“So according to your numbers Mr. Kosnar,” said Casey, “we have about two hundred and fifty of these unfortunate women at large and operational?”
“No, we believe that about one hundred have been deployed. A few are unaccounted for, no-one is quite sure of their situation. The rest are in Russia,” Vladimir answered, pausing as the waitress arrived with their coffees.
“Anything else?” the waitress asked.
“No, thank you,” said Casey with a quick shake of her head.
As the waitress walked away, Casey absent-mindedly poured cream into her coffee and stirred it slowly. Her mind was racing with the information the Russian had passed on. She came out of her reverie as her partner was asking the Russian another question.
“…must be quite an expensive operation,” he was saying. “Where did the money come from?”
Vladimir sat back in his chair and shrugged.
“I don’t know where the money is coming from but my guess is the women have been sold to a terrorist organization. Probably Al Qaeda, but I really don’t know. It must have cost a lot of money and required a lot of sophisticated management to get the necessary papers to get them out of Russia into Europe and probably America and deploying one hundred people would also be very expensive.”
The two men and one woman sat silently for a moment at the coffee shop, the Americans digesting the information the Russian had just provided. Then, for the next fifteen minutes, the two Americans continued to ask questions. Vladimir answered as best he could, but he was not ready to be completely forthcoming. There was still no guarantee they would not simply turn him over to the British police. He was going to withhold the final details until he thought he was assured of their cooperation.
* * *
Devskoy and Al Rahman followed the threesome out of the park onto Kensington High Street walking on the opposite side of the street, and about twenty feet behind the group. The streets were crowded with typical London traffic and the sidewalks were also quite busy, just enough to keep their presence unknown but clear enough to give them a good view of their quarry. As the threesome stopped at the café, the two men kept walking up the road another fifty feet, stopping next to a busy newspaper stand.
Devskoy stared across the road, his face growing darker and more malevolent with each passing moment. Finally, he had enough.
“We need to do it now!” he hissed into Al Rahman’s ear. He pressed the send button on his phone and quickly gave Sasha Donitz instructions to continue past the Serpentine and onto Kensington High Street and then hung up.
Abd Al Rahman slowly glanced around. He was an expert at setting up ambushes. This dense urban location was a bit unusual for him but he felt his confidence return and he quickly thought through a plan. This was a perfect spot. Lots of people to cause panic and confusion, a stationary target and seated in the open. He just wished he could find a way to exploit the bomb even more. He glanced around at the stores nearby. There was a small stationary store on the corner.
Standing close to Devskoy, he said, “Call her again. Tell her to go in to that stationary store on the corner to buy two boxes of staples and put them in her bag.”
Devskoy stared at the Arab for a moment and then grinned at him with an ugly malevolent smile. He pressed send again and quickly gave the instructions.
“Do you know what she looks like?” Al Rahman hissed in his ear while he was talking on the phone.
Devskoy blinked his eyes a couple of times trying to recall if he had met Donitz but then shook his head once vigorously.
“Ask her what she is wearing.”
Devskoy asked the question, listened for a moment and hung up.
“There she is,” Devskoy growled a moment later as a tall woman with bobbed blond hair came around the corner. She was wearing a blue summer dress and carrying a large handbag slung over her shoulder. They watched her as she stopped on the street corner, looked around for a moment and then stepped into the stationary store.
Devskoy glanced anxiously at the threesome at the café. They were still talking, making no sign they were about to leave but he was getting anxious. He reached for the cell phone again calling Donitz just as she exited the store.
Al Rahman watched her as she stood still listening attentively to the instructions he could hear Devskoy speak into the phone. He heard Devskoy terminate the call and then watched as the woman placed the phone back into her bag and begin to walk towards the café.
* * *
Vladimir was leaning forward in his seat. He was tired of the repetitious questions, but understood the need to sound and look convincing. He had to earn the trust of the two American agents. Without their resources, finding his quarry was almost impossible.
“You know Mr. Kosnar, I find this Al Qaeda link a bit unlikely,” said David Green as he looked unblinking at the Russian. “I mean, how does a Russian agent just link up with Al Qaeda? Hell, we can barely find them with all our resources, how could he possibly do it. Could you?”
Vladimir said nothing for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders before replying. “I don’t know that it is Al Qaeda, it’s just a guess. But,” he paused as he glanced at each special agent, “it is not such a stretch if you think about it. The Soviet Union had very good relations with Syria for many years. We had a lot of people operating in Damascus and in Beirut during the Lebanese civil war. I was there myself …” his voice drifted off as an attractive blond woman walked towards them on the sidewalk momentarily catching his attention. He stared at her for a few seconds and then returned his gaze to David Green.
“So are you saying that Syrian intelligence is working with Al Qaeda?” David Green asked, the tenor of his voice both insistent and incredulous.
Vladimir sat back, his eyes drifting back to the blond woman on the sidewalk. As their eyes met, she returned his gaze with a smile. She was about twenty feet away now, striding confidently. Suddenly Vladimir sat upright. He recognized the woman! Donitz. Sasha Donitz. The name popped into his head. She was now only ten feet way. He stood up and raised his left hand, palm towards her, indicating for her to stop. David began to turn in his chair, looking for what was distracting the Russian. Casey also turned to look where he was looking, but David was obstructing her view.
* * *
The Russian woman strode purposefully towards the threesome. She had been instructed to make contact with the older man. “Pretend to recognize him,” Devskoy had said. “Address him as Vladimir.”
At twenty feet, Vladimir had looked over at her and she had immediately responded with a smile. “This is going to be easy,” she thought.
Now she slowed down with some confusion. Vladimir had recognized her. He was holding his hand up, shouting in Russian. She continued to walk towards them, with less confidence, but with a smile still on her face.
“Ostovani!” he shouted out in Russian. “Stop.”
David rose out of his chair, not knowing quite why, but responding to Vladimir’s actions, treating her as a threat. Casey was stuck. Her chair was caught in a crack in the sidewalk and she could not quite push it back far enough to give her room to stand. Placing both hands on the arm rests, she dipped her head, trying to increase her leverage. She wanted to see what had caused Vladimir to rise and start shouting. David was up blocking her view. She gave her seat one last shove.
* * *
Sasha was within five feet of David Green, the closest to her. By now she was hardly moving, her smile gone, her face a mask of confusion. She had not expected to be recognized, but now her target was screaming at her in Russian to stop. Perhaps because it was so many years since she had been an active agent, she forgot her training and wandered what to do.
Across the road, Devskoy had stepped away from Al Rahman and was standing at the edge of the sidewalk, making certain he had a clear view of the café. As Donitz approached the threesome he pulled the activator out of his pocket and without taking his eyes off the woman, flipped off the safety switch and pla
ced his thumb on top of the plunger.
She was close now. Devskoy’s hand tensed on the plunger, but he forced himself to wait. Suddenly he saw Vladimir rise out of his seat, arm raised and he was shouting at Sasha, but Devskoy was too far away to hear. Sasha was still moving forward, but slowing. Devskoy starred at Sasha, urging her under his breath to keep moving, but she stopped completely. She was turning, looking around, uncertain what to do next. Devskoy pushed the plunger, turned and began to walk away. He heard the explosion, and almost immediately, the screaming that followed, but he kept on walking.
* * *
David Green absorbed most of the blast from the explosion as Sasha Donitz’s tall body disintegrated in front of him. Shards of titanium and staples pierced his body and ripped at his face and neck as he fell backwards onto Casey. Vladimir also felt the sting of shrapnel as it struck him, but was too far away for it to cause him much harm. Momentarily dazed, he shook his head to clear it, and then quickly jumped over the flower boxes separating the café’s tables from the sidewalk. There was chaos on the sidewalk just in front of the café and he was almost knocked down by a rush of people running away. He glanced up and down the street trying to see a familiar face in the crowds and then began to run towards the park.
David Green was on top of Casey; the back of his head on her chest, arms dangling at his sides. His white dress shirt was now absorbing the blood that had already saturated his undershirt. Casey struggled to calm the panic threatening to overwhelm her. David’s face was almost next to hers. She looked down and could barely recognize him. His face and neck were a pulpy mess, bloody and shredded. She could hear a gurgling sound emanating from his lips and throat.
“David,” she said, almost whispering. “Oh David, please, no.”
His body went limp in her arms. She knew he was dead. She looked over at Vladimir’s seat, and realized he was gone.
* * *
Vladimir raced down the sidewalk as fast as he could. People were pouring out of restaurants and office buildings to see what the commotion was and he could already hear the sounds of police sirens in the distance. About fifty yards down the sidewalk, he slowed, looking up and down the street, trying to find Devskoy. He crossed the street, dogging traffic, trying desperately to find his quarry, but to no avail. This was the closest he had come to Devskoy, his best and perhaps only opportunity to find the man, but he was nowhere to be seen. Vladimir stayed on the sidewalk for another minute and then turned, crossed the street and began to run back to the restaurant. As he ran, a figure walking towards him caught his eye. He slowed down as their eyes locked for a second before the man quickly looked away and turned in to the crush of people gathering on the sidewalk and disappeared. Vladimir stared after the man for a moment with the strange and unsettling feeling of having seen him before, but the sound of police sirens drawing near caught his attention and he ran back to the restaurant. His mission had suddenly become even more urgent and now he had to finish telling his story.
CHAPTER 17
AT THE CAFÉ and on the sidewalk in front of it there was pandemonium. The shattered remains of Sasha Donitz’s body lay on the sidewalk, her pelvis missing, lower legs crumpled beneath what remained of her chest and head. Next to her a man and a small boy lay dead, their clothes and bodies ripped apart. A small crowd had gathered around the grisly scene and one middle-aged woman stood over the remnants of the little boy’s shattered body, screaming hysterically.
In the restaurant patio, some patrons remained immobile in their seats, two of them their faces peppered with staples. Others sat, too dazed by the shock of the explosion to move. A waitress lay on the ground in a fetal position, rocking herself and crying. A large fleshy piece of intestine from the murdered woman hung from her hair.
Vladimir jogged back to the ghastly scene. He looked over and saw Casey cradling the limp body of the FBI agent in her arms. Her hands and clothes were covered in David’s blood, her face ashen. She looked up as Vladimir approached.
“Ms. Jennings,” he said to her quickly, “we have to leave here now.”
“Who’s doing this?” she said to him softly. “Who is doing this?” she repeated, louder this time.
“I’ll tell you everything I know, but we must leave here now. Please hurry,” Vladimir said urgently. The wailing siren noises were close now; any minute some of the local foot patrol would arrive.
“What? I can’t leave him,” said Casey, looking down at the dead agent in her arms.
“No, Casey,” said Vladimir, dropping the formal titles they used to address each other. “We must go. If I stay, the British police will arrest me. I have to leave, and I need your help to stop this madness.”
Casey looked up at Vladimir and stared at him for what seemed like a long time. She felt so tired. She had not slept in almost twenty-four hours and now she was holding the battered remains of her colleague in her arms. A few feet from her lay the broken bodies of the Russian woman and the other victims. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. She looked back at Vladimir, trying to read his face, trying to determine if he was part of the problem or the solution, forcing herself to think clearly.
“Please, Casey,” Vladimir said once more, only much more urgently.
Casey eased the limp body of David Green onto the ground and stood up. If Kosnar left right now without her, they might never find him again and he clearly had information that would be useful. On the other hand, her colleague, her friend was dead on the sidewalk and abandoning him seemed inappropriate. She almost stumbled as she stood, but Vladimir reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her.
The crowd around the restaurant was quite large now, people stepping forward to help the injured and Vladimir had to push his way through, pulling Casey behind him. He could hear the sounds of running footsteps as the first police officers began to arrive.
“This way,” he said, still holding Casey’s arm.
Casey allowed Vladimir to guide her away and they walked quickly down the sidewalk away from the approaching police. As soon as they had put a bit of distance between them and the restaurant, Vladimir looked for a cab. Casey had blood on her hands and clothes from her dead colleague and Vladimir’s face and clothes were cut and ripped where the pieces of staples had caught him. They needed to get off the street quickly. When a black cab stopped in front of them, Vladimir opened the door and gently urged Casey through the door.
* * *
Abd Al Rahman and Michael Devskoy stood silently watching across the road from the bombed café where they had reunited after becoming briefly separated in the chaos as the area around it was flooded with police, ambulances and fire trucks. In the crush of the crowds and the wailing of sirens, both men lingered longer at the scene of the bombing longer than was prudent, trying to make out who had been killed. But, as they simultaneously caught sight of the American woman and the Russian climbing into a black cab, it was obvious they had missed their target.
Al Rahman was not completely disappointed by the result: he estimated at least three people were dead and many more wounded. If the goal was to create panic they had certainly succeeded. For a moment he imagined what would happen if ten of these bombings had occurred within minutes of each other in different parts of the city.
Kosnar was still a problem as the bomb had obviously missed him. Al Rahman wondered if Kosnar had recognized him during the fleeting moment their eyes had met just after the bombing. If Kosnar could recognize both him and Devskoy they would be vulnerable until they could neutralize him. However, today’s failure would make him much more wary. Catching him in the open again would probably be impossible.
He glanced over at his companion and noticed that Devskoy was becoming unsettled and demonstrative as he swore loudly in Russian before his companion grabbed his arm above the elbow and directed him away from the bombing.
* * *
As Casey and Vladimir climbed into the cab, the driver turned to look back at them.
“Are you all
right?” he asked, his concern for them genuine, but his concern for his clean seats perhaps greater. His next fare probably would not appreciate having to sit on blood.
“Yes, we’re fine,” answered Vladimir with a forced smile. “Could you please drive us around Hyde Park.”
“You just want me to drive you around the park,” said the cabby, growing less comfortable.
Vladimir dropped five twenty-pound notes onto the front seat. “Please,” he said with a little more emphasis, “just drive us around Hyde Park for about thirty minutes. OK?”
The cabby looked down at the fives bills, put the cab into gear and turned into the street.
Vladimir closed the partition between the passenger cab and the driver’s seat, sat back in his seat and turned to look at Casey. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She took it in her hand but did nothing with it as she stared at him balefully, suspicious of his motives and uncomfortable at having left the scene of the crime and her dead colleague. The sound of police and ambulance sirens wailed behind them.
“Why are you hiding from the British police?” she asked pointedly.
“I’m not,” Vladimir replied.
“It sure looks like you are,” Casey retorted, her hand describing a sweeping motion to indicate the taxicab.
“Let me explain,” said Vladimir, turning to face her. Casey just stared back at him, her expression a picture of increasing hostility.
“Just before the..uh … explosion,” Vladimir said, searching for the appropriate words to describe the woman’s body blowing up in front of them. “Just before the explosion David asked me who was behind all this. I need to tell you that, and one other thing, before we talk to the British police. It is very important to me that you know everything first. Once the British police get hold of me—of us,” he pointed at her, “we might get slowed down, interrogated, distracted. We don’t have time. We don’t have any time.” His voice was urgent, his usually stoic demeanor unmasked.
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