll stay here for the night,” Tony said.
Jake was surprised. They were miles from the ocean, and had no view of the yacht.
“How is this supposed to work?” he asked.
“In the morning we will relocate to one of the hotels you saw opposite the yacht. I’ll attempt the shot from there. You’ll act as my spotter.”
“I’m surprised we aren’t spending the night there. Why make the move at the last minute?”
“Part of our cover. The room was rented for the week by another agent. He scouted the area, found a suitable room to shoot from, and has been staying there. He looks nothing like us, so after the shot when they are searching for someone, they won’t have our description.”
“I assume he used a bogus credit card and can’t be traced himself?”
“The card he used was completely valid the day he checked in. By tomorrow morning, no trace of the card or the owner will be found in any of the databases. He’ll be seen returning to the hotel late from his gig as always, but shortly after checking into the room, he’ll slip out and will be long gone by morning. I have a key card and we’ll move into the room tomorrow early. The maids are used to not cleaning that room until late in the afternoon.”
“What about the rifle you’ll need?”
“Already there.”
Jake and Tony were up well before dawn. They stopped for a solid breakfast, not knowing how long before they would have a chance to eat once again. They arrived at the hotel as the sun was just climbing above the horizon, made their way through one of the side entrances to the elevators, and rode up to the room.
Inside the room, Jake checked the view from the window. They were on the third floor. The room was located so they were nearly broadside to the yacht that was moored at the edge of the waterway a considerable distance away. Jake had to give the agent who had found the room credit. He had chosen well.
“How far?” Jake asked.
“Seven hundred and twenty-three yards. I pre-sighted the rifle to that range just the other day. We are lucky. There was another yacht that partially blocked the view of Masud’s boat, but it left yesterday. We have a full view of the port side.”
Jake could see what Tony meant, but could also see that a number of small shops along the waterway blocked the view near the water. Anyone approaching the boat on the docks would be difficult to spot until they were nearly at one of the two gangplanks that would allow them to board. There wouldn’t be much time to identify a target and settle in for the shot. To aid the shot planning, Jake could see that several flags were available to detect the wind. There were the large US and state flags outside the hotel at the end of the driveway leading to the entrance, and a couple of colored flags a third of the way to the ship placed along the road to mark the exits from the highway to the hotels. There was even a pair a flags on the ship itself. They weren’t shooter’s wind flags, but they would do the job. This morning they hung without a ripple. There was no wind to be concerned with, at least at the moment.
“The windows don’t open,” Jake said as he examined the two windows facing the water. The balcony doors could be opened, but the balcony itself blocked their view of the ship unless the rifleman were to position himself outside where he would be visible. There would be no time to move into position if Varennikov was spotted, and setting up outside would expose them so that they would certainly be seen. Tony had explained that the intent was to shoot from inside the room. They wouldn’t be visible there.
The shot would be tremendously loud in the confined space, so they would be wearing electronic earmuffs. The muffs would allow them to converse normally, but would clamp the transmission of sound when the rifle was fired. They would have to move quickly after the shot, leaving the rifle and all other gear behind.
Tony grinned. “Glass cut
s easily enough,” he said, and produced a professional quality glasscutter. He retrieved a pair of suction cup devices with handgrips from the case that held the rifle that he fastened to the glass so he could control the piece he intended to remove. Then he proceeded to cut out a very large section of the window he would shoot through, setting the removed section off to one side. Finally, with Jake’s help, they pushed aside the bed and positioned the desk where he would set up. Tony wanted the muzzle of the rifle a couple of feet back from the window. That would prevent Tony from being seen from the outside, as well as protect the remaining glass from the muzzle blast by directing most of the force through the cut Tony had made.
Jake had heard of the rifle that Tony produced from the case, but he had never seen one. It was one of the new, microprocessor controlled precision rifles designed for long range tack driving accuracy. They cost upwards of twenty thousand dollars, but were said to be remarkable in what they could do. There was no suppressor attached to the end of the barrel. Jake didn’t know if that was because Tony didn’t want to sacrifice bullet velocity or because the rifle with all its electronics wasn’t calibrated for such a device. Jake had never attempted a shot at ranges where such precision was required, and was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to make a shot at this distance. Tony didn’t seem particularly concerned about his chances.
They set up the rifle, made a couple of positional adjustments to the desk, and then Tony settled in. He spent several minutes adjusting the many controls on the rifle before taking a preliminary sighting. Finally he nodded to himself, and then sat back. Jake had set up a twenty-power spotting scope on a repositioned nightstand and with very little adjustment could switch between the fore and aft gangplanks that allowed one to board the yacht.
“I’m surprised Susan made such a push to have you support me on this mission,” Tony said finally. “She was very insistent, and made it sound like the chances of success were virtually non existent if you weren’t along. I tried to convince her I’d be more comfortable with one of the spotters I’ve worked with before.”
Jake could guess why, but there wasn’t any way to explain it to Tony. Even if he wanted to reveal his secret, this would hardly be the appropriate time. Tony needed his mind on the shot.
“What do you think our chances are?” Jake asked.
“I’m still doubtful that he’ll show,” Tony replied. “I wouldn’t. Even if he does, it’s a long shot and he’ll have to cooperate and stand relatively still for long enough to trigger the shot and allow the bullet to get there. A couple of seconds altogether. I don’t see him leaning on the rail and watching the city as they pull away.”
The morning passed very slowly. Jake wished he’d learned more about when and where Varennikov had been spotted, but at the time that had been ancient history and not important. It was difficult to stay alert and ready to act quickly as the hours stretched on. Several times they spotted individuals coming on board, but each time they were able to dismiss the arrival as someone other than their target.
It was nearly noon when it happened. Two men climbed the forward boarding ramp, almost at the same time as a single visitor climbed the rear. The two men in the front appeared to ignore one another. Jake switched back and forth trying to see anything that would mark or eliminate the three individuals as their target. One of the men in front turned aft once he stepped onto the deck. Jake was able to see that he was far to stout to be the Russian. The other headed toward the doorway just behind the control room. He pulled open the door, then turned and glanced back at the mainland. The hesitation was brief, perhaps as long as five seconds, and then he turned and stepped inside. Five seconds wasn’t much, but it was long enough for Jake to recognize Varennikov.
Jake back-tracked a handful of minutes.
“Tony,” Jake said softly. “Get ready.”
“Do you see something?” Tony asked. “There hadn’t been anyone coming or going for nearly a half hour.
“In about two minutes a pair of men will come aboard via the forward ramp. Ignore the one on the left. The other, the one on the right, will turn toward the doorway. That’ll be Varennikov. He’ll pause briefly at the door. Then he’ll be gone. You’ll only have a couple of seconds to make a shot.”
“How can you know that? We have to be certain. I want a positive ID before I’ll attempt a shot.”
“You know what Varennikov looks like. You’ll have time to verify for yourself, but don’t linger. As you said, it takes a while for the bullet to reach that far.”
Tony was about to object, but while they had talked he’d kept his eyes glued to the scope. Two men had just appeared as Trask had predicted. He tracked the two men, keeping the sight picture on the one that headed toward the door. When the man turned, Tony felt a tightening of his gut. It was Varennikov. How had Trask known?
With just the slightest of pressure, Tony set the shot and then caressed the trigger. The big rifle fired. Just shy of a second later the bullet struck home.
“Hit,” Jake said. “Perhaps two inches left of center in the upper third of the chest.”
Tony had already settled in and fired again, even as the target was dropping. The second shot struck home as well, although not as perfectly aligned. It didn’t matter. The first had been sufficient. A second shot increased the chances of someone outside narrowing in on the source of the shot, but given the noise generated inside the hotel by the large rifle, that was something that would have already been noted by people nearby.
“Let’s go,” Tony said as he stood and stripped off the electronic muffs. There might be some DNA material on them, but they’d need someone to match it to for it to be useful. Jake had already done the same. Both slipped on the ball caps and glasses they would wear to help make identification difficult. Tony opened the door slowly, scanned the hallway which happily was empty for the moment. That wouldn’t last. They had been lucky that the big rifle’s blast hadn’t attracted more attention, but already a few people were coming into the hallway at the far end. Others were probably on the phone calling the front desk. Quickly they slipped out. They headed down the hall, alert to the monitoring cameras and keeping their heads down at the appropriate time. They started down the stairs, stripping off the thin clear surgeon’s gloves as they went. They exited on the second level where the various hotel restaurants were located. The gloves went into a trash container they passed, and without hurrying, they walked down to the lobby level and out the front door. Inside the hotel, security was rushing up to the third level where a shooting had been reported.
Jake and Tony walked down the beach casually, covering the three blocks to where the SUV was parked. They climbed in and drove slowly away, just another couple of tourists.
“How did you know?” Tony asked finally. He’d had spotters before that had seen things he had missed. But that wasn’t the case here. Trask had told him in advance what was going to happen. There had been no one in sight when he’d described the scenario.
Jake grimaced. There was no ducking it.
“Sometimes I can tell what’s coming,” he said uncomfortably.
“You mean like a gut feeling how something is going to turn out?” Tony asked.
“Sort of,” Jake agreed.
“To that level of detail? Bullshit. No one can do that.”
“You’re right,” Jake said slowly. “We were just really on the ball and spotted Varennikov as soon as he appeared.”
Tony was silent for a bit.
“Are you always right?” he asked finally.
“One hundred percent when it kicks in,” Jake said. He didn’t elaborate.
“Carlson knows this, doesn’t she?” Tony said. “That’s why she wanted you here.”
“That’s right,” Jake agreed.
“I don’t believe this,” Tony said.
“That’s good. I’d appreciate if you don’t remember it either.”
“Don’t worry. No one would believe me if I told them about what just happened.”
Jake decided to change the subject. “It’s a shame we let Masud ibn Tahir al-Baghdadi go. I’d feel better if he had to pay for his part in the whole affair.”
“Don’t worry about that. Both Masud and his friend Saleh ibn Tarig ibn al-Fulan have a reckoning ahead of them. We don’t know where Saleh ibn Tarig ibn al-Fulan is at the moment, but we think Masud will lead us to him. Once that happens, they’ll get a surprise of their own.
Once again they parted ways at the airport. Jake climbed aboard the late afternoon flight to San Francisco, hoping this time he’d be able to stay home for a while. His memories said he would, but they’d done a few things differently this time around.
Epilogue
The heavy drops of rain pummeled the bushes outside the windows. The street gutters were filled with fast flowing water that rushed down the street toward the drains at the end of the block, as more water flowed from the soggy yards to replace that which had been carried away. The skies were gray and leaden, with no sign of let up. Jake smiled happily as he looked outside. They badly needed the water, but that wasn’t what made him so happy.
He had been mightily relieved when the date that marked the beginning of his long series of back-tracks had passed without incident several days before. The date passed quietly, and he wasn’t certain that even Karin had realized exactly what the day was when it came. But Jake had known. He had waited, somewhat concerned that some of the events that had begun the whole adventure might reoccur. Happily that hadn’t happened. There had been no attempt on his family or friends. It seemed he’d been successful after all. For the first time in what seemed forever, he could read the morning news with a sense of anticipation, not knowing what events would have taken place in advance. He felt he was starting to live once again.
As near as he could tell, there had been no repercussions from the minor changes in how matters had ended up in Washington. Despite certain alterations in events as compared to the first time around, and how Carlson and Laney would recall the incident, everything appeared to be on track. As before, he knew little of what was taking place behind the scenes. He sensed an increased tension between the United States and Russia, but that might be his attempt to read something into the news. The only indication that activity related to the attempted terrorists attack had continued after he’d returned home was a subtle link that Susan Carlson had sent to him a couple of weeks earlier. The link had directed him to an European news article regarding the accidental deaths of a pair of Middle Eastern businessmen who were killed in the crash of a private plane in Iran. Jake wondered if Tony had had a hand in that.
