To say she is not in a good place would be an understatement. She is wandering in a minefield, but doesn’t fully realize it. Regardless of how wrong her relationship with Michael is, or was, it was safe. She had spent years building the seemingly sturdy walls of fortress Kate. Now those walls are being tested, not only from the outside, but also from within.
“You did the right thing, Kate,” she reassures herself, “for the boys, for your sobriety.”
Walls keep bad things out, but sometimes they keep bad things in. They are only as strong as the foundations they are built upon. Kate is beginning to realize her walls are built on sand.
Chapter 11
Kabul
Yuri is dozing in front of his computer when he hears a knock at the door. “Come in, it’s open,” he calls, swiveling around in his desk chair.
It is one of the GRU guards from the front desk who handle embassy security. “Aha, Stolichi! You are here late, or is it early?” Yuri says with genuine surprise.
The young NCO, a funny-looking kid with eyes set strangely apart, smiles oddly. “I thought I would check on you before leaving, Uncle. You’ve had a rough couple of days,” he says closing the door behind him.
That makes Yuri furrow his brow. “What is he doing?”
“Not as rough as some,” Yuri grins, thinking of Sasha.
Stolichi laughs, but it is followed by an awkward silence.
“Damn it! Where is my gun?” Yuri thinks.
“You’ve been spending too much time with the American CIA, Uncle,” Stolichi tells him, reaching into his coat.
“You know, Stolichi? I was just thinking the very same thing.”
Yuri’s gun is across the room. If he had had any doubts about being too old, they’re gone now.
“Oh well, it’s been a good run,” he thinks, giving himself a little solace. No time to debate if his life had made a difference. He turns back to his desk and the nicely framed picture of his family, taken on the day of his daughter’s graduation when his bride was still alive. He thinks of how wonderful it will be to see her again. He closes his eyes and pictures her waiting for him as Stolichi pumps three rounds into his head, sending him on his way.
Part IV
“The monkey may be off my back, but the circus is still town.”
-George Carlin
Tuesday
Chapter 1
Woodcrest Road
Kate is a little sore after having really pushed herself on the morning run It is going to be a hard day. It started with Tom’s mournful look as he walked out this morning, followed by Robbie’s questions about why his dad didn’t come home. He knows something is wrong, and Kate is trying to figure out how to break the news to him. It is almost as if a thick fog has enveloped her life. Thinking about the day ahead, she doesn’t see it getting much better by going to visit a grieving family.
The apartment complex is just over the city line, not far from the karate school. After parking, she goes over the file once more. The younger Washington boy, Russell, is in school where one of her coworkers is working with him. She has the older boy James. He seems a bright kid and had done well in school, until last year. Not a good sign. Sixteen is a bad age and one might correctly guess that substances are getting a test drive.
“Poor Kate. Life is so bad for you, isn’t it?” That little voice inside seems to be getting louder. “But being the brave soul you are, you’ll just let yourself suffer.”
Kate ignores it and gathers up her files and gets out of the car. She begins looking for the Washington home. As she crosses the courtyard, she sees Dan McDowd emerge from one of the entrances, making her smile. It’s the first little beam of sunshine God has sent her way today, and it’s just in time.
“What are you doing here?” she smiles.
“I was just visiting the family of a buddy of mine who was killed in Iraq.”
“Oh my gosh, the Washingtons?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“A wild guess, I’m on my way there. I’m with the school system. I’m here to see James.”
McDowd sighs, “Good, he sure can use some help. He’s one angry kid.”
“Did you know his dad well?”
His face hardens imperceptibly. “I was with him when he died.”
“Wow, I’m sorry,” she says, drifting for a moment, as if she can relate to it. “You brought him home.”
“Yeah, I brought him home, but life has to go on, right?”
“It doesn’t brake for heroes.” Kate looks at her watch. “I’ve got to run. You’ll be around for a while, at Julie’s?”
“Yes, probably for a few weeks.”
“I’m glad,” Kate says, starting to walk away backward, not yet ready to say goodbye. “How about a meeting?”
“I’d like that.”
She stops and walks back to him with a mischievous grin, taking off her shades.
Her pretty blue eyes grab him. There is an odd energy, a vibe or karma. She comes within a few feet of him now, to keep her words private. “Life on life’s terms, right?”
He’s about to ask her how she knew, but Kate answers the question before he gets the chance. “Julie.”
“It figures. She sure can talk a lot,” she says with a smile, but then becomes suddenly serious. “She told me about you and Michael. I’m sorry.”
Kate looks down at her shoes. “Yeah, well, what is it they say? All good things must come to an end, or all bad things come to a beginning?”
There is an awkward silence as they both twist in the wind.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” McDowd starts.
“No, it’s okay, really,” Kate cuts him off, going backward once again. “I’ll stop by later. Got to run!”
“Good luck in there.”
“I can only try to help, the rest is in God’s hands. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Kate gives his a shy little smile before walking away. McDowd watches her for a couple of moments and heads off. When he glances back, he catches her doing the same.
He smiles. “There is something very cool about her.” Then it hits him, her accent. It is ever so slight, a minuscule hint. Few would ever notice. He decides he’ll ask her about it some time.
Chapter 2
Huntington Valley, PA
The sun has burned off the morning frost covering the rolling grounds of Wynn Marh Cathedral. It seems an odd place for the elegant and stately structure, but it had been there long before the surrounding suburban sprawl. The cathedral’s white gothic spires reach high above the bright orange trees of the surrounding parkland. The grounds are an enormous swath of finely kept gardens, forests, and fields. It is a stunning landscape anytime of year, thanks to the gifted greens keeping of Stanley Braddock.
Although many favor the exploding colors of spring, Stani loves the fall’s brilliance, the softening sunlight, and promise of a winter’s rest. Right now he’s in the middle of the great lawn’s final cut of the year, guiding his massive mower in perfect lines, creating patterns with all the artistry of a Japanese rock garden. Then it’s on to the leaves.
Stani comes to the end of a long run and swings his machine around with graceful precision, lining up his next pass in the direction of the church. At the far end of the field, he notices a man walking in his direction. “Who the fuck is this?” he wonders aloud.
He rides up to the waiting man, turning off Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet, The Knight’s Dance on his MP3 player, but he doesn’t shut down his machine.
“Can I help you?” he shouts over the engine.
“You are Stani?” the middle eastern man asks.
No one uses that name. He shuts off the mower. “Who are you?” he asks with the edge of a threat.
“My name is Moody. I am here in place of Vanya.”
Stani stares at him, long and hard, processing, his senses on high alert. He looks around, suspecting that an FBI SWAT team is
waiting to pounce on him.
“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” Stani says, becoming suddenly pleasant.
Moody stands his ground. “I don’t think so. Vanya is dead. I received the phone call. Katrina is going fishing.”
Stani takes a deep breath as a huge knot begins to tighten in his gut. Once upon a time he used to carry a gun everywhere he went. Right now he feels practically naked. He still has his hands, and with this man at least, they will be more than enough. He hops off the big mower to confront him, removing his shades to expose the rage in his eyes. “This is no longer amusing. You’d better leave now. You’re trespassing.” He towers menacingly over Moody, but still he holds his ground.
“You are refusing a direct order?”
Stani narrows his eyes. “We are talking about the authorizing the release of nuclear weapons. There is nothing in the wind to indicate this.“
Moody isn’t sure heard right, but he can’t question something he should know. “Now you question your commanders. Perhaps you are no longer capable of carrying out your orders.”
“Don’t test me. I will finish you.”
“As you wish, I am only the messenger. I have done my job, lets see if you can do yours.”
With that, Moody turns and walks away, leaving Major Stanislaw Lysenko of the former Soviet Union’s GRU Second Directorate Special Forces wondering what to do next.
Once in his car, Moody vomits onto the passenger side floor.
Chapter 3
Amtrak Southampton Facility
The police didn’t take long to identify the woman found in the toilet once they found her bags left on her seat. The question about how she rode all the way to Boston dead in the bathroom will be asked later. In the meantime, they have a murder on their hands. Since Amtrak is a government-run agency, and the crime crossed multiple state lines, the job is handed off to the FBI. The investigation seems simple enough; somebody on the train killed her. Only a few dozen people rode it, including the crew. It would start as a simple process of elimination. On top of that, every station is well covered by cameras, so there was an excellent chance they’d get a picture of the perp.
Increasing the FBI’s chances is that the family of the woman immediately made themselves available to the press, her mother being wildly distraught in front of the cameras, which makes good television. The New York Post called it “Death Train,” and the story spread across the Internet and TV.
Sometimes the dots get connected. Sometimes they don’t.
Chapter 4
Willow Grove, PA
Elayna is about to bang on the door to the room a third time when it finally opens. She holds up two bags of fast food with one hand while carrying her laptop in the other. Her hair is loose, falling to her shoulders and matching the color of her clingy black turtleneck with form-fitting jeans. Though still groggy, Kreichek instantly notices her shapely frame.
“A little food.” she says, handing Kreichek a bag and tossing the other onto Hutnikov, still lying in bed. At least Kreichek is dressed.
“How may we be of help?” Kreichek asks.
“Didn’t they tell you?”
Hutnikov begins to move slowly, as if in pain. “We have to help you clean up some sloppy pile of GRU filth.”
She places the laptop on the room’s only table and sits down in front of it.
“Yes, very simple, very quick. Five targets and we’re done.”
“Make that six.” Kreichek smiles to himself. “Where are these targets?”
“All in this area. First, we must confirm the locations, check patterns, and then we move. Our flight out is late Saturday night. We move on Friday,” Elayna summarizes.
“Why wait so long? Let’s go now,” Hutnikov says.
“We’re not ready. In case you didn’t notice, a small army of FBI followed you here,” she tells them. “They knew you were coming. You’ve been compromised. Not surprising, you are SVR, after all.”
That makes Hutnikov mumble a curse under his breath.
“But don’t worry, I anticipated this and have taken steps to correct it.”
“Wonderful,” Kreichek smiles. “But why not just buy them all a ticket home?”
“These are Spetsnaz, not the gangsters or goat herders you are accustomed to dealing with. They are like trained attack dogs. They do not think. They act. Being told to go home is not a part of their programming. We have to get them cleanly, quickly and quietly. Not one can get away, and not one of them can fall into the hands of the Americans.”
“I think perhaps you give them too much credit,” Kreichek says.
“Trust me, I know. They are NOT your garden-variety spies. They are elite killers. The information we have on them is dated, so we must be sure before we strike. There is also the question of where they have stored their weapons.”
“You don’t know?” Hutnikov is surprised.
“We suspect they have been moved. Besides, a little homework never hurts. We need to get this right the first time.”
Kreichek nods to Hutnikov. “She’s right. Okay, what about our own weapons?”
“In the truck, but you need not worry. I will be doing all the work.”
Both men balk at this. “Then what are we doing here?” Hutnikov raises his voice.
“You are operational security,” she says firmly, her voice also rising.
Kreichek politely clears his throat. “That is not our understanding.”
“They told you whose operation this is?” Elayna challenges.
The two men look at each other. “I’d prefer to consider it a partnership between our two services, but yes, since it is primarily the GRU’s operation, we would naturally defer to your direction,” Kreichek says, showing off his diplomatic skills. After all, the president started out in this business.
Hutnikov shoots him a look, but Kreichek responds with a sly wink that’s not for Elayna to see.
“Good, then we are on the same page,” she says with a smile.
“That was too easy,” but it confirms her suspicions, leaving no doubt about her plan of action. Now, onto the details.
“I see neither of you has operated in the States before, but your English is excellent, although accented,” Elayna says, evaluating her new partners. “The police here can be rather attentive, and so can the residents. We have the terrorists to thank for that. We have to be discreet. The targets have been trained to detect observation.”
“Do they ever meet?” Hutnikov asks.
“Only when operational. Then we need to identify the cache of their primary weapons, and notify the Americans.”
“Why is that so important? Can’t we just leave them a note?” Hutnikov’s wiseass suggestion angers Elayna. She sits back in her chair and removes her glasses, which are more for looks than anything else. “Do you know what this cell has been tasked to do?”
Kreichek narrows his eyes, bracing himself for the answer while Hutnikov offers his own. “They are a commando team tasked to disrupt communications.” Elayna smiles. “That’s correct, with weapons of mass destruction.”
With this news Hutnikov chokes on his coffee. The color drains from Kreichek’s face while Elayna nearly bursts into laughter at the sight. “Surprised?”
“Yuri, you old prick,” Hutnikov swears under his breath.
“It must have been an oversight,” suggests Kreichek. “So how do we find them?”
“If the cell goes active, they’ll lead us right to them. Otherwise, we forget about it. The only people who have the key codes for the weapons will be dead. If found, they’d be useless.”
“How much time do we have, if they’ve become active? I don’t want to get vaporized,” Hutnikov objects.
“According to the operational plan, and based on when we think your friend Sasha Malekov expired, the earliest would be this Saturday or Sunday. By then we’ll be gone and our unfortunate comrades dead,” Elayna concludes, closing her laptop f
or dramatic effect. “Any other questions, boys?”
Kreichek shrugs, but Hutnikov can’t resist. “Yes, why don’t we all share a room?
It would be so much more cost effective, and cozy.”
Elayna’s look tells him he’ll die trying. “Meet me down in the lobby at six. We’ll take a little drive and see the sights.” With that, she leaves.
The boys wait before talking.
“Pizda!” spits Hutnikov. “I’m going to wring that old fuck Yuri’s neck if I see him again.”
“Not if I get to him first.” Kreichek starts scheming while checking to see if Elayna left a bug.
“We should just fucking whack her and get the fuck out of here,” Hutnikov mutters.
“Like it or not, we’re stuck here, so we may as well do it her way. She’s done the homework.” Kreichek says. “Besides, it seems rather nice here,” he says, having admired the shopping malls, car dealerships, highways, fast food, and Starbucks. Russia might be like this one day, if the greedy oligarchs ever shared their wealth. “You know, Nicky, I’ll bet that whatever they’ve got would fetch pretty penny on the black market.”
“Stephan, that’s an interesting thought.”
Unfortunately for the boys, someone else has the same idea.
Chapter 5
Dulles International Airport
Bob’s seemingly endless flight is finally over. Though comfortable, it was maddening being out of the loop. A kid from the agency meets him on the end of the jetway and ushers him out an access door down to the noisy tarmac and a waiting car. He starts playing catch up as soon as the door closes. He calls Edwards to find out what’s going on.
“We’ve tagged three Russians. The two Yuri tipped us off on and a woman who picked them up,”
“Any ID on her?” Bob asks.
“Our Bureau brothers are working on it. We’ve got a team from the New York Joint Terror Task Force.”