by Camden Mays
“We blasted out the emergency text to all students and faculty. We didn’t know if it was safe to go in there.”
“Are you kidding me! The cell signals are jammed. Start moving them out of the building, now!”
“Jason, on me,” Cameron directed as he sprinted into the Commons.
“We’re moving to the food court,” he said through the coms.
“When we get there check the C02 canisters at the soda fountains,” he told Albright as they hustled up the hall shouting for people to get out of the building.
“I don’t think so, boss.”
“What?”
“If it were me, I’d put it in the ventilation system.”
They turned the corner in the dining hall and stopped.
“OK, get help with the schematics and get there. I hope to God you’re right. I’m finding Jess.”
Hasim turned the corner in the loading dock and ran right into the two FBI agents. He tried to break away, but the other agent with Hannah pinned him against the wall and subdued him. He realized he was caught.
“We’ve got Hasim!” Hannah called out over the coms.
“Find out where the device is!” Cameron shouted back.
Hannah and the other agent were working Hasim. They held him against the wall in the loading dock and searched his pockets and his backpack. They pressed him for information.
“I said, Where’s the device?”
His eyes drifted over her shoulder then he grinned. Hannah turned and saw the clock on the opposite wall. 12:42.
“It’s on a timer! Get out! Get out!” she yelled over her coms.
Cameron frantically searched the crowded venue looking for his daughter, his body language telegraphed dread. The diners stared at him in confusion. He pulled out his Glock 22 and held it high in the air and began yelling.
“Everyone out! Everyone out, now!”
Some stood in awe, others took the floor. Two rounds were fired from the Glock into the ceiling. Now they were listening and began running out.
“Jess!” he yelled.
Albright came over the coms, “I think I found it.”
“Dad!” Jess screamed back, gawking in disbelief as he ran toward her.
“Oh shit!” Chase yelled, choking on his straw and stumbling to the floor as he tried to get out of his chair. “I’m sorry, I was just messing around. I’m sorry, sir,” he cried with his arms over his face.
Cameron grabbed his daughter and yelled for everyone to leave. Chase was still on the floor with the crotch of his shorts wet with his urine.
“Get your ass up, let’s go!”
“What’s going on Dad?” Jessica frantically asked.
“No time! No time! Everyone out!” Cameron pushed them along.
Albright came over the coms, “I’ve got it, pulling it out of the intake now. Moving it to the mechanical room to enclose it in case its triggered.”
“Leave it Jason, get out!” Cameron hollered over the coms.
Albright moved the canister from the intake and quickly carried it to a nearby mechanical room with a metal door and concrete walls.
“Oh shit,” he said with a sad resignation in his voice.
“Jason, get out of there now!” Hannah screamed.
“Move it, Jason!” Cameron yelled.
“Honey keep going. I’ve got to go back. Tell the FBI agents out there who you are they’ll take of you.”
“Dad, no!”
“Sorry, sweetheart, I love you.” He ran back through the nearly empty dining hall, motioning and yelling at stragglers to get out of the building as he found them.
“Jason, do you have your atropine with you? Jason come in?” Cameron knew the nerve agent would induce asphyxiation and kill his friend in a matter of minutes.
“Hannah?”
“Negative, Cole. Back at the Luxe.”
“What does the scum bag have on him,” he said, stopping to get his bearings on the building layout.
“His backpack has an air mask but no atropine.”
“Meet me at the basement stairs with the mask, hurry!”
They met at the stairs going to the basement.
“Give me the mask,” Cameron said. He pulled back the strap and lifted it over his head but was jerked backward by two men in white suits and air masks while two others pulled Hannah away.
“You both have to get out of here now! We’ve got to contain this,” the leader of the Hazardous Materials Response Unit from the FBI yelled.
“Our, guy is down there!” Cameron protested violently.
“We’re sealing the door now. I know it’s a shitty deal, but it was the only way.”
Cameron fell to his knees as he watched Hannah cry out and pull away from the chemical crew. Someone helped lift him back up to his feet.
“You need to go back out through the loading dock to the designated safe zone.” One of the suits tried to retake Hannah’s arm, and she yanked it away.
“I’ve got her, I’ve got her,” Cameron said. He put his arm around her and led her away.
✽✽✽
INTERSTATE 40 - ARIZONA
Al-Himyari slid down the embankment at the overpass back at the spot where he had set his trap for the trucker. He was sweaty and dirty again. He climbed into the cab of the semi-truck and started it up. Just be careful at the scales, he told himself.
Al-Himyari killed the trucker as he was looking under the hood, slicing his throat with his faithful knife. The hardest part had been getting him in the car without being seen by the traffic passing by. He almost gave up at one point, thinking of leaving him in the ditch, but he needed to buy more time.
Instead, he put him in the car and drove into the National Park that circled back around to the overpass where he had parked. He had found a turnout about half a mile from the bridge and pulled the car off. He took all of the trucker’s identifications and wiped down the car to remove his fingerprints.
As the truck rolled down the highway, he began to sing with his Arabic accent the Willie Nelson hit, ‘On The Road Again.’
He gazed at the photo of the soldier in the visor.
“Say hello to your papa.” He snagged and crumbled the picture tossing it out the window to be carried by the desert wind.
Al-Himyari flipped on the satellite radio, it was tuned to Fox News Channel. The broadcasters were discussing the breaking news of the attempted terror strike on the UCLA campus. After hearing a few details, he knew the plan had failed.
“Hasim!” al-Himyari yelled pounding his fist on the steering wheel.
He used the trucker’s cell and called his Russian contact.
CHAPTER 23
Washington, DC
“How was your stay with us, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins,” the desk clerk at the Hilton Capital hotel asked.
Grant Ramsey just stared at the young man.
“It was delightful, thank you,” Katrina Nikolin said to appease him.
“OK, here’s your receipt and let me get that package you were looking for.” A moment later the clerk returned with a large Tyvek envelope.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
Grant and Katrina left the lobby and walked a block down K Street to the coffee shop on the corner. Katrina grabbed the corner table, and Ramsey ordered her latte and his coffee.
They carefully reviewed the documents in the envelope. Another set of credentials, phones, and a car key fob. They put their old items in the packet and dumped them in the trash.
“Damn it!” Ramsey belted as he took a sip.
Katrina placed her hand on his, “What’s wrong dear?”
“I hate this mustache!”
“I know dear. It won’t be long now.”
“Any idea where we’re going?”
“The GPS in the car is set to our destination.”
“And where’s the car?”
“Third level of the Colonial Parking Garage just down the street.”
They picked up th
e car and the GPS directed them out of DC along the Potomac River on George Washington Memorial, catching 123 and then heading west on 267. After about an hour of driving, they passed Dulles International Airport and continued westward until hitting James Monroe Highway south for a while. The GPS then put them heading west again off of Highway 15.
“We’re getting out in the country now,” Ramsey said breaking the long period of silence.
Eventually, they turned into a long winding gravel driveway leading up to an older farmhouse with white wood siding.
The thirty-four-acre farm provided ample privacy, and the equestrian setting was purely picturesque. The farmhouse looked like something from the mid-twentieth century, and the grounds were hemmed by dark brown picket fences that defined the pastures.
Ramsey drove the car around the gravel circle to the front porch where they were greeted by two big, athletic men who decided to frisk them both. The one beast spent extra time on Katrina, causing Ramsey’s blood to boil.
“Knock it off, Meathead!”
The bodyguard shot a dirty look toward the American and stepped toward him when a voice from the porch stopped him.
“Dmitry, enough! These are our guest.”
The heavy-set middle-aged man looked toward the sky and then stepped back toward the door, attempting to avoid any surveillance from above.
“They’ve had a long drive. Please, you come in now.”
“Katrina, my love, it has been too long,” he said kissing her cheeks and hugging her as she entered. Ramsey noticed the man’s hands going down her back to her ass.
“And you must be the famous Mr. Ramsey?” he said shaking Ramsey’s hand. “I’m Gavriil, please, why don’t you freshen up and get comfortable. We have much to discuss.”
“Dmitry, show them to their room. Filipp will take care of the car.”
The bodyguard left Ramsey’s bag outside but carried Katrina’s up to the stairs to their bedroom. Ramsey retrieved his bag quickly not wanting to leave Katrina with Meathead any longer than necessary.
As they situated themselves for an indefinite stay, Ramsey inquired about Gavriil as he removed the mustache and hair piece. Katrina explained that Gavriil Medvedm is her handler and had worked with her since she was brought to America.
What she did not tell Ramsey was that Medvedm was the number two SVR man in North America. He had risen in rank over the last decade mainly in part to Katrina’s valuable intelligence gathering. She did the work, and he took the credit.
“I’ll sometimes call him ‘Bear’ because that is the literal meaning of his name,” she said.
“How appropriate for such a big guy, I was thinking more like, ‘fat bastard,’” Ramsey’s comical reference was lost on Katrina.
“Don’t be rude, dear. Think more of a grizzly bear in the woods and not some fairy tale fluffy animal.”
Ramsey smirked.
“I’m serious, he is not to be trifled with.”
“I don’t care what you call him as long I get my fucking money.”
Medvedm was part of an emerging group of nationalists who grew weary of the slow progress being made to catch the West. The Kremlin’s policies reflected, in their opinion, a misguided belief, that the West was on the verge of collapse, due in some part to the technology efforts of the SVR.
Teaming with China, Russia had been instrumental in influencing elections in the US and the UK with misinformation tactics, and affecting the economic policies pushing the countries deeper in debt and marching them toward hyperinflation.
But for Medvedm and his group, the progress was too slow, and by his estimation, he would be gone and buried by the time any real results were seen.
Instead, he proposed a more radical approach. Rather than a gentle nudge, his plan called for a hard and fast punch. One that would knock his opponent out of the competition. But before he could actualize his dream of power, he needed certain obstacles removed.
Medvedm served behind the deputy of SVR for North America. In his mind, the deputy was soft and too subtle for his position of power. He had sought to undermine his authority on several occasions resulting in a few confrontations. But Medvedm had clout with the Kremlin due to the valuable intel he had produced over the last several years. His superior was stuck with his insubordinate, egotistical assistant deputy for the foreseeable future.
Medvedm sat in a large leather back chair and stoked his cigar waiting for the couple to join him. The house carried the noise from their movement, and he heard the mumblings of their conversation.
Katrina was his crowning achievement. He had taken the caterpillar and transformed her into a beautiful butterfly. The Bear knew she would always be loyal to him. The clueless American was eating out of the palm of her hand, he reasoned. Seeing his guest come down the stairs he motioned for them to join him in the parlor near the fireplace.
“Please, help yourself,” he said pointing to the table with Vodka and Whiskey bottles.
“Our friend from Yemen arrived in Virginia a couple of days ago. He is eager to complete his mission as I am sure you are as well.”
“Yes, I am very eager to get paid for my services,” Ramsey said. “I’ve made all the preparations as requested. The equipment at the hotel is secure and ready for the meeting. I believe we agreed that payment would be made in the form of bearer bonds.”
“That is correct, but we have a bit of a problem.”
Ramsey didn’t like where this was going,
“What sort of problem?”
“Our friend has requested one more task that I need your help with.”
“Spit it out Bear,” Ramsey said with growing frustration, sensing he had been misled.
The Russian man’s veins bulged from his fat forehead. He sought to contain his contempt for the American. Smoke from his cigar floated above his head, he reminded himself that he still needed the bastard.
“Mr. Ramsey, please, you will have your bonds as we agreed. We simply have a need that matches your unique skill set.”
“Go on.”
“In addition to the bonds, I’m prepared to offer another four million in cryptocurrency for your inconvenience.”
“And if I say, ‘no’?”
“We are not animals Mr. Ramsey, you are free to go with your bonds.” The large man drew another puff and released circles into the air.
“But Katrina, on the other hand, belongs to the State and she will be required to carry out the mission without you. Oh, and of course her half of the bonds will stay with her as well.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ramsey said turning to Katrina. “Kat?”
“What he says is true. I can’t leave without completing the mission.”
Ramsey had an idea where the Bear was leading him but also realized that he already had blood on his hands and that staying ahead of the CIA or the SVR for that matter would be an expensive endeavor. He and Katrina needed the money.
“OK Bear,” Ramsey gave his wry reply. “I’m in, but I want half now and the remainder when the job is completed. I will expect the balance of the cryptocurrency to be transferred before my feet leave the states. And one more thing, Katrina and I never want to see you or Meathead ever again.”
“As you wish.”
“OK, which one do I have to kill?”
CHAPTER 24
McLean Virginia
Cameron scrambled the eggs in the skillet and turned over the slices of Canadian bacon. He sighed thinking about the hellish nightmare he and those close to him had experienced. It had been over a week ago that the team was in LA, working with the FBI frantically trying to stop the terrorists. And they had. The devices were secure and the terrorists arrested. But success, as Cameron had learned, in this field was always costly.
Jason Albright was a great young man with a bright and promising future. His parents were presented with the FBI Memorial Star for his selfless act of courage that saved hundreds of lives.
He tossed the eggs and Canadian bacon slices on
two plates. Albright had saved his beautiful daughter, Jessica, from a horrific act of vengeance.
“Breakfast is ready,” he hollered.
“Morning Dad,” Jessica said, peering out the front window before shuffling back to the kitchen island in her pajamas.
“Hey, Sweetie. What are you looking for?”
“Just seeing who was out there,” Jessica said referring to the FBI agents parked outside to help provide security.
“Here you go. Best eggs you’ll ever have.” Cameron slid the plate over to her.
“And he’s not out there.”
“Who?”
“You know who. Agent Kincaid.”
Cameron had seen the way Jessica looked at the young agent and more concerning to him was how the agent looked at his daughter.
“These are good. But you cook ‘em the same way every time,” Jessica said changing the subject.
“Oh, I thought you liked them this way. Not that I can do other ways, but you always liked them.”
“Oh no, they’re great, but I like variety too.”
“OK, I’ll make a note of that along with a million other things I’m learning about you.”
He smiled and kissed the back of her head as he pulled up the stool next to her.
“You hear from your friends at school?”
“Yeah! You’re like a freakin’ hero. Everyone chatting about it. I can’t believe that was you in the helicopter.”
“Hey what about the kid in your study group? You know, Mr. Wet Pants.”
“Dad! That’s so mean.” She slapped his left shoulder.
“Easy, easy.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot sorry.”
After a few bites, she shifted the subject.
“Dad, I’d really like to get back to school as soon as possible. I mean next week is spring break but after that, I want to be there when classes start back.”
“We talked about this, Jess. Until they find this guy, I can’t let you do that.”
“Dad, I’m nineteen. Technically I can do whatever I want. I mean you can’t stay home forever and how long is someone going to be parked outside our house watching us.”
