by J. C. Fields
“Warehouse district in Baltimore.” He recited the address and the bay number. “According to what we found, the truck should be there already or will be shortly. Can you get a Rapid Response team rolling?”
“I’ll call you back.”
Ending the call, Kruger turned to Gibbs and Knoll. “We’re too late to get to Baltimore. Call Stewart and tell him we will be at the airport in an hour. The four of us need to get to San Francisco as quickly as possible.”
***
As the HA-420 HondaJet climbed over the northern Rocky Mountains, Kruger read the pages JR had given him in the office for the tenth time. The computer hacker sat in a seat across the aisle from him, his eyes closed.
Kruger said, “You asleep?”
JR’s eyes snapped open. “Not sure, I may have been. Why?”
“I’m concerned how easily you were able to find all of this information.”
JR looked over at his friend. “Actually, I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Think about where we were.”
“Wyoming, what about it?”
“It’s the least populated state in the union. There are less than 600,000 residents in the entire state and that number is declining. Marks or Markovic, whatever his name really is, was there for a reason.”
Kruger turned to look out the window next to his seat. “A predominantly rural state with a small population of mostly white Caucasians and Native Americans.”
“That would be an accurate summary. A perfect place for Marks to recruit individuals for his purpose.”
Turning his attention back to JR, Kruger stared at him for a few moments. “What was his purpose?”
“Before we get into that, let me ask you a question.”
“Okay.”
“Alexei Kozlov, or as we knew him, Abel Plymel.”
Kruger frowned. “That’s not a question. What about him?”
“What was his purpose?”
“Originally, he was a Russian sleeper agent planted in this country during the Cold War to help sabotage Wall Street.”
JR nodded. “Yes, but after the Berlin Wall fell and the collapse of the Soviet Union, he went rogue and made a fortune for himself.”
Without responding, Kruger stared at his friend.
“What if Kevin Marks is a modern-day version of Abel Plymel, only this time he’s trying to stir up the already simmering kettle of race relations in this country.”
“I’m not following you, JR.”
“Think about it. Dorian Monk was targeting ethnic groups exclusively. There could be other Dorian Monks out there the FBI doesn’t know about.”
Kruger blinked rapidly for several moments and sat up straighter. “The numbers station.”
“Exactly, as we discussed, it’s a play right out of the Soviet Union’s Cold War espionage handbook.”
“With the addition of social media, they’ve discovered a perfect way to recruit individuals who are mad at the system.”
JR nodded.
Turning again to stare out the window next to him, Kruger tapped a finger on the armrest. Fifteen seconds later, his cell phone signaled an incoming call. “Kruger.” He listened for several minutes. “How many were in the warehouse?”
More silence as the person on the other end talked.
“We’re about an hour from touchdown. I’ll call you when we get there.” The call ended and he turned to JR. “They found the tractor-trailer rig, a dead driver, three fake UPS trucks and six men transferring the contents of the semi.”
“Anybody get hurt?”
“No, the raid went down without any gunshots.”
“Who were they?”
“That’s the worst part. All six were of Eastern European descent and lacked any form of identification.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not.” Kruger pursed his lips. “We need the address of the westbound truck’s destination.”
Opening his laptop, JR said, “Working on it.”
Gibbs appeared between the two seats occupied by JR and Kruger. “Alexia said you didn’t respond to her text message.”
Looking up, JR said, “I had it turned off. Why?”
The ex-Seal handed him his phone. “She knows where the westbound truck is headed.”
Chapter 45
San Francisco, CA
By the time Kruger and his team arrived, the SAC in charge of the San Francisco Field Office had the warehouse locked down. As Charlie Brewer shook his old friend’s hand, he said, “One of the three UPS trucks experienced mechanical problems, which means the other two are already on the street. We don’t know where they’re going.”
Kruger frowned. “Where’s the driver?”
Brewer pointed to a man surrounded by FBI agents firing questions at him. “The guy in the UPS uniform.”
“He’s a Russian, isn’t he?”
“How’d you know?”
“No ID on him either, right?”
“None. Again, how’d you know?”
“Same pattern as Baltimore.” Kruger turned to Jimmie Gibbs. “How’s your Russian?”
“Better than it was in Paris.”
“Good. Why don’t you have a chat with this guy?”
Brewer led the way as the three men approached the suspect. The SAC said to his agents, “Has he said anything?”
A tall female agent shook her head. “He keeps repeating the same words in Russian.” She asked the suspect again.
When the Russian’s answer was the same, Gibbs said, “He claiming he doesn’t understand what you’re saying.”
The four agents surrounding the man stared at Gibbs who was now looking squarely at the prisoner. He said in Russian, “What is your name?”
The man stood even with Gibbs but weighed fifty pounds more. His light brown hair appeared as a stubble on his head and face. Closer up, his uniform resembled a UPS driver only in color. Bluish, gray eyes stared back at Gibbs as the two men studied each other.
The man said, “Ivan.”
Chuckling, Gibbs said in Russian. “Of course, it is. Well, Ivan, I’m going to explain something to you. You are in deep shit right now.”
Still speaking his native language, the Russian replied, “I want a lawyer.”
Taking a page from the many interviews Jimmie Gibbs had observed Sean Kruger conduct, he said, “Can’t have one.”
“I am familiar with American laws. You have to supply a lawyer for me.”
“Not in your case.”
“What do you mean?”
“You see you were caught with a disguised truck with explosives in the back. You are also pretending to be a UPS driver, which you are not. That tells us you are planning on committing a terrorist act. Which causes us to proclaim you an enemy combatant and not entitled to laws applying to criminals in this country. In other words, as we Americans say, Ivan, you’re up the creek without a paddle. If I were to guess, your future is a dark cell, deep underground in some hell hole like ADX Florence in Colorado. That’s the same place they sent El Chapo, the drug cartel guy. Or, they might send you to Guantanamo Bay in Cuba. Oh, by the way, that is where no one can hear you scream.”
The bigger man only blinked rapidly.
Gibbs continued, “In my opinion you have a dim future to look forward to.” He paused and smiled. “I hope you got paid in advance, because you will never see it if you didn’t.”
More staring and blinking as the Russian kept his stare locked on Gibbs. In accented English he said, “What do you want to know?”
***
As Kruger and Gibbs rushed back to the GMC Yukon Sandy had commandeered, Kruger said, “What the heck did you say to him?”
“I just pointed out his dim future as an enemy combatant.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope, I learned from the best.”
Kruger smiled as they piled into the SUV and Knoll screeched the tires exiting the parking lot.
***
Aft
er intensive interrogation, the Russian revealed the destinations for the other two trucks. Armed with this knowledge, Charlie Brewer dispatched agents to intercept. Kruger and his team would be part of the crew looking for a truck heading toward a major historic building in San Francisco.
Founded in June of 1776, Mission Dolores continued to be the oldest building in the city and the oldest intact Mission left in California. Heavily damaged in the 1906 earthquake, the structure still stood and remained a symbol of the city’s ethnic diversity.
Kruger sat in the passenger seat next to Knoll, who drove. Gibbs occupied a backseat while getting his tactical gear on with JR next to him staring at the laptop resting on his legs.
JR said, “The place is a major tourist attraction. The basilica next to it doesn’t have a scheduled mass today, but the gift shop and old mission building are open for tours to the public.”
“What time does it close, JR?”
“Four on weekdays. Why?”
“It’s two and according to the Russian, the truck is supposed to park in front of the old mission building at three-thirty.”
Gibbs said, “We’ve got two options. Stop him before he gets to the church or we grab him as he steps off the truck before he has time to arm the bomb.”
Knoll glanced at Kruger. “I think Jimmie’s second option is best. No telling what this guy will do if he’s surrounded by the FBI in the middle of a busy intersection.”
Staring out the passenger window, Kruger nodded. “I agree with both of you. Stop him after he parks.” He turned around and looked at Gibbs. “Tell me again, what did he say about the explosives?”
“He developed a serious case of diarrhea of the mouth after I told him about FDX Florence. Apparently, they found it impossible to buy used UPS trucks. Stealing one was out of the question because every vehicle in the fleet has GPS tracking built in. Their solution was to lease three Dodge Freightliners and paint them in the UPS color scheme. Since UPS uses those types of trucks for special deliveries and not regular routes, no one would get suspicious if it didn’t stop every once in a while. They were to follow the same procedures as a normal UPS delivery. The driver stops in front of the building and goes to the back of the van for the package. That’s when they were to arm the explosives. After that they take a package with them as they exit the truck. Nothing out of the ordinary so far, right?”
Kruger nodded.
“He was to walk across the street and disappear. The timer would be set for three minutes and then boom.”
“So, we have to stop him before he gets into the back of the truck.”
“Otherwise we have a problem.”
“That’s an understatement, Jimmie.”
JR said, “What if he gets the thing armed before we can stop him?”
With a sigh, Kruger said, “Let’s try not to let that happen.”
***
Five miles from the Mission, Knoll spotted a UPS van. He pointed. “Looks like we might have got lucky. Is there a way to check and see if that’s the fake truck?”
With binoculars already on the truck, Kruger was quiet for a second. “JR, you have access to UPS’s GPS location system, is this van legit?”
Three seconds later, JR said, “No. That’s one of the fake ones.”
Knoll nodded and moved up closer behind the truck. “I noticed he’s driving a little slow.”
Gibbs said from the back, “Sean, can you determine how the rear cargo doors open?”
Kruger remained silent as he studied the rear of the truck. Finally, he said, “Two doors—both swing out from the middle. What’ve you got in mind?”
“We get up close and at a stop light; I join him in the van.”
Turning abruptly to stare at Gibbs in the back seat, Kruger shook his head rapidly. “Those doors could be locked from the inside. Plus, you have all of the explosives back there. Can’t let you do it.”
“What about the sliding side door or the passenger door?”
“I’m not authorizing that, Jimmie. Too dangerous with too many ways for it to go sideways on us.”
Gibbs gave Kruger a sly smile. “Never know till you try it…”
Knoll interrupted the conversation. “A motorcycle cop just pulled in behind him with his lights on. He’s pulling him over.”
Everyone’s attention immediately turned toward the van six car lengths in front of them. Kruger asked, “What happened, Sandy?”
“Not sure. The cop passed him going the other way, did a quick U-turn, passed us and then turned on his lights. What now, Sean?”
Kruger remained quiet as he watched the events unfold. “Jimmie, how quick can you disable the driver?”
“Pretty quick, why?”
“I don’t want this cop to get hurt and that’s what’s going to happen if we aren’t careful. Do we know if the Russian is armed?”
“Yeah, according to his buddy at the warehouse.”
“Sandy, can you pull this vehicle in front of the van and block him from moving forward?”
“I’ve practiced the move many times. What’ve you got in mind?”
“As soon as the van stops and the cop parks his motorcycle, whip around the front and Jimmie and I will jump out. Let’s hope he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
They heard Gibbs from the back. “All right—show time.”
***
Veteran San Francisco Police Officer Brad Cain wore three hash marks on the left sleeve of his uniform. With fifteen years of service, he possessed a second instinct when something felt hinky. This UPS truck fit the description perfectly. Something was off on the color and the driver looked nervous.
He did a quick U-turn to get in behind the Dodge Freightliner before turning on his emergency vehicle lights. He noticed the black Yukon with four men following fifty feet behind but did not register it as important. When the van did not respond to his light, he flipped the siren on for a few seconds and kept his bike positioned so the driver could see him in his rearview side mirror.
When the UPS driver still did not respond to his lights or siren, Cain started to position his bike alongside the van.
Before he could reach the driver door, the black Yukon sped ahead, hidden emergency lights flashing. When it was ahead of the van, it slid to a stop in front, its passenger doors facing the oncoming vehicle.
The driver slammed on the brakes and Brad Cain maneuvered his bike to get behind the UPS van.
As he parked the motorcycle and dismounted, he heard, two men yelling, “FBI! FBI! Hands where we can see them.”
With a frown, the patrol officer withdrew his service weapon.
***
Adam Stepanovich stared at the two men as they exited the large SUV in front of him pointing guns and yelling for him to put his hands on the steering wheel. Momentary paralysis set in as everything suddenly changed. First the motorcycle cop and now this SUV filled with FBI agents.
He could tell his hesitation to step out of the van irritated the two men in front of him because the volume of their warnings increased.
With a slight smile, he threw off the paralysis and decided he had no desire to spend the rest of his life in an American prison. He pressed the button on the driver door to lock the doors as he stood to enter the back of the van.
***
As soon as the green van stopped, Gibbs and Kruger were out of the Yukon with their service weapons pointed at the driver. Kruger moved to the left and the passenger side while Gibbs moved toward the driver door.
Gibbs took in his surroundings with his peripheral vision and mentally noted they were in a heavily populated part of San Francisco. Apartment buildings were on both sides of the street with a gathering crowd now watching the proceedings. With this information, he made a decision as he yelled for the driver to show his hands and get out of the van.
The driver stared at him from inside. Gibbs could tell the man was weighing his options. None of which were good.
When the man stood and started for the opening
leading to the rear of the van, Gibbs reacted.
The ex-Navy Seal’s training took over as he aimed at the man inside the van and pulled the trigger on his Sig Sauer P226. The slide slammed open when the last of his fifteen rounds fired.
Chapter 46
San Francisco, Mission District / Springfield, MO
The after-action report, to be filed at a later date, would praise Jimmie Gibbs for saving the lives of his fellow FBI agents, a San Francisco police officer and hundreds of civilian lives. The explosives inside the fake UPS van were designed to do maximum damage to surrounding buildings and any living creature within its sphere of destructive power.
As FBI forensic technicians and explosive experts swarmed over the van, a city block was cordoned off and the appropriate apartment buildings evacuated.
Gibbs sat inside Knoll’s SUV and listened to Kruger talk on his cell phone. When the conversation was over, Kruger put the phone in his jean pocket and smiled at Gibbs. “Well done, Jimmie. The other van was stopped at its destination. Instead of surrendering, the driver decided to shoot it out with police and a few of Charlie’s agents. The driver’s dead, but unfortunately, one police officer and an FBI agent were killed during the altercation. At least the only causality here was the driver.”
Looking up at Kruger, Gibbs gave him a tight smile. “What if I’d been wrong?”
“You weren’t. That’s all that matters.”
“Now what?”
“Well, we’ve proven the worth of our team. Stumpf will present a recommendation to Congress for permanent funding.”
“Will we stay independent?”
With a shrug, Kruger shook his head. “Don’t know. I hope so. Otherwise I’ll have to make a decision, a real decision this time.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
Knoll approached the SUV and stopped next to Kruger. “JR’s been poring over the guy’s phone. He found something.”
Kruger straightened against the door frame. “What?”