Eves of Destruction

by Roy Berelowitz

“But what does that have to do with the four digit code in this receiver-?”

  “Mr. Lewis,” said Dr. Franks, cutting him off, “I think what the professor is telling us is that the number of permutations or sequences of numbers required to activate the receiver is very small. Apparently, when they built the receiver, they did not expect it to compete with the millions of additional signals broadcast by all these new devices.”

  “You mean something else could activate the bombs? Gordon Lewis asked. “But,” he continued before the professor could answer, “it must still be unlikely the receiver would pick up exactly the right signal, wouldn’t it?”

  “I can’t give you the odds,” said Professor Thompson. “It would depend on the number of electronic devices being used and their proximity to the receiver. However, I would guess in a densely populated urban area, the odds are quite high. Inspector Campbell told me almost half of these women have died since 1992. I think this might explain why. That time frame would coincide with the huge new deployment of cellular phones in Russia.”

  There was a pause in the room while everyone digested what they had just heard. The professor started up his explanation again, thinking perhaps he had not been completely understood.

  “Look,” he said. “It’s a bit like automatic garage door openers. They all operate on frequencies of 290 to 440 megahertz. Thousands of them are on the same frequency and yet the odds are that your door and your neighbor’s door are on different frequencies so you won’t be accidentally opening up each others door when you activate the remote. However, I am sure you have all heard of garage doors just seeming to open and close spontaneously.”

  He was getting a little breathless, speaking more quickly now, excited to be sharing his considerable expertise.

  “Just like the analog device you gave me, that part of the spectrum isn’t uniquely assigned to garage doors, so people with powerful radio-controlled model airplanes have been known to send the neighbor’s door flapping up and down. For that matter, garages on the flight paths of airports have been subject to fits of spontaneous opening. Normally the devices operate properly, ignoring extraneous signals. The incoming waves must be of the right frequency, arriving in the proper direction, and strong enough to trigger the radio-controlled switch. That’s usually sufficient to guarantee proper operation, but not when the ionosphere is wobbling about severely. Then there are the radio-propagation games played by the troposphere, the breathable layer of the atmosphere.” The professor realized his information was probably getting more detailed than his audience cared to hear at this time.

  “Uh, look, uh, when it’s cold and a strong inversion layer develops so the hills are much warmer than the valleys, other local signals operating near garage-door frequencies can be bent or bounced from their path. Garage doors then can receive stray radar signals, military communications, all manner of normally unnoticed broadcasts. If I correctly recall my visit to San Francisco many years ago, it’s a very hilly city with wide temperature changes.”

  The professor stopped speaking and his words hung in the air for a few seconds. Dr. Franks’ eyes narrowed for a moment and then she pushed the intercom on her desk.

  “This is Dr. Franks. Connect me to OR four,” she barked into the receiver as soon as she heard the receptionist.

  While waiting for someone in the operating room to answer, Dr. Franks glanced at Gordon and Casey. Both FBI agents were looking at her expectantly, but other than slightly narrowed eyes, Dr. Franks’ face did not reveal her level of stress.

  She spoke into the phone again. “This is Dr. Franks. Can you put Dr. Powell on the phone please.” After another pause, she said, “Dr. Powell, this is Dr. Franks. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need another estimate of how much longer the surgery will take?” Dr. Franks was quiet for a moment, and then said, “Thank you doctor. Please listen carefully. I need you to turn off every nonessential electronic device in the operating room. It is imperative that only the equipment essential to completing the surgery be maintained. Everything else in the OR must be turned off. I’ll explain why later but, please do it right away.”

  There was a pause as Dr. Franks listened to the surgeon’s response. He did not appear to be arguing. Then she said, “I’d admonish you to work faster if I thought you could, but I know you are doing your best.” She hung up the phone and said simply, “about forty minutes, another forty minutes.” She glanced down at her wristwatch and then hurried out of her office.

  Gordon Lewis quickly thanked Ian Campbell for the information and hung up the phone, turning to Casey as he did so. “Get upstairs. Have our people turn off their portable radios and cell phones. Better yet, collect them and get them off the hospital grounds. I’ll go outside and get the cops to turn off their portable radios and car radios—”

  He was interrupted by Dr. Franks’ voice over the loudspeaker.

  “This is Dr. Franks. I am the Hospital Administrator. I am sorry to disturb you, but I have an important announcement to make. First of all, I want to assure you the hospital is secure. The noise you heard earlier was gunfire, but the police and FBI have completely secured the building.” She paused before continuing.

  “Now please do exactly as I say. If you are watching TV or listening to the radio, please immediately turn them off. If you are wearing a pager or using a cell phone, please turn off those devices as well. Please do not be alarmed. You are not in any danger. This is purely a protective measure we are taking. This will last for about forty-five minutes. I repeat. Please turn off all television sets, radios, pagers, portable phones, and computers and any other non-essential electronic devices. Nurses, all ward nurses please immediately check each room in your area and ensure these devices are turned off. Nurses, please collect all remote controls for the televisions and bring them back to your stations. I repeat I want the nurses on each floor to collect all TV remotes. I apologize to everyone for the inconvenience, but I must insist you comply immediately. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Casey followed her boss out of the executive offices and turned to run towards the elevators. She almost knocked over Dr. Franks, who was coming out of a side office just in front of her, also running towards the elevators. The two women looked at each other as they reached the elevator bank, but said nothing. Casey glanced at her watch. She looked up at the elevator floor indicator lights and impatiently pushed the button again to summon the elevators. “Come on, come on,” she said under breath.

  A bell sounded and the elevator doors slid silently open. Both women dashed inside and Dr. Franks pressed the button for the forth floor, then pressed and held the door-close button. As soon as they stepped off the elevator, Casey realized that Dr. Franks’ broadcast message had been effective. Nurses were scurrying about, some struggling with handfuls of TV remote controls. A couple of patients were standing in the hallways in their hospital gowns or pajamas looking confused, trying unsuccessfully to get someone’s attention. The sound of an argument echoed down the hallway from one of the rooms. As Dr. Franks hurried off in the direction of the argument, Casey ran towards the operating room.

  * * *

  “We’re ready for them now,” Dr. Powell called out, Myda’s second titanium hip joint held securely in both hands. Two members of the San Francisco bomb squad stepped into the operating room, stopping at the entrance as instructed. They were covered from head to toe in bulky body armor. Between them was a small but heavily reinforced steel drum they had wheeled in with them. As Dr. Powell walked towards them carrying the device, the policemen unsnapped four heavy bolts securing the lid of the steel drum. Together, they lifted the heavy lid and waited while Dr. Powell, slowly and very carefully, placed the hip joint inside. The first time they had done it with the first hip joint, Dr. Powell had let the device bump against the side of the drum as he lowered it in, making everyone jump slightly. This time he had no trouble, and was already turning back to his patient while the officers were securing the lid on the steel drum. Slowly, they
wheeled it out of the operating room and back into the corridor. Dr. Franks, Gordon Lewis, Casey Jennings and a few other FBI agents and policemen watched as the two men maneuvered their heavy load toward a freight elevator. Then they were gone.

  CHAPTER 41

  HOURS AFTER AL RAHMAN was killed, a raging debate broke out in the upper echelons of the national security apparatus about what to do about the Russian women with the bombs still implanted and at large. Some members of Homeland Security wanted the FBI to launch a massive manhunt to find, capture and disarm them while others in the Administration wanted to get the story off the front pages of the newspapers as soon as possible. With a presidential election coming up, the threat of randomly exploding women was a tough topic to counter.

  The National Security Advisor, a man known and well respected for his blunt assessments, summed up the situation before the President and a few of his political and security advisors in his typical way.

  “Mr. President,” he said, “about two million Americans die each year, the vast majority from natural causes. However,” he continued as he looked around the room, “thousands, in fact tens of thousands of Americans die from unnatural causes in car accidents, fires, shootings, stabbings, drug overdoses and yes, even explosions. We have gas explosions, accidental dynamite explosions, and methamphetamine lab explosions. The list is simply endless.” He paused before he continued. “As long as the public believes these deaths to be part of our culture, part of our status quo, no-one really cares. Just the threat of a foreign terrorist attack strikes fear, probably irrational fear into our society, but an ex-husband stabbing his wife to death or setting her on fire, or a teenage gangster shooting another teenager to death because he was wearing the wrong colored outfit in the wrong part of town is just part of our daily noise. It comes and it goes.” He gazed around the room once more before continuing.

  “Should we make every effort to find these women and secure them? Of course we should. But if we don’t find them all and some just explode spontaneously without being specifically targeted by a terrorist handler will it matter? Statistically not a whit, and politically and socially it will matter even less.”

  There was silence in the room when he finished speaking until the President uttered a short, sharp laugh. “Well, I suppose the National Security Advisor won’t be competing for the national humanitarian award any time soon,” he said with a smile as he glanced around the room.

  “I know its harsh and cold Mr. President,” the man, continued as he spoke over the laughter following the President’s comment, “but it’s also realistic. Now that Devskoy and Abd Al Rahman are dead and cannot manipulate these women, cannot use them for their own ends, these women are no longer terrorists, they are just victims.”

  As is typical in Washington, a compromise was reached and a task force was established to quietly identify and find each woman. No national bulletins were issued but the FBI team worked diligently to find each woman. They focused their search in the San Francisco Bay area assuming that Al Rahman had positioned more than just two women there. A rigorous check of most of the hotels in the bay area turned up numerous leads but nothing concrete. Two women died alone in hotel rooms in the east bay in spontaneous explosions that were confirmed to come from hip replacements and another woman died in the back of taxi in Manhattan also killing the driver but after that the leads dried up and the task force made no further progress. By then the story had dropped off the front pages as the country geared up for the national election and then Christmas. The public’s initial fascination with the story ebbed and the talking heads on television found something else to talk about. Members of the task began to be reassigned to other more pressing issues.

  Myda Kosnar’s dual surgeries left her quite weak but her naturally athletic body responded well to the physical therapy that began almost immediately. She was released from the hospital after six days and deemed ready to fly back to Washington in a FBI corporate jet reconfigured so she could lay prone the entire trip. In Washington, Myda and her brother were set up in a small but comfortable apartment near the FBI headquarters where she could convalesce and he could help the FBI track down the still missing women. He spent hours in meetings, reviewing pictures and providing background, as much as he knew about the operation. He resisted firmly when asked to provide details on the new Russian Security Service reminding his interviewers he was still a loyal Russian citizen and had no intention of being disloyal to his country.

  After a few days, requests started to come in from the CIA, NSA, NATO and Military Intelligence to speak with him about his experience fighting the Afghan Mujahideen during the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. The war against the Taliban in Afghanistan was not going well and Kosnar’s success there, despite the overall Soviet failure to suppress the Mujahideen was well regarded. Gordon Lewis arranged a few meetings with intelligence operatives and then decided they were beginning to take undue advantage of Vladimir’s knowledge and experience. He suggested the government offer Kosnar a consulting job in return for his advice and analysis. He spoke about this with Vladimir at a private lunch meeting.

  “They are prepared to offer you a contract for at least one year,” he said. “It’s a good offer, a substantial hourly rate. More than I make in a year,” he said as he laughed.

  Vladimir was appreciative but non-committal. He asked about the status of his sister, if she could stay in America with him and Gordon Lewis suggested that could probably be arranged but he would confirm that for certain.

  “What about after the first year?” Vladimir asked. “What if my services are no longer needed after that?”

  Gordon Lewis smiled and laughed again. “I can think of fifty US based multi-national companies who would pay very handsomely for your knowledge and experience. Companies doing business in Russia and the Middle East need people like you desperately. I can barely hang on to experienced career officers in the FBI with much less depth of knowledge than you who are hired away from us each year.”

  Vladimir remained non-committal but he promised to consider the offer.

  Casey Jennings went through her own rigorous debriefing processes upon her return to Washington. There was some debate about some of the decisions she had made, specifically about first agreeing to meet in the open with Kosnar and then later leaving the scene of David Green’s murder. Casey participated openly in these conversations, confident in her decisions which she felt were vindicated by the outcome.

  She had not seen either Kosnar nor his sister since a couple of days after Myda had been flown to Washington and so, early one Sunday morning, she purchased some pastries and three cups of coffee and drove to their apartment. She was a little apprehensive about the unannounced visit but she was warmly welcomed especially by Mdya who beckoned her over to the couch where she was resting so she could give Casey a hug.

  They sat and chatted awkwardly at first as they nibbled on the pastries but the conversation quickly warmed up as they talked about their lives and experiences. Casey was quite amazed by the difference in Vladimir’s demeanor. He had gone from appearing almost resolutely expressionless to happy, smiling easily and breaking in to a shy laugh she found very disarming. Casey particularly liked the tender way in which he treated his sister, not fussing over her but always making sure she was comfortable. Hours passed before Casey finally rose to leave but Myda grabbed her hand and asked her to come back for dinner later that week. Casey agreed and she followed up by offering to take the brother and sister out into the Maryland countryside for a drive and a picnic. Myda was still hobbled, awkwardly moving on crutches but they managed to ease her in to the back of Casey’s car and take a drive on a beautiful fall day. When Casey returned them to their apartment she hugged them both before she left.

  Her visits became more frequent and on a number of occasions, at Myda’s instance, she and Vladimir had gone out for dinner or early morning walks. The conversation between them had come easily, but they said little about the events th
at had brought them together.

  Almost five weeks to the day after the double hip replacement surgery, Casey rode with Myda and Vladimir to the airport. Myda was quite chatty on the ride, but Casey and Vladimir said very little. At the airport, a Red Cross official met them to assist Myda onto the plane. Working with the Red Cross, the FBI had arranged for Myda to travel in first class in order to minimize her discomfort on the long flight back to Moscow. Vladimir was not so fortunate and had to look forward to a long flight in the economy class.

  After hugging Casey goodbye and thanking her profusely Myda switched her crutches for a wheelchair, and was pushed into the terminal by the Red Cross official.

  Casey and Vladimir faced each other on the sidewalk.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for everything.”

  Casey smiled and thanked him in return and then stepped forward to give him a hug. They held each other for a moment and as she drew away, Vladimir pulled her back to him and kissed her on the mouth, gently at first and then passionately. Casey closed her eyes and reached behind his head with her arm and pulled him close.

  After a few moments, Vladimir pulled his head back, his eyes wide and face blushing.

  “Excuse me,” he mumbled. I’m sorry.”

  Casey smiled at him as she gently touched his lips with the tips of her fingers and then took his hand in hers.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said.

  Vladimir pulled her close again and then kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

  “Can you get a message to Gordon Lewis for me please?” he asked her.

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “Tell him I accept the job.”

  “Does that mean you will be coming back to Washington?” she asked.

  He smiled as he answered. “Yes, as soon as possible.”

  Casey leaned forward, kissed him again on the lips and then said, “You had better go. You don’t want to miss your flight.”