by Lou Dobbs
The first sound of gunfire was so close it shocked them all into statues. As always, it was Jackson’s measured response that got them moving. He immediately pushed the others to the side and started to look for a weapon.
Shepherd was ready to act that moment and pulled the sidearm he had in a flap holster on his right hip.
Rosenberg, as always, assessed the situation. There were two very young Afghans who had gotten hold of M-4 rifles. The fact that they weren’t using AK-47s meant that they had already been inside the compound and were probably trusted by someone. Rosenberg knew these attacks from supposed allies had happened at other bases, but it was still startling to be in the middle of one.
He saw his friend Derek Walsh coming from the side of the supply depot he was responsible for. He was running toward the sound of gunfire and had an M-4 in his hands. Rosenberg considered shouting a warning that he was about to run up on the two shooters, but just then a third man, dressed as a traditional Afghan, wearing a giant backpack, started running toward the command post from the other side of the supply tent. A suicide bomber would cause havoc.
Then Rosenberg was shocked when he saw the man run past Walsh just as they both reached the front of the supply tent. Walsh reached up without hesitation and grabbed hold of the pack. The rail-thin Afghan’s momentum and Walsh’s sheer size jerked the pack from the man’s back and sent Walsh tumbling to the ground.
Return fire from someone near the front of the command post cut all three intruders down instantly.
Walsh sat on the ground holding the pack in one hand and the M-4 raised up looking for more targets in the other. It was the most heroic thing Rosenberg had ever seen anyone do. And he was glad the man who did it was his friend.
At the CIA, on the TV farthest from him, Rosenberg could see that the violence was having a serious effect on the stock market. It had drifted lower over the past week and now, just after eleven o’clock in the morning, it was in absolute freefall. The word “crash” came to his mind.
He wondered how his friend Derek Walsh was handling it.
*
Major Bill Shepherd was watching the international news as he pulled out a few reports and got a handle on who was on leave and who was at the base. The marine detachment there was used for several tasks. Mainly the Special Forces unit trained with the smaller NATO countries like Estonia and Hungary. They taught the local soldiers how to use certain portable weapons and gauged what kind of use they would be in a real conflict. Aside from Germany, France, and England, no one would be a great help in a large-scale conflict, but on a limited basis, the smaller countries had some decent fighters.
Even with Russian military exercises occurring near Estonia, no order to go on alert had come down. He agreed that keeping troops on alert caused stress and reduced their battle readiness if it went on too long, but this was a cost analysis. It was too expensive to keep them on alert. It went all the way back to leadership in the U.S., which was lacking by any standard. Shepherd read as much history as anyone on the planet. He recognized that a military was meant to scare, as well as fight. Russia had been held in check for decades by the idea of what the U.S. and NATO might do. Now, after the debacle in Crimea, it was obvious that NATO was simply a hollow threat. Their big move was to station twelve F-16s in Estonia, along with some older armor. That was it. With no hint of repercussions, there was no telling how far Russia might go.
Shepherd had stepped back but had not stood down. It was a slight and technical distinction. He was giving his companies two days off on a rotating basis. The time also allowed him to decompress, recognizing that a leader must rest and take care of himself if he’s going to act properly on the battlefield. He’d called the woman he met last week, Fannie. He thought he could work her into his dating rotation. His quick check on the Internet showed she had worked in finance and was from France. There weren’t any new posts from businesses in the past two years, so he figured she had a steady job and had not switched around at all. Maybe that meant he could finally go out with a woman who might pay for dinner. She answered her cell phone last night but was on a business trip somewhere in Switzerland. So far he’d only had one quick dinner with her, but she seemed like a winner. Beautiful, charming, and smart. Just the thought of her pretty face put him in a good mood.
A news story on CNN caught his attention, and he glanced up at the TV set in the corner of his office. Everyone seemed to be disturbed about a new financial issue back in the States. One of the big houses was accused of sending hundreds of millions of dollars to bank accounts used by terrorists. That’s all they needed: another financial crisis and terrorists with money to spend on operations. The name of the company, Thomas Brothers Financial, rang a bell. He thought that was where Derek Walsh was working. Maybe if he had time later on today he’d call Walsh and Mike Rosenberg. It was one way to keep his mind off the loss of his friend Ron Jackson.
*
Fannie Legat had not slept in two days. Once the money had come in from New York, she had disbursed it quickly. The U.S. government was able to freeze accounts far too swiftly. The other members of her network needed money to carry out operations and to survive. It was nice to show them how thoroughly she could deliver. She wanted to teach some of these fundamentalists that women were just as valuable as men in most situations. She followed the teachings of Mohammed as closely as her comrades and realized women had played a strong role in the Prophet’s life, as well as in the advancement of Islam ever since.
She had spent almost two days making all of the transfers out of the account. It was a long and complicated assignment, and she had to prioritize where the money went.
The backwoods group Boko Haram received over $800,000. They did little to help Islam and were no threat to most governments, but they tended to grab headlines and keep the world’s attention focused away from more productive groups who were preparing for major attacks. The path to a new world order. An Islamic order. What the African group lacked in education they made up for in creativity. Kidnapping schoolgirls and threatening religious orders always got the attention of the Western press, no matter how much it actually affected world politics. They had also publicly pledged their loyalty to the Islamic State.
More than $20 million had gone right back into New York City, where it would be disbursed among a number of cells. Most of these were one-or two-man operations, who were directed to start causing as much havoc as possible, building to a crescendo over the next three days. Fannie vaguely recognized that they were trying to harness the power of the mobs that had been protesting financial institutions in New York.
She had sent nearly $40 million to a number of different accounts to pay greedy bankers and European officials who turned a blind eye to her activities. She thought it was ironic that their effort to keep a distance from the transactions would ultimately be their downfall.
Now all the money was moved and she had proven her value. No one questioned the wisdom of having a woman in such an important role anymore. She wanted to take another step up the ladder and prayed that Allah would forgive her ambition. Looking at the Swiss bank building out her hotel window and knowing what would happen as soon as she got the signal made her smile in anticipation.
7
Putin had listened to all of Simplov’s news, so now he shared his own interpretation of what was about to happen.
Putin said, “We are deploying our forces at the northern end of the border so that we can conceal them more easily from satellite detection. The force is relatively small and will move quickly once we cross the Narva River. I want it made clear that we are entering Estonia at the request of some of their leaders and will liberate the ethnic Russians who live there.
“This will be as fast an operation as we’ve ever conducted. That’s what I am counting on. What we need to happen is that NATO makes the decision to save its resources and not risk a larger conflict over Estonia. Everything that I have picked up from my dealings with the Germans and the French
is that they are not confident in American leadership. That leads me to believe we can do this quick strike, install the right man as president, and once again have a reliable satellite on our Western border.”
“And if your assessment is wrong?”
Putin scowled at him briefly. This was one of the few men who could challenge him. But he did appreciate Simplov’s grasp of the situation.
“If I am wrong,” Putin said, “which I doubt, the force is small enough that we will simply turn it and recross the border. At that point we’ll come up with a story about rescuing a specific family who was being mistreated by the Estonians. Something like that. There will be some loss of face, but we could overcome it.”
Putin stepped to the window and looked out over the lighted fields outside the parlor located on the eastern side of the palace. “Look at how the U.S. and NATO responded to our adventure in Crimea. They did nothing to stop us. If Ukraine weren’t a political and economic nightmare, we could roll in there as well.”
“But who would want Ukraine?” Yuri asked.
“Exactly,” Putin said. “So this is a test, a probe. We cannot lock ourselves into a course of action that can’t be changed. Still, once this has started, we must be committed.”
“We better be,” Yuri said, “if we are to take on NATO.”
“Which did nothing to prevent us from annexing Crimea,” Simplov said, “and they will do nothing now.”
Putin was aroused by the possibility of going to war.
*
Derek Walsh appreciated how suddenly Tonya Stratford had escorted him out of the Thomas Brothers building. It was professional and efficient, and she had not handcuffed him in front of his coworkers. It appealed to his marine’s sensibilities, but it still meant he was in trouble. Real trouble.
He’d thought about calling an attorney but decided he could still explain this whole thing and save himself a tremendous expense. He was already short of cash, and having a lawyer suck down what little he had didn’t appeal to him. Once they were someplace secure they would let him explain what happened and look at his evidence to support his claim.
As soon as they walked through the main entrance and saw the crowds fighting with police, Agent Stratford wasted no time turning Walsh around and handcuffing him behind his back. That was what she’d told him all along would happen. She was businesslike and polite but not particularly friendly. That was still a huge step up from her partner, who seemed more interested in being a bully.
They were able to reach an unmarked Ford Crown Victoria and speed a few blocks to the building holding the NYPD Seventh Precinct offices. The two-story redbrick building faced Pitt Street and had the boxy, efficient style that the precinct serving Wall Street demanded. The agents wasted no time hustling him through the rear door, where they obviously had an understanding with the uniformed sergeant who was waiting. Even the short distance from the vehicle to the door gave Walsh time to hear the shouts of protesters in front of the building. A bottle flew over the wall in the parking lot, and the sturdy-looking, middle-aged sergeant snarled at them to get inside quickly.
A few minutes later they were in a private interview room, and Walsh found himself still handcuffed and sitting in a stiff plastic chair. The room was stark and bare except for three of those chairs and a small table. Tonya Stratford had left with a small envelope of his belongings, and her partner just sat silently, staring at him. Walsh had no interest in engaging the man in conversation. But it was still unnerving. In the car, on the way over to the police station, Walsh had tried to explain that it couldn’t have been him making the transactions. He’d stayed calm and reasonable, but every one of his statements was met with more accusing questions, and he had a clear sense that he was the only suspect. He wasn’t certain whether they were looking at the simple theft or some kind of treason for dealing with people outside the United States, specifically the terrorists they had mentioned having access to the account. This was crazy, and the FBI had to realize it soon.
Walsh again considered calling an attorney. Things had already gone further than he thought they would. The male FBI agent, Frank Martin, didn’t want to listen, but Walsh had the sense that Agent Stratford was open to reason.
His brief stint in combat hadn’t been this upsetting. At least there he was with his friends. Now he was isolated. He couldn’t even talk to one of his Thomas Brothers associates like Ted Marshall. He’d know what to do, or maybe not. For all Walsh knew, Ted assumed he had stolen the money and never wanted to see him again. He did appreciate that Cheryl had tried to help him at the end until she was ejected from her own office.
It was past noon when Tonya Stratford slipped back into the interview room. He was waiting for some more sharp questions about derivatives and how he initiated transfers. It was abundantly clear that she knew the finance world and probably had been employed by one of the big houses at one time.
Now she sat next to the small table and pulled out a pad. She asked him a series of seemingly innocuous questions about his usual workdays and duties.
Finally Walsh had to look at her and say, “Were you in banking?”
She glanced up from her pad and folded her hands across the table. “The FBI recruits across all disciplines.” She cut her eyes across to the semiconscious agent who was supposed to be helping her, Frank.
Walsh said, “Where’d they get him? A loan-sharking operation?”
Suddenly Frank was completely awake and said in a gravelly voice with a thick Bronx accent, “Don’t you worry about me, smart guy. You need to come clean and let us help you, because you’re a hair’s width away from a lifetime in Leavenworth. You’re a former military man, you should understand that.”
Tonya directed Walsh’s attention back to her as she reached into the envelope and carefully pulled out the security plug in the clear plastic sleeve by its nylon lanyard. “Tell me about this?”
He cocked his head because he knew she knew already. “I told you before, it’s the security plug required to make any serious trades. I don’t always use it. In fact, I try to carry it in my pocket most of the time.”
“And this was in your computer the day you made the trades?”
“I keep telling you I didn’t make any trades. I think I used it to check an escrow account in Europe on a deal we are facilitating, but no trades or transfers.”
“Sorry, the day the trades were made this plug would’ve had to be in your computer. Is that correct?”
He was tired, and it was catching up to him. He just nodded. An idea popped into his head. “I activated one of the extra security protocols. It would’ve made the computer’s camera take a photo during the trade and store it on the plug.” This could solve the whole puzzle. He really didn’t need an attorney.
The agents exchanged skeptical looks.
Then Walsh said, “If you stick that plug back in my computer, you’ll be able to bring up photographs of whoever used the computer when the trades were made. I set up the protocols myself.”
Agent Stratford stood from the chair, looked at Walsh for a moment, then stepped out of the room, with the plug dangling from its lanyard in her right hand.
Suddenly he had a sinking feeling that he was screwed and they weren’t going to listen to him with or without an attorney.
*
Joseph Katazin wasted no time once he was on the East River Esplanade. It was a convenient meeting place for his contact, not far from the United Nations. There was a concern about surveillance from U.S. intelligence services, but during an operation like this, where communication could be crucial, they had set up a regular schedule so that Katazin could meet the contact as necessary. Otherwise the contact would just read the newspaper and have a cup of coffee looking out over the East River.
As usual, Katazin sat on the bench next to him and made no direct eye contact. There was no one close by. There rarely was in the morning. Today Katazin just wanted to make sure all was as it appeared to be on the operation and to expres
s his concerns once more.
His contact was an older man whose cover was working as a translator at the UN. Katazin didn’t know exactly what the man’s real job was, but he was certainly connected and could get things done.
The pudgy older man, dressed comfortably in a cardigan sweater, spoke in flawless Russian. “You have done well my friend. Everyone is impressed.”
Katazin had a hard time hiding his grin because this was not news to him. “I didn’t realize how destructive the protesters could be. I’ve seen things get out of hand on the news before in Baltimore or St. Louis, but this was a new experience. They tied up every police officer in the city. It worked beyond my wildest dreams.”
“Then what brings you to talk to me this morning?”
“I guess just general anxiety.”
The man chuckled. “Joseph, all you have to worry about is what happens here in Manhattan. You had the trades made as instructed. The money moved perfectly and has funded a number of activities. You’ve had the protesters deliver as promised, and aside from not eliminating the Thomas Brothers employee, everything has been perfect.”
“My source close to the situation said Derek Walsh is in FBI custody. He knows nothing that can compromise us. As long as he is in custody, I’m not worried. I would prefer that he was dead and the authorities thought it was a suicide, but this will work.”
His contact nodded his head as he looked out over the East River. “Of the entire operation, I think the financial aspect has been most underappreciated. The cascading effect of having the markets crash and the news of the transfer of money to a terrorist account has been remarkable. The crash is mainly due to an algorithm we had introduced to the New York and London stock exchanges. It cost a fortune to have the hacker create the algorithm and then insert it into the systems so computer trading started selling at an exponential rate, but it was worth every penny.”
