Eves of Destruction

by Roy Berelowitz

  “I think we will have some good results when we see who was acting suspiciously in that area earlier in the day,” the officer stated confidently.

  Al Rahman glanced back at Devskoy who was trying to attract the attention of the waitress.

  “What is CCTV?” he asked.

  “What?” the Russian replied, a dull expression on his face.

  The waitress stopped at their table to take Devskoy’s order. She turned to Al Rahman to get his order and he just asked for water but as she turned away he called out to her. “Miss, excuse me but what is CCTV? Do you know what that is?”

  “CCTV, you don’t know what that is,” she answered with surprise. “It’s the closed circuit television thing they have on every street corner. You know those little black or white cameras you see attached to buildings or lampposts all over the place.”

  Al Rahman shook his head in response, not recalling having noticed one.

  “Who uses them? What are they for?”

  “Security I guess,” the waitress replied. “The police watch them to look for suspicious activity. Stuff like that.”

  After she walked away, the two men sat quietly, each alone in their thoughts. Devskoy continued to mumble into his drink while Al Rahman pondered their situation. They had made no attempt to hide during the set up before the attack and Devskoy had initiated the bomb quite openly. Even worse, they had stayed around the chaotic scene after the bombing for at a least a few minutes, probably in full view of the cameras.

  Devskoy interrupted Al Rahman’s thoughts with another loud and bitter outburst. “That fucking bastard Kosnar is going to fuck this whole thing up you know.”

  Al Rahman indicated with his hand for Devskoy to both calm down and lower his voice but the admonishment only aggravated him more.

  “You know what he’s like. He’s fucking crazy. When he starts after something he never stops until the end. He’s like a fucking robot. He never ever gives up.”

  The words came out in a rush, spittle flying from his mouth as he angrily waved his hands in front of Abd Al Rahman’s face.

  The Arab said nothing but just stared back at his agitated companion. He needed a plan, a plan to deal with Devskoy, avoid Kosnar and execute the mission. Up to now their actions had been haphazard without any strategic purpose but as he sat in the bar he began to formulate a strategy. Most importantly, he had to get out of England before he was identified.

  “How many do you have in America?” he asked quietly

  Devskoy looked up from his drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve before answering.

  “Fifty-two.”

  “Where in America?”

  “I was instructed to put half into New York and the rest are all in California, split between Los Angeles and San Francisco.”

  “Where are they staying?”

  Devskoy shrugged. “Different hotels all over. Why?”

  The Arab said nothing for a moment before replying. “I want you to give me the names and phone numbers of the all the women in America. I will pay you an extra fifty thousand for each one, one hundred and fifty thousand each.”

  Devskoy sat back in his chair and shook his head. “No, I’m not giving them all to you. I told you already. Ten at a time. That’s it.”

  Al Rahman quickly responded with a more generous offer.

  “Give me their names right now and I will give you two hundred thousand for each one.” He held up his hand to stop Devskoy from responding before he finished. “You keep the money you already have, stay here and find Kosnar and use the women in London to kill him.” He was playing to Devskoy’s paranoia, using it to separate them, giving him an opportunity to work independently.

  “Two hundred thousand each for fifty two?” Devskoy asked.

  The Arab nodded. “That’s right, over ten million dollars in your hands by tomorrow.”

  Devskoy licked his lips and stared at the Arab for a moment. “Alright,” he replied, you transfer the ten million dollars to me and I will give you all the names in America.”

  Al Rahman shook his head firmly. “No, give me the names right now, and I will execute the transfer first thing tomorrow, but I want the names now.”

  Devskoy leaned forward in his chair and began to waive his finger in Al Rahman’s face, shouting his response. “I told you the deal, money first then names.”

  In a quick move, Al Rahman slapped Devskoy’s hand away from his face and thrust his own mangled right hand between them, holding it just inches from the Russian’s face. The hand looked grotesque with small stumps where the fingers and thumb had been brutally cut off. Devskoy backed away but Al Rahman leaned forward across the table pressing his hand almost against the Russian’s face.

  “Do you remember this Devskoy? Huh? Do you remember?”

  Devskoy dropped his eyes and looked down at the empty vodka glass in front of him and said nothing.

  Al Rahman slowly retracted his mangled hand and placed it back on his lap out of view as he stared unblinking at the Russian. “For what you did to me I should stab you through the heart and feed your pathetic body to the dogs,” he hissed angrily. “Instead I am offering you millions of dollars and you are arguing with me. You should be thanking Allah and begging my forgiveness.”

  Devskoy looked up at the Arab for a moment and then with a look of resignation, took his cell phone out of his pocket.

  “You will transfer all the money tomorrow, two hundred thousand for each one?”

  Al Rahman raised his left hand. “I swear it.”

  Devskoy blinked slowly back at him and then reluctantly began to pass on to Al Rahman the tools that would empower him to kill anonymously and remotely.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE BRITISH SECRET Service, better known colloquially as MI5 is housed in a building called Thames House, located just south of Westminster in London. Built in 1929, the building’s old and austere façade hides an always busy and very sophisticated, highly experienced team of professionals dedicated to protecting the British homeland. Their emblem hanging proudly in the ornate lobby displays the lion, the enduring symbol of Great Britain and reads Regnum Defende, Defend the Kingdom. The men and women who serve at MI5 are on the forefront of Britain’s war on terror, using a combination of technology, surveillance and dogged police work to preempt terror attacks on the British homeland. As the head of MI5 constantly reminds her dedicated team, theirs is a twenty-four hour a day job requiring no less than one hundred percent success. The bombings in the London subway and the subsequent failed attempts to detonate huge car bombs only reinforced the urgency of their assignments.

  As the lead service providing both protective security and operating as Britain’s leading anti-terrorism organization, M15 immediately became involved in the bombing site analysis and the interrogation of Vladimir Kosnar. He was quickly transferred from police custody to an MI5 case officer and transferred under full security to Thames House for interrogation. Casey Jennings was also transported to Thames House with Ian Campbell, still her assigned escort, so she could also provide a full accounting of what happened.

  Sitting with a stenographer, Ian Campbell and two MI5 case officers, Casey recounted in as much detail as she could what had happened from the moment she and David Green had left the hotel to walk through Hyde Park. She was interrupted occasionally by one of the MI5 officers who asked her to confirm some fact or detail but for the most part, she spoke without a break, concentrating hard to provide all the information. As an experienced agent she understood that any small detail, insignificant though it might appear at the moment, might actually become vitally important later on.

  The deposition took about two hours and then after a brief break Casey was asked to witness the interrogation of Vladimir Kosnar. She sat in a small dark room with a large flat panel television showing Kosnar’s head and upper torso. Besides his voice, Casey could hear questions from three other disembodied voices in the room, two men and one woman and it was obvious they were treating hi
m more as a suspect than a witness. Each answer he gave was challenged, sometimes repeatedly as if they were trying to inadvertently reveal some hidden detail.

  A well dressed middle-aged man who had identified himself to her as Peter Boyle, but provided no title or position at MI5 sat next to Casey as she listened to the interrogation. Ian Campbell left to find out about the status of the closed circuit television recordings that had been collected soon after the bombing.

  Casey paid close attention to Kosnar’s description of events, but occasionally her mind wandered as she fought off a recurring urge to close her eyes and just sleep. Finally after an hour of sitting and listening, Peter Boyle asked Casey if she believed Kosnar’s description of what had occurred was accurate.

  “I think so,” Casey replied.

  “Are you sure?” Boyle replied with some insistence.

  Casey nodded. She was so tired she could barely think clearly. “Yes, it seems quite accurate.”

  “Very well. I’m going to need to keep you around here for a while I’m afraid, in case we need you again. We do have a couple of bedroom suites located in the building you can rest in until we call you.”

  * * *

  Casey Jennings lay on a bed in a small suite on the upper floor of the building trying to sleep. The suite had a small sitting area, bathroom and kitchen but once inside and alone, Casey had ignored everything and just fallen onto the bed, desperate for sleep. Despite her exhaustion and jet lag, her mind was still racing with the events of the prior day, the death in her arms of her friend and colleague, David Green and the revelation from the Russian that his sister was a member of the assassination team. She sighed as she tried to calm her mind and rest for a couple of hours.

  All too soon a knock at the door woke her out of a deep sleep. She sat up on the bed slightly disoriented, brushed the hair out of her eyes and invited the visitor to come in.

  A familiar face appeared from around the partially opened door.

  “Casey, its Ian Campbell. Can I come in? Did I wake you?”

  “Yes,” Casey replied glancing at her watch and clearing her throat. She glanced up at Campbell and back at her watch. Is it four o’clock AM or PM?”

  Campbell laughed briefly as he stepped into the room. “AM I’m afraid. You’ve only had a couple of hours of sleep but I do have two pieces of good news for you. Firstly, they delivered your suitcase from the hotel so you can finally get changed.”

  She rewarded him with a wry smile as he placed the bag on the floor near the bed. “Thank you. And the other piece of good news?”

  “We’ve found Devskoy.”

  “You’re kidding. You found him already! That’s incredible. Do you have him in custody? Is he talking?” Her questions came out in a rush.

  Campbell held up his hands to her rapid set of questions. “Uh, well not exactly. Take a couple of minutes to freshen up and then I’ll come back and get you. I’ll fill you in as we go.”

  After a quick shower and a change into clean clothes, Casey felt a little more refreshed as she walked with Ian Campbell down one of the long corridors.

  “Where are we going?” she asked

  “To collect Kosnar. He’s going to help us identify the body.”

  Casey stopped walking and turned to face the English detective who also stopped.

  “Ian, don’t keep me hanging. Do you have Devskoy or not?”

  “We have a body and we are pretty sure it’s Devskoy, but not certain.”

  They continued walking down the corridor. “What makes you think it’s him?” Casey asked.

  “Kosnar has provided us with pictures of all the women and Devskoy. Some are fairly current, many are not, but Devskoy’s picture was quite recent. The onsite detectives ID’d him immediately.”

  As he finished talking, Campbell stopped in front of a dark heavy door marked ‘Private’ and knocked. After a moment the door opened and Pete Boyle stepped out, closing the door behind him. He got straight to the point.

  “As best we can tell, Kosnar is telling the truth,” he said. “Under normal circumstances we would keep at him for another day or two but I don’t think it would change anything.”

  He glanced over at Ian Campbell before continuing. “I’m turning him over to you Campbell, at least for now, but I don’t want him released yet. Do you understand? Keep him in your custody.”

  Campbell nodded and replied curtly.

  “Understood.”

  Peter Boyle turned to open the door again and then just before he pushed it open he glanced back over his shoulder at the English detective and FBI agent with a wry smile. “I wouldn’t stand to close too Kosnar if I were you. Whoever tried to kill him yesterday might try again.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later Campbell, Kosnar and Jennings were being driven at high speed through the mostly empty streets of London. Casey sat between the two men trying her best to keep her balance as the policeman drove fast, tires squealing as he negotiated the narrow roads and occasional late night traffic. She glanced at Kosnar who was just starring ahead with a blank expression on his face. She had been a bit shocked by his appearance as he came out of interrogation. He looked exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes, skin a slightly grayish pallor. She gently touched his arm to get his attention.

  “Are you alright?”

  Kosnar turned to her and nodded, flashing a quick and reassuring smile. It looked more like a grimace.

  “It was a long night, but yes, thank you. I am fine.” He turned to face forward again, his face once again an expressionless mask.

  As the car turned into a narrow alley way, Casey could see flashing lights up ahead and then as they got closer, she could make out a number of police cars arrayed on the narrow sidewalk as the car slowed to drop them off. The threesome quickly climbed out of the back of the car and then followed the English detective as he walked towards a small knot of uniformed and plain clothed police officers up ahead standing next to a large and battered blue dumpster. It had been raining earlier in the evening and the light from the cars and street lamps was reflecting off the small puddles of water.

  As they approached, one of the plain clothed officers turned towards them and waived them forward. He quickly shook hands with Ian Campbell and then turned to Vladimir.

  “Mr. Kosnar?” he asked looking at the Russian.

  Vladimir nodded in response and Campbell verbally confirmed his identity.

  “Please step forward Mr. Kosnar and tell us if you recognize this man.”

  As the Russian stepped forward, Casey peered around him. She could see the outline of a body under a yellow plastic tarpaulin lying on the ground in the narrow space between the dumpster and the wall of the next door pub. Bulging trash bags overflowed the dumpster and lay in piles around it and underneath the body. Broken glass crunched underfoot as they approached the body. The detective stepped around the body and pulled the tarpaulin away from the face. The man’s head was rolled unnaturally to the side as if he was looking at the wall and Casey could see that his mouth was agape, tongue protruding awkwardly from his mouth. A large piece of broken glass was sticking out of a jagged hole in his neck, coagulated blood pooled below his Adam’s apple and on the ground directly below his head.

  Vladimir Kosnar stood beside the body next to the head. Then he placed one foot on the other side of the dead man so he was straddling the body and bent over, staring hard at the face below him. As he straightened up, he turned and stepped back towards Ian Campbell.

  “It’s him, its Devskoy,” he said.

  “Are you quite certain Mr. Kosnar?” Campbell responded forcefully. “Are you sure it’s him?”

  Vladimir nodded vigorously for a moment and then repeated his statement.

  “Yes, it’s him, its Devskoy.”

  Kosnar looked over at the plain clothed officer who had directed them to the body. “Excuse me sir,” he said formally. “Have you searched the body? Did you find anything on the body?”

  The off
icer glanced at Campbell who just shrugged slightly before he turned back to Kosnar as he answered.

  “No Mr. Kosnar, not a thing. Whoever did this to him cleaned him out. No identification, no money, not even loose change.”

  Kosnar glanced back at the body as he spoke. “Do you have a cause of death?”

  The officer grunted slightly before he answered. “Whoever did this to him, really wanted to make sure he was dead. According to the coroner, first he snapped his neck and then he drove that broken piece of glass into the guy’s throat.”

  The detective stepped around the body again and this time pulled the tarpaulin away from his torso so his entire upper body, arms and hands were showing.

  “And take a look at this,” he said as he grasped the dead man’s right hand by the wrist and held it up.

  All the fingers on the right hand bent backwards so they were perpendicular to the palm of the hand.

  “All of the fingers on his right hand have been snapped back at the knuckle. The coroner said the killer most likely did this after the man was already dead.”

  The detective began to stand as he tossed the tarpaulin back over the body, but was almost knocked to the ground as Kosnar quickly stepped forward and whipped the tarpaulin away from the body and grabbed at the grotesquely mangled hand. He looked at the hand and then closed his eyes as his mind flashed back to the fleeting glance at the familiar but unrecognized face he had seen the day before. When he turned back to face the detectives and Casey Jennings they could see even in the washed out light his face was ashen.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE POLICE CAR threaded through the early morning traffic in the pre-dawn light with siren wailing and lights flashing. Sitting next to the driver, Detective Ian Campbell was dialing out on his cell phone as he urged the driver to speed up as they drove back to Thames House. As soon as his call connected he spoke urgently.