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

by Mosimann, James E.

  ***

  In Chicago, Anne Simek’s thoughts were far from terrorists. She called her cousin Mila in Nags Head.

  “Mila, my father’s spending a few days with the neighbors. Is the house in Corolla available? I have to get away from here.”

  “It is. What about Peter? Will he be with you?”

  Anne swallowed.

  “The FBI lab in Quantico is testing Xolak for Peter. He’s meeting Aileen Harris in Manassas at the FBI’s Northern Virginia Resident Agency. They’re going to Quantico together.”

  She muttered.

  “She’s probably already in Manassas waiting for him.”

  Mila asked no further.

  “When will you get here?”

  “I’m flying to Norfolk International. I’ll rent a car and be in Corolla tonight.”

  “Good. But I’m not letting you spend the night there alone. I’ll be at the beach house to welcome you.”

  Anne managed to smile. Good old Mila, I’m trusting you again.

  Anne hoped that the sounds of rhythmic waves crashing on the beach, coupled with the contented waters of the Currituck Sound rippling under a red sunset, would soothe and heal her.

  ***

  ******

  Chapter 47

  Tuesday, December 7

  In Virginia, at the Dethorens Volunteer Fire Department, six members of Masoud’s squad were in a foul mood.

  “This is women’s work. Why do we have to wash the Fire Truck.”

  Masoud admonished them.

  “Do not question me. The Americans think they have given us a great honor, to stand by the pavilion while the president is there. To not have this truck sparkle would be a sign of dishonor to him, and would raise suspicions. We cannot afford that.”

  He added.

  “The other two fire companies will have their equipment shine. We must do the same.”

  Masoud turned to a man standing behind him.

  “Hassan, the other two trucks will be parked near us. You must neutralize their crews quickly. Do not give them time to don protective suits. Understood?”

  Hassan nodded.

  “As rehearsed, we are ready. We shall not fail.

  Masoud liked Hassan’s confidence.

  But Hassan was not done.

  “But why do you not pack the truck with explosives? We could blow the kufari to small pieces at one stroke?”

  “Hassan, this has been discussed. The Americans trust us and our inspection will be minimal. But their dogs know nothing of that. They would sniff the explosives. We would be revealed.”

  “But we would be at the gate. The explosion would destroy this Unity pavilion.”

  “You would destroy an empty building. The president and others will arrive long after the truck. No! We have the means to wipe out their leaders, and we shall.”

  Hassan was satisfied.

  Masoud nodded reflectively.

  He had done all he could to prepare his men. He was proud of them.

  They were ready.

  Tomorrow they would strike!

  ***

  In Nags Head, North Carolina, Jim Harrigan arrived at the beach house in Corolla to find Anne Simek weeping on the sofa. Mila motioned Jim to silence and led him into the kitchen.

  “What’s the matter with Anne?”

  “She’s all mixed up. She’s torn between her father and Peter Zeleny. Peter’s father betrayed her father, Havel, to the Communist State Police, the Státní bezpečnost. Havel still suffers from their beatings. He needs her, and Peter doesn’t understand.

  What’s more she’s afraid that Peter likes Aileen Harris. I know that’s baseless, but she worries. Peter and Aileen are going to the FBI lab in Quantico to work on Xolak. Aileen is meeting him at the FBI office in Manassas.”

  “Did you reassure her about Aileen?”

  “Yes, but the real reason she’s worried is her father. She’s here to sort things out.”

  “From the looks of her, it’s not going well.”

  “Because she just got a call from her father. He missed her in Chicago so he’s flying to Norfolk International to see her. He’s too old to drive and he wants Anne to meet him there. His flight arrives in two hours.”

  Mila’s eyes had a familiar glint. Jim knew he was in trouble.

  “So?”

  “So, I was hoping you could drive Anne to Norfolk to meet him. I don’t want her going alone and I’m seeing several clients today. With the real estate market the way it is, I can’t afford to cancel.”

  Mila smiled and pointed to the stove.

  “And when you get back I’ll serve you a mess of shrimp and grits.”

  “Damn it Mila, that’s not fair. I can’t say no to both you and shrimp and grits.”

  Mila laughed and called into the living room.

  “Come on Anne. Jim will ride with you to Norfolk to meet your Dad. You have to leave now to be on time.”

  Jim waited at the door.

  ***

  The hour was late. Alone at the Dethorens Volunteer Fire Department, William Masoud Jones examined the interior of the tanker-truck one last time.

  The supposed tank and hose capacity of the vehicle had become a hidden storage area for twenty men in Hazmat suits, along with their weapons, AK-47’s and grenade launchers, the latter carefully sealed in plastic to eliminate any tell-tale odor for the sniffing dogs.

  Masoud no longer needed the antidote that the Czechs had developed. The Xolak had been for use in case of accidents when training and outfitting his men. But that had been accomplished without incident.

  Now their mission was one of death. None of his men would return. Still the presence of Xolak might enable a contaminated warrior to recover momentarily and deal death to more kufari. Masoud decided to keep the cartons of Xolak in the hidden storage.

  He thought of the movie “Troy.” Masoud was no fan of Greek classics, but he knew that thanks to the “Trojan Horse,” and the men concealed inside, Troy had fallen.

  The authorities would open the gates of the Unity Pavilion to his fire truck. His men would be concealed inside. They would strike from within.

  Masoud laughed.

  Tomorrow, like Troy, all the key movers and shakers of the United States, the ‘Great Satan,’ would perish, wiped out.

  The rulers of this decadent country would be sent to hell, leaving only chaos behind them!

  ***

  Exhausted, Bill Hamm and Jeannine Ryan decided to spend the night in Marshall, Virginia. A tired Jeannine went to her room. As Bill headed to his, the phone vibrated. It was Tom Fletcher at the safe house.

  “Bill, Ivana Novotna wants to speak with you. I know it’s late, but it’s about Gustav.”

  “Put her on.”

  Ivana was choked and hoarse.

  “Bill, my father escaped. You must help him.”

  “Ivana, there’s nothing I can do. It’s the FBI that is looking for him.”

  “Yes, but you can speak for him. Tell them how he aided you in Belgium. You know I like you. You saved my life. You must help him. And I can help you. I know the names of some of the terrorists. I saw them in Karel’s files.”

  “Ivana, I can’t promise anything, but if you know something, tell me now. Damn it, you should have told me before.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t help me. One of the leaders is ‘Quanit Ibn Husayn,’ he is a Shiite, and probably in your files. Another one is ‘Hassan Ibn Ali,’ you probably have files on him too. But the main leader is an American, his last name is ‘Jones.’ His men call him ‘Masoud.’ No one knows about him. He’s a sleeper.”

  “‘Jones’ is a common name. Do you know anything about him?”

  “Only that he’s in Northern Virginia, and he’s not allowed to pray in public.”

  Ivana added.

  “That’s everything I know. The jihadists did not share much with Karel. His files were sketchy. Now, do not forget my father.”

  She hung up.

  ***
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  In her motel room, Jeannine was stiff from spending the day cramped in the Fiesta. She stretched out on the bed, shook her shoes off and exercised her toes. As she rolled over she saw the local newspaper on the end table.

  She unfolded it and stared at the headline.

  Nation’s Leaders to Meet at Front Royal

  Tomorrow, December 8, prominent leaders of the nation will meet in Front Royal, Virginia, to celebrate what will be, hopefully, a new era of national unity. Congressional leaders, governors, prominent executives, union leaders, along with media personalities and many popular entertainers will celebrate the President’s signing of the Comprehensive Debt-Control Act, an historic agreement to balance the budget within three years, on this National Day of Unity.

  Workers are rushing to finish the Pavilion of National Unity, which features a convention hall, stage, and banquet spaces along with other amenities. The pavilion is located five miles from the city on the grounds of a future satellite campus of the University of Virginia. After the pavilion, next-planned is a building to house the Museum of National Unity, whose exhibits will include panoramas of significant instances of political “compromise” in the nation’s history. Ground breaking for the museum is scheduled for summer of next year. A local architect, Margaret Delsol, of Dethorens, Virginia has been selected to design the new museum.

  Jeannine knew the town of Front Royal as the site of the northern entrance to “Skyline Drive.” She did not know the town of “Dethorens,” but the name sounded familiar. She had seen it recently. But where?

  Then she remembered. The town was in one of Vaclav’s files.

  She found the file on her laptop. It contained a list of recent shipments of Xolak, and their destinations.

  The last shipment on Vaclav’s list had been made on October 10 of this year. It was by far the largest and had been sent to a Dethorens address.

  Surely a village like Dethorens had no need for such a large amount of Xolak, no medical need whatsoever. Unless, as Aileen Harris suspected, the terrorists planned to use Xolak to treat their own men if they fell to Novichok-H.

  The only explanation was that the terrorists were training at Dethorens!

  And Dethorens, Virginia was not far from the new pavilion where the Unity Day celebration was to be held.

  High definition images of destruction and chaos flashed before Jeannine’s eyes as she understood the implication of her reasoning.

  The terrorists were going to strike at the Unity pavilion. They were going to wipe out most of the country’s leaders, as well as the president, at Front Royal.

  And the attack would be launched from Dethorens.

  Tomorrow!

  Barefoot, she banged on the door to Bill’s room.

  ***

  Anne Simek and Jim Harrigan arrived at the Norfolk International Airport in time to greet her father at his arrival. Anne introduced Jim.

  “Father, this is Mr. Harrigan. Jim is a friend of a friend. He drove me up from Nags Head to meet you. He’s a policeman.”

  Havel drew back, but Anne corrected him.

  “No, Father, he’s a good policeman. He’s American. He’ll help us.”

  Jim Harrigan reached for Havel’s CarryOn.

  “Is this the only bag you have, Sir? Let me take it for you.”

  Havel nodded and turned to Anne.

  “When you left, I was alone. You were gone. I was afraid, empty.”

  “I’m sorry, Father. I have a house at the beach in North Carolina. It’s peaceful. We can rest there. Mr. Harrigan will drive us.”

  They left the airport.

  ***

  At Jeannine’s news, Bill Hamm sprang to the phone. Her discovery that Dethorens was the terrorists’ base, along with Ivana’s identification of terrorists that were in Northern Virginia, plus the prior discovery of the “fire” tanks and the dead contaminated cow, provided ample evidence for action.

  Jeannine waited while Bill made several calls. Finally, after an hour of talking, he put down the phone. She spoke.

  “Was that the CIA, I mean was it your boss?”

  “That was him. He informed the FBI, Homeland Security and the Secret Service’s presidential detail of the threat to the Unity Pavilion.”

  “And?”

  “Homeland Security won’t raise the threat level to Red.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “No. They’re a bunch of wimps. They don’t believe in the ‘War on Terror.’ It’s politics to them, or least to their bosses. Besides, they don’t trust the CIA. To them we’re part of the problem. And the president wants this show tomorrow for political reasons.”

  “All right, how about the FBI and Justice?”

  “They’re not fond of the CIA either, but they listened. The regional office in Manassas is alerted, and they’re adding extra agents for screening at the Unity Pavilion, but they say they’ve done a good advance job on the surrounding counties.”

  Bill paused.

  “Mainly, they don’t believe the jihadists have enough expertise to launch a nerve gas attack. They say all they will do is kill themselves.”

  “Expertise? What about the Czechs? And the dead cow? What about that Czech Colonel who researched nerve agents during the Cold War. His lab was in Brno. Hus-Kinetika took it over after the Velvet Revolution.”

  Bill shrugged.

  “I told them that rogue ex-communists were using Hus-Kinetika’s facilities to supply the jihadists. They doubted that the Czechs would follow through. Their thought is that once the terrorists paid the Czechs, they would disappear without handing over the nerve agent, or showing them how to use it. They said they get dozens of tips like this. Most never pan out.”

  “This is more than a tip. And even the Aum Cult had enough expertise to make Sarin and attack the Tokyo subway”

  “They admit that, but they reiterated that the experts say that nerve gases are not weapons suitable for terrorists. The bottom line is that the FBI is cooperating with Zeleny for chemical tests, but they are not going to help us defeat a ‘threat’ that to them is not real.”

  “All right, that leaves the Secret Service. Did they listen?”

  “The Secret Service is part of Homeland Security, but they listened. They’ve tripled the presidential detail at the Pavilion, and sent more advance teams out. And they found a squad of marines who were training nearby. They will man the perimeter and gates. They’ve recruited more local cops, and two National Guard units are on standby.”

  He added.

  “Also, the airspace around Front Royal is closed to unauthorized traffic. Secret Service advance teams already had searched nearby sites that could be used to launch a missile, and anti-missile units have been established in a ring from West Virginia, and Pennsylvania to North Carolina.”

  Jeannine was far from satisfied.

  “Bill, we have to go to Dethorens now, tonight.”

  ***

  ******

  Chapter 48

  Wednesday, December 8

  The Pavilion of National Unity stood complete and shining in the Virginia countryside. Outside, the landscaping was freshly finished; sod, shrubbery and trees were in place The parking lots and paths were of gravel as planned. The driveways were supposed to be concrete, but cold weather had postponed the pouring of the cement, and they too were of gravel, although temporarily.

  Today the weather was mild. No hands were jammed into jacket pockets as the spectators lined the path to the right-front entrance of the pavilion. Tickets and photo ID’s were held in the open, ready for scrutiny.

  The mood was festive, although the line was long and the wait substantial.

  The line at the VIP entrance at the front right of the pavilion was short. This was not due to a paucity of people (the VIP’s had abundant invitees) but rather to the speed with which they were processed once inside. The prior background checks of the legislators, governors, judges, entertainers, wall street executives, and rich and famous guests had bee
n easy. Thus, the screening at the entrance was limited to passage through metal detectors, an inconvenience which though minor, a number of prominent individuals pointedly tried to ignore. But such efforts were vain as the guards were on high alert.

  In contrast, the spectators in the long line at the left front entrance were an incongruous lot. Many had won their seats through state lotteries, and their background checks had been tedious, expensive and often incomplete because of the time element. Consequently, before entering, all were screened intensely by metal detectors as well as by other means. Further, many individuals were selected at random (as forewarned on their tickets) for body searches. In spite of the inconvenient, and occasionally aggressive, inspections, once inside the pavilion, the mood of the spectators was one of boisterous anticipation.

  Among the spectators, one particular couple was especially joyful. Masoud’s former close friends from high school, Barry Wilson and Monica Barrett (now Mrs. Wilson) had won their seats two weeks ago. Even the long wait to enter the pavilion had not discouraged them. Once seated, they joined the other spectators in scanning the seats on the main floor for favorite celebrities.

  ***

  Inside the pavilion, the Secret Service had made special provisions for the seating at this grand political spectacle.

  At the right side of the huge auditorium was a vertical wall that rose straight to the ceiling. Midway up the wall was a row of large glass windows that framed box seats reserved mostly for the press.

  On the floor, extending from the right wall, were rows of seats that were accessible only by the right-front entrance. The seats closest to the presidential stage were for the VIP invitees, including congressional leaders, governors etc. Behind them, the Secret Service had erected a high thick glass barrier that separated the invitees’ guests (aides, friends, celebrities, entertainers and special constituents) from their sponsors.