by Lou Dobbs
Shepherd scurried away from his men toward his left, with the others following him quickly.
The Estonian lieutenant said, “Major, I don’t understand. We can knock out two or three of those tanks quickly.”
Now Shepherd was running, looking for the train tracks. “Or we can take a risk, knock out these tracks, disrupt heavy supplies, and really throw a monkey wrench into the Russians’ plans.”
The Estonian cocked his head and said, “What’s a monkey wrench?”
*
Inside Thomas Brothers, Walsh stared at the photograph on the screen. It was Ted Marshall. The look on his face said he had no idea he was being filmed. It was clear that the two FBI agents immediately understood what had happened. Walsh turned his head toward the glass office where his boss usually sat, and had been working just a few minutes earlier.
It was empty.
Panic rose in his throat. Ted was the key to the whole conspiracy. He could explain what had happened and expose the people funding a terrorist group. Now he was gone.
As soon as she realized their new suspect had vanished, Agent Stratford immediately grabbed her phone and started calling in help. Her partner called out to other agents in the office, and everyone started to scramble. Obviously they now believed Walsh’s story, because no one even bothered to watch him as all the agents bolted out of the office to catch Ted Marshall.
Walsh wanted to see what was happening. He needed to see it. Were they watching the courtyard? The front door? Technically it was the front door, but no one used it. He had to tell someone where to search. Now, for the first time in three days, when he needed an FBI agent, he couldn’t find one.
*
Anton Severov commanded the eight tanks, fourteen personnel carriers, and seventeen trucks in this section of the column. Although it was only about a fourth of the column and less than a fiftieth of the total expeditionary force, he felt the pressure and responsibility of command. He had hundreds of men in his command if you included the ground troops riding in the carriers. It was terrifying. Especially now as he was learning of the NATO strike.
He listened to the radio chatter and heard the stutter of gunfire behind the terrified report that tanks on the parallel road were taking fire. He felt as if he were the only one who had expected resistance as he scanned the grassy hills surrounding him, trying to spot any danger. A helicopter zipped overhead, but it was headed to a specific location and not looking for NATO soldiers waiting to attack the column. The fact that jets had engaged them earlier, and there had been reports of Black Hawk helicopters and an attack on a column of tanks on a parallel road, led him to believe that NATO was planning some sort of major counterattack here. Men could only be on edge for so long; then they started to lose that alertness that can save a soldier. They needed to either engage a threat or take a break.
Severov had command of the center of the convoy with nine T-90 tanks, six ancient T-84s, two Pantsir S-1 self-propelled portable antiaircraft guns that would be used during encampments, and the associated support vehicles, including transport trucks. The truckload of Chechens, including Amir, was directly in front of him less than thirty meters away. Every time he looked in their direction, Amir was smirking at him as if he knew something no one else did. Quickly Severov scanned the horizon again. His gunner was reclined in his seat trying to stay as comfortable as possible until the action started. They had slowed the convoy to a maddening thirty kilometers an hour. He didn’t know the reason, but more aircraft had gone ahead of them, and he wondered if there were dogfights over the interior of Estonia.
Then he saw it. The first streak of a shoulder-fired rocket-propelled missile off in the distance. It erupted from the tall grass with a flash that caught his eye. He couldn’t identify the type right away, but it streaked forward and struck a tanker truck half a mile in front of him, causing a tremendous explosion. Almost before he could react he saw more trails of rockets coming from the low hills toward the convoy. He immediately dropped into the turret and slammed the hatch shut. He yelled to his men to prepare for battle as he leaned forward to look through the commander’s viewfinder. The viewfinder was set directly in front of him, and just as he adjusted the sight to the truck holding the Muslim recruits, he saw it enveloped in an orange ball of flame.
Severov could feel the heat inside the tank as the driver immediately took evasive action. The tank careened off to one side as Severov swung the viewfinder to see what had happened to the truck. And Amir. The flames lifted into the air and dissipated as the shell of the truck fused with the ground. No one moved. In fact, Severov thought it looked like no people had even been sitting in the rear of the truck.
Now he was in a real war.
42
Derek Walsh decided he needed to help find Ted Marshall. He had unraveled too much of this mystery not to be included in something like this. Plus, he felt his knowledge of the building would give him an advantage over the FBI agents searching for his boss. As soon as Walsh burst into the lobby from the forward stairwell he saw most of the FBI agents already outside in the courtyard fanning out. It was a logical move if that was the only door you had ever used to enter or exit the building. Walsh knew some secrets. He started to check the hallways leading out to the street away from the courtyard. In an adjacent lobby, Walsh looked to his left and was not terribly surprised to see Ted Marshall hustling for the front door with no one paying any attention. He must’ve hidden in a bathroom long enough for everyone to pile out the courtyard door. It was slick and clever and about to backfire.
Walsh took three quick steps to get going, and by the time Marshall turned around, Walsh was heading toward him like a guided missile, using the full force of his body and shoulders to drive Marshall into a column, then knock him onto the ground, where the finance manager wheezed, trying to get air back into his lungs.
That was as satisfying as anything Walsh had done in the past year. He resisted the urge to kick the man in the head while he was lying on the hard marble floor. Then Walsh heard someone behind him.
“Nice work, smart guy.” It was Frank Martin, and he casually strolled across the lobby, the only one who’d noticed anything unusual. He barely broke stride as he scooped up the shaken Ted Marshall and motioned for Walsh to follow him. They made it into the lower front stairwell that no one ever used. He unceremoniously dumped Marshall on the first step and stood over him like an interrogator looking at a spy during World War II.
The FBI agent said, “You have until the count of five to start talking or your life goes down the toilet so quickly you’ll feel like a turd.”
Marshall hesitated for a moment.
The FBI agent said, “One,” in a flat voice.
Panic highlighted Marshall’s voice as he said, “Hold on. I need a second to gather my thoughts.”
“Two.”
Walsh was beginning to really like this guy. Now that they were buddies his shtick was entertaining.
Marshall started to weep and rubbed his eyes.
The FBI agent just said, “Three.” Then, without much space, “Four.” He added, “If it helps you, we know all about the Russians.” He turned his head and winked at Walsh.
It was a bluff. They didn’t know shit about the Russians. This guy was good, and Walsh was impressed.
The FBI agent said, “Maybe I’ll just toss you outside and let the protesters know who you are and what you did.”
Finally Marshall said, “Okay, okay, I did it. I made the trade. But it wasn’t my idea.”
Now the FBI agent’s tone changed. “Whose idea was it?”
He sniffled, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. “It was Katazin’s.”
Walsh was about to ask, “Who?” when the FBI agent held up his hand to stop him. He wanted to maintain the illusion that they already knew all of this.
Marshall continued. “He made me. He blackmailed me. I had no choice. He used the girl, Alena. He had photos.”
That hit Walsh hard, but he kept quiet.
The FBI agent said, “You made some money, too, didn’t you?”
It took a moment, but he nodded his head. “They paid huge fees for transactions before the ones to Bern, and I got some into one of my own accounts. The night we made the trades on Derek’s account they knew exactly which accounts to hit. We didn’t think anyone would notice for a while.”
Walsh put in, “That’s why they wanted me dead. To make it look like I did it, then committed suicide.”
Marshall’s expression told him he was right.
Walsh felt ill again.
*
Anton Severov screamed at the driver to pull the T-90 off the road and into a gully that would offer some protection from rockets. He barked the commands as he tried to find a target from his commander’s station. The smoke from the burning truck and other vehicles that had been struck blocked his view, so he threw open the hatch to get a better view outside the cupola. He raised his head cautiously and peered through the binoculars, surveying the wide open fields in front of him. The stench of burning flesh stuck to the inside of his nostrils. His eyes watered from the smoke.
The tank swerved hard and came to an abrupt stop, trying to use the little protection the gully provided. Severov noted that most of his tanks were doing similar things. He hoped the tanks ahead of him knew what was going on. There was no telling how many soldiers were hidden in the grass. Why hadn’t the scouts reported anything? This was exactly what they did not want to happen. Their entire military plan counted on tactical surprise.
His earlier ideas of gaining glory on the battlefield by fighting the best army in the world had dissipated as soon as he looked over at the incinerated truck. There was no glory for the men who smoldered in the back of the destroyed vehicle.
All Severov could think was that there wasn’t supposed to be any resistance this soon. The general had told him there wouldn’t be any resistance at all! He feared that this battle could resonate across the globe. His opening actions might dictate the course of the war. That was a lot for a tank commander to consider as he searched for a target.
He saw a flash of something metallic in the distance around the low bushes that intertwined with the grass. He gave the position to the gunner and felt the turret start to move.
Severov knew he was too late. The trail of the rocket allowed him to track it easily as it rose above the tall grass and homed in on his T-90. He lost a visual as the rocket got closer, but knew when it hit by the intense heat and noise.
But the pain only lasted an instant.
*
Frank Martin looked around the enclosed stairwell and barked at Derek Walsh, “Go find Tonya. I’ll wait here with this shithead.” Walsh nodded and turned to find Agent Stratford.
The FBI agent and Marshall stayed put, with Marshall seated on the second stair and the agent standing over him. Walsh paused, sensing something in Marshall’s mood. The financial manager was past the nervous phase but seemed to be considering something. Walsh was going to say something as Marshall sprang with surprising speed, driving his head into the shocked FBI agent’s chin and knocking him back onto the hard cement floor by the stairs, where he slid into Walsh. Martin and Walsh got tangled, and Walsh lost his balance, falling next to the FBI man.
Marshall wasted no time and took the opportunity, turning and bursting through the door into the lobby. It took a moment for Walsh and Martin to untangle from each other and stand up to give chase.
As soon as they entered the lobby, Walsh realized Marshall had a plan. The lobby was empty, and no one even looked up in their direction.
The FBI agent scanned the room frantically, looking for where the money manager had fled. He let out a string of obscenities, which did draw the attention of the security guard. When the man looked their way, Martin yelled, “Did you see anyone just run through here?”
The older black man just shook his head.
The FBI agent screamed out another obscenity.
Walsh said, “You guys aren’t very good at keeping people in custody, are you?”
Martin gave him an angry look, but he was used to it by now.
*
So far, Joseph Katazin’s day had not been anything like he had expected. At the moment he was wondering if he should just flee the area without trying to tie up any loose ends. Jerry was dead, and there was still quite a crowd around the crime scene. Certainly he had tipped his hand, and Walsh would not be unaware next time. The whole series of incidents had soured his stomach and exacerbated his headache.
He sat in the driver’s seat of his BMW across the street from the back of the Thomas Brothers Financial building. Or it could have been the front. Everyone seemed to come and go through the courtyard. His stomach growled as he considered his options and daydreamed about putting a bullet into Derek Walsh’s groin. That would be sweet.
Common sense took hold, and he decided to pull away from the area and move on to his new life. Then fate intervened. He couldn’t believe his luck when across the street he saw the door from the lobby to Thomas Brothers blast open and his former associate Ted Marshall stumble into the street in a complete daze. Marshall looked up and across the street as if he wanted to cross. This appeared so easy it could be a trap.
Katazin decided he needed to take his shot.
43
Katazin couldn’t believe how easy this was. One thing he had learned was that you must take advantage of luck. Fate had thrown a loose end in front of him, and he decided to take what he could. He gunned the engine of the BMW, pulling away from the curb with the screech of his tires. Marshall was oblivious as he stumbled across the street. Katazin didn’t even have to steer into him. A smile crept over his face as the car made violent and direct contact with the money manager’s body. Marshall was lifted into the air and bounced off the passenger side of the roof, landing on the ground in a heap.
Katazin casually glanced into the rearview mirror to see the lifeless body lying in the middle of the road. He wouldn’t be giving any information to the FBI. One less loose end to worry about.
He kept his foot on the gas as he accelerated away from Thomas Brothers Financial. A few blocks later he slowed the car to a reasonable speed and decided he would head on to Philadelphia, where there was a safe house, and await his next instructions. He’d ditch the car once he was away from the city and find something in Jersey he could use. The contacts in Philadelphia would provide him with another car and the proper paperwork he’d need to blend in as just another immigrant to the sprawling U.S.
Maybe he would even get to see his daughter again one day. Maybe he would even run into Derek Walsh.
Katazin turned up the radio as he listened to the somber voice of the U.S. newscaster giving as much detail as he knew about the first U.S. engagement with Russian troops in Estonia.
He knew he had done all he could as a patriot.
*
In Estonia, Bill Shepherd and his men had reached the railroad tracks. Shepherd looked at his man with engineering experience and said, “What’s the best way to knock the train off the tracks?”
The young sergeant said, “You mean the train coming this way right now? I don’t know that we can. It’s only a minute away.”
“How do we do it?” Shepherd had no time to waste.
The sergeant said, “I guess if we placed the C-4 under the tracks and blew them just as the train arrived, we could at least derail a car or two. Any break in the line could have catastrophic effects as the train rolls forward.”
“I like the plan and the chances. Let’s go.”
They had no shovels or equipment. Their mission was to hit and run and stay as safe as possible. But Shepherd realized what an opportunity this was. He reached down with his bare hands and started to pull away the rocks and sod next to the track. His example encouraged the others, and suddenly all of the men were digging frantically with their hands.
Now Shepherd could feel the vibration in the track as the train got closer. His fingers star
ted to bleed from digging into the ground with his bare hands.
The sergeant prepared a charge of C-4 as Shepherd yelled to the others, “Take cover back over the hill. Do it now.” He stayed with the man as he set the charge, and then they both dropped back quickly. They were using ancient Estonian det cord to trigger the C-4 and had to unspool it as they backed away.
Shepherd knew the train engineer had seen them and was already trying to slow the momentum of the train. He could see how long the train stretched into the distance and that it carried everything on a mixture of flatbeds and boxcars.
They ran out of cord a hundred feet from the tracks. Shepherd turned to the sergeant and said, “Join the other men. Hand me the detonator.” He took the simple electronic device and made sure the sergeant was secure behind the hill. When the train was directly in front of him, on top of the charges they had set, Shepherd pushed the button on the detonator.
He prayed that there was enough explosive to cause at least some damage. Suddenly he saw the flash and heard a tremendous crack roll across the ground. The explosion wasn’t enough to lift the train off the ground, but it wobbled. And as it wobbled farther down the track, the wobble became more pronounced. Then the engine jumped the tracks and tipped over on its side, sliding in the endless field of grass.
Shepherd couldn’t believe their good fortune. Then he realized the cars behind the engine were starting to pop off the track as well. He looked down the line of cars and realized momentum was still carrying them forward and he was in their path.
He turned and started to run over the hill, feeling the ground shudder under the weight and force of the derailing train. One of the boxcars was now skidding across the dirt directly toward him. He leapt as hard as he could off the top of a low hill, then covered his head with his hands as he hit the ground.
He could see the shadow of the boxcar block out the sun as it came to a stop on the edge of the hill directly above him.
