Eves of Destruction

by Roy Berelowitz

  Casey stepped forward and extended her hand towards Myda but the Russian ignored and it and Casey dropped her hand.

  “Who are you?” Myda asked Casey in Russian, her face a mask of confusion and doubt.

  “I’m sorry,” said Casey, “I don’t speak Russian. My name is Casey Jennings.” It did not feel like the right time to mention she was an FBI agent.

  As Casey introduced herself, Vladimir stepped a couple of feet away from the two women, scanning the sidewalks in both directions. They were in an incredibly vulnerable position and he was concerned it would take some time to convince his sister of their veracity. He was about to rejoin the two women when he saw something that held his gaze. About fifty feet away he could see a man hobbling towards them. He was looking down at the ground as he walked, in a slow painful shuffle that appeared to cause him great discomfort every time he put weight on his left leg. Vladimir squinted, trying to get a clearer view. The limp looked so familiar, but there was something else. The hair, the man’s hair looked out of place, unnatural.

  Vladimir stepped away from Casey and his sister and he slowly started to walk towards the man. It had been a long time since he had seen Al Rahman, but he remembered the limp and that Al Rahman had purchased a toupee. The two men were about twenty-five feet apart now.

  Suddenly the man looked up and at that moment, their eyes met. A look of anger flashed across Al Rahman’s face. He saw his former nemesis just in front of him, and just beyond him he could see Karrina and another woman who also looked familiar. He stopped, and for a second considered turning and walking away, but instead he started to fumble in his jacket, reaching for the activator.

  As Al Rahman stopped, Vladimir broke into a run and then a sprint, dodging pedestrians as he strove to get to Al Rahman. Al Rahman found the activator in his pocket and tried to pull it out, but it was stuck in the seam in his pocket. He fumbled for another second trying to use the stump of his right hand to hold his jacket and finally managed to free the device just as Vladimir’s shoulder drove hard into to his solar plexus. With a grunt, Al Rahman fell backwards, the activator sailing out of his hands in a broad arc towards the street.

  Vladimir’s diving tackle caused him to fall to the ground almost on top of Al Rahman. As he fell, he was unaware of the location of the activator. He rolled onto his back and as he began to sit up, he could see Casey running towards him, drawing her weapon as she ran. Scrambling to his feet, he waved her off with his hand.

  “Go!” he shouted, finding his voice. “Get her away from here,” he screamed. “Take her to the hospital.”

  Just then Vladimir caught sight of Al Rahman scurrying toward the street. For a second he thought Al Rahman was trying to get away, but then he saw the object of Al Rahman’s frantic scramble.

  “Go! Go!” Vladimir shouted again at Casey, then turned and in one fluid motion stepped directly onto Al Rahman’s back and then dove hard into the street, stretching out to reach the activator. He did not hear the squeal of brakes as the approaching taxi driver tried desperately, but unsuccessfully to stop before hitting him. The congested traffic and the driver’s fast reaction meant the blow to Vladimir’s head was not as bad as it could have been. Still, he was struck hard, already unconscious by the time his body fell to the ground, his head just inches from the taxi’s front wheels.

  CHAPTER 36

  CASEY ONLY REALIZED Vladimir was moving away from them when she saw Myda become distracted, turning just as Vladimir broke into a sprint. As he tackled his quarry, Casey ran towards him drawing her weapon and roughly pushing through the crowd gathering on the sidewalk. She slowed as Vladimir rolled to his feet and shouted to her to go. His words were unclear, but Casey thought she heard him say the word ‘hospital’. She stopped and looked back at Myda and then back to Vladimir just as she saw him step onto a man lying on the ground and dive into the street. She cringed as she saw the taxi hit him and began to move towards him, but stopped again, turning back to Myda. She felt a moment of a panic when she did not see her, but then, just as quickly, was relieved when she realized Myda had moved towards her, was almost beside her. She grabbed Myda by the arm and pulled her away from the two men, one picking himself up from the sidewalk, the other lying still on the street.

  “Come on,” she shouted, “we’ve got to get you out of here.” Myda resisted, shaking off Casey’s hand, turning back to the small crowd quickly gathering around Vladimir. Casey grabbed her by the wrist more firmly this time, and pulled her down the sidewalk until Myda stopped resisting and the two women began to run down the street. Casey saw some passengers disembarking from a taxi near them and she dashed up to it, pushing Myda ahead of her into the back seat.

  “Uh…Uh….San Francisco General Hospital, please, driver. Quick as you can.”

  As soon as the cab pulled out onto the street, Casey turned and looked through the rear window, trying to see either Vladimir or the man she assumed to be Al Rahman but the small crowd gathering at the accident obscured her view. As the taxi sped up, the scene receded and she reached for her cell phone. As she pushed the buttons to call Gordon Lewis, Myda demanded her attention.

  “Who are you?” the Russian woman shouted. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Hold on a moment,” Casey replied looking down her phone, still trying to get a call out to her boss.

  She glanced up as the taxi slowed in traffic, and then almost dove across the back seat as Myda started to open the door.

  “No, please. You must stay with me,” she yelled as the two women wrestled with the door. After a moment, Myda let go of the door handle and sat back in her seat, glaring at Casey.

  “What’s going on back there?” the taxi driver shouted as he turned to look over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  Casey leaned forward in her seat and held her Bureau identification inches from his face. “FBI,” she said as firmly as she could. “You just keep your eyes forward and drive.” She held her position next to his head for a few more seconds before sitting back in her seat and looking at the Russian woman. She desperately wanted to call her boss, let him know what had happened, but first she had to get her to calm down.

  “Ms. Karrina, I’m sorry. I know this must be confusing. Please listen very carefully. What I am about to tell you is disturbing, but I do believe it can be …uh… resolved.”

  Casey closed her eyes for a second, sighed again and began a careful explanation of who she was, who she worked for, who Al Rahman was. She explained that the trip she had been sent on was a rogue mission, unauthorized by her own government, and that Vladimir, her brother, had been sent to stop it. She did not mention the other women or the murders in Europe.

  “Ms. Karrina, I have to ask you a personal question,” she said as the taxi fought the traffic. “Do you have a scar on either hip, a scar from an operation?”

  Myda’s eye’s widened. How could this woman, a person she had just met, know that?

  “Why?” Myda asked.

  “Do you?” Casey repeated. “Do you have a surgical scar on your hip?”

  “Yes, I do,” Myda responded, “But why are you asking me this? What does this have to do with anything?”

  Casey reached down and took one of the Russian woman’s hands in her own. “Ms. Karrina, Myda, many years ago, your hip joint was replaced, but they did not install a normal joint. They put in one containing a small amount of explosive, enough to kill you and somebody you are with or who is nearby.”

  Just then the taxi driver hit his brakes and Casey and Myda fell hard against the front seats. “Lady, do you have a bomb in my cab?” the driver shouted as he turned almost completely around in his seat. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  Pushing back on to the edge of her seat, Casey leaned over to the taxi driver and said, “I told you to shut up and drive. Now stop eavesdropping on our conversation and just get us to the hospital. There is nothing to worry about. Just drive.” Her voice was calm but resolute.

  “But-”

/>   Casey cut him off before he could continue. “Face forward and put both hands on the wheel. Now, just drive us to hospital and everything will be fine.”

  As the taxi driver drove on casting anxious glances in his review mirror, Casey turned back to the Russian woman beside her. Myda’s eyes were wide with fright but she said nothing.

  “Please,” Casey said. “You must believe me. The man your brother tackled was carrying the activator that would explode the bomb in your body. He has already killed women like you, one of them today, right here in San Francisco. We believe he was going to use you to kill other people at the Convention.” She stopped speaking and her words hung in the air.

  “I…how can this be possible…?” Myda replied, struggling to express herself.

  “I understand you don’t believe me,” said Casey, with a shake of her head. I wouldn’t believe it either, if I had not seen what I have seen the past few weeks. But you must believe me. What I’m telling you is true.”

  “I don’t understand. What have you seen?”

  “I’ve seen women just like you, athletic, attractive, former Soviet Olympic hopefuls, all about the same age. All murdered, murdered in hotel rooms or on the streets of London and San Francisco.”

  The Russian woman’s face was pale. She had moved as far away from Casey as possible in the back seat of the taxi, her back up against the door. “But what does that have to do with me? How do you know I am involved with that?” She was indignant, defensive. Afraid she might try and open the door again and jump out when the taxi slowed, Casey wanted to keep her engaged in the conversation.

  “Were you on assignment here today?” she asked.

  Myda did not answer. The FBI agent was asking her about an assignment, a tactical mission. She was not ready to answer such a question.

  “What were you doing outside Moscone Center,” said Casey again, pressing her. “Did you have a specific assignment?” Casey realized she was on dangerous ground making assumptions about what Al Rahman had told Myda to do but she had to gain this woman’s trust quickly.

  Myda looked over at Casey and then dropped her eyes. She was trying desperately to reconcile what she was hearing and what had just happened. A stranger walks up to her and claims to be her brother, but now he is apparently hurt and abandoned in the streets of San Francisco. A woman with him claims to be an FBI agent and forces her into a taxi. And the stupid assignment, standing on the street corner waiting for the phone to ring. She looked back at Casey.

  “My assignment did seem unusual,” said Myda, “but that doesn’t mean I am carrying a bomb or that…uh…uh I have a bomb inside my body.”

  Casey looked back at her with an encouraging expression. She could understand the woman’s suspicion. She was sure she would feel the same. The information was so unacceptable, so out of the realm of comprehension, it required a suspension of disbelief to accept. Casey could see from Myda’s face, however that she was starting to trust her, that perhaps the strange nature of her assignment was convincing her she was caught up in something she did not understand.

  “Please, you must believe me. I want to help you. We need to have the device removed from your body.”

  “San Francisco General Hospital,” the taxi driver called out at as the car squealed to a hard stop in the parking lot.

  Casey looked out the windows to get her bearings. “There,” she said, pointing past the driver. “Pull up at the Emergency Room drop off.”

  * * *

  Abd Al Rahman saw the front of the taxi strike Kosnar’s head and watched his adversary fall hard onto the street. As he stumbled awkwardly to his feet, he could see the activator just beyond the Russian’s prone body. Standing up, Al Rahman stepped around Vladimir and the nervous taxi driver hovering over him. He scooped up the activator and then, still bent over, pulled the wig off his head and shoved it into his pocket. Then he turned to look down at Vladimir, saw the blood on his head, heard him utter a low groan.

  The taxi driver was almost dancing a jig of panic as he looked down at the man he had struck.

  “Did you see him?” the taxi driver yelled to the gathering crowd. “He just jumped right in front of my cab. No way I could stop in time. The man just jumped in front of me. Motherfucker, my boss is going to fucking kill me. I can’t believe this bullshit. What am I supposed to do?”

  Abd Al Rahman had to think quickly. As the crowd gathered near Vladimir and he could see a policewoman running towards them. Clearly his plan for the day had been compromised but he was ready to adapt. Killing Kosnar would revenge an old debt. He would reassemble the women at another place and another time but now he had to eliminate Kosnar.

  “Is he all right?” Al Rahman asked the policewoman, speaking with Russian accented English.

  “I think he was just knocked unconscious,” said the officer.

  Al Rahman reached out and gently stroked Vladimir’s brow, mumbling a few words to him in Russian.

  “Do you know this man?” asked the policewoman.

  “Yes,” said Al Rahman, still stroking Vladimir’s brow. “We are friends traveling together in United States,” he continued, his voice breaking just slightly.

  “Well, your friend needs to go the hospital right away. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

  Reaching for the microphone to her radio, the policewoman began giving information to her dispatcher. As soon as she was done, she looked back down at Vladimir and then over at Al Rahman.

  “Where are you from?” she asked him.

  “Russia. We are Russians traveling here on business,” Al Rahman replied. “I am here to help my friend with English. He has no English.”

  “Oh boy,” said the officer. “In that case, I suggest when the ambulance arrives, you better go with him. You understand?”

  “Yes,” Al Rahman replied, still caressing Vladimir’s brow. With his fingerless right hand, he reached up and patted his pocket, reassured again by what it contained.

  * * *

  As Casey and Myda walked into the emergency room, Casey’s cell phone was ringing.

  “Casey, we are getting reports of an incident near the Moscone Center. Was that you and where are you and where the hell is Kosnar?” Gordon Lewis demanded as soon as she answered.

  “I’m at San Francisco General Hospital. I’m with Kosnar’s sister. I…uh, we managed to find her and I brought her here. We’ve just arrived. I’m going to try and find the hospital administrator and have her admitted for surgery right away.”

  “What? How did you… never mind that now. Is she disarmed? Did you secure the activator?” His words ran together.

  “No, she is not disarmed and Al Rahman is still at large. I saw him but, it seemed more prudent to separate her from him.” As she stood talking on the phone Casey started to feel she had made wrong decision. Al Rahman had been a hard target on the ground not far from her. She could have shot him on the spot, taken the risk despite the fact there were crowds of people gathering.

  “So is she still lethal or not?”

  “I..uh…I guess you would have to call her lethal. But if they do surgery now, quickly, they can remove the device and disarm it.” Her last few words came out in a jumble.

  “Jesus Christ, Casey. You are going to try and convince the hospital and a couple doctors to operate on a woman with a bomb inside her?”

  Casey closed her eyes and grimaced slightly as she responded. “Well, that was my plan. Yes, Sir.”

  There was a pause as neither party spoke. Casey looked over at Myda and tried to flash a reassuring smile, but it came across as more like a grimace.

  “Casey, look, I’ll be right there.” Gordon’s voice had softened slightly. “Identify yourself to the hospital, have them summon the chief administrator, tell them your story. Tell them I’m on my way. And Casey, please, put that woman somewhere secluded. We’ve already had one woman explode on us in a public place. Let’s try and avoid a second occurrence.”

  CHAPTER 37

  VL
ADIMIR’S HEAD HURT. He tried to open his eyes, but the effort was too great. He could hear people talking, but the voices were a jumble, occasionally clear, mostly just noise. He felt removed from his own condition, aware and yet somehow detached. He heard counting and then felt himself being lifted onto a bed or a gurney. Then he felt a pat on the shoulder and someone talking to him.

  “Hey buddy, are you OK? Can you hear me?”

  He couldn’t answer, but he thought he heard a voice, a woman’s voice say, “Don’t bother asking him any questions. He doesn’t speak English. He’s a Russian. If you have any questions, you’ll have to ask his pal over there.”

  Then he felt a mask being placed over his mouth, a tug as straps pinned his arms. He wanted to say something, but no words came out. He lay still, breathing deeply, trying to collect his thoughts. He heard a door slam. In the distance he heard a siren and wondered if there was a fire.

  * * *

  Vladimir heard a voice that sounded familiar, but couldn’t place it.

  “Which hospital are we going to?” the voice asked.

  “SF Gen.”

  “Is that San Francisco General Hospital?” The familiar voice again.

  “Yup, that’s the one.”

  “Is that the closest one?”

  “Hey, don’t worry, man. We gonna get your buddy there in just a few minutes. He’s going to be just fine.”

  Vladimir groaned. He opened his eyes and then quickly closed them again. He lay still for a few moments, then again slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, but this time was able to keep them open. His vision was blurred. At first, he just looked up at the EMT, but then became aware of another man in the ambulance and turned towards him. His eyes widened then closed, shut hard as if he was trying to reset his focus. Opening his eyes again, this time he looked directly at Al Rahman. He stared for about ten seconds, and then tried to reach up to his face to remove the oxygen mask, but the straps on his arms stopped him. He groaned, trying to speak, but nothing came out.