by Lou Dobbs
Then Katazin heard a phone. It took a second to realize the ringing was coming from Walsh’s pocket. But by then the marine was already moving.
*
Mike Rosenberg had done everything he could and still was leaving the building later than he had meant to. One of the things that slowed him down was a presidential address that started at exactly five thirty. The timing of the press conference had told everyone this was important, and the whole building seemed to come to a standstill, every eye glued to the nearest TV set.
Being a former military man and currently employed by the federal government, Rosenberg took the idea of the president being his boss very seriously. He wanted the president to bolster the country and tell the citizens exactly what was happening and the plan to fix it. But once again this president had let him down. He didn’t know why he was disappointed; it wasn’t the first time. Of course the president urged calm. Every president in history who had access to mass media had urged calm during times of crisis. The most famous was Franklin Roosevelt’s “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.” This president was not Franklin Roosevelt. He looked more annoyed at the public’s reaction than anything else.
Rosenberg and some of the people he worked with wondered if this guy understood threats. Incredibly, his foreign policy had set the country back further than his predecessor’s. Cool only got you so far. Now people needed a leader. A true commander in chief, not an empty suit with a few catchphrases.
The security check was quick as he stepped through a scanner. No briefcase meant he avoided the longer scrutiny. As he hustled out to the parking lot, Rosenberg hoped the president’s speech had not depressed the rest of the country as much as it had him. Now he really was worried. It didn’t matter if everything that happened was a distraction for some kind of Russian military activity; the president clearly had no plan in place to deal with it.
Rosenberg got to his one-year-old Chevy Impala and dug his personal phone out of the console. There was a call from a number with the 212 area code that he didn’t recognize. He hesitated before he hit the redial button. This had to be Derek Walsh, but he was nervous about the contact. He knew what agencies like the NSA could do with just a fragment of information. He also wondered if the FBI had linked him to Walsh from their time in the marines together. He didn’t want to be considered an accomplice to what could turn out to be one of the most disastrous crimes in history.
Then he pictured his friend, alone, and he knew he couldn’t abandon Walsh. Besides, the FBI looked like it was too busy right now with the hunt for a banker who might or might not have sent money to terrorists.
He mashed the button and heard the phone ring.
*
Fannie Legat slid out of bed in the middle of the night. The tall Russian major snored soundly and never noticed her ease toward the door and back out of the cramped room. He didn’t notice her smile, either. It had been a wonderful night. In truth, she wasn’t sure why she had approached him at first. She was always thinking of the Cause before anything else and viewed him as a potential source of information. She clearly liked him and appreciated his manners, but the American major had similar manners. It was just something about this Russian that melted her will, and she had given herself to him freely in the end. Maybe it was because the Russians, like most Muslims, had very little materially and the U.S. had so much. Did that make it jealousy? Was she envious of the American lifestyle? She shook off the notion.
It was against the established norms of Islam and her own standard of behavior to sleep with a man who was not her husband. It was not like she was a virgin. In fact, before she had seen the true path she had had many liaisons, mostly with other students. But she was a woman, and men paid attention to her. Sometimes it had an effect. She had no regrets about this lapse, but the last thing she wanted was for Amir to find out. She didn’t care what the little dope thought of her, but she could not have him reporting back to their superiors that she was free with her favors and sleeping with men.
She hurried down the narrow hallway with her robe wrapped tight. The hotel was saving money by not heating the hallways, and she wanted to avoid anyone who might be out at this ungodly hour.
Just as she reached her room and turned the knob she had purposely left unlocked, the door next to her swung open, and Amir thrust his head out and barked, “Just what do you think you are doing?”
“More than you.”
“Harlot.”
Fannie answered the only way she knew how, by slapping him hard across the face, then stepping into her room with as much dignity as she could muster. He would be a problem, and she would have to deal with him soon.
*
Derek Walsh knew that hesitation could kill him, or worse, kill Alena. When the phone in his pocket rang and distracted the man with the gun, he lowered his head and instantly charged forward like a linebacker. He let his full weight slam into the man and heard the pistol clatter onto the hardwood floor and bounce off the wall into the hallway. He turned and reached for his own pistol in one movement. As soon as he had it aimed at the other man’s face, the man dropped the cord, and Alena slipped back into the chair, immediately gasping for breath and grabbing her throat with both hands.
His mind was clouded with a thousand details, but he knew he had to grab Alena and get out of there now. He yanked her from the chair and pulled her along as he bolted out the door and turned toward the stairwell. She was keeping up and sounded like her airway was open as they hit the stairway, and he sent her ahead so he could turn and back down slowly with the pistol pointed at the top of the stairs. No one seemed to be following.
Who in the hell were these guys?
17
Putin had made a great effort to make his schedule appear as normal as possible. But he needed to speak with Andre Maysak about the Estonian operation, and everyone involved had agreed that no discussions about it would take place over a telephone.
One of Putin’s aides had found a reason for him to visit the administrative offices of the Federal Council in its main building on Bolshaya Dmitrovka Street. The six-story main office building had no architectural significance. It was an ugly, efficient building constructed in the eighties.
Putin’s security team had already met with security at the building, which escorted them quickly from a side entrance to the long, sterile hallways. The executive elevator only operated for the highest-level members of the council. Putin and his group took it to the fifth floor, where Andre Maysak’s maze of aides and clerical people worked in cubicles that surrounded Andre’s office.
Putin walked alone down the Persian rug that led to the two wide oak doors. He pushed open the door to see his old friend come out from his wide desk to greet him.
As soon as they were seated facing each other in matching Karelian birch chairs that were as uncomfortable as they were unsightly, Andre fired questions at Putin like a Western reporter.
Putin held up his hand and said, “Andre, you sound like a nervous old woman. Let me give you a summary. Then you can ask your silly questions.” He smiled to put his friend at ease and let him know they were equals in this endeavor.
He jumped right in with the most important information. “Andre, all is well, I assure you. The operation continues without interruption. Most importantly, no one has detected our troops on the Estonian border. We have held different military exercises in the area over the past year and pulled together sixty thousand troops who believe they are part of a new exercise. We picked just the right spot. The troops and three hundred tanks are dispersed over a fairly wide area and not attracting any attention. There’s been no movement at all from NATO. Not even the Estonian defense force has noticed our buildup. It’s all coming together now, from our choice of a target to our idea of using such a small force.”
Andre chuckled and said, “There are few countries that would consider more than sixty thousand troops and three hundred tanks a small force.”
“We’re lucky to be able
to do so. Besides, what’s the use of having such a massive military if we never use it?”
“And how will the world look at us for using that massive military on such a tiny, undefended neighbor?”
“Not much differently than they looked at us when we took Crimea. This is a chance to claim a quick, bloodless, decisive victory and show the world that Russia is no longer dormant and cowering from Western military strength.”
“And how many civilians will be killed during this ‘bloodless’ victory?”
Putin did not care for his associate’s tone, but he answered anyway. “We hope to avoid casualties. That’s the goal. But once the operation begins there is no telling.”
Andre shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said, “What about the civilians already killed by the terror attacks in Western Europe and the United States?”
“Those casualties are unfortunate and relatively few, considering the size of the countries involved. They are also necessary. If Russia is to be resurgent, we must be bold. We must act boldly. Besides, the terrorists would have eventually acted on their own to hit the U.S. All we did was convince them to do it at the same time as our operation in Estonia.”
“Vladimir, you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself. How bad will the terror attacks get?”
Putin considered his answer and everything he had been told by Yuri Simplov. Then he said, “The first wave of attacks is almost over. There will be more, but nothing like we’ve seen. There are only so many radical jihadists available in the Western countries, and their intelligence services and police services are really quite good at detecting these attacks. But we can’t lose sight of our main objective, the military aspect of our operation and the quick takeover of Estonia.”
Andre still appeared unconvinced. Putin was frustrated and not used to explaining himself, but he had few enough people to talk to about this operation, and he would need Andre’s support later on.
“Do we continue to suffer the EU sanctions and live in fear of toothless resolutions from the United Nations?” Putin asked. “Do we stand idly by while NATO expands and offers invitations to our former republics? This Estonian action will show the world how ineffective NATO really is. It is a chance to assert ourselves and discredit NATO at the same time.” Even Putin was surprised at his passion while explaining it to Andre. Maybe more passion than he had realized. He sounded and felt like a patriot.
He grabbed his friend’s full attention and leaned forward in the uncomfortable chair. “When this starts, when the army rolls, you, Andre, will need to ensure our support in both the Duma and the Federation Council. The people will back any successful action. Marx had it wrong. Religion is not the opiate of the people; pride is. National pride is the drug of choice. And our people are crying out for pride.
Even Andre understood this concept.
*
Derek Walsh walked quickly along the sidewalk, practically dragging Alena by the hand. He’d taken a moment outside her apartment building to say, “Don’t ask any questions yet. Let’s get a safe distance away.” He pulled her east and intended to turn south toward Times Square. His first order of business was to make sure she was safe in a cheap hotel, and the empty tourist district would be the perfect location. Once he knew she was safe, then he could do whatever he had to, which looked more and more like it might be something desperate.
He also needed a few minutes away from her to call his friend Mike Rosenberg back. He would have to tell Rosenberg how he had saved Walsh’s life by distracting a man with a gun when the phone rang at just the right moment. That made Walsh consider what had happened. It wasn’t just a man with a gun. It was a Russian man with a gun. And another Russian tried to strangle Alena.
A few blocks away from her building, Walsh stopped and examined Alena’s neck to make sure she wasn’t hurt. There was almost no visible trauma, and she didn’t seem to have any trouble breathing. But she was still clearly upset and started to ask him questions now that they had paused in their trek.
“Derek, what’s going on? Who are those men?” Before he could even answer she added, “We need to call the police.” She stopped and stared at him, then said, “What happened to your hair?”
He shook his head and said, “Have you been watching the news at all and seeing what’s going on?”
She nodded.
“Everyone is blaming me.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
He felt a wave of relief that she had not seen his name or photograph on the news. He gave her a quick overview of what had happened and how he got away from the FBI. It didn’t seem to satisfy her in any way.
She just stared at him and said, “I don’t understand. Why did you allow someone to make a trade like that on your computer?”
“I didn’t allow anyone. Someone must have stolen my security plug and used it to make the trade. If that’s what happened, I have a security feature on the plug enabled, and it would have taken a photograph of anyone at the computer at the time of the trade. All I have to do is get back to Thomas Brothers Financial and access their computer network. That will allow the plug to bring up the photographs stored on it.”
“Have you told the police about the photos?” Alena asked.
“They didn’t really listen. I intend to be better prepared the next time we talk. That’s why I gotta get back to my office.”
“Right now?”
“First we’re going to get you to a hotel safely.”
She nodded her head and said, “There’s a W in Times Square.”
“We’ll be staying at someplace a little more modest. Maybe the Edison.” He ignored the little face she made. This was not one of the times that he was working overtime just to make her happy. He had to preserve his stash of money just in case this thing went on longer than he expected.
After walking for a while and then jumping on a bus, Walsh and Alena found themselves in a nearly deserted Times Square. This would make for easier negotiations with a hotel clerk. It was now dark outside, and the brilliant lights of Times Square seemed eerie shining on an empty street.
They stopped at a McDonald’s to grab a quick hamburger. They weren’t going anywhere fancy tonight. As they sat in the booth, he decided that Alena had calmed down enough for him to ask, “How did those men find your apartment?”
She didn’t stop chewing on the cheeseburger as she shrugged her shoulders. “When I heard the knock on the door, I just assumed it was you. They only got there about ten minutes before you.”
That made Walsh consider what linked him to her apartment. The FBI might have interviewed coworkers and learned about Alena, although he hadn’t told them much about her and she had never come to an office party. She preferred privacy. Then Walsh remembered another person he had told: Charlie. Had the vet been playing a game or given up information for money? Was that how he was able to get the drop on the younger Russian outside Walsh’s apartment? It was unsettling to consider. He turned his attention back to Alena.
Walsh said, “What did they say? Did they tell you anything I might be able to use?”
“They just asked where you were, if I had talked to you, and if I expected you at the apartment.” She put down the remnant of her cheeseburger and said, “I think we should go to the police right now.”
He shook his head and said, “Please trust me on this. I’ve got to figure a few more things out. We’ll get a room and a good night’s sleep, but first I have to make an important phone call.”
*
Joseph Katazin sat up from the floor and immediately grabbed his side. That son of a bitch Walsh was so strong he cracked Katazin’s rib when he slammed into him. Katazin had just enough strength left to stop Serge from chasing the couple fleeing from the apartment. Serge already had his CZ model 75 in his hand and murder in his eyes. Although Katazin had questions he needed answered, Serge just wanted to kill. It was a Russian mob point of honor to get revenge for attacks like that. Too bad Serge had no idea that
this wasn’t mob business and the same rules didn’t apply. He’d have to get used to that. Katazin was sure Serge wouldn’t say anything to any of his friends, simply out of embarrassment. But with a loud snap of Katazin’s voice Serge had frozen in place.
Then the younger man looked back at his employer and said in Russian, “I can catch up to them before they’re on the street.”
“It’s better this way. He might inadvertently lead us somewhere we hadn’t thought of. I know you want your revenge, but this won’t be the last time we see Mr. Walsh. I can guarantee you that.”
Katazin had to be careful to keep in mind that this was only one small part of the overall plan. He needed to spend more time on the other elements. Already the protests and violence had started to subside here in New York. He knew his government needed at least four days of distraction to maximize the benefit to their military. That was the goal.
He wasn’t sure what his temporary partners the Muslims had left, but he knew there were still a few surprises. They could disrupt travel easily in the United States, but he suspected there were other attacks he had never even considered.
He stood up and slowly decided he needed to head back to his house to keep his wife happy and quiet and get some much-needed rest. He turned to his young associate and said, “Serge, tomorrow you will have another chance at Mr. Walsh. Unless it is an emergency, I will let you deal with him any way you’d like. Is that fair?”
The Russian with the puffy eye and sore jaw nodded vigorously.
*
Mike Rosenberg couldn’t sit still and fiddled around his small rented house near Interstate 495 just outside Bethesda, Maryland. He was surprised he’d gotten such a good deal on the two-bedroom house north of Washington, D.C., only a short drive from his office in Langley, Virginia. The CIA liked to help their own, and a case officer who was deployed in South America had given him a sweetheart deal for a year. In fact, it was almost as if he were house-sitting. He took the responsibility seriously and kept the place looking like a showroom floor at IKEA.