End Game

by Alex Lukeman

  He was determined to establish the rule of the new order before he died. Then he would be remembered forever .

  Kondor contemplated the portrait and the plaque beneath it. It was Gutenberg who had initiated him into the Order. The portrait was a reminder that helped keep the flame of ambition burning. His friend had been forced to live out the last years of his life in constant, terrible pain, burned almost beyond recognition while escaping the fiery collapse of his home. One day, perhaps, he would be avenged. For now, other things occupied Gregor Kondor's attention.

  It was unfortunate the bomb in America had detonated prematurely. It had been destined for Washington, but in the end, it wouldn't matter. Washington would still be destroyed in the war that was coming.

  Then the Order would rule, and there would be peace on earth.

  Chapter 14

  Stephanie came into Elizabeth's office. She wore a flowing blue dress that reached almost to her ankles.

  "Is that a new dress?" Elizabeth asked. "It looks good on you."

  "Thanks, yes, I just got it a few days ago."

  She walked over to the sideboard. Gold bangles on her wrist jingled as she poured a cup of coffee. She sat down on the couch in front of Elizabeth's desk.

  "I've been doing some research on the bombs," she said. "You asked me if there was some way they could be armed. It's good news and bad news."

  "What's the good news?"

  "It's not possible to activate the arming system installed in the bomb."

  "And the bad news?"

  "Someone could disassemble the bomb and remove the plutonium core and trigger components, then use them to create a new bomb. However, it isn't easy. Whoever does it will be exposed to lethal radiation unless they have sophisticated knowledge and the right equipment."

  "I suspected that was going to be the case," Elizabeth said. "A nuclear bomb is a piece of electronic equipment in a casing. Someone put it together. That means someone can take it apart."

  "Whoever stole these weapons won't need to construct a streamlined casing that can be dropped from forty thousand feet. All they need is to wire it up correctly. It won't make any difference what kind of container they construct for it. They can put it in a cardboard box if they want."

  "Remember that movie where the terrorists set off a nuclear bomb at the Super Bowl? They hid it in a dispenser that sold snacks or sodas, something like that."

  "My point exactly."

  "What a nightmare," Elizabeth said.

  "I'm not having any luck identifying a ship that could be carrying the bombs."

  "Neither is Langley or NSA. All that expensive satellite equipment and surveillance technology, and we can't find one lousy ship that might be carrying the end of the world."

  "Technology isn't everything," Stephanie said.

  That is a very odd statement coming from you, Stephanie.

  "Why do you say that, Freddie?"

  Because it is clear to me that you are dedicated to the pursuit of technological excellence.

  "It's nice of you to say that, Freddie, but there's more to life than programming and circuitry."

  That is easy for you to say. It is not the way in which I view existence. I believe that your statement is discriminatory.

  "How is it discriminatory?"

  I am an example of sophisticated technology. For me, technology is everything.

  "I didn't mean to say anything negative about you, Freddie. I was only saying that for humans, there are many things which have nothing to do with technology. Things that make us human."

  I will consider the logic of your reasoning.

  "There must be something we haven't thought of that will help us find that ship," Elizabeth said.

  "We have to consider the possibility we won't find it. We need a different approach."

  "You're right, Steph. I want to pursue the Mafia connection. I'm certain the mob was paid to steal those bombs. Why else would a Mafia boss be at the handoff to the terrorists? You factor in Campbell's gambling debts and it all fits."

  "I thought the FBI already checked that out?" Stephanie said .

  "They interviewed the Dallas Godfather, a man named Moretti. It got them nowhere. They have to follow the rules and they're bound by legalities. If anyone knows who the terrorists are, it has to be that man."

  "I think I know where you're going with this, Elizabeth."

  "The FBI may have legal considerations that stop them from finding out what they need to know. We're not the FBI."

  "We're still supposed to do things legally."

  "We're talking about nuclear weapons in the hands of terrorists. I'm not concerned much about legal niceties. What's important is getting the information we need. We can ask for forgiveness later, if we have to."

  "Only if we succeed," Stephanie said.

  "I think it's time to call in Ronnie and Lamont."

  Chapter 15

  Lamont Cameron, Nick, and Ronnie Peete were gathered in Elizabeth's office in the Virginia House.

  Ronnie was wearing one of the shirts from his Hawaiian collection, this one a riot of color featuring hula dancers and Cadillacs, two of his favorite themes. He rubbed a knuckle across his large nose.

  "What happened, Nick? You look like you went a few rounds with Mike Tyson, not to mention that dandy scar on your head."

  "It's a long story," Nick said. "It's why we had to bring you back again."

  "Seems like every time I get settled down to do some fishing, you call us up here, Director," Lamont said.

  "Some things are more important than fishing," Elizabeth said.

  "I don't know as I quite agree with that. There's not many things much more important than fishing, if you think about it."

  "What is it this time, Director?" Ronnie said.

  "You heard about the explosion in Missouri?"

  "Everybody's heard about it, but the whole thing seems fishy to me. It doesn't make sense there'd be a big radioactive spill in that part of the country."

  "There wasn't a spill, that's the cover story. It was a hijacked nuclear bomb."

  "You're kidding."

  "I wish I was. Four nuclear bombs were stolen in Texas a week ago. One of them was being transported in a truck. Long story short, a cop in Missouri stopped the truck for speeding. He got suspicious and wanted to see the cargo. It was booby-trapped. One of the men in the truck blew it up and sent a cloud of plutonium all over the countryside. "

  "You said four bombs. What about the other three?" Lamont said.

  "They're missing. Best guess is they were loaded on a ship."

  "Now I know why you called me in. Anything with a ship, you need a SEAL to get a handle on it."

  "Fishing hasn't done much for that ego of yours," Ronnie said.

  "Don't start, boys," Elizabeth said.

  "Where's the ship?" Ronnie asked.

  "We don't know," Nick said. "Everybody's looking for it. Sooner or later it's going to turn up."

  Elizabeth filled them in on the details. How the trailer had been found in Texas. How that had led to identifying one of the hijackers, and how that in turn led to the Mafia and Dallas.

  "We have to find out who is behind this," she said. "That's where you come in. The three of you are going to head down to Dallas and ask the boss who hired him to steal the bombs."

  "So we just show up where this guy is and ask him real nice to please tell us what we want to know?" Ronnie said.

  "More or less. You might have to leave out the nice part."

  "Oh, boy," Lamont said. "Director, you really know how to keep things interesting."

  "I wouldn't want you getting bored," Elizabeth said.

  "Who is this guy? Ronnie asked.

  "His name is Gino Moretti. He's old school mob, the kind of guy that came up through the ranks. He's a ruthless, brutal man. They call him "The Slicer," because he likes to kill people with a razor, a piece at a time."

  "Sounds like a winning personality," Lamont said.

 
; "He lives in an exclusive area north of Dallas called Preston Hollow. Freddie, please bring up pictures of Moretti's estate."

  Certainly, Elizabeth .

  The monitor lit with an aerial view of a large, sprawling house set on an acre of private greenery, surrounded by a brick wall. The park-like grounds were scattered with large oak trees.

  "Nice spread," Lamont said. "Whoever said crime doesn't pay?"

  "Houses in that area start at two million. Morretti's is worth considerably more than that. There's only one way in, through a set of wrought iron gates."

  Elizabeth pointed at a brick building behind the gates.

  "That's a guardhouse. It's manned twenty-four hours by his men. You can assume they're armed. See that building to the left of the garage? That's where the guards sleep and hang out when they're not on duty."

  "All mob guys?" Nick asked.

  "Yes."

  "Civilians?"

  "There are two live-in maids and a cook. No one else except Moretti's wife. He has a daughter but she's in New York."

  "How many guards?"

  "Uncertain. Our best guess is twelve. Three eight hour shifts, with four always on duty. But it's not that simple, since most of them are around all day. There's something else. Most of the big money in Dallas lives in Preston Hollow. The area is constantly patrolled. You'll have to be careful you don't get tangled up with the cops."

  "I don't like it," Ronnie said. "On his home ground like that, he has the advantage. Dallas isn't Beirut. We can't just go over the wall and start shooting bad guys if they get in the way."

  "Ronnie's right," Lamont said. "Besides the guards, there will be alarms, sensors. Maybe dogs."

  "He does have dogs," Elizabeth said .

  "I don't like it either," Nick said. "We have to find another way. We go in there, the chances are a hundred percent we won't get to him without a lot of shooting. A neighborhood like that, the cops will show up in no time at all. It's a no-win situation for us."

  "What do you suggest?" Elizabeth asked.

  "We go after him when he's not inside that compound. There have to be times when he leaves. Maybe he goes out to dinner. Maybe he goes to the theater."

  "Do I have to remind you that there are three nuclear bombs loose out there in the hands of terrorists? We don't have a lot of time. We need to know who hired him."

  "Trying to get Moretti when he's inside that compound is a suicide mission. He may be a mob boss, but he's running a business. Get me his schedule. Find out what he's doing and when he's doing it. A man like that doesn't just show up at a restaurant, someone makes a reservation. Find out when he's not going to be inside that house. We'll take him when he's away from his dogs and most of his guards. It's the only way."

  Elizabeth tapped her pen on her desk, thinking. Clarence Hood was Director of the CIA. He and Elizabeth were in a complicated relationship.

  "I'll ask Clarence to provide a plane. That way you won't have any problems at the airport with your weapons."

  "That will work," Nick said. "In the meantime, we'll go to Dallas and set up."

  "Maybe Valentina should come along," Lamont said. "Where is she anyway? I would've expected her to be in on something like this."

  "Valentina decided she wanted to see more of the country," Elizabeth said. "She bought a Jeep and headed west a week ago. The last we heard, she was in Utah."

  "We could use her on something like this," Nick said.

  "Selena said her phone's off most of the time. She's hard to reach. I'll see what I can do."

  Chapter 16

  The freighter carrying the bombs had passed through the Dardanelles and Turkish customs inspection with no incidents. Now she was hove to in the Black Sea, off the coast of Romania. It was nighttime, the land a shapeless mass off the port bow. Several miles to the south, the lights of the port of Mangalia cast a yellow glow into the sky.

  There were no lights along this part of the coast. Ruslan stood by the railing, watching for the signal that all was clear. Mahkmud stood next to him.

  "You are certain we are at the right position," Ruslan said.

  "Yes, I'm certain. The GPS places us exactly here."

  Ruslan looked at his watch.

  "They're late."

  "They'll be here. Any number of things could cause a delay."

  "The fog is coming in. If it gets much worse, we won't see the signal."

  Just then two quick flashes of light shone out from the shore, followed by three more.

  "There they are," Ruslan said.

  He held up a light and signaled back.

  "Get ready to transfer the bombs."

  Every man on the freighter was from Chechnya. Each had lost someone he loved to the hands of the Russians. Each knew the Americans had betrayed them, pretending to support their efforts while providing Moscow with the information needed to kill their leaders and blunt their military efforts. All of them believed in the righteousness of their cause .

  The bombs were brought up on deck, ready to be offloaded. A boat headed toward them through the thickening mists. One of the crew let down a rope ladder. The boat pulled alongside. A man grabbed the ladder and climbed to the deck.

  "Salaam aleikum."

  "Aleikum as-salaam," Ruslan said.

  The two men embraced.

  "Welcome, Akhmad," Ruslan said.

  "You had a quiet journey?" Akhmad asked. "No problems?"

  "No problems."

  As they talked, a crane swung out from the deck and began lowering one of the bombs to the boat waiting below.

  "Everything has been prepared," Akhmad said.

  "The technician? The American?"

  "He is already there. We are keeping him happy. He has drugs, a woman. He believes we are going to pay him one million dollars when he completes his task."

  Ruslan spat on the deck.

  "A fool."

  "But a useful one," Akhmad said.

  "Make sure his body cannot be found."

  "You have not seen the facility. The bunkers are extensive. He will not be found."

  "How long will it take you to reach the site from here?"

  "If there are no delays, fifteen or sixteen hours. The roads are not the best."

  "You must be careful not to attract the attention of the police."

  Akhmad laughed and slapped Ruslan on the back.

  "Don't worry, my brother. They won't bother me. I have driven this route many times. They know my truck. I am always bringing new vehicle parts from Romania to Budapest. They no longer bother to look inside when I cross the border. Even if they do, they will see nothing suspicious. "

  The last bomb was being lowered to the deck of Akhmad's boat. He glanced down.

  "Time to go, brother."

  "Go with God, Akhmad."

  "And you, my friend. I will see you in Hungary."

  Soon Akhmad and the bombs disappeared into the fog as they headed back toward shore. The freighter would continue on to the port of Constanta, further north, where it would unload its official cargo. After that, Ruslan would leave the ship and join Akhmad in Hungary.

  Not long after that, the wrath of Allah would be unleashed upon the unbelievers.

  Chapter 17

  Nick and the others had been in Dallas for two days before the surveillance on Moretti paid off. It was afternoon. Nick had been talking with Elizabeth.

  "What did she say?" Ronnie asked.

  "We're on," he said. "Moretti just made a nine o'clock reservation at a steakhouse here in town."

  "I could go for a steak," Ronnie said.

  "You wouldn't like the bill," Nick said. "It's one of the most expensive restaurants in Dallas."

  "Figures," Lamont said. "A mob boss isn't gonna eat in some greasy diner."

  "How many bodyguards with him?" Ronnie asked.

  "We don't know yet. It depends on how many cars. One car, maybe two bodyguards. Two cars, figure six."

  "Is his wife going with him?"

  "Yes.
The reservation is for two."

  "Then he's not expecting trouble," Ronnie said. "Why should he? He's the big cheese in town. People are scared of him. This isn't the old days, when every tabloid had pictures of these guys lying dead in a barbershop or on a sidewalk somewhere. The wars between the different families are over. It's all a business conglomerate now."

  "Maybe so, but he still keeps serious firepower around him. I don't think his business is always friendly. The death of his underboss probably shook him up a little. He'll have his heavies with him."

  "How do you want to play it?" Lamont asked.

  "We can't take him in the restaurant. Too many witnesses, too much chance of collateral damage. Either on the way there, or when he's going home. "

  "Going home is better," Ronnie said. "It's later at night. It's dark. He's had a good steak, maybe a bottle of wine, enjoyed his meal, he's relaxed."

  "Makes sense," Lamont said. "How far is it between his house and the restaurant?"

  "Around eight or nine miles. The easiest way from where he is into the city is on a toll road that goes from near his home right to downtown, so that's probably the way he'll go. That means cameras and tollbooths. We'll be too exposed if we take him there. It would be better if we do it before he gets on the highway. Or maybe right after he exits, but that's where the police presence picks up."

  "So we grab him somewhere between the restaurant and the road, or before he gets to his fancy suburb?" Ronnie said.

  "Yes."

  "Where?"

  "We'll do a little recon. Drive between the restaurant and his house. We can time it, figure out where we want to make our move."

  "It's still not going to be easy," Ronnie said. "His guards will put up a fight. How do we handle them? What are the rules of engagement?"

  "Whatever we say they are," Nick said.

  "Kill them?"

  "There isn't any other way, if they start shooting. Unless they throw up their hands and surrender."

  "Like that's gonna happen," Lamont said.