Purge on the Potomac

by Roberts, David Thomas;

“Wait, can you back it up for about ten seconds?” came the voice from D.C. “Can it zoom?” There was a slight pause. “Okay, okay, that’s good, I got it. What else do you have?” asked the D.C. operative.

  “I’ve got two more clips,” Dyson noted. “Here he is underneath the governor’s King Air.”

  Again, the operative asked, “Wait, can you pause that scene about five seconds back?”

  “There you go. Is this what you needed?” asked Dyson, fiddling with the controls of the web meeting application.

  “We can’t see exactly what he is doing under that right wing of the aircraft and I’m no mechanic, but I am a pilot and I can reasonably tell you that he is likely accessing the fuel tanks or fuel lines in that general area of the wing,” noted the operative.

  Pops and Zach glanced at each other, and Pops nodded affirmatively.

  “Can you identify him?” pressed Dyson.

  “No, not yet. That’s a fairly lousy security camera system in that hangar,” said the operative.

  “Geez, I would agree,” chimed in Beard, who was a technology expert. “These are state-owned aircraft and the security cameras look like they were installed in 1995.”

  “Here’s the last clip,” said Dyson. “It’s only about twenty seconds, but it’s him leaving the hangar. It’s about an hour before the governor arrived.”

  “Wait! Wait! Back it up!” yelled the operative.

  Pops tilted his cowboy hat back slightly on his head as he stepped closer to the screen. Everyone remained silent as Dyson ran the last segment back and forth in slow motion.

  “There’s that son of a bitch, Zach. That’s him. No doubt in my mind.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Zach, who had a good idea who they were looking at, based on the Russian accent alone.

  “That’s him. There’s that son of a bitch. I guarantee it.”

  “King Street Pub?” asked Zach.

  “Yeah, that and Crimea, Chechnya and Georgia. It’s him.”

  “Okay, gentlemen, can you enlighten us please?” asked Pops patiently.

  “Go ahead,” Zach told his operative. “Pops won’t be surprised.”

  “Gentlemen, that man is Vasily Volkov. He is the most dangerous Russian operative in history. He is a cold-blooded, extremely intelligent and ruthless former KGB operative. The Russians lost control of him years ago after awarding him their highest military honors. He is bad news; always leaves havoc behind. Interpol, the CIA, and almost every Western security apparatus has him as their number one target for apprehension or elimination. He works for the highest bidder. Strictly mercenary stuff now.” The operative finished his report.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” asked Dyson.

  “I think we know, based on his location under the wing of that aircraft,” commented Will.

  “But why? How the hell does someone simply walk into the Department of Public Safety’s aviation hangar, put on a pair of contractor overalls, and mess with the governor’s aircraft no less, without anyone asking him any questions? Unbelievable!” exclaimed Dyson.

  “This man is a master. I can guarantee he had his bases already covered. Volkov has killed women and children if it meant completion of his mission or to cover his trail,” said the operative. “He typically leaves no witnesses, so anyone who met or saw him in that hangar that is still alive is extremely lucky, but no less in immediate danger.”

  “How do we find this bastard?” asked Dyson.

  “We’ve had operatives all over the world looking for him for years. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

  “You’ve seen this man, yes?” Pops asked the voice on the phone.

  “Yes, sir, I have.”

  “How long ago?” Pops persisted.

  “Very recently. Weeks,” said the operative.

  “Here in Texas?”

  “No, sir, in the U.S.,” the operative responded.

  “Did you not have the opportunity to take this turd out then?” asked Dyson.

  “Yes, possibly. However, there was a larger mission at stake and to do so at the time would have jeopardized the larger mission.”

  Pops looked at Zach with a raised eyebrow. Was there something Zach wasn’t telling him?

  “Sir, there is a larger mission, and I’ll ask you to hold on that question until we are done here. However, that mission is part of the files we shared with you,” answered Zach quickly, realizing he could lose Pops’ trust.

  “Damn it, Pops, at some point you are going to have to bring us into the know here. This is frustrating as hell, doing these investigations, being blocked by the feds on one hand and by these militia guys, who aren’t associated with any law enforcement, on the other hand!” ranted Dyson, who had no qualms about expressing his displeasure with Turner’s group.

  “We’re getting close; just hang with me,” Pops said. Dyson nodded reluctantly.

  “Who could be paying this guy to tamper with the governor of Texas’ aircraft?” asked another Ranger.

  Pops and Turner looked at each other. Zach didn’t want to answer, and he surely didn’t want Beard or Will to answer.

  “We have some leads on that. We are still working them,” noted Pops. “Is there anything else you can tell us at this time?” Pops asked the operative.

  “Yes, but it’s highly sensitive,” he answered.

  “Gentlemen, let’s take a short break. I’d like to meet with Mr. Turner alone right now, with his friend here on the phone,” commanded Pops. Everyone else got up to leave the room.

  As soon as the room cleared, Pops sat down directly across from Zach at the conference table. He looked concerned.

  “At some point, son, we will need your testimony. Hell, we may need it to get warrants at some point,” Pops told the operative.

  “That could be a problem, sir. I am literally entrenched in the Deep State in D.C. and Langley. I would have to agree with it. It will blow my cover, not to mention that Zach will lose an extremely valuable inside source. It would also put me and my family in very real jeopardy,” answered the operative.

  “I understand. We will cross that bridge when we git there.” Pops stood up, took his hat off, and scratched his head.

  “I’ve got one more thing to bring up,” said the operative. “I’m sure the NTSB will run a chemical fuel analysis from the crash site if they can get any molecular data from the ground or aircraft remains. Ask them to provide you a copy, then re-contact me.”

  “Roger that,” said Zach.

  “Hang on here a second. What is it you think that report could turn up?” asked Pops.

  “Could be many things. But if I was going to take a plane down, tainting the fuel mixture could be the easiest and least detectable way to do it,” answered the operative. “Volkov is resourceful and inventive. If he is responsible, and there’s no reason for me to think otherwise now that I know he was in the hangar and around this aircraft an hour before take-off, I would be looking at the fuel analysis.”

  “Okay. What are we looking for exactly?” pressed Pops.

  “Look for unusual amounts of diethylene glycol monomethyl ether,” answered the operative.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Pops.

  “Isn’t that essentially a de-icer?” asked Zach.

  “It is. It will typically suppress the freezing point of any water at high altitudes that might be in the aviation fuel but, used in the wrong quantities or introducing product that has been expired or mixed with a variety of other fuel additives, will produce microbes that actually do the opposite; it coagulates the fuel. Essentially, the aircraft engines have a heart attack. They fail.”

  “We don’t see him loading any fuel in the video footage,” mentioned Pops.

  “Are there security cameras at the jet fuel loading area on the tarmac? You might want to look at those,” suggested the operative.

  “We will find out,” answered Pops.

  “If all he had to do was to introduce this additive into the jet fuel, why would he be unde
r the aircraft wings?” asked Zach.

  “Not sure. My guess would be to work on the fuel lines,” the operative told them. “He could adjust them to run leaner. The combination of a leaner fuel burn plus a coagulant could cause stalls in the engines that would be hard or nearly impossible to restart while airborne, and that King Air, on a short flight like that, probably wasn’t more than fifteen thousand feet.”

  “This is valuable information. How long would it take the lab reports to come back from NTSB?” asked Zach.

  “Weeks, if not months. You may want to talk to the NTSB and get them pointed in that direction to get it done sooner,” the operative suggested.

  Pops pulled a cigar from his pearl snap shirt pocket, bit the end off of it, and spit the tobacco end of the cigar into the metal trash can from five feet away.

  “Mute that damn thing for a second.” Pops motioned to Beard, who shut off the mic to the web application.

  “This is also the hombre that killed that state senator…” Pops thought out loud. “We have to ask why a former KGB agent is murdering a Texas state senator and why he would want to take down the governor. This guy is involved in the murder of Chief Justice Noyner of the United States Supreme Court! Jesus, what the hell is going on here?” Pops looked squarely at Zach as if he knew Turner wasn’t telling him something.

  “Sir, you and I both know this goes to the highest levels of government.”

  “Son, right now there ain’t nobody I can trust as far as I can throw them. Hell, this information we are sitting on today wouldn’t make a good dime store novel ’cuz nobody would believe it’s this rotten through and through,” lamented Pops.

  “It sometimes makes you wish you weren’t in the know,” Zach said wryly. “Most people are worried about their upcoming Labor Day weekend and how their favorite football team is going to fare. Who ever said ignorance is bliss is probably right.”

  “I’m about to circle the wagons and put every Texas Ranger I’ve got on finding this bad-ass Russian dude. If he’s in Texas, they’ll find him,” Pops assured Zach.

  “The CIA has been looking for him for years,” replied Zach before he realized how stupid that sounded.

  “Turn it back on.” Pops motioned Beard to bring the operative back on live.

  “Anything else we should know?” asked Pops.

  “I would strongly caution everyone regarding Volkov,” the operative warned. “This guy is a criminal at the highest level. He’s motivated by money, but I will tell you his motivation to make money is not nearly as intense as his hate for the West, especially the United States, and his effectiveness is well documented with bodies strewn across the globe directly at his hands. He is most dangerous when cornered.”

  “Like every snake, he’ll come out of his hole sooner or later,” answered Pops.

  “Volkov doesn’t make mistakes, sir,” shot back the operative.

  “He already did,” Pops responded.

  “How so?” asked the operative.

  “He plied his trade in Texas,” said Pops matter-of-factly.

  Chapter 42

  “The best we can hope for concerning the people at large is that they be properly armed.”

  - Alexander Hamilton (1757-1804)

  American statesman, Secretary of the Treasury

  Politically, the deaths of the governor and lieutenant governor had the same effect as a complete reshuffle of a deck of cards that had been tossed into the air, only to be spread out unceremoniously on the floor to be picked up in random order. The loss of two governors and two lieutenant governors in two years had the effect of reshaping the entire Texas body politic.

  As Speaker Strasburg ascended to the office of governor, the leadership of the state legislature roiled with the changes in subcommittee chairmanships and memberships to important committees. Although Strasburg was hardly a conservative, many considered him a moderate.

  What was most noticeable was that the pro-independence faction had gained substantial popularity among the electorate, but that wave of political feeling was not being represented in committee chairs and assignments coming out of Strasburg’s minions. Austin was becoming as highly polarized as Washington, D.C.

  The opposing forces were not so much Democrat versus Republican or even conservative versus liberal as they were the pro-independence faction versus the status quo of politics as usual. Very few in the media realized it was taking shape much like the original American colonies when there were conflicts between Tories and rebels. Loyalties and alignment with leaders on both sides of the argument were becoming increasingly entrenched.

  Beard and Will had been planning another inconspicuous rendezvous with Ottosson, but were about to find out it wasn’t necessary. It had been several months since they had accessed his devices and emails, and it was time to do it again. This mission was to try to uncover any more detail they could find on whatever Madison was, as well as clues for the whereabouts of Volkov.

  Intelligence from Zach’s operatives had tracked Ottosson on a trip back to Sweden to CIS’ world headquarters with a stop in Amsterdam.

  A message came into the Bunker, indicating operatives had mined some new and important intelligence from Ottosson. While in Amsterdam, Ottosson got coked up and spent two days with professional prostitutes in the red-light district. Apparently, Zach’s operatives in Europe had an even easier time accessing Ottosson’s devices while he was in a coke-laden tryst with multiple prostitutes.

  Zach’s company had developed its own proprietary encoded communications systems that were reshaped every thirty days. This was especially important because of the Deep State’s intrusion into all things electronic of the average citizen under the guise of “national security.”

  Beard was decoding several messages that burst through to the communications hub in the Bunker. Zach, Will and several others waited anxiously for him to decipher and translate the information.

  Beard read off the first deciphered message:

  CIS donor list lifted. Major donations funneled to Senator Simpson, Speaker Strasburg and others through PACs via dummy corporations and non-existent American citizens.

  “Holy crap,” exclaimed Will.

  “We shouldn’t be surprised. Illegal campaign contributions from a foreign source. Wonderful. I guess now we really know why Simpson and Strasburg opposed the referendum,” said Zach.

  “Here comes the next one,” said Beard before they could fully digest the first.

  Madison on track for September target date. Appears BIG. No other details except $150k distributed to the Bear for advance groundwork.

  “Who the hell is the bear,” asked Will.

  “Volkov is Russian…. the Russian bear?” offered Beard.

  “That’s got to be it!” agreed Zach.

  “The team is also saying here that Ottosson’s encryption methodology changed. These items are more than ten days old. They are working on breaking the encryption to get the rest,” claimed Beard. “Wait, one more coming through…” he said excitedly.

  “Lone star eagle grounded successfully.”

  “Damn!” Will was astounded.

  “Well, there it is, confirmation.” Zach was talking about both his and Pops’ assertion that Ottosson and Volkov were behind the governor’s aircraft crash. “I’ve got to get this news to Pops.”

  “Wait, there’s one more!” interrupted Beard. “What… What the hell does this mean?”

  Source indicates rogue militia faction actions are imminent. No interception planned. Plays right into plans for Madison.

  Suddenly Zach stood up. “Son of a bitch! Are you freakin’ kidding me? Get Lofton on the phone, NOW!” he shouted.

  Within minutes, Beard had Hank Lofton on speakerphone.

  “Hank, you’ve got a mole,” said Zach immediately, without saying hello.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Zach?” asked Lofton.

  “Hank, do you have some type of operation you are about to launch?” pressed Zach.<
br />
  There was a pause and silence on the other end.

  “Hank, you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Why are you asking me that?” queried Lofton.

  “Because we intercepted intelligence on Ottosson. They know you have something planned.”

  “What! No way!” objected Lofton.

  “Well, do you? They think you do.”

  “Did the intelligence specifically mention us or what the operation was?” asked Lofton, trying to discredit the intelligence.

  “No, only that something from our rogue militia was imminent,” answered Zach.

  “Well, that ain’t rocket science. The mole could be yours, Zach. I told you in our meeting we aren’t standing pat and letting the IRS steal our hard-earned money and ruining our lives,” countered Lofton.

  “Hank, whatever you have planned plays into Madison somehow.”

  “Zach, how could that be? Do we even know what Madison is?”

  “Not yet, but the messages specifically credited your operation with aiding in their objective, whatever it is. So, Hank, I’ll ask you again. What do you have planned?” Zach demanded.

  “I can’t…”

  “Cut the crap, Hank!” Zach yelled, frantic. “Whatever it is likely puts us all in jeopardy. Now, exactly what is it?”

  “Listen, Zach, you had your chance at the Bunker with us all there to unite us to take action on this IRS scandal. If you had, we’d all be planning this response together. All I can tell you is we are going to respond. Now that it appears you have a mole, I’m not at liberty to discuss it unless you’re offering your team’s help in meeting our objectives.”

  “Hank, I’m asking you as a friend to stand down, at least until we figure out what Madison is. Will you do that, Hank?” pleaded Zach in the most civil way he knew how.

  “Zach, I appreciate your concern, but our operation is already in motion. My team is suffering undue hardship. Unless you are willing to bring your team on board with this response, we don’t have a lot to discuss. Now, if you figure out what this Madison operation is, call me; otherwise you’ll be hearing about ours soon enough,” said Lofton flatly.

  “Hank, my team also has these damned levies, audits and harassment. But we are mindful of the bigger picture.”