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

by Mosimann, James E.

  “No, we need him to supervise the charging of the tanks.”

  “But last night’s tanks are already at Area One. They’re being charged now.”

  “Correct. But they are being charged only with Precursor A. There’s no danger until the tanks are moved to Area Two to be charged with Precursor B.”

  Karel continued.

  “If shipping or charging the tanks causes any leaks in the partition, A and B will combine to form Novichok-H. Our men will die instantly. Holub knows that. Go with him to Area Two to supervise the charging with Precursor B. Believe me, he will make sure the partitions have no leaks. He doesn’t want to die.”

  Another breath.

  “We need him to install the tanks at the objective. Do not think of killing him before that.”

  The conversation was over, but Karel did not slam the phone down as usual. He spoke instead.

  “Well done, Josef. You are essential to our success. Thank you, comrade.”

  Karel hung up.

  ***

  Hrubec punched Erik Holub’s number. He had already lost precious minutes talking to Karel.

  “It’s eleven am. Start loading the finished tanks for shipment. The Feds are looking for a judge to sign a search warrant. Hamm will have the FBI here this afternoon. We must ship right away. What’s your status?”

  “The welding is finished, but only half the tanks are checked for leaks in the partitions. That will take hours, and I can’t skip these checks!”

  “You need to load all the tanks now. You can finish the tests for leaks at Area 1 when they arrive.”

  Hrubec continued.

  “Listen carefully, Erik, I know Hamm is watching us. Pull the eighteen wheeler to the main dock, and have it look ready for loading. Keep some men and forklifts moving around looking busy. Hell, load any junk you want on it.”

  Hrubec breathed heavily.

  “Hamm will watch the main dock. You use the fleet of step vans. Bring them to the side dock. Load them one at a time. Send each off as soon as its ready. Send them in different directions. Tell the drivers you’ll call them with final directions to Area One. Just get them on the road now!”

  Hrubec’s tone admitted no debate.

  “Go”

  Erik pocketed his phone and went to the side dock.

  ***

  Bill stood behind a large tulip poplar in the woods to the east of the plant. He studied the eighteen wheeler that was being prepped for loading at the main dock. Moments later he saw a step van drive from the other side of the building and leave down the main road. He checked his watch. It was noon.

  Bill was torn, tortured. If he had not judged Hrubec correctly, Jeannine could well be dead.

  No. I know that man. She is still alive. He would not give up his advantage. He will use her to force my hand!

  He called Jim Harrigan who had slept in his truck, a few miles away.

  “Jim, did you find the ATV?”

  “No problem, and Willy too. You tied him up good.

  “How is he?”

  “His head is sore. He’s tied up in the back of the truck, next to the ATV. It’s secured. It won’t roll on him.”

  “Jim, what’s the news on the warrant?”

  “The judge will be back at two. He’ll sign it then.”

  “Good. They are loading the 18 wheeler now, but the earliest they can finish is four or five.”

  Bill felt a reprieve. For once the damned red tape worked in his favor. The warrant would not be signed until two. He had at least two hours to locate and free Jeannine before the shooting started.

  He studied the eighteen wheeler at the main dock. The activity there had increased.

  He thought of Jeannine. He had to get inside the warehouse.

  As he planned his next move, another step van drove from behind the warehouse and left. It disappeared down the main road.

  ***

  ******

  Chapter 40

  Thursday, December 2

  In Chicago, Anne returned home from the university to fix lunch for her father. The fare was strictly American, hamburger patties, green beans from the freezer and instant potatoes with chives.

  She called up the stairs.

  “Father, lunch is ready. Come on down.”

  Her father appeared at the head of the stairs. His eyes were red, his step unsteady.

  “Father, what’s the matter? What’s wrong.”

  “I didn’t sleep good.”

  “That’s because you watched the game. It went into overtime, it was too late for you father.”

  She reached for his arm and helped him down the last steps.

  “It wasn’t the game. The Bulls won. I had bad dreams.”

  “Father, not Bartolomejska Street and the pink ceiling?”

  “That too, but it was the last dream that scared me most.”

  “What?”

  “Anna, I was alone. I called you. You weren't there. My little girl was gone. I called and called, but you were gone.”

  Anne looked away to hide her tears. She took him to the kitchen table and sat him before his plate.

  He squeezed her hand.

  “Anna, my Anna, what would I do without you?”

  ***

  That morning, Dr. Peter Zeleny had paid the price for his absence from the clinic. Four extra patients had been squeezed into an already full schedule.

  Now, collapsed at his desk, his only thought was to be with Anne. They could lunch together.

  He called the graduate student office at the university. Another student answered.

  “Sorry, Anne is not here. She left some time ago. I think she went home to fix lunch for her father.”

  Peter hung up. His life with his dysfunctional father, Johan, and his youthful “socialization” in the Pioneers, had not prepared him for personal attachments. He loved Anne, and he struggled to understand her commitment to her father, but he could not relate to such ties. Havel was old, maybe irrelevant. His life was behind him. Surely Peter and Anne were entitled to happiness unencumbered by memories of the past.

  He got up from his desk and took the elevator to the lobby.

  In the lobby cafe he ordered ham on rye and a coke.

  He ate alone.

  ***

  In Warrenton Virginia, Bill Hamm studied the confused scene at the loading dock. All the men were workers wearing jeans and sweatshirts. There was no evidence of security.

  Bill, was dressed similarly, in jeans and a sweatshirt. He could not wait. He had to take chances for Jeannine’s sake. He edged through the trees to a point closest to the building. Then he lit a cigarette taken from Willie’s pack and ambled towards the loading dock.

  A voice challenged him immediately.

  “You! What the hell are you doing? There’s no time for a smoke. Get your lazy butt over here. Who do you think you are? Get to work.”

  Bill had prepared his answer. He pointed to the eighteen wheeler.

  “I’m the backup driver for the rig you’re loading. I’ll work as soon as you have it ready to go.”

  “Lazy ass.”

  The man turned away. Bill climbed onto the dock. The other workers ignored him.

  He dodged several “speeding” forklifts and stepped into the warehouse proper.

  He was in.

  ***

  Bill looked about the building. Most of the welding stations, identifiable by their twin oxygen-acetylene tanks were abandoned. Only a few were still active as evidenced by flashes of intense blue-white. Numerous small groups of workers were strapping tanks with protective wraps for shipment. The men he saw were ordinary workers, nothing more.

  Then Bill spied a tall man with a mustache in a distant corner. He guarded a door to what appeared to be a storeroom. He definitely was not one of the workers. That man belonged to Hrubec.

  Bill pulled his cap down to shield his face. He leaned back and felt the reassuring pressure of his Beretta against his spine.

  He merged with
a small group of men and helped load a tank onto a pallet while the driver of a forklift waited. He stayed with the group as they moved to load another tank nearby.

  These workers were ordinary Americans, apparently unaware of the deadly nature of their tasks. He gained little comfort from that observation.

  Even less comforting was Bill’s observation a few minutes later. Most of the activity in the building was directed away from the main loading dock where he had entered. None of the loaded forklifts headed towards the main dock. They went to another side of the warehouse.

  What does that mean? What’s going on?

  He stayed with his group as they hefted another tank onto a pallet. The forklift speared the wood frame. Its driver, too, headed away from the main dock.

  Bill stared after him.

  What the ... ?

  ***

  Josef Hrubec stood by the door to the office he had commandeered. He watched the activity in the main area. He was pleased to see that more than half of the tanks were no longer in view. He smiled. Too bad, Hamm, your stupid FBI and slow legal system do not deserve to survive.

  He studied the workers. Hamm would soon be here, if not already.

  He called into the office.

  “Hugo, wake up. Get out here now.”

  A disheveled Hugo appeared at the door.

  “Listen. Hamm may be here already. Go look for him on the floor. If you see him, call me, but do nothing. No disturbance. The work can’t be interrupted. In one more hour the last step van will be loaded.”

  Hugo left. Hrubec picked up his phone.

  “Hermann, anything suspicious? Any sign of Hamm?”

  “Nothing. The girl is secure, and Hamm has not shown his face. What makes you think he will come.”

  “He’ll come, and soon. Stay alert. I’m on my way now.”

  Hrubec locked the office door and headed onto the floor.

  ***

  Erik Holub was a hands-on manager. He stood on the side dock, and filled out the manifest for the current driver. He waved him on his way and looked to his left. A string of step vans waited to be loaded.

  Damn. The forms pad was empty. Too many vans, too many triplicate sheets.

  Last night, with a single eighteen wheeler his task had been easier, only one form, albeit long, had been needed.

  Erik headed into the building. The room where the forms were stored was near the side dock.

  A tall man with a mustache blocked his way.

  “You can’t go in there.”

  Erik was nonplussed.

  “Who the hell are you? Get out of my way.”

  The man stood firm.

  “Mr. Hrubec says no one gets in.”

  Erik picked up his phone. He was angry. Momentarily, he lost his fear of Hrubec.

  “You want these tanks shipped, tell your goon to let me into my storeroom. I’m out of shipping forms.”

  Hrubec was too concerned with the shortness of time to take offense.

  “His name is Hermann. Tell me what you need. He’ll get them for you.”

  “There’s over fifty boxes in there, how’ll he find it?”

  “All right, hand him your phone.”

  Erik could not hear what Hrubec told Hermann, but the latter opened the door partway and beckoned. Erik stepped in with Hermann close behind. The door clicked shut.

  The windowless room was dark. Erik spoke.

  “Light! Damn it, turn on the light, I need to find my forms.”

  A single bulb came on. Its glare cast shadows on the shelves.

  Erik grabbed the box with his forms and turned to leave.

  What the hell?

  There on the floor between the shelves lay a woman. There was duct tape over her mouth and around her wrists and ankles. Her eyes sought his.

  My God! Erik looked away.

  Stolid Hermann stood motionless by the door. At Erik’s shocked glance, Hermann shook his head sideways and pointed to the door.

  “You leave. Now!”

  Outside, Erik took a deep breath. He gestured for his phone. Hermann ignored him and put it in his pocket.

  “Mr. Hrubec says if you want to call him, come see me for the phone.”

  Erik gripped the box of forms and fled to the side dock.

  The next step van was waiting to load.

  ***

  When the light went on, and the stranger had appeared in her prison, Jeannine had felt a ray of hope. She had seen immediately that he was not like her captors.

  But her hopes were dashed. The man had left without a word and the room was dark once more.

  Jeannine was on her own. The chloroform headache was gone. At least now she could think.

  The first order of business was to free her mouth of the tight tape. There were two strips, overlapping. She rubbed her face against a metal shelf. After minutes, the edges had rolled back on one side. Pushing her face against the shelf, she rubbed and rolled the loose ends away from her mouth. Moments later the tapes fell away.

  She gasped and gulped for air.

  It was a small victory, but she could breathe.

  ***

  ******

  Chapter 41

  Thursday, December 2

  Josef Hrubec moved among the workers on the plant floor. Hamm is here, I can smell him. He spoke into his phone.

  “Hugo, where are you?”

  “I’m near the main dock. There’s no sign of Hamm.”

  “Get over to the store room. Keep Hermann in sight. Hamm may try something there.”

  He returned the phone to his pocket. Some distance away, four men lifted a tank onto a pallet. A forklift speared the load and started towards the side dock. The group of men headed to load another tank.

  The small group of workers wasted no time. They were already pushing another tank onto a pallet. Hrubec was impressed. Erik Holub knew his men. Erik was weak, but he had succeeded at finishing the work. When the FBI arrived they would find nothing.

  Hrubec turned back to see the tank slip off its pallet and pin the foot of one of the workers. A second worker jumped in to restrain the tank and relieve the pressure on his partner. As he did so his helmet fell off his head exposing his face to the light.

  Hrubec started. He reached in his coat and gripped his Browning

  The rescuer was Bill Hamm.

  ***

  Bill Hamm pushed his shoulder against the tank with all his strength. The worker’s foot pulled free. At that, Bill let go and jumped backwards. The tank crashed off the pallet.

  The worker balanced on one foot. He looked at Bill.

  “Hey, thanks man.”

  Bill inhaled deeply.

  “No problem. Is it broke?”

  The man stopped hopping and put his weight on the foot. The result was favorable.

  “It feels all right. It’s OK.”

  He grinned and held out his hand.

  “They call me Jack.”

  Bill’s hand was lost in the big man’s grip. Jack was strong.

  “I’m Bill. Let’s get this tank back on board.”

  Two more workers joined Bill and Jack as they wrestled the tank up onto the pallet.

  They waited for an oncoming forklift.

  ***

  Hrubec scanned the floor. Most of the tanks had been moved to the side dock for loading, but there were still a number on the floor, awaiting pallets. He estimated that thirty minutes remained before all would be stacked on the side dock. The step vans would be loaded in another thirty, at least an hour before the FBI could be expected.

  There would be nothing for the Feds to find!

  Hrubec was torn. To apprehend Hamm was to risk disrupting the work in progress. A fracas could cause a delay that would jeopardize finishing before the arrival of the SWAT team.

  But the hated Hamm was within his reach. Hrubec had to act.

  He slipped quietly through the teams of workers.

  At last, he had Hamm in his sights.

  He licked his lips.


  ***

  Hrubec lacked neither confidence or ability.

  He approached Bill Hamm from the rear and shoved his browning into the small of Bill’s back. Simultaneously his free hand felt under Bill’s sweat shirt, removed the Beretta and pocketed it.

  “Hamm, I’ve waited for this moment. You’re a dead man. Come with me.”

  Bill did not move, nor did the other workers. Hrubec glared at them.

  Good. Weak Americans. They freeze.

  But Hrubec had no understanding of American workers, or of their friendship, even one of only minutes’ duration. Jack faced him.

  “Mister, who the hell are you?”

  He turned to Bill.

  “Who is this guy”

  Hrubec spoke first.

  “Police. This man is wanted for murder.”

  Jack was not deterred.

  “If you’re a cop, show me a badge. You don’t talk like an American. Who in hell are you? And get that damn gun out of my face.”

  Josef Hrubec was short in height, but his frame was solid. Still the man addressing him was built as solidly and on a taller frame. And Hrubec did not want a disturbance in the work schedule.

  Bill twisted to answer Jack.

  “He’s no cop, and he’s no American. He’s a ... .”

  That was enough for Hrubec. He slammed the Browning on the side of Bill’s head. Bill crumpled to the ground. Then Hrubec turned to face Jack.

  Jack was quicker. He grabbed Hrubec’s wrist and twisted leaving the Browning dangling from useless paralyzed fingers. Not done, he seized Hrubec by the neck, and slammed him on the floor.

  The Czech’s eyes glazed over. Bill’s Beretta fell loose and clattered on the tiles. Jack stuffed it in his jeans, and lifted Bill up.

  “Come on buddy. I don’t care if this guy is a cop. He’s messed with the wrong crew.”

  Jack glanced at Hrubec. He was out cold.