The Prague Plot: The Cold War Meets the Jihad (Jeannine Ryan Series Book 3)

by Mosimann, James E.

  Not again!

  ***

  At the Hus-Kinetika plant in Maryland, Josef Hrubec sat at the desk he had appropriated. His coat was folded on a chair behind him. His Browning lay on the desk, pointed at the empty chair that faced him.

  Hrubec was confident. It would not be long before Hamm’s protégé, this “Elena Krkova,” told him everything she knew.

  Hamm had defeated him in Belgium, and caused him to lose face in the eyes of Karel Moravec. Hrubec would take additional pleasure in this interrogation. First, Elena would suffer more than necessary, then she would die.

  He rolled up his sleeves. He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes.

  This would be Hamm’s first payment, but not his last.

  ***

  Hrubec opened his eyes to a repeated screeching and clanging.

  Brang-Wheep-up, Brang-Wheep-up, Brang-Wheep-up.

  Michal’s supervisor crashed into the office. He ignored Hrubec and went to a panel on the wall. Among rows of green lights, several blinked orange.

  Brang-Wheep-up, Brang-Wheep-up, Brang-Wheep-up.

  The Chief clicked rapidly on a console, but the blinking orange lights turned a permanent red. The alarm changed to a different more shrill rhythm.

  Wheep-up-Wheep, Wheep-up-Wheep, Wheep-Wheep-up.

  The Chief cursed.

  “There’s a fire in hood number 17 on the third floor. The ventilator fan is jammed and there’s leakage into Zones A and B. We had a Novichok precursor in Hood 15. Its fan is working, but Hood 15 is in Zone A. I can’t take a chance. I have to seal off the third floor and evacuate the building. Come with me.”

  Hrubec arose. They left the room for the main corridor.

  In the corridor, Hrubec watched a technician in a Hazmat suit help a coughing, face-blackened, Michal Pacak, off the elevator.

  They were followed by two stumbling security men. Both coughed soot-flecked mucous.

  Hrubec glared at them. They were empty-handed.

  He barked orders into his cell phone.

  ***

  The scene outside Hus-Kinetika’s Maryland plant was one of confusion. The plant had not conducted emergency drills for a year, and the exodus from the plant was not orderly. Workers of all sorts mingled together in a confused mass, awaiting instructions from the authorities. Those who knew of the dangerous chemicals on the third floor, positioned themselves far from the building, ready to flee. Others stared upwards to the third floor, hoping to see a cause for the alarm, but the windowless wall gave no indication of what was inside.

  In contrast, Hrubec had organized his security teams. They checked everyone departing the building. Only those with self-contained breathing systems, Hazmat and local Firemen, were allowed to enter. They in turn hustled occupants to the exits.

  Hrubec took his stand at the main door. Elena would be forced to leave. She could not escape.

  ***

  Besides the security teams, one other group stood out from the chaos.

  Three fire trucks from two local stations, were parked at the ready, hoses primed as they waited instructions. Behind them, several ambulances, motors running, awaited victims for transport. A cadre of EMT’s administered oxygen to a dozen prone victims of smoke inhalation.

  One ambulance was parked slightly apart from the others. It was to this vehicle that his Hazmat rescuer led Michal. With the help of the driver, Michal, coughing dark mucous, was strapped to a gurney and loaded through the rear doors. Lights flashing, the driver left, as an arriving ambulance took his space.

  ***

  The last straggler was out the building. The fireman signaled “All Clear.”

  No one had seen Elena.

  Hrubec gnashed his teeth and threw himself at the entrance. His own man held him back from the firemen who blocked the doorway.

  Snarling, Hrubec stepped back. He motioned his men to search the crowd.

  ***

  Once on the John F. Kennedy Memorial Highway, Highway 95, Tom Fletcher, the driver of the ambulance, switched off his flashers, and headed at a normal pace towards Baltimore.

  He turned to Michal’s rescuer. Elena Krkova disconnected her breathing apparatus and removed her hood. She unwrapped her hair from its binding.

  “Tom, thank God you got my signal. I hoped I would never need extrication. But how did you know to bring the ambulance?”

  “Police radio. A major alarm. It’s a chemical plant. The ambulance seemed a good cover. But what about you? Where did that Hazmat outfit come from?”

  Elena pointed back to the gurney. Michal Pacak was sitting up, holding an oxygen mask to his face.

  “It was Michal’s idea. Hrubec’s goons were after me. He told me to put the full-body suit on. Then he went to the chemical fume hood, jammed the exhaust vent, and lit fire in it. Smoke filled our lab area. Michal inhaled a lot of it himself. He saved me.”

  She turned to Michal who still held the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. His eyes were still glazed.

  “You saved my life. Are you all right?”

  Michal lowered the mask and coughed.

  “Not sure. Think so.”

  Elena turned to Tom.

  “He should see a doctor.”

  “We’ll stop in Bethesda. I’ll take him to Navy Med. They’ll take care of him. Later he may want to cooperate with us.”

  “Tom, from my point of view, he already has. But I should report to Bill Hamm. Where is he?”

  “At a safe house. You’ll see him soon enough. He’s not far. I already signaled him that you’re OK.”

  In the back, Michal breathed normally. He recognized the name “Hamm” from Hrubec’s interrogation.

  His eyes shifted from the rear of Tom’s head to Elena’s and back.

  Who the hell are these people?

  Michal blew his nose. The Kleenex filled with dark mucous.

  He put the oxygen mask back on his face. He never could go back to his job.

  Now what?

  ***

  In Virginia, Jim Harrigan drove north along route 15 towards Leesburg. He was alone in his red F250 pickup truck. Blasting from the radio were the classic clangs of Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, “Born to Run.” Jim’s free hand pounded the wheel with the stirring rhythm.

  Finally Jim spotted the odd structure on his right, a brick and cinderblock “castle” constructed by some rural “Virginia Knight” to house his family. Jim smiled, if his memory was accurate, the turn off was not far ahead.

  He was right. He left the highway for a narrow road that wound alternately through fields and wood lots. As the fields became scarce and the woods more dense he knew he was near his goal. He turned off the music. Somehow stealth and silence were appropriate here.

  He saw the iron gate that blocked the passage to a narrow lane. Jim stopped his pickup by the entrance. He looked around but saw no one.

  Then he spotted it. Its position had not changed since his last visit, some years ago. Nestled high up on a branch of a large white oak was the camera. His every move was being recorded. Jim pulled out his phone.

  “I’m here at the gate. Let me in.”

  Jim Harrigan stared at the camera so that Bill Hamm could ‘ID’ his face in the monitor.

  Moments later the gate opened.

  He hopped back in the cab of his pickup and drove down the narrow lane.

  Behind him, the gate closed.

  ***

  Jim parked the pickup under a large tulip poplar. Bill Hamm waited at the door.

  “Jim, good to see you. It’s been a long time. Thanks for coming.”

  “It has been a long time. I’m glad I could find the house.”

  Once inside, Jim threw up his hands.

  “Whoa! What have you guys done to the place? That’s a new kitchen. And the furniture?”

  He turned to examine the new furnishings and spotted Ivana on the sofa.

  “And you must be Ivana. You’ve been through a lot, young lady.”

  Bil
l spoke.

  “Ivana, this is Jim Harrigan. He was my mentor at the agency. He taught me everything I know, well, almost everything.”

  Ivana nodded to Jim, and turned to Bill with an impish expression.

  “Why didn’t Jim bring your friend, Jeannine Ryan, to see you?”

  Jim raised his eyebrows. Bill ignored her and kept on.

  “Jim, I’m glad you can spend the night. Tom Fletcher is on the way here with Elena Krkova, our agent at the Maryland plant. With Elena and Ivana together, maybe we can piece together this puzzle.”

  He added.

  “There’s someone else, a Michal Pacak who worked at the Maryland plant. They’re treating him for smoke inhalation at Navy Med. Tom’s questioning him now. He may have information for us. We’ll know tomorrow.”

  He pointed to a door,

  “Meanwhile, get some sleep. We’ll all talk then.”

  ***

  In Prague, Karel Moravec had slept the night in his own flat. He needed a break from Fiala. She bored him.

  He rolled over and opened his eyes. The display on his clock said 5:00 am. He thought of Ivana and sighed. In spite (or because?) of his anger, he wanted her. The woman was a challenge, unlike Fiala.

  Karel had convinced himself that he welcomed disagreements and challenges to his authority. In truth, the only appealing aspect of such confrontations was the superiority he enjoyed in crushing the challenger.

  He had chosen to forget his anger at Ivana’s sharpness. Instead he decided to recall his generosity and tolerance towards her.

  In the midst of these comforting thoughts, his phone sounded. It was his team in North Carolina.

  Karel checked his clock again. It was 11:15 pm of the previous day on the Carolina coast.

  “Yes?”

  “Anne Simek and Peter Zeleny are driving back to Chicago together. Should we go after them?”

  “Forget them. Simek knows nothing, and Zeleny’s only worry is Xolak. Where are Ryan and Harris? And Harrigan, and that woman, Patekova?”

  The speaker hesitated. He fingered his well-groomed beard.

  “We lost them.”

  Karel stayed silent. The speaker coughed and continued.

  “We think Ryan and Harris went back to Maryland. Harrigan is probably still in North Carolina.”

  Still silence. The speaker continued.

  “We don’t know where they are. What do you want us to do?”

  Karel spoke slowly.

  “You are incompetent. What I want you to do is beyond your capability. Now listen carefully. I am sending you to Erik Holub. He will be in charge of our facility in Warrenton, Virginia. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “You and your men will work in security under Josef Hrubec.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “You will obey Hrubec, understood?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “For your sake, I hope you perform better for him than me. He is not as tolerant as I.”

  The phone clicked off.

  ***

  Peter Zeleny left the Pennsylvania Turnpike. At the entrance to the Ohio Turnpike, he hit the button for his ticket. His passenger, Anne Simek, was asleep. Her face was worry-free. The Currituck County Sheriff had approved her leaving North Carolina.

  The road sign indicated a rest stop, one mile ahead.

  They still had to cross Ohio and Indiana to reach Chicago, and he needed a cup of coffee. He could not risk falling asleep and crashing with this wonderful woman next to him.

  Peter was smitten. He loved Anne. One obstacle remained.

  Anne’s father, Havel, lived with her in their home in Chicago. What would he think?

  ***

  ******

  Chapter 34

  Tuesday, November 30

  The morning was unseasonably warm in northern Virginia. Michal Pacak had agreed to share what he knew with the CIA. Thus Bill Hamm had chosen a secure location away from the safe house so that Michal could attend. Bill, Tom Fletcher, and the former agent Jim Harrigan, sat on one side of the table across from Ivana, Michal and Elena.

  Elena Krkova leaned slightly in front of Michal, as if to protect him should the questions become harsh.

  Bill spoke.

  “Ivana, Michal, this is an informal debriefing, and I stress the ‘informal,’ to see if the two of you can ‘brainstorm’ together to give us some answers concerning the task force’s plans for Novichok-H, in the U. S. or anywhere. Michal why don’t you start. What were you told to do?”

  Michal leaned forward. Elena put her hand on his arm.

  “My orders were two-fold. I was to test the condition of the two Novichok-H precursors to see if there had been deterioration due to storage, contamination from the containers, etc. I should say right away that there was almost no deterioration in the chemicals, and no detectable changes or contamination from the containers. The supply is intact and potent.”

  Michal added.

  “And I had samples from every lot of the main stash.”

  Jim Harrigan broke in.

  “What were the sizes of your samples? And how did you test them?”

  “I had a liter of each precursor from about fifty lots, over time about 100 liters in total. I tested each lot separately. I devised a container with two one liter compartments. An external lever had two positions. At the first stop, the interior partition collapsed and the precursors mixed to produce the Novichok Agent. Depressing the lever further, opened a pressure valve that, fully charged, could release a jet spray, for maybe thirty yards.”

  Tom Fletcher erupted.

  “How the hell could you work on something like this?”

  Elena jumped in.

  “Let him finish.”

  Michal looked down at the table. His voice was low.

  “They told me it was for a war in Africa. It would only be used to deter the other side from using theirs.”

  After a moment, he continued.

  “Anyway, the two-stage lever was not really needed. The precursors mixed and combined rapidly so that the nerve agent formed as the pressure valve opened. You could triple the size and still have adequate mixing without stirrers.”

  Jim Harrigan spoke.

  “How heavy was your unit?”

  “Even triple the size, a teen ager could handle it, but it would be easier for an adult.”

  “What else?”

  “I also worked on a container suitable for a 500 pound bomb, like the Mark 82. There the mixing was slower. I devised a system with internal magnetic stirrers. It would have worked too, but I was told to stop. And then that guy Hrubec arrived. You know the rest.”

  Michal looked sideways at Elena. Bill Hamm took over.

  “Two more questions. Is the main stock stored at or near your Maryland plant, and would your two-liter system work for a homicide-bomber.”

  “A suicide attacker could use it with the right concealment, and no, the stock was not at the plant. For safety, the precursors were stored in two separate locations. Sometimes the samples took several days to arrive, but I think both locations are here on the East Coast.”

  Jim and Bill looked at each other. Their thoughts were the same.

  It’s here. God, help us!

  ***

  Throughout Michal’s questioning, Ivana had maintained her silence, only nodding to herself to affirm statements that she knew to be true. Now she broke her silence.

  “Michal’s correct. The main stock was never at the Maryland plant. I know that it was never stored there.”

  Bill turned towards her.

  “How are you sure?”

  “From Karel’s records. They were in my backpack. The one they took near the airport.”

  “If not at the Maryland plant, then where is the main stock?”

  “I know that the precursors are at two different locations. I can confirm what Michal said, that they are in the U. S. and if I had to guess, I’d say Virginia. All I am sure of is that Karel always r
eferred to the locations as ‘Area 1’ and ‘Area 2,’ and that the U. S. is the target. If the agent is in Virginia, I would guess the target is on the East Coast. But that’s still a guess.”

  Bill frowned.

  “That’s not too much to go on. Ivana, you heard Michal. What do you know about delivery systems?”

  “Michal’s Maryland plant was more of a research plant. Their work was primarily to verify that the chemicals had not deteriorated in storage. Michal just confirmed that they had not. He did that with a two-liter container. Apparently he went beyond that and devised a corresponding delivery system. That was a neat feat of engineering, but it’s not the whole story.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the main task of the Maryland plant was always the chemistry and small units. Most of the engineering was done in Brno. My understanding from Karel’s records is that delivery systems larger than a 500-pound bomb are developed and ready.”

  Michal interrupted.

  “Larger than the Mark 82? More than 320 liters?”

  “Yes. Karel had specs for much larger tanks. They are already tested. There were special nozzles and internal magnets for stirring to speed up the mixing reaction.”

  Bill Hamm took over.

  “Ivana, no aircraft is going to get near the Capitol or the White House to drop any 500-pound bomb or larger on them.”

  Ivana frowned.

  “I didn’t say it was a bomb. The specs were for a large stationary tank fitted with special nozzles. That’s all I know. I’m not sure how they could distribute the gas from it.”

  “Like on the back of truck, sprayed from a truck?”

  “Maybe the tank could be pressurized, so there could be a spray. I don’t know. I did see that there was no explosive included.”

  Bill’s thoughts were far from pleasant.

  First, a legion of suicide attackers with spray tanks, and now large tanks under pressure but no explosives. They want to kill thousands, but how? And where?