by Tom Haase
Ricky rolled over onto her.
After Clare left, Ricky took a shower and then got on his computer and sent the information gleaned from Clare to an email address. He didn’t know exactly where it went, but they were the control element for his cell.
After he had converted to Islam a few years ago, he’d adopted the Fundamentalist philosophy of the imam at his nearby mosque. After taking the name al-Banna, he’d joined and now provided the leadership for the local jihadist cell of al-Qaeda. He worked as the supervisor of an equipment service unit for aviation electronics and navigation systems.
Ricky headed a five-member team, all dedicated to the same goals as himself, each having a specialty. He recruited his cell members from those who believed the world must be converted to Islam by any means. There were another two men, not from his service unit, but available to him because of their same dedication to the jihadist’s calling, who worked as computer programmers with a major software company.
From Ricky’s reports submitted by emails, the worldwide terrorist control network called Fatimah received the information on Matt and sent an order to act on it once the target’s exact location became known.
A clear message would be delivered to any individual or group who thwarted the will of Allah, or the will of Fatimah.
9
Six Days Ago — Before Docking In Savannah
Yuri confronted the captain and attempted to obtain papers to go ashore in Savannah. The captain balked and refused to provide them. Yuri left the man’s cabin and went to ponder his situation. His mission now centered on getting the captain to realize that he must fulfill Yuri’s demands.
The eerie glow of soft red and yellow lights vaguely brightened the distant shoreline. The ship would reach the Port of Savannah in the early morning hours.
* * *
Twenty minutes after exiting the captain’s cabin, Yuri Borisov hung his head over the side rail of the vessel. His stomach contracted, did it again, and he lost all its contents—not from seasickness, but from what he had done. Everything had happened so fast. He sweated and took in large gulps of air. A mere twenty days ago, the disaster at Ras Tanura had occurred, and now the aftermath had forced him to kill.
He knew the crew used this door to go back and forth between the deck and the sleeping area, so he had hidden in a passageway off the entrance to the deck and waited until the unsuspecting victims passed him before attacking them from behind with a steel rod. Yuri bent down and stripped the IDs from the corpses of the two men he had pummeled to death. With great effort, he tossed the bodies overboard and returned to Basam’s cabin with the documents from the murdered crewmen.
He discovered Basam on the bed. The place smelled like the inside of an old jockstrap. Yuri hadn’t seen him for three days but now his skin appeared ashen white, and the man looked ten pounds lighter. Basam had remained in his cabin for the entire passage, and Yuri hadn’t impinged on his privacy. Now, however, the time had come to get their final plan in order and prepare to leave the ship.
"Yuri, have you responded to the latest query from Fatimah?" asked Basam as soon as Yuri sat on the only chair in the room.
"Not yet. Let’s go over what we have so far and see where we want to go and what we want to do." Yuri took out a cigarette and lit it. He did not offer one to Basam. "You look awful. Are you sick?"
"No. It’s nothing, only some vomiting. Some sort of flu."
"Okay." But Yuri didn’t believe him. "Remember, we got our first communication from Fatimah as we rounded the cape off South Africa. They told us to wait. It took them by complete surprise when I told them we were alive and had the atomic weapon." He gave a small laugh and stood up to go over to the porthole, opening it for air. Yuri knew about Fatimah from his dealing with Basam’s dead brother. That organization, or group of jihadists, or Islamic fundamentalists, or whatever they called themselves, ran a worldwide network of terrorists.
Fatimah’s headquarters, located in Iran, continually provided overall direction for operations on a global level and had done so for decades. They conducted operations through the entities known as al-Qaeda, Hezbollah, Hamas, Muslim Brotherhood and many more names, and they were funded, given leadership, and ultimately controlled as a worldwide terrorist network by Fatimah.
"That was about the same time we saw on the news the president of Iran called for eliminating the U.S. president. The press was also talking up the new ‘Axis of Evil’ between Tehran and other states," Basam said.
"Yes," Yuri said. "That’s why I think they gave us Atlanta as our target. They told us the president would be going there. They stated they would have the date before we got to Savannah." Yuri came back and sat in the chair, trying to get comfortable. "In the latest email, they say they’re going to punish the man who murdered your brother."
"Do you think something happened to cause that?" Basam asked as he tried not to cough.
"Must have. Somehow they found out who attacked us in Saudi Arabia. I think they went to eliminate him. The email didn’t tell us how, only that another attack would be made on him soon. They said the first attempt failed and he killed all their people."
Basam jumped up from his bed and ran to the bathroom. Yuri heard him throwing up.
"Basam, come outside by the rail to get some real air. We’ll stay by the door next to the barrier. We won’t go far from the door. You haven’t been out of this room for two weeks. In the morning, we get to America and will stay in Savannah until they tell us to move. We now have a job to do there, and only a few days to get it done. I hope Fatimah gives us enough lead time."
"I’ll go out, but just for a few minutes. How do you think they found out who attacked us?" Basam asked.
"Don’t know. Come on, I’ll help you." Yuri could see he would have to help Basam to walk. He walked like a frail old man.
"Did they find out who killed my brother?"
"Don’t know." Yuri couldn’t even guess how Fatimah had discovered the identity of the man who had thwarted their attempt to destroy the lifeblood of oil supply from Saudi Arabia.
Yuri helped Basam to stand by the outside rail. The man appeared so weak when he took steps that Yuri wondered if he would drop dead right here.
"How are we going to get off the boat without papers?"
"I left our dear captain a few minutes ago. I told him that we had brought automatic weapons on board, and that we would kill everyone and jump overboard if he didn’t go along with my plan. I told him I killed two of his crew and had their papers to get us ashore. If he sounded the alarm, or if there was any interference with us on arrival, he would be the first to die."
"You didn’t."
"Yes, I did. How do you think we could pull this off if he doesn’t help and keep quiet till we’re gone? If he does, then he’ll report two crewmembers missing when he leaves Savannah. The authorities will presume they have jumped ship. His hands are clean, and he will have reported it. He also won’t lose his job for aiding us."
"Do you think it will work?" Basam whispered, barely audible, sounding even weaker than Yuri had suspected.
"The last communiqué from Fatimah approved the fee of five million for doing this job. Not as generous as your brother." Yuri scanned around to see if anyone could hear them. He saw no one.
"I didn’t tell you that I got an email from the Americans."
"What? How?"
"I think they found that laptop we lost following the detonation of the underground atomic bomb. My email address, likely discovered on it, could be the reason. They’re trying to get me to surrender the weapon and receive immunity if I do. I don’t trust them to keep their word."
They both continued to stare over the side of the ship. The coastal lights appeared closer. The sky reflected a yellowish glow in the clouds from the electric illumination along the Georgia coastline.
"I didn’t answer them, so they don’t know we exist."
"Why?”
"I think it was a shot in the dark to see if
I’d bite. They don’t even know if we’re alive, and they couldn’t know we have an atomic weapon," Yuri concluded.
"I’m tired. Let’s go back inside," Basam said as he tried to walk. Yuri grabbed his arm, but Basam twirled back and threw up over the side of the ship. He turned back, and his face caught the light. Yuri couldn’t believe this same Basam had accompanied him on the ride across the desert two weeks ago. What had happened? Then Yuri helped him to his cabin.
As a nuclear engineer, Yuri started to suspect radiation poison might be the problem with Basam, but if Basam wanted to stay in the confined room and kill himself due to a small leak in the cylinders holding the radioactive material, what did he care? He was in this for the money.
* * *
Taking his evening stroll on the deck, the captain rounded a corner just as Yuri turned his head in the opposite direction and searched to see if anyone approached. The captain stopped and backed up. Cautiously, he peered around the corner. He could hear bits of the conversation. Basam turned back from vomiting, providing a clear look at the man. Horror filled the captain at what he saw. He knew what afflicted the man. At least, he was nearly certain he knew.
After the two went into Basam’s cabin, the captain retreated to his quarters. That Russian, Yuri, had killed two of his crew and threatened all the others, including himself. He knew what he would do, but it would have to be after he played along with their scheme, because he wanted them off his ship as the first priority. The second step demanded that he get the information to an old friend and former comrade-in-arms.
There could be only one way that Basam had arrived at his current condition under the present circumstances. He remained absolutely sure. Many years ago in the small town of Chernobyl, where his parents lived when he served in the Red Army, he had seen the same sickness with the same symptoms when he’d returned home to take care of them in their final days. It had only taken a few weeks for them to die, but in the end it was not pretty. There were no medicines to help. Just pain.
Yes, he knew what caused the Arab’s suffering. There had to be a leaking uranium source in the enclosed steel cabin the man occupied, and it must belong to him, as it was not part of the ship. They might possess an atomic device of some type, or weapons-grade material.
He needed to let someone know about it.
10
Six Days Ago — Late Evening — Leesburg, Virginia
“Why don’t you leave your car here and we’ll just take mine for our drink?” Matt said. They turned off all the lights, locked the doors to the office, and set the alarm before going out. “We’re only going a couple of blocks. There’s a place at the corner near my new apartment that looks good. Let’s try it out.”
“Okay by me.” Bridget gave him a nod and got into Matt’s black two-door 2007 BMW, a 3 Series convertible that his father had given him as a present for getting out of the military. Well, at least that’s what he’d led his dad to believe. The old man, a Wall Street hedge fund manager, hated his son serving in the army. His “little” gift was actually a bribe to force Matt to consider joining his firm. So far, that strategy hadn’t worked, but Matt did like the car.
Matt drove the five blocks in silence. He searched for a parking spot near the bar but found none, so he parked at his apartment building ten doors away. They got out and walked. On entering, they saw a contemporary décor with a U-shaped bar in the center and chairs and tables around the center area. Nothing as spectacular as the Red Coach Inn, located further down the street in the middle of the historic district, but it was clean and comfortable.
"I don’t think champagne is in order, especially since I don’t like it," Bridget said.
"I agree. How about an expensive bottle of wine and some steaks here?" Mark said.
"Great," she said.
While eating in the corner with a view of the entrance, they chatted about the mission to Dallas and how pleased they were with the initial setup of the company. Bridget mentioned that she knew some additional prospects for more security opportunities in the near future.
"Where did you get these contacts? Not that I mind, it’s awesome to have business coming in, but I’ve brought us nothing so far."
"Remember I told you at the start that I thought I could get a few contracts to get us started? If we do good, then I believe word of mouth will help us continue."
"Yeah. But where do your contacts come from?"
"Mostly from friends of my father’s friend. He was the son of the village elder in Turkey. You know, they’re Armenians by ethnicity and Christian by religion. The persecution by the Turkish government got so bad that many left, and so did he after his grandparents were killed.” Bridget filled her wineglass and took a sip.
“Somehow, many people from that village arrived in San Francisco. They were merchants by trade and started fresh here. Over the years, they and their children did well. They helped each other the best they could and kept in contact with my father. They have their own church with their language and rituals, which provides a cohesive force in the community.”
"So these are the people who are employing us now? Like Mr. Pasha in Texas?"
"Yes," Bridget responded.
"I never understood how you joined the counterterrorist business at DIA. No one seemed to know. I asked General Bergermeyer, and she told me if I wanted to know I would have to ask you. Now seems like a good time to tell me," Matt finished. He stared at Bridget with intense interest and waited for what seemed like a long time before getting an answer.
"I’ll give you the shortened version. No details of my youth. I planned to go to college after high school, but 9/11 happened. Mind you, I still want to get my archeology degree and maybe a doctorate at some point."
"Damn. Something happened after 9/11?" Matt reached over and placed his hand on top of Bridget’s. She didn’t pull back.
"Yes, and that’s why I haven’t said anything, because it’s too similar to your experience. 9/11 devastated me. I withdrew from school and started to drink. At Christmas, my father attacked me as not being true to myself, nor how he had reared me. It took me a week to sober up, then I returned to my studies. In January, I heard the president’s State of the Union address and realized that I had to do something to pay these people back."
"So what did you do?" Matt asked as he refilled the glasses.
"I wanted revenge. I tried to think of how to get it. I’ve always been a strong athlete and in excellent shape."
Matt looked at her. "I can see that."
"I wanted to punish the terrorists and get away from my family. I wanted to show my father that I was a person in my own right. One day, I visited an army recruiter. It never crossed my mind to check out the other services."
"Did you volunteer for airborne training?"
"Yes, and after that I got a call from someone in the DIA to come for a visit. After they told me what they wanted me for, I was in, and delighted. I got my wish, and we did go after the bad guys. We wiped out an entire cell on our last mission. We . . .you and I . . .we worked well together. So that’s my story."
Matts separated their hands, picked up his wineglass and toasted Bridget. "Very interesting. Thanks for telling me. So, the old boy network of Armenians is supplying us with work?"
"For starters. And I think we have enough knowledge and drive to make it on our own."
"So do I."
After the meal, Matt said, "Let’s get out of here.” He put the money for the bill on the table. They got up and walked out.
As they exited the bar, Matt’s ingrained senses alerted him to something. Someone must be watching. He scanned the area but saw no one. Then he focused his attention on his partner and forgot about it.
"Before we go back to your car, let’s stop by my place and you can see the neat little apartment I got. We have to walk there anyway."
"Sure. But remember, we start work early tomorrow. Maybe they’ll have something for us on Yuri. Also, you have to get Laura over to the office
so the general can pick her up."
On reaching his place, Matt led her up to the second-floor apartment. His space appeared fixed up beyond the cave-dwelling aspect of his old place in Arlington. The wall held two fake oil paintings by Monet, and a complete set of furniture from Rooms-to-Go adorned the main space, including the lamps and a home entertainment console with a large TV.
"Nice digs," Bridget said on entering.
Matt went over to switch on the lamp. He then walked back to the entrance to escort Bridget in, offering her his hand.
* * *
At 6:30 the next morning, the alarm clock went off. Matt went over to the couch where Bridget had fallen asleep last night after they’d talked for what must have been hours. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some breakfast.”
"Me too," she replied, stretching out her arms and getting up.
"I’ll call you when it’s ready. Do you want to do a morning run?"
"No, but thank you very much for offering. It’s got to be freezing outside," Bridget said with a smile on her face.
Matt returned to his room and took a shower and then went to the kitchen area to make the coffee. He pointed her to his bedroom, where he had put out fresh towels, and in a few minutes he heard Bridget running the water. After she cut it off, he put the toast in the toaster. Rather simple, but he hadn’t expected a guest for breakfast.
Bridget came out with her hair wet and wearing the same outfit from last night. "I’ll have to get to my place to change before we go to work. Can’t wear this again after last night."
Matt got the sense that she didn’t care about the clothes. "Coffee?"
