Change of Heart by Jack Allen

by Unknown

  There were always the crates of explosives inside the warehouse. That kind of bang would get anybody’s attention. All he 292

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  had to do was get back inside the warehouse. What could be easier?

  One of the spetznaz soldiers would be coming around the corner behind him. Another would come around the far side of the building to cut him off. Josh ran along the back wall of the warehouse to the far corner to get there ahead of him.

  Josh heard a shout behind him, but didn’t look back. He was in the dark shadows between the back wall of the warehouse and the adjacent building and hoped the soldier couldn’t see well enough to fire.

  As Josh reached the corner, the second soldier stepped right in front of him. The soldier looked startled. Josh dove for the man’s feet as he raised his rifle and fired. Josh rolled on his side, cutting the soldier’s feet from under him, and the soldier fell forward as he fired. Josh heard a cry of pain from the soldier who was coming up behind.

  The soldier he tripped landed hard. Josh bounced to his feet.

  As the soldier rolled and raised his rifle, Josh shot him twice in the stomach. The dying man’s arm fell to the side and his finger squeezed the trigger. Josh ducked to avoid the spray of bullets that whizzed past his head and clanged off the side of a train car moving by on the other side of the fence.

  The other soldiers had to hear the shots and would come to investigate. Would they check inside the warehouse? He only had a few seconds to get there.

  The door was still open. Josh went inside. No one was waiting for him. He shut the door and locked it. They might have the key, but to get in they would have to make enough noise to alert him.

  Josh stood for a second, looking at the crates stacked on the pallets and around at the warehouse. There had to be some way to set it all off, but it had to be on a delay. He needed a timer, or some sort of fuse. A fire would set it off. He could set the warehouse on fire, but that would take too long. They would put it out before it reached the crates. He needed something they wouldn’t detect right away, something that would give him enough time to Change of Heart

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  get away. A hot bullet might set it off, but he would go up with it.

  He looked at the forklift parked by the wall. It ran on propane gas. The propane was stored in a tank mounted to the back of the forklift, and a narrow hose ran from the tank to the motor.

  An idea began to form in his head.

  Josh jumped on the forklift. The small key was in the ignition.

  It probably never came out. It was easier to leave it in the ignition than to have to go find it all the time. Besides, who would ever steal a forklift to make a bomb?

  He started it and drove it next to the first stack of crates. Now, how would he light it? He hopped off the forklift and looked around, hoping to spot a lighter or a match. He didn’t have time to go searching, and he couldn’t go out and ask someone for a light. He returned to Dr. Jones office, hoping the doctor might have been a smoker, when he spotted just what he needed. On the counter with the test tubes and bottles of chemicals was a Bunsen burner. Josh lit it and carried it back to the forklift, where he placed it under the hose that led from the propane tank to the motor.

  It would take a few minutes to melt through the hose. The Bunsen flame would then ignite the propane as it leaked out, the propane would detonate inside the tank, and the resulting explosion would set off the crates of explosives, blowing the warehouse sky high. Josh would have a huge, custom made hole in the fence and enough confusion to allow him to slip out, if it all worked properly. Josh went back to the warehouse door. All he had to do was stay alive a few minutes longer, long enough to get a safe distance from the warehouse.

  It looked clear when he came out, but those soldiers could be anywhere. He heard voices from another part of the enclosure.

  Sounds echoed off the walls of the buildings and it was hard to tell from which direction they came. They did, however, sound frantic. Those soldiers would shoot him down before they stopped to ask questions.

  Across the wide access road between the warehouse and the 294

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  next building was a narrow passage between the building and the fence. If he could reach it, he might be able to get a safe distance from the warehouse. Josh heard the sounds of vehicles. He had to do it now.

  It was a short sprint across the wide gravel road. Just as he reached the middle, a truck came around the corner of the building and skidded to a stop, shining its headlights on him from behind. There was a shout, then the truck’s motor roared and came closer.

  Josh ran as hard as he could for the narrow opening, with the sinking feeling he would not make it. He turned and faced the truck, backpeddling. It came right toward him; the driver intended to run him down. Josh was blinded by the headlights.

  He raised his pistol and fired a shot where he thought the driver sat. The windshield shattered. Josh fired again, then a third shot.

  He lowered his aim and fired at the front tire.

  The truck lurched to the left, struck the brick wall only a few feet from where he stood, rebounded to the right, and charged around him, the engine roaring. It accelerated out of control and ran right through the fence, shearing one of the posts clean and carving open a gaping hole.

  Josh went to the truck. How convenient. The driver was unconscious, slumped forward against the steering wheel. As he climbed through the torn fence he heard a shout from behind and glanced back. The soldiers had found him. No doubt they heard the crash.

  Josh dashed for the train as he tucked his gun into his holster.

  It was moving about ten miles an hour. How the hell was he supposed to jump on a moving train? It didn’t seem so easy when he had to really do it, especially in the darkness. The soldiers were firing at him. Some of the bullets hit the truck, some hit the side of the train. He had to figure it out in a hurry.

  One of the box cars coming toward him had a ladder that started at his waist level and went up the side. He could reach it.

  He trotted alongside, watching the ladder approach. If he missed it, he would fall under the train’s wheels and be cut to pieces. If Change of Heart

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  he didn’t try, the soldiers would shoot him full of holes. Either way, he’d be dead. Josh steeled his nerves and leapt for the ladder.

  He grabbed it with his right hand, but his right shoulder still hurt and his hand slipped off. His left hand grabbed one of the rungs of the ladder. His body slammed against the side of the box car and he swung by his arm, wrenching the muscles around his broken ribs. Josh gritted his teeth to fight back the pain, but held on.

  The soldiers came through the fence. One or two stopped and fired. A couple of others ran alongside the train, looking for a way to jump on. Josh tried to reach for his gun with his right hand, but his arm hurt too much; it hung limp at his side, throbbing in pain from the shoulder to the tips of his fingers. Just as well. He couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with his right hand.

  One of the soldiers tried to jump on the train and slipped.

  His body rolled under the wheels. Josh heard his screams over the gunfire. A second soldier managed to grab the ladder on the box car directly behind the car to which Josh clung.

  Josh watched, feeling like a helpless target. The soldier dangled by his hands for a second before he got his feet on the rungs, then secured one arm around the ladder and raised his AK-47 with the other.

  Any time now. Any time would be good. That Bunsen burner should have melted through that hose by now. The soldier hanging from the next box car grinned, showing a gold tooth. Josh hated him. Nobody should like their job that much.

  At first he heard a muffled boom. A moment later came a tremendous crack, and a thunderous explosion blasted the roof of the warehouse open. The soldier turned away from Josh, looking back over his shoulder. Josh realized the initial muffled boom must have been the propane tank going off.

 
A second explosion followed the first, then a third. All twelve pallets of explosives went up one after the other in thunderous succession. The series of blasts blew out the walls of the warehouse.

  The ground shook. The train swayed, then began to topple. The 296

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  cars going by the warehouse were knocked over by the blast, and each connected car in the train fell over like dominoes in a sequence.

  The soldier on the next car dropped his rifle and squeezed the ladder in both hands, screaming as he looked at Josh. For a second, Josh wished he could do the same. It seemed like the right thing to do. He was sure, however, it would mean certain death.

  He had to give himself a better chance. With all his strength, he put his feet on the bottom rung and pushed himself off into space as the box car jerked and rolled away in the opposite direction.

  Josh sailed through the air and dropped to the ground. He saw the soldier still clinging to the ladder, his mouth open as he went over with the train, but Josh could not hear his scream over the noise of the crashing cars.

  Josh tumbled twice, got up, and ran. The train wasn’t moving very fast, but the box cars might be falling on top of him. He didn’t want to look back to find out.

  It was a long walk back to the U.S. Embassy. Josh had money for a cab, but never saw one go by. He had removed the uniform jacket and carried it over his arm, covering the gun and the holster.

  He didn’t want anyone who might be out to notice him or ask questions, especially the police.

  He probably didn’t have to worry about the police though.

  He heard dozens of sirens, all headed to the mess he made at the train yard. Every cop and every fire truck in Moscow would be there. Even so, Josh didn’t want to give them the chance to ask him questions. If the police detained him it might be months or even years before he got out, if ever.

  Josh didn’t have the heart to go back to the Kurchenko house.

  How could he face Yuri and tell him he failed to rescue Valeria when he promised he would? Yuri trusted him and Josh let him down.

  Valeria was back in Mironov’s hands and was probably working for him again. That was worst of all. Had she been working for him all this time? It was possible, even likely. Mironov had a Change of Heart

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  way of being clever and resourceful that frustrated Josh. Nothing he saw tonight changed that opinion.

  So now what was he supposed to do? Josh crossed Bolod-novich Street. At two in the morning, the southern end of Moscow was like a ghost town. This part was mostly a business district.

  At the end of the day, people closed up their offices or stores and went home, leaving the streets deserted.

  Something Walt said stuck in his mind. He had speculated Mironov needed Valeria to put the Communists back in power.

  But how did he plan to do that? Josh’s feet tapped in a rhythm on the pavement as he walked. If he was going to try to put his party back in power, how would he do that? He stopped, holding his hands out, palms up as if the answer was obvious to anyone.

  A vote in Parliament. Mironov would claim the Democracy was weak and demand a vote. Valeria was his proof. Of course. It was perfect. And it would work.

  Josh’s eyes opened wide with shock. Oh my God. It would work.

  He walked on more slowly, his head down. He had to stop Mironov now, no matter what. He could kill him, that would stop his plans, and if he couldn’t do that, he’d kill Valeria. He felt a chill down his back. He didn’t like that idea, not at all. She didn’t deserve that fate. Neither did Yuri. Just the same, Josh would kill her anyway, if it came down to it.

  He had to stop Mironov before he got to Parliament. He would not give Mironov a chance to ask for a vote. And where did they hold Parliament? Josh’s eyebrows went up. The Kremlin, of course.

  * * * *

  Josh walked down the hall, shaking his head. The sight was astounding. He passed a Russian family of five. The father had a Japanese camera and was taking pictures of his wife and three kids in front of a huge painting of Cossacks fighting Napoleon. It was astounding the way they just let people walk into the Kremlin these 298

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  days, like they did at the Capitol Building in Washington, D.C.

  There was a time when the Kremlin was one of the most difficult areas in the world to gain access, and now they let the public come and go to witness the everyday function of government. It had become something like a shrine to the former Soviet Union.

  Once inside, Josh worried Mironov had already arrived and was in place on the Parliament floor before the morning session began. Josh had arrived before dawn to get in as soon as the doors opened, but the Parliament Building was very large. Mironov might have used another entrance. It was likely he still had influence there and someone might have let him slip around normal procedures.

  Josh made his way down the wide halls, examining the faces of each person he passed. He followed the directions of the young woman at the information desk and found the large, white double doors that led to the Parliament floor.

  To submit a petition to the floor during session required an appointment, and all appointments entered through these double doors. Josh was early. The sunrise was just showing through the tall, cathedral windows at the end of the long, marble lined hallway. The footsteps and the voices of the people echoed off the hard walls and high, arched ceiling.

  A pair of guards were standing on either side of the doors, wearing the dark brown khaki uniforms of the Russian Army with the red trim and the very neat caps. One was checking the papers of people who wanted in. Josh still had the papers that identified him as Captain Dazhyatchkaya of the Communist Party. Would they still work? He thumbed the papers in his pocket. He had little choice but to try.

  He went to the wrong guard, mumbling in Russian and trying to unfold the papers. He kept his right arm tight at his side to keep his gun covered under his overcoat. The first guard turned him to the other guard, who was holding out his hand, beckoning impatiently.

  “Hurry, please, sir. You’re holding up the line,” the guard said.

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  Josh held out the papers, but just before they reached the guard’s hand, he dropped them.

  “Excuse me, excuse me,” Josh begged.

  He got down on his hands and knees, chasing the papers before they blew away.

  “Let me get that,” the guard snapped.

  He grabbed Josh by the arm and lifted him to his feet, then scooped up the remaining papers in one wad. Josh handed him the rest of the papers, arching his eyebrows high. The guard snatched the papers away and quickly sorted through them.

  “You are Captain Dazhyatchkaya?” the guard said, pausing to read one of the sheets.

  Josh straightened and grinned as wide as he could, and snapped his right arm in a quick salute.

  “I am,” he said.

  The guard stared at him, one brow lower than the other. Josh let his shoulders slump.

  “You can go in,” the guard said, and thrust the wad of papers at him.

  Josh jammed the papers into his pocket, saluted again, and strutted through the doors.

  He entered an antechamber, which was like a staging area for some sort of vaudeville show. A small crowd of people was waiting for their chance to file their petitions on the Parliament floor.

  Josh mingled through. Some were grouped in heated discussions, others were standing alone, their mouths working as if they were speaking to an imaginary audience. Through a doorway on the far side, Josh could see into the Parliament chamber itself. A row of elected officials was seated at a long table. On the wall behind them hung the blue, red and white of the Russian flag.

  Josh was looking for Mironov. His bulky body should have stood out in the crowd, but he was nowhere in that room. Josh cursed silently, clenching his teeth. Either he had guessed wrong, or he had come at the wrong time. If he was early, he still had a chance to stop Mironov.
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  stop a process that might end in a world war? He had no idea.

  He stopped, and felt a shiver down his back. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about it. His eyes narrowed to slits, staring toward the back of the room at Valeria. He had guessed right, and he was on time. As he tucked his hand beneath his overcoat under his right arm and touched the snap that held his Smith & Wesson in the shoulder holster, he wished he had guessed wrong.

  Valeria was facing the far side of the room and the door that led onto the floor of Parliament. Josh was to her right, and her arm hung limply at her side. This was what it had all come to.

  He would kill Valeria and it would all be over. Mironov might try again, but at least this time he would be stopped. Josh closed his hand around the heavy grip of his pistol and glanced back at the guards. How much time would he spend in a Russian prison before the Navy got him out? Would they even try to get him out after this?

  The man standing at Valeria’s left jerked her arm. Josh stopped, slipping the pistol back under his overcoat. The man pulled her arm like he was tugging on a dog’s leash, and they turned. Josh tried to shrink back into the crowd, but had nowhere to go.

  Valeria saw him and stopped. Her eyes widened, staring straight at him. Josh tried to force himself to feel only cold in his veins, but couldn’t. Her eyes were desperate, pleading.

  The man jerked her arm again, but she wouldn’t move. He looked in the direction Valeria was looking and saw Josh. He grinned, but to Josh, his glare was as cold as the steel of the pistol in his hands. It took him only a moment to recognize that hard, angular face with the crooked teeth. Kobalev, one of Mironov’s best agents.

  Kobalev carried a black leather jacket over his other arm. He moved it aside to show Josh the Makarov in his hand, jammed into Valeria’s ribs. He jammed it harder and Valeria flinched.