Chasing the Captain

by Terry Shepherd

  Gerhardt grunted as if what came next tasted sour.

  “We allowed Detective Ramirez and Officer Clark to play out their little dramas. When the unfortunate incidents at the Wellington and in Covent Garden occurred, we knew we were on the right track.

  “Marie Culpado became less important. Detective Ramirez emerged as a more crucial asset.”

  Asset? Ali thought. More like an expendable pawn. Did these people have any compassion for human life?

  The picture on the screen flipped. There was the Thunderball map. Way too small and insignificant.

  “This is the City of Moscow. We have information that Crawford and The Captain are there now. Legal proceedings are underway to relieve The Captain of his real estate empire and the associated cash flow. International warrants are being processed for his arrest. Of course, they are meaningless in Russia.”

  Gerhardt fingered the joystick. The wheelchair rotated so he could face the group. He looked directly at Jessica.

  “He wants you, Detective Ramirez. It is clouding his judgment and gives us an advantage. The PM and the president agree that we should involve you in efforts to capture him.”

  Gerhardt nodded to an assistant. The man circulated briefing papers.

  “Which brings us to our other problem. The Captain’s operatives have created a method to breach the worldwide cellular data network and perhaps the Internet itself. They have cataloged crucial devices carried by intelligence and governmental assets and know their exact whereabouts. An agent in Seoul alerted us to this possibility at the cost of his life. Our American partners reported at least two incidents where The Captain’s command and control applications caused havoc. One at an automotive test track in Michigan. And the second, a more high profile incident resulting in the crash of an aircraft in the American Air Force 2 inventory. The hacks kept our enemies one step ahead of us until a low-level member of their organization forgot to search Detective Ramirez after her capture. By retaining her cellular phone, we could triangulate her location and attempt arrests.”

  Gerhardt’s cheek twitched. His dark expression targeted Michael and Commander Anastos.

  “Our attempt failed. Crawford and The Captain are now thousands of miles away in an enemy nation under the protection of an adversarial government.”

  The associate director spun his wheelchair back toward the screen. “Our mission, ladies and gentlemen, is to find and destroy the infrastructure that breached the cellular network, to identify the location of Crawford and The Captain and to take them into custody, returning them to England for prosecution and trial.”

  Ali scanned the documents neatly organized on the table. Andy’s stuff was among them. Ali hoped that the associate director had acted on her demand to get her friend and his buddies sprung from jail. She would need them.

  Two names appeared on the screen. Ali felt her stomach sink.

  “Commander Anastos will take the lead on the extraction activity in Moscow,” Gerhardt said. The joystick tweaked, and he looked directly at Ali. “Officer Clark will lead the team that will find and neutralize the security breach.”

  Associate Director Gerhardt swung his wheelchair back to face the group. He nodded to Taylor’s image on the laptop. “Anything to add, Director Taylor?”

  The visage shook his head. Speak up, and you can become a target if the plan craters. Stay quiet, and you can deflect the blame.

  Gerhardt made eye contact with each individual in the room.

  “Questions?”

  Yeah, Ali had questions. Andy and his crew had figured out how to trace the cell network hack. They could plug the leak in days, and it was just a matter of time until they could pinpoint The Captain’s location. This wasn’t world-shattering stuff. There had to be more that Gerhardt wasn’t sharing. What the hell was it? Why was finding The Captain so quickly so important? Why were they so willing to put her best friend’s life in danger?

  The tone of Gerhardt’s voice told everyone there he didn’t want to hear any questions. The meeting concluded.

  Ali touched Jessica’s elbow as the rest of the attendees left the room. Even though she towered over Gerhardt’s wheelchair, Ali felt small and vulnerable in comparison.

  But Ali was Ali. She had questions and wouldn’t be leaving until Gerhardt answered them.

  “A moment, sir?”

  58

  Ali Gets an Assignment

  Michael Wright and Tom Anastos stood in the doorway. Ali imagined they were waiting for some sign from the director to drag her and Jessica from the room.

  Gerhardt shot a glance in their direction. Anastos must have recognized the non-verbal command. He touched Michael’s shoulder, and the two departed, closing the door behind them.

  The director studied the two women. Ali wondered if Jessica felt that this diminutive, yet powerful man could see through her, too.

  “What is it, Officer Clark?”

  “What is he planning? Why is this so important?”

  Gerhardt sighed, as if he knew all about Alexandra Clark and her obsession with knowing things. He touched a button on the remote that controlled the projector. A map of the United States appeared with dozens of red dots on it.

  “Does this projection mean anything to you, Officer Clark?”

  It did. Ali walked toward the screen, pointing at the dots as she spoke. “It’s a map of every intercontinental ballistic missile location in America,” she said. “The ground-based nuclear arsenal of the United States.”

  The edges of Gerhardt’s mouth bent upward, almost imperceptibly. Ali figured this was the closest he came to a smile.

  “A correct guess, Officer Clark. Part of the allied deterrent that has kept the Russians and us from attacking one another for half a century.”

  Gerhardt’s palm maneuvered the joystick, turning his wheelchair so he could face the map.

  “Outdated, antiquated, and vulnerable. There are real men and women in each of those silos. They take orders directly from the US Commander in Chief via a system that is easily compromised.”

  Ali’s eyes widened. She could see that Jessica’s did, too.

  “Can The Captain initiate a missile launch?”

  Gerhardt kept his gaze on the screen.

  “He can. And he will. Your government is already aware of the threat and is rushing to mitigate it. But there are too many locations, and all that is needed is one successful launch to provoke a Russian response.”

  “Armageddon,” Jessica muttered. “The end of the world.”

  “Not quite,” Gerhardt answered. “Prokofiev has given the Russians an advantage. Minutes are all that are needed. The Star Wars research that President Regan funded is one of the many things that Prokofiev’s people have stolen and provided to the enemy. We believe that they have developed a system that can defend against mutually assured destruction.”

  “Why?” Jessica exclaimed. “Why do this? It makes no sense economically or politically to vaporize the largest market in the world.”

  Gerhardt’s wheelchair purred as it turned him to face Jessica and Ali. “That world is changing, Detective Ramirez. China, India, and Russia combine to create the largest consumer market on earth. The United States is considered politically unstable, no longer a reliable ally…” Gerhardt paused.

  “And expendable.”

  “Are the leaders of those nations in agreement on this?” Ali asked.

  Gerhardt nodded. “There are more powerful interests than politicians. We believe that a trio of oligarchs is behind the operation. The politicians have the luxury of using the private sector as cover. Plausible denial sounds incredible. But if the last four years have taught us anything, it’s that anything can happen.”

  The director’s eyes darted between the two police officers. “It is essential that we destroy Prokofiev’s command-and-control system. We are close to successfully testing our own Star Wars deterrent. NATO has set a public demonstration for next week. We need to buy just enough time for our enemies to
see that the United States and Great Britain again have the power… and the will to protect ourselves. Equilibrium will return. The uneasy peace that is the insurance policy of mutually assured destruction will prevail.”

  Gerhardt’s eyes drilled into Ali’s. “Officer Clark. Can your team disarm The Captain?”

  Ali was silent. She didn’t know.

  Gerhardt turned to Jessica. “Detective Ramirez. You want retribution for your father’s murder. Can you control your desire for revenge to help us neutralize Vladimir Prokofiev?”

  Ali saw the look in Jessica’s eyes that she knew so well.

  “Yes, sir. I can. And I will.”

  Ali couldn’t hide her excitement. The fun was about to begin.

  59

  Aeroflot Flight 2251 - Somewhere over Russia

  When Jessica Ramirez was sixteen, her church youth group went camping. Jess had never been outside of Paloma and only knew the comfort of sleeping in her own bed.

  The days in the wild end with the sunset and begin well before dawn. The forest awakens before you can see. The ground was an unforgiving mattress. Primal instincts pulsate beneath a phalanx of trees, reaching upward in search of nourishment from the sky. Existence was reduced to the basics: food, rest, and surviving the day. You miss the perceived tranquility of your bed, realizing that the walls that protect you are thin.

  It was a lesson Jess remembered during a decade of broken dreams, lying perps and chauvinistic cops who lived Voltaire’s maxim: “Those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities.”

  The rules are simple in the wild. The universe was unconcerned. It had no opinion. Success was survival. Each morning was a new beginning, each evening an achievement.

  These things were on Jess’s mind as she sat between Commander Anastos and Michael Wright in the cramped coach section of Aeroflot Flight 2251 to Sheremetyevo—AS Pushkin international airport, Moscow.

  They were going in above the radar. The Embassy arranged a public appearance, promoting Jess as “The Local Police Officer Who Crushed a Hacker.” Russian intelligence knew they were coming. That meant The Captain knew, too.

  That was the plan. Beyond that, they had nothing. “Put her out there and hope The Captain tries to grab her,” was how the associate director had phrased it.

  Three people against a vast oligarchy and the entire Russian security infrastructure.

  Just the odds Jess loved.

  Russian customs went through their bags like hunting dogs on a scent. The only thing they couldn’t touch was the diplomatic pouch Michael carried.

  “Are you visiting for business or pleasure?” a foreboding customs officer asked. He was a mountain of a man, better suited to be a lineman for the Chicago Bears than a low-level government service job.

  “Business at the United States Embassy,” Michael said, flashing a diplomatic passport and his megawatt smile.

  “And her?” The lineman sniffed, nodding in Jessica’s direction. “Your wife?”

  Michael chuckled. “Not yet. But a guy can hope.”

  “What sports do you play?” Jess asked, going against the conventional wisdom that the less said to a Russian official, the better.

  “Football. Hockey,” he rumbled.

  “You’re still in great shape,” she added. “How do you do it? Stay so… healthy?”

  The linebacker stuck his tongue against a perfect row of front teeth, popping his upper denture out of his mouth. “I still play when I am not arresting curious American girls.”

  Jess shot a glance at Michael. He and the commander didn’t like her friendliness. “You can play with me anytime, handsome,” she said, running her own tongue across her lower lip.

  The customs agent allowed a gurgling laugh to erupt from deep within. “Is this how all American policewomen behave?”

  Jess didn’t reveal her profession. But he knew. She guessed they all knew. “Only the good ones,” she answered. “If you ever get to Illinois, I’ll treat you to some real football.”

  The linebacker shook his head and stamped their passports, waving a hand to his minions to zip the suitcases and let them pass.

  “There is a problem with your transportation. The government will supply,” he said.

  “What problem?” Commander Anastos asked.

  “Who knows? I was told to make arrangements. My associate will take you to meet your driver.”

  The associate was a third the linebacker’s size and half his height. Jess guessed he recently graduated from what passed for a high school in Moscow. He was learning the ropes.

  “This way,” the kid said, pointing toward the ground transportation center.

  The group walked through the airport maze, noticing many heavily armed soldiers patrolling the concourses. Putin didn’t tolerate dissent. These were his enforcers.

  A door opened, and a black Mercedes-Benz V-Class minivan sat purring at the curb.

  “This is Leo,” the kid said. “He takes you to the embassy.”

  Michael scoped out the road that paralleled international arrivals. “It’s not very busy,” he muttered. “I wonder what ‘the problem’ was?”

  Leo turned out to be short, slim, and wiry, probably KGB, assigned to monitor and report. He wore blue jeans, a white shirt, and a sport coat with a folded handkerchief in his breast pocket.

  “Would the lady care to enter?” he asked, pointing to the passenger door handle.

  “In America, we still have gentlemen,” Commander Anastos said, sliding it open for Jess.

  Leo took a step back, shaking his head before loading the luggage into the back. “As you wish.”

  Jess ended up with the center seat all to herself. Michael and the commander took the back seat. Leo buckled up, turned on the stereo and pulled into the sparse traffic.

  “We have dinner with the embassy staff tonight and a meeting tomorrow morning with the security chief,” the commander said, thumbing through a notepad he pulled from his breast pocket. “Your speech is tomorrow night at the American Center. It’s in the Embassy complex, open to the public. If your friends want to find you, it should be easy.”

  He said the words loud enough so Leo could hear. Jess was certain that Leo already knew.

  “How many times have you been to Russia?” Michael asked.

  Commander Anastos put an elbow on the armrest, balancing his chin in a half-circle he made with his thumb and index finger. “Hmm... The first time was when I was a boy. My grandparents were Greek immigrants. We had family in the country. I spent one year during primary school here before the family moved to London.”

  Anastos paused. Jess thought she could detect a wince. “We attended the American Center dedication in 1993. Between work and pleasure, I’ve been to Moscow nearly a dozen times over the years.”

  All of this was common knowledge. Leo could report it if he wanted to. But everyone knew better than to converse about anything other than pleasantries and the weather.

  The Mercedes navigated the M-11 highway between the airport and the embassy in one hour and thirty-seven minutes. The trio was silent most of the way.

  When she saw the signs for the Tversky District, Jess sensed that something was amiss. The commander’s breathing labored. As the limo pulled into the compound, she noticed his sweat-drenched body. His corneas contracted into pinpricks.

  Michael must have noticed it, too. He had the door open when the van rolled to a stop. A memory came into focus in Jess’s brain. A Russian dissident and a deadly poison. She shouted a command to the Marine by the entrance.

  “Draw your weapon, corporal. Cover the driver. And don’t touch the doors. We’ll need medical help right now.”

  Within seconds, a pair of strong arms were helping Commander Anastos into the Embassy. He could barely walk.

  Michael must have come to the same conclusion. He drew a set of keys from his pocket and opened the diplomatic pouch. Among its contents were three handguns. He passed one to Jess, taking another into his f
ist, pressing the muzzle against Leo’s temple through the open driver’s side window.

  “Where did you put it, Leo?”

  The chauffeur feigned ignorance, shrugging, suddenly unclear about the English language.

  Michael racked a round in the semi's chamber.

  “Tell me, Leo. You’re on US soil, and nobody will give a shit if I blow your brains all over the dashboard.”

  Jess replayed the airport events in her brain.

  “Would the lady care to enter?”

  “It’s on the door handle, Michael.”

  Michael motioned to the Marine. The corporal opened the driver’s door with a white-gloved hand and pulled Leo out. Michael and Jess were next to him.

  With the corporal’s help, Michael dragged Leo toward Jess. “What do you know about this, comrade?”

  Leo relaxed in Michael’s grasp, just enough for the FBI agent to loosen his own grip. That’s all it took. The driver shot a palm toward the passenger door, swiping it across the top of the handle.

  He tried to slap Michael across the face, but there were two sets of fists controlling his arm.

  In seconds, the Marine had the handcuffs out, securing Leo’s hands behind him.

  “Watch that left hand,” Michael said. “My guess is that there is enough Novichok there to kill all of us.”

  He was right. The commander must have had a tough constitution to keep the symptoms at bay for an hour. The driver convulsed against the powerful arms that held him up. His lungs contracted against his will. His face morphed into a cyanotic blue Jess recognized from too many strangulation crime scenes.

  In minutes, he was dead.

  60

  Cornwall—UK

  A trio of Land Rovers converged on the innocuous farm, south of St. Ives in Cornwall. It was a place nobody paid attention to. With protected access to the beach and a straight shot westward across the Atlantic, toward New York, it was an ideal spot for UK Undersea Communications to launch a subaqueous fiber optic cable.