by Tom Haase
“Basam al-Hanbali,
You and the Russian are to proceed to Atlanta in time to arrive there before the target does in three days from the date of this order. He will land at Hartsfield Airport at 1430 hours local time. Have the weapon detonate five minutes after that time.
Orders have already been sent to cells to cause maximum distraction of law enforcement from our primary target. We will ensure that the plane lands at that time and location.
The transfer of five million to the designated bank account will take place after detonation.
God is great.
Fatimah”
They had failed to send the money that he requested. Yuri sat back and took a drink from the lager he had ordered. It tasted awful. American beer is so bad. It’s weak and taste like water. He thought for a minute before he typed an encrypted reply.
“Fatimah, Russian will not cooperate without money in account twenty-four hours prior to time you specify. If funds verified, mission will be accomplished.
God is great.
Basam”
Now he must wait. He picked up a tourist magazine he’d noticed on top of the empty table next to him and perused it. The response should come within an hour or so, based on previous communications. He signaled for the waiter, planning on ordering vodka to wash away the taste of the beer. Then he saw her. She walked like a tourist—slowly, turning her head from side to side, taking in all the sights. She was only a few yards away. He left money for the drink, put his computer in his pack, and started to walk in her direction. His own actions were a mystery to him. He should stop and go back and forget this madness.
Never before had he chased a woman. Wasn't that what he was doing now? Maybe, it was because he was in America and he knew things were different here. Maybe the money he now possessed had caused his change in mentality. Maybe he was horny.
The woman walked through the market area and took a left, heading for Bay Street. She arrived at the corner of Jefferson and Bay and turned left again. A short distance from the corner, the entrance of the Churchill Pub came into view. She entered the building, and Yuri followed her, ending at the elevated outside bar. From there he could see out over the entire skyline to the south. The rebuilt city square, a reclamation effort to establish the original plan of the city laid out by Oglethorpe when he had arrived in 1733, appeared below the terrace of the outside drinking area. The woman approached the bar.
Yuri gathered his wits and sauntered over, arriving at the same moment she ordered a vodka. "Excuse me, but I must say, I’m pleased to see a woman drinking our Russian vodka."
Her blond hair swirled away from her shoulders as she rotated to face him. He saw her lips make a small upward curl and her eyes came to focus on him.
"I’ve always enjoyed vodka, especially in the evening."
"May I be so bold as to buy you this drink?" Yuri said. Without waiting for an answer, he eyed the barman and ordered two vodkas on ice. They were placed on the bar and he faced her, raised his glass and said in Russian, "To your health, madam."
She lifted her glass and touched his. "My name is Marilyn. I suppose that means to our health."
"I am Yuri. Yes, it does." They began the small talk that is ubiquitous with first-time social encounters at a bar. After a second round, Marilyn said she planned to go on the ghost tour.
"That sounds haunting,” Yuri said, trying to be humorous. "Since it’s already seven, may I invite you to dinner? I saw a tapas restaurant over there." He pointed over the top of the wall that opened out over the city. "Would you care to join me?"
She leaned forward, revealing her ample breasts, and said, "I would indeed. You are an interesting person, and I’ve never been to dinner with a Russian. I’m starting my life over, and here seems like an excellent place to begin.”
"Do you like to dance?"
"I love to."
"I read in a tourist magazine that there is a small jazz bar where we could go to listen to the music.”
She nodded approval at his idea. Yuri marveled at his luck in meeting a woman who would talk to him and even agree to go to dinner. America, what a wonderful place. He loved Russia, but this country was something else. He could never do this in the village he intended to return to after this mission. Tonight, he would enjoy himself.
After eating, they went to the Pink House bar and spent an hour listening to the music and drinking. Yuri held her hand in the corner booth and leaned over to kiss her. She moved his hand to her breast. "Why don’t you come back to my hotel room and we can get comfortable?"
Yuri forgot waiting on the response from Fatimah, forgot Basam, and forgot everything except his need for this woman.
"I accept," he said.
27
Three Days Ago — Savannah
The three Russians followed the map acquired at the rental car agency during the drive into town from the Savannah airport. The first problem arose when they neared downtown and the map they used didn’t show all the little streets. The second glitch occurred when they figured out they hadn’t adhered to the written instructions the general had given them in Washington. They were lost. Ravshan stopped the car for Igor to ask directions. The information he received did not take them to the address they sought.
Anton spotted a CVS Pharmacy and ordered Igor to go in and see if they carried a map of the city. In a few minutes he had obtained a detailed street map and they knew where to go. They arrived on the correct street and there found the rental house observed by the first officer from the container ship. Many people walked on the sidewalk and kids were out playing.
Anton, surprised to see people out walking at that time of evening, formed some initial doubts. He could smell the aroma of barbeque in the air and realized people were eating and he would need to delay any action until the activity wound down. He did not want to take the targets out with the whole neighborhood awake on a warm spring night.
“We’ll go back to that little convenience store we passed at the corner and get some food. We wait for the neighborhood to go to bed before we move in. From there, we can see anyone who leaves in a car or on foot. Staying in the store’s parking lot is less likely to arouse the locals’ interest,” Anton said.
At one in the morning, they approached the address they’d received from the attaché. The deserted street gave Anton confidence, and no lights shone from the target house.
Anton ordered Ravshan go on foot up and down the street and observe their surroundings while he went behind the building. There he found a high mound, part of the seawall against the Savannah River. No one would be coming from that direction. He returned to the front of the house, where he discovered Ravshan checking his weapon and turning his high-powered flashlight on and off to ensure it functioned.
"Igor, you keep your weapon out, in case they come this way," Anton instructed. "Do not cut off the engine." He signaled Ravshan to return and took him by the shoulder, leading him a few yards away from the car.
"We can’t count on Igor during this part of the mission. I doubt if he has fired a weapon in years, and he hasn’t ever killed anyone."
"That’s obvious, sir," Ravshan said.
"There’s a door in the back and one in the front. I would like to avoid the noise of kicking in the door. Let’s go to the rear and see if the door can be opened."
They went in darkness to the back of the house. Both men drew their pistols and stood ready to use them. Ravshan carefully tried the handle of the door. Locked. They moved away from the house.
Anton ordered Ravshan to take the trash receptacles that were behind the house and move them in front of the back door.
"Now let’s go around front and make our entrance," said Anton. "If he tries to go out the back those trash barrels should cause him trouble, and we’ll be on top of him before he can get away."
They rounded the house and quietly approached the front steps. Ravshan moved up onto the porch. He tried the doorknob and signaled a negative with his head.
"Yuri, is that you?" came from inside.
Anton nodded, and Ravshan raised his foot and charged the door. A cracking, crunching sound filled the air as the lock ripped the metal keeper out of the wall and the door swung open.
Ravshan’s flashlight lit up the interior of the small room. A figure on the couch attempted to reach for a weapon that lay on the table. He grasped it, attempting to raise the weapon, but Anton fired three bullets from his silenced pistol into the man’s chest. He hoped the muffled sound remained contained in the room, not knowing that in that area of town, the sounds might not arouse much interest.
Ravshan closed the door and turned on the lights. They left the corpse on the floor where it rolled. Food wrappers littered the couch. The place smelled like the inside of an old tennis shoe.
They each took a bedroom and entered with their weapons at the ready. Both rooms appeared empty. No other presence in the house.
"He’s not here," said Anton. "I’m going out to tell Igor to be on watch for someone returning here. You look for the weapon."
After he returned, Anton assisted in the search. They tore the place apart, trying to find the device. After ten minutes, they determined Yuri had probably taken it somewhere else.
"If we had the radiation detector I requested, it would be a simple matter to determine if the weapon had been here. We’ll wait here for our man to return," ordered Anton.
"What happens if he has gone to complete their mission?" Ravshan queried.
"If he’s not back by dawn, we’ll leave and report to Moscow. I’ll ask for new instructions. They may have some ideas for us by then. Remember, this guy asked if it was Yuri when we came through the door. He’s expecting him back."
"I’ll go and tell Igor what we’re, and we’ll rotate on guard duty outside," Ravshan said.
Anton waited until Ravshan had left and then sat in a chair. Where was that renegade Russian? He couldn’t wait here past dawn. People would get suspicious of them staking out the place. The owner might come to investigate a complaint about the noise they’d made, or want to come in to see if the place sustained any damage. They couldn’t allow anyone discover them with a corpse.
Anton's revised plan focused on keeping the house under observation from a distance. Operating in a foreign country without much support when things didn’t go as planned proved to be a considerable challenge. He would devise some stratagem to apprehend the scientist and obtain the weapon, and he must remain vigilant until he succeeded in his mission.
With absolute confidence, he knew he would catch the renegade scientist and kill him. He felt it in his bones.
28
Two Days Ago — Savannah, GA
Matt woke and decided to order breakfast. He made the call to room service and then showered and dressed before calling Bridget’s room.
"Come on, sleepyhead, want some breakfast?"
"We shouldn’t have had that last drink," Bridget said.
"I’ve got the wake-up juice coming from room service. That should fix you up. Come over."
"It’ll help, but first the shower."
He heard a knock at the door, and when he turned, he noticed an envelope had been slid under the door. He opened it and pulled out a picture with the name Yuri Borisov printed on it. The general had faxed it to the hotel for delivery to their room. Matt called Bridget, and when she arrived, they studied the image.
"Now we know what he could look like, and it gives us an advantage we didn't have yesterday," Matt said.
The food came and they sat down to eat. Matt wore jeans and a short-sleeved blue-and-red polo shirt, while Bridget had dressed in black shorts and a short-sleeved white pullover.
"The weather is delightful. It’s seventy-five here and thirty-six in Washington. Maybe we should move our operations to Savannah. This is a beautiful city, and the temperature is a hell of a lot better than up north." Bridget took her coffee and walked to the window to gaze out over Bay Street and the Savannah River while talking.
"Hold on, we haven’t solved this case yet. After we’re finished, we can discuss the future of the business," Matt said.
"I have two points to raise. The first is last night. What did we learn, and where do we go from here?"
"Well, we didn’t learn much about our man. But, let’s assume he was out on the town last night to spend some of the money they must’ve paid him for the Saudi job. Today we should have better luck. More chances that someone saw him. Plus we have a photo to show. If this was your first time in Savannah, what would you do?" Matt walked over to the table, picked up a piece of toast, spread strawberry jam on it and took a bite.
"It’s my first time, and I want to go on some of the tours and explore the market area and River Street. That’s what a tourist would do and let’s assume our guys are tourists, or at least pretending to be acting like visitors. If not, they’ll stay locked up in a hideout, and we don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting them." Bridget fixed a piece of toast for herself and went over to gaze out the window.
"I'd like to say I have a better plan," Matt said, "but I don’t, so we’ll go and do the tourist thing during the day and show his picture to people who might remember. If no luck, tonight we’ll do the same in the clubs here. I want to check in with the general this morning and tell her what we are doing."
"Good idea," Bridget said as she came back from the window and sat in a chair. "My second point. Are we all right?"
Matt got up and went toward her, held her chin in his hands and looked straight into her eyes. "Yes, we’re all right. And we’re going in the right direction. Let’s give it some time."
"Okay."
He picked up his cell and called Mary Jean, giving her a succinct report of their activities and what they had planned. "Do you have any more information from the Russians on what our guys might be up to?"
"Not now. I’ll call the defense attaché today and let you know. Anything else?"
"No," Matt said.
* * *
Mary Jean took a few seconds to gather her thoughts before calling the Russian embassy. She recognized Major General Andrei Marshankin’s voice on the phone, but she did not engage in small talk, instead started right in, "Andrei, do you have any more information on the location of the man in Savannah?"
She had no idea who might be listening in on a phone conversation on an open line. She didn’t want to give away anything to an eavesdropper.
"Actually, I received a message and planned to call you in a few minutes. I have an address for you in Savannah, where you might find what you’re searching for."
He gave her the address. Mary Jean thanked him and hung up. She wondered how long it would have been before she had gotten his information if she hadn’t called. She picked up the phone and called Matt. He answered on the third ring.
"Matt, here’s the location the Russians gave me. Be careful. Check the meter reading for radiation in the area and let me know if it’s high. I can get a team there in an hour from Ft. Stewart for decontamination if needed."
"Wilco. We’re on our way. We’ll report after getting there. We’ll do a little surveillance, and if need be we’ll call for help from the feds."
* * *
"Would it be all right if I stopped in to visit Julia and Laura since I have to be out there for another reason this afternoon?" Mary Jean inquired, not knowing Matt was already on the way to the address.
"That would be very thoughtful," Matt responded.
"Good luck," Mary Jean concluded and said a little prayer that this would work out and end this threat to her country. People didn’t get the real danger presented by these Islamic fascists or Muslim extremists, or radical jihadists or whatever they called themselves, she thought.
She stretched back in her chair, put her hands behind her head, and looked up at the ceiling. It was di
fficult to believe there were so many people in this country who didn’t understand that we were at war with an enemy who had sworn to destroy everything we hold dear—our way of life, our culture, and our very existence as a nation, she thought.
She now began to practice for a speech she planned to give to the Military Officers Association in a few days, pretending to talk to an imaginary audience. She spoke aloud to hear how the words would sound coming off her lips. She opened with, “There are many people who disagree with the president’s way of conducting the antiterrorist campaign, but this antiterrorist war is our only chance. Neither side gave any quarter in this ancient fight. Diplomacy will not solve this confrontation. There is no way to achieve a negotiated peace, because the other guys will only use it to strengthen their position and capabilities.” She knew a negotiated peace would be the death warrant for the American way of life.
“It amazes me”— Mary Jean actually felt pleased about the tone and tempo she was using—“that our people cannot understand that there are those in this world who would kill you because you are an American. The number of people whose animosity against the USA knows no bounds has dramatically increased in the past decade.
“All I see is our people putting their heads in the sand and not wanting to engage in a conflict where their sons or neighbors or friends might be hurt or killed. Without our ability to battle these terrorists, the radical wing of Islam will invade us. We have no way to effectively combat the suicide bombers, unless we get to them in the planning stages, before they strike, and that can only be accomplished by on-the-ground intelligence operatives. So the real question comes down to, is it better to die on the battlefield, fighting against this, or is it preferable to go to the mosque for prayers after we lose?”
