Ryan sat back down.
“That’s exactly why we can’t keep cutting the defense budget,” Thor snarled in his ear. “The next time something like this happens, it could be on you.”
Westfield dismissed the meeting and Thor scooped up the classified briefs and headed toward the door. He stopped before he exited and turned around to look at Ryan, who was just getting up from his seat.
Thor stared at him. “I’m watching you, Senator.”
***
KYLE KRAMER STOOD over the body of his latest victim and took a picture. He then carefully checked the room for prints, more specifically for his own prints. His assignment was simple, though the execution of it was far more complicated. Kill a foreign dignitary, make it look like a suicide or natural causes, and escape without ever being noticed.
“God bless the U.S.A.,” he said as he stepped over Julio Rodriguez, the Mexican governor of Chihuahua.
His phone buzzed and he concluded his search for prints. He peeked through the windows to make sure he was still alone. The apartment of his mistress wasn’t watched by his security detail. He was more afraid of his wife somehow finding him by some loose-lipped guard than he was of one of the cartels. But neither was his undoing.
“Kramer,” he answered.
“What are you doing?”
“Tying up some loose ends.”
“I need you stateside as soon as possible.”
Kramer groaned. “What is it this time?”
“A couple of FBI agents I need you to take care of for me.” The man paused. “But I can find another agent if necessary.”
“No, I’ll do it. I was planning on being back for my kid’s six-year-old birthday party.”
“Some things are more important.”
“God bless the U.S.A. Send me the details. I’ll handle it.”
He let out a long breath and went over the scene one more time. Dead mistress upstairs in the bedroom along with her husband. Dead governor on the floor in a crumpled mess after shooting himself in the head. All deaths committed with a gun that could be easily traced to one of Chihuahua’s most powerful cartels that often got into public spats with the governor.
Perfect.
He smiled and closed the door behind him. He had a plane to catch—and some more people to kill.
CHAPTER 12
THE SUN HADN’T YET set over Lewiston, Idaho, when Svetlana pulled into town. She went through a drive-thru to grab a few burgers at a local dive just inside the city limits. They sat in their car and ate after she found a place to park outside a grocery store.
“American food,” mumbled Niko as he picked a tomato off his burger.
“It’s better than your mother’s borsch,” Vladimir said laughing.
A wry smile spread across Niko’s face. “Why do you think I left home in such a hurry?”
Svetlana shoveled fries into her mouth and stared at the customers walking mindlessly in and out of the store.
“Do you think these people have any idea that their own government plots against them?” she asked.
“Of course they do,” Niko said. “Every Hollywood movie is about an American spy who’s betrayed his country.”
“Do you think they care?” she said.
Vladimir chuckled to himself. “Not as long as they are fat and happy. They will have no idea what hit them.”
“I hope they like borsch,” Niko said.
“Shut up, you two,” Svetlana said. “I’m serious. These people must be awakened from their slumber.”
Niko squirted a packet of ketchup onto his burger wrapper. “We’re going to take care of that. They’ll be wide awake after we’re through delivering the package.”
Vladimir grunted. “I don’t care if they’re awake or asleep, just as long as I get paid.”
“Just do your job, Vladdy,” Svetlana said. “You’ll get paid soon enough.”
The trio sat in silence for a few minutes until they finished eating.
Svetlana threw the truck into drive. “Ready to get dirty, boys? We’ve got some more work to do.”
She used a circuitous route to reach their final destination. If someone was watching, she wanted to be sure they would be looking in another direction when she crept in.
She turned the radio on and flipped between channels until a man’s voice arrested her. With the wave of her hand, she silenced Niko and Vladimir’s debate about the best Russian cuisine. “Listen. I think they’re talking about us.”
Be on the lookout for a white Ford F-150 headed east across the state and into Oregon or Washington. The three Russian terrorists are armed and dangerous—and they should not be confronted. If you see them, please alert the authorities immediately. To view pictures of the three assailants, please visit our website.
Svetlana turned the radio off and banged the steering wheel with her fist.
“Did you think this was going to be easy?” Niko asked.
“No, but I didn’t expect they would be able to catch onto us so quickly,” she said.
Vladimir chuckled. “Look on the bright side—we’re not driving a white Ford F-150.”
“That’s not the point,” she said before taking a deep breath. “Oh, never mind. We’ve got a job to do. Let’s just get to it.”
She threw the truck into park as they came to a stop a block away from the Port of Lewiston. Located near the convergence of the Snake and Clearwater Rivers, it served as Idaho’s primary commercial port, a place almost forgotten amidst terrorism concerns. Using the Columbia River between the border of Oregon and Washington, it was possible to take a boat using the waterway lock system more than five hundred miles into the U.S. interior without first setting foot on solid ground until Idaho. It was the least conspicuous way in and the least conspicuous way out—as long as law enforcement didn’t start combing the waterways. Yet despite the radio bulletin about Svetlana and her team, she still felt safe.
They waited until the sun disappeared before heading toward the docks. Svetlana decided to walk on Vladimir’s arm, while Niko remained behind. Perhaps they would draw less attention as two star-crossed Russian lovers than as the trio the newscaster had warned about.
After a short walk, they arrived at one of the staging areas for the shipping containers that were loaded onto barges and floated to Portland. News of an impending strike created a flurry of activity by Idaho and eastern Washington farmers, who all preferred transporting their crops on cost-effective barges rather than semi-trucks. It also made for an easy way for the trio to transport their Plutonium-238 out of Idaho and toward its final destination—at least as far as they were concerned.
“What container are we looking for?” Vladimir asked.
“Number 235,” she said. “He said it would be in the far corner of the yard.” She scanned the area. “Aha—there it is.” She walked stealthily toward it.
Vladimir followed her, attempting to keep a low profile—something easier said than done while holding a pair of bolt cutters.
“Do your thing,” she said.
But before he could open the container, a German shepherd lunged toward him. The dog clamped down on his arm and refused to let go. Vladimir tried to shake the dog loose, but to no avail. He then grabbed the dog’s tail and yanked, leading to a sharp yelp and just enough time for him to free his arm. He reached into his pocket and fished out a few treats, which he knew he needed from an earlier reconnaissance mission. Within seconds, the dog stopped.
“Rex, where are you?” came a man’s voice.
Svetlana watched as his flashlight flashed in their direction. The beam grew brighter with each call out to the dog. “Rex! Rex! Where are you? For goodness sake, get back over here.”
The dog put its head down and sulked back toward its owner.
“What’s that in your mouth?” the man said. “You been eatin’ dandelions again? I declare, you’re one stubborn dog.”
Svetlana held her breath as she watched the light dissipate.
; “Are they gone?” Valdimir asked.
“We can come out now,” she said. “Let’s make this quick.”
Vladimir approached the container, looked over his shoulders, and then satisfied he was in the clear, he clamped down on the bolts; they sprang open. He pulled the door open slightly and helped Svetlana ease inside, where she slid the container of Plutonium-238 into a metal box attached magnetically to the top of the shipping crate.
Once back outside, she rammed the security bolt into place and let Vladimir re-seal it.
He tossed the bolt cutters into a vacant lot covered with trash during their short walk back to get Niko.
“It’s done,” Svetlana announced as she leaned against the truck window.
Niko nearly dropped his laptop. “Don’t sneak up on me like that again. It’s not nice.”
“Grab your stuff, it’s time to go.” She waited until he got out of the truck with his gear. “We’re going to walk one at a time down to the docks. I’ll go first and have a boat waiting. Once we get out on the water, they’ll never be able to catch us.”
Vladimir flashed a smile and nodded; Niko remained stoic.
Svetlana punched Niko in the arm. “Cheer up. It’s almost over.”
“This is too easy,” he said. “I’m concerned.”
“It’s always easy when you know what you’re doing and you’re dealing with fools.” She grinned. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
She gave him a hug and then turned around to blow him a kiss as she walked away. “See you soon,” she said before disappearing from underneath the yellow glow of a street light.
CHAPTER 13
DR. WATSON INSERTED a handful of vials into the centrifuge and waited. It was nearly ten o’clock at night, and she hadn’t made much progress. She glanced down at the previous report generated. Nothing but dire news. Despite Franklin’s directive for her to create a vaccine for this mysterious virus, she joined forces with Mosley. Yet her hard work and persistent testing failed to halt the virus’ advancement in the monkey suffering in a room just a few feet away.
“How’s it coming along?”
Watson looked up to see Mosley fumbling with a petri dish as he ambled toward her. “Fine. Are you getting anywhere with this?”
“Nada.” He dropped his papers on the counter next to her. “I can’t make heads or tails of this.”
“I hate working under all this pressure. That little monkey is going to die in there if we don’t figure something out.”
He nodded. “Wait until it’s an outbreak stateside. You won’t know what pressure is until that happens.”
She shrugged. “Fortunately, that’s not the case.”
“It may be sooner than you think.”
She looked around the room and leaned toward him. “What are you talking about? Is Dr. Franklin being straight with us about this virus?”
“I heard that it’s part of some biological warfare developed by the North Koreans,” he whispered. “I didn’t catch the entire conversation, but I heard him talking with some other suit about it earlier as I crept up on his office.”
“Entirely unintentional on your part, I’m sure.” She smiled.
He put his hand on her back and smiled as he shook his head. “I would never do anything like that.”
She punched him in the arm. “You can’t fool me.”
He laughed. “So, what have you got here?”
Watson showed him her research and the results of her testing so far. He didn’t have any answers.
“I’m going to check on the monkey,” he said.
She watched as he entered into the room. Mosley wasn’t the most dashing man, but he was compassionate. Her lips curled upward while she observed him trying to feed the lethargic monkey a banana. The monkey refused at first, but then relented once Mosley took his gloves off.
If only he’d ask me out …
She disregarded the three strikes she’d given Mosley and thought she should look at him in a different light. Before she knew it, she began fantasizing about becoming Mrs. Dr. Mosley. It was a short-lived dream, one that shattered and snapped her back to reality when the monkey drew back and lunged at him. The monkey sunk his teeth into Mosley’s wrist and clamped down. Mosley tried to shake the monkey off of him but couldn’t until a few agonizing seconds passed. Instinctively, Mosley scrambled out of the room and locked the door behind him. He looked down at his arm, bleeding profusely.
He grabbed a vial and scooped some blood into it. He put a cork on it and then looked around for a bandage.
Watson rushed into the room. “Are you okay?”
He held up his hands. “Get back. I might be contagious.”
“Surely, you aren’t.”
He offered the vial to her. “Test this. If there are any traces of the virus, let me know. I’ll wait in quarantine until you give me an answer.”
She wiped a tear from her eye. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I know it will—especially with you working on this.”
Watson took the vial and began testing. Several minutes later, she returned to the quarantine area with a dour look on her face.
“It’s positive,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “How much time do you have?”
“About twenty-four hours—same as him, I suppose,” he said, gesturing toward the monkey. “I know you can do it.”
Watson took a deep breath, gathered her papers, and marched toward Dr. Franklin’s office. She flung open his door, somewhat surprised to see that he was still there. In one cohesive motion, she slammed the folder of papers down on his desk and slowly looked up at him.
“Can I help you, Dr. Watson?” he asked.
“I want to know what the hell is going on—and I wanna know right now!”
Franklin looked up at her, his brow furrowed. “So testy? Perhaps you’ve had too much coffee to drink today.”
She seethed, her eyes narrowing. “My anger is due to the fact that I’m being kept in the dark about the origin of this virus—and now Dr. Mosley has it. I’m afraid I won’t be able to save him if you don’t start talking.”
He smiled and laughed. “Concerned about Dr. Mosley, are we? That’s cute. But the workplace is no place for romance.”
“This has got nothing to do with romance—this is about the decency of caring for another human being.” She put her hands on her hips. “Isn’t this the reason why you’ve got me working on this in the first place?”
He folded his hands and pursed his lips. “Perhaps. But it has more to do with the fact that I was assigned to oversee this case.”
“By whom?”
“That’s none of your concern, Dr. Watson. And if you continue this line of questioning, perhaps I need to assign this to someone else?”
“Who else is going to take this? Dr. Mosley? He’s now dying in quarantine. You know I’m your top virologist—and I suggest you start treating me as such.”
“I’ll start treating you as such once you starting acting as such and hand me the vaccine. Otherwise, this conversation is over.” He shooed her away with his hand. “Now run along before Dr. Mosley dies on your watch.”
She didn’t move. “I wanna know what this is really all about.”
He stood up and spoke in a measured pace. “Do your job. Can I be any clearer?”
Watson collected her papers and exited Franklin’s office, slamming the door behind her. She could feel the blood surging to her head, her face red with heat.
She determined to develop a cure and save Mosley—and then she was going to find out what was going on.
CHAPTER 14
THE FBI HELICOPTER TOUCHED DOWN at the Lewiston airport just after eleven o’clock. Flynn went all in with his hypothesis that this is where the terrorists were headed. Trying to make it to Canada in an eight-hour trek, not to mention dealing with customs would’ve been a risky proposition. Driving into the wasteland of Utah might be a possibility, but it still d
oesn’t solve the problem of how to get the nuclear material out of the country. Heading west toward Portland or Seattle also could’ve worked, but their odds decreased over time. That left Lewiston.
There were other ports along the Clearwater and Columbia rivers, but this just made the most sense to him. He looked at a map of the area and concluded that the fastest way to disappear—and escape with Plutonium-238—was by water. At least, that’s how he would’ve done it.
“You better be right about this,” Banks said as they hustled to clear the helicopter.
Flynn winked and mouthed, “Trust me,” to her.
Once they made it to the terminal, a black SUV was waiting for them. They wasted no time in heading toward the port. Banks climbed into the driver’s side.
“If you’re right about this, I’m going to question that the CIA ever simply let you go,” Lang said.
Flynn, sitting in the middle seat of the second row, leaned forward. “There’s not a day goes by where they don’t regret firing me—I can promise you that.”
Banks shook her head and smiled. “You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone who carried himself with such humility.”
“That’s funny,” Flynn answered. “I haven’t met anyone as humble as me either.”
“There’s part of me that really hopes you’re wrong,” she said.
“I hope it’s only a tiny part, since you’ve staked your reputation at the bureau on this,” Lang snapped. “He can call himself the greatest secret agent in the history of the world, for all I care—just as long as we catch these bastards.”
“Let’s don’t get carried away with all the superlatives,” Flynn said. “We actually have to find them first.”
They drove on in silence until they reached the Port of Lewiston. The three got out and headed inside the shipping yard where the port manager met them.
“How can I help you?” the manager asked.
“We want to find out if there’s been any suspicious activity around here tonight,” Banks said, taking the lead.
“Suspicious how?”
“Maybe three Russians toting some nuclear material,” Lang said.
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