by Lou Dobbs
Severov remained silent and waited to hear his orders in this grand scheme. Finally the colonel said, “Anton, on top of commanding your tank platoons, we want you to take charge of this potential Muslim uprising within the ranks. We need them focused on the welfare of Mother Russia, not Allah.”
Severov said, “Why take them at all?”
“We’ll need them for construction and manual labor. They are vital for now.”
Severov nodded.
The colonel said, “Perhaps it would be a good exercise if you pulled one or two of them from the ranks and made them examples. Perhaps just a quick firing squad or maybe a summary execution in place so that everyone can see their bodies as we leave. Do you think you could handle that?”
Severov was about to object when he thought of the perfect person to use as an example. Instead he said, “I am a soldier. I will follow orders.”
The colonel chuckled, slapped him on the back, and said, “Good man, good man.”
*
Katazin froze in place sitting on the closed toilet seat as his wife stared at the pistol that had been hidden under the towel on the bathroom counter. His daughter appeared to be stunned as well. His eyes went from the pistol to his wife, then to his daughter.
Katazin cleared his throat and said, “It’s simply for protection.”
His wife said, “For an import/export business that doesn’t deal in cash transactions?”
“Who are you? Michael Bloomberg? I can carry a gun.”
“But why would you?” She looked at her daughter and said, “You. Get back to bed right now.”
Katazin’s daughter knew a storm was brewing and not to talk back to her mother when she used a tone like that. She turned and scurried out of the bathroom and down the hallway to her own room.
Now his wife’s attention was back on him. “You had something to do with that explosion down in Midwood. Didn’t you?”
“Really, sweetheart, I don’t see how you come up with ideas like that. It’s really no big deal.”
His wife started backing out of the bathroom. She didn’t say anything, which was unlike her and was the worst thing she could do. She could make one phone call to the authorities and he could be in real trouble. She even threatened the security of the operation that was just now about to pay dividends. He couldn’t let that happen.
Katazin thought how easy it would be to walk her down to the car, pump a couple of bullets into her, and dump her body into the East River. But it was just a fantasy. He had considered it before.
When she turned and hustled into the bedroom, and appeared to be looking for her phone, the thought went from fantasy to serious consideration. He scooped up the Beretta and stuck it in his waistband, pulling his white undershirt over the grip of the pistol. He stood up slowly, testing the tightly wrapped ankle. It felt better than he’d thought it would, but now his ribs hurt from the way he’d slouched while working on the ankle.
When he stepped into the bedroom, his wife was slipping her phone into the pocket of the thick bathrobe. She slowly walked out of the bedroom saying, “I’m going to check on Irina.”
Katazin watched her step through the door and realized he had made tougher decisions already tonight.
*
When Derek Walsh awoke on the cot in the homeless shelter, he lay still for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the light. He saw the outline of two men, one on each end of his cot. A streetlight shone in through the one window in the room, casting an eerie shadow of the men onto the floor.
Walsh quietly reached under the cot to feel the handle of the Beretta he had wedged between some slats. He didn’t need it. He knew the two men were there to protect him. Charlie and the other five veterans were taking turns on watch to make sure no one surprised Walsh while he was sleeping. He had no doubt of the men’s integrity or honor. At least while they were sober. He understood the military fraternity and how seriously these men were taking their duty.
When this was over, Walsh recognized he had a duty he had been avoiding. He would find ways to help men like this all over the city. But first he was going to uncover the conspiracy, and for that he would need to contact Agent Tonya Stratford. As long as her partner didn’t kill him first, he felt he had a real shot at convincing her to help.
33
Major Bill Shepherd lay on the bed in his quarters on base, watching the sun spill into the room. He had purposely left the curtains open so that his body might get back on some sort of schedule regulated by sunrise and darkness. It was the first night he had gotten more than a few hours’ sleep in four days. His rested body, along with the anticipation of seeing Fannie at a restaurant not far from the base, put him in an excellent mood. Unless some emergency came up, he was free until at least two o’clock in the afternoon. Anything could happen in that length of time.
He was a little bit of a player, even though he prided himself on being honest with all the women he dated. Shepherd was also cautious. He didn’t want to be taken for a sap like Derek Walsh, who had fallen for a local girl who had somehow gotten hold of his official credit card and bought TVs and stereos for everyone she knew. Poor Derek was horrified and humiliated. Shepherd felt for his friend but wanted to learn from his example. He was vigilant with the women he met. He never kept anything other than his ID, one credit card, and some cash with him when they went out on the weekends. The clubs in Stuttgart liked the young American soldiers, who never hesitated to spend all of their pay on alcohol for the local women and beer for themselves.
He had to admit he was intrigued by Fannie’s good looks and demeanor. She was more mature than most of the women he dated even if she was the same age. So far, he had not made a move, but maybe the time would be right after brunch today.
He took his time getting out of bed and cleaning up. He wore new fatigues that were crisp and had sharp lines. Per a suggestion by the CO, he would carry an issued M-9 Beretta pistol. He intended to tuck it in his waistband with his fatigue shirt hanging over it. He didn’t like drawing attention to the fact that he was armed unless he was on a specific detail and wore a pistol in a holster on a web belt.
He walked by his office just to check in and let his aide know he was going off base. As he stepped in he looked at the startlingly young sergeant and said, “Anything cooking, Chip?”
“Not really, Major. All the reports of protests have died down across Germany. They’re leaving a twenty-four-hour police presence in front of the base for three more days. And no one is in sick bay with any illnesses or injuries.”
“Outstanding.”
The young redheaded man picked up one piece of paper and said, “NATO is monitoring some activity in Western Russia near Estonia. They believe it has to do with Russian military exercises. Satellites haven’t been able to bring up any new information, so they intend to do a fly-by in the next hour or so to get a closer look. Doesn’t sound like something we should worry about.”
“Chip, today is too beautiful to worry about anything. I need you to call up a car for me. And I’ll be off the base until after lunch.”
“Do you want a driver with the car, sir?”
“Not today. I think I can manage a Humvee on my own for a few hours.” His mood seemed to be contagious; the young sergeant gave him a big grin and said, “Consider it done, Major Shepherd.”
*
Fannie Legat had everything in position. She intended to sit at a table inside the small café. That would give cover to the men who were going to plant the bomb under the major’s vehicle. They made it sound like it would only take a moment and was not a problem, but Fannie’s experience told her that it was best to plan for delays and problems rather than hope they didn’t occur.
She carried a Walther PPK .380 pistol in her purse. That was her fallback position. If she was forced to shoot the major in the restaurant, that would be the end of her cover here in Germany. Her next stop would be somewhere in the Middle East where she would blend into the background. At least she was
confident she would have a position of power within her own group. She had proven her worth time and again. Even if the bomb plot was a complete success, it was time for her to move on. No one had her real name or could identify her easily. She would slip out of Germany.
She had watched the early morning news to see if there was anything happening on the Estonian border. So far all was quiet, and she wondered when the invasion might come. Fannie was worried about Anton Severov. Like all soldiers, he tended to downplay the danger, but she knew that if NATO took action there would be a real fight and Estonia would be turned into a battleground.
Right now she had to focus on what she could do to help in the struggle. Maybe taking out a small cog in the American war machine would pay big dividends later.
*
Joseph Katazin pretended that he was asleep as he felt his wife rustle in the bed next to him. He knew she had to be upset and possibly scared of her own husband. It was probably a good idea, because now he was looking at her as a liability rather than a mere nuisance attached to his long-term assignment here in the United States. He tried to plan out the scenarios. If he said nothing, he risked her going to the police and identifying him. If he waited, she might keep quiet, but if he stepped out of line in the future or she caught him with another mistress, he couldn’t be sure she would keep her mouth shut. And if he shot her and then dumped her in the river, he had to face his daughter and tell her what had happened. Or tell her a convincing lie. It wasn’t his wife or her life that concerned him. It was how it would affect his daughter.
He had already called for someone to replace Serge. They were sending a young man he had worked with before who called himself Jerry. The steroid freak was tall and imposing, and his real name was Yuri or something similar from the old country. He was not nearly as clever or diligent as Serge, but he would probably work out for the day. Once everything was finished, Katazin would have no more use for the young man. He would pay his employers and hopefully never have to deal with him again.
All he really needed him to do was help him handle Derek Walsh’s body. And maybe his wife’s, too.
*
In the busy camp by the Estonian border, Major Anton Severov had not yet acted on his idea of using Amir as an example. The idea of shooting an unarmed man did not appeal to him, no matter how obnoxious that man was. Severov was surprised when he saw the general walk toward him half an hour after their meeting. He was still close to the command tent, going over some basic instructions with his captains and lieutenants as trucks and command vehicles puttered by, all finding their place in the line. The skies were clear, and it would be only a matter of time before the activity was noticed by a NATO satellite. The younger men all snapped to attention at the sight of the athletic-looking general. He returned a professional salute and said quietly to the major, “Do you have a few minutes?”
Severov didn’t hesitate to dismiss the men; they had plenty of work to do anyway. He wondered what the general needed from a lowly major. The older man said, “Walk with me while I inspect the troops.” Severov fell in beside the general and matched his quick stride.
Severov had not realized how much rank meant until he walked with a general through a busy army preparing for war. As if by magic, vehicles stopped and people stepped out of their way. It was almost as if there were no obstructions at all.
The general finally said, “Do you think it’s a good idea to execute a few recruits as an example?”
Severov hesitated.
“Speak freely, Major. I don’t have time for indecision.”
“No sir, I don’t. I think it will hurt overall morale. Especially among the Muslims.”
“Then disregard the order. You have enough to do.”
Severov couldn’t believe how relieved he was.
As they walked along, the general said, “Give me your honest assessment, Major. How much trouble will we have crossing the border?”
Severov hesitated, knowing the Red Army’s practice of never giving an honest assessment to someone who doesn’t want to hear it. But he felt this general was truly interested. Finally he said, “We’ll have no problem crossing the border or even advancing through some of Estonia. The problems will come when we meet resistance. That’s when we’ll see how serious NATO is. I also don’t like my men looking over their shoulders at other soldiers and wondering if they will be caught in some kind of revolt.”
The general nodded as they walked, then said, “You make good, practical points, Major. I respect that. But I also think I have a better idea of what Comrade Putin expects from our friends in NATO. They have lost their teeth. The true strength of NATO lies in the United States. The United States currently has a president who will not risk significant political capital or military power on a country as inconsequential as Estonia. He won’t even admit that terrorism is a threat to his way of life.”
Severov appreciated the lesson in politics even if he already understood all of that.
The general continued. “Even when he was vice mayor of St. Petersburg, Putin was considering the bigger picture. He learned what it was like to not only govern but to administer government programs. Make no mistake, Russia is in a bind right now. We have no real products other than oil, and this Saudi effort to cripple the American fracking industry has had the side effect of crushing us. Soon we will see shortages of food and other basic goods, and people won’t be as enthusiastic about the government or its leaders.”
“So this is a military action born of desperation?”
“All good military actions are based on desperation.”
*
It was well before dawn, and the street was deserted as Derek Walsh slipped out of the homeless shelter, still wearing the same white shirt and blue pants he had taken from his apartment. They were noticeably wrinkled, and the shirt had several different bloodstains from God knows what over the past couple of days. He tried to be quiet when he left. Charlie was on guard duty and insisted on coming with him as a bodyguard. Walsh didn’t mind the company.
He had a plan, but even in his head it sounded crazy. The first part of it required finding a vehicle. He headed down to Houston Street and was shocked to see the Volkswagen sedan he had taken from Brooklyn the night before. Even with the rear window knocked out, no one had bothered it during the night. He realized it might be on police watch lists, but it couldn’t be that important if no one had noticed it parked right on the side of the street in lower Manhattan. Besides, he had no money for a cab to take him where he wanted to go.
Charlie started asking questions, but Walsh turned around and said, “You can come with me, but you have to keep quiet for a while. I need to think.”
That seemed to satisfy the older veteran, who willingly climbed in the car and got ready to go. He didn’t even ask where the car came from, how Walsh knew it was there, or why the rear window was knocked out. He just sat in the front seat and waited as Walsh cranked the car and pulled away from the curb slowly. He didn’t want to draw any attention to them.
It wasn’t until he was northbound on the FDR that Charlie started to show more interest. When he finally made his turn Charlie said, “Why are we going through the Queens–Midtown Tunnel? Where are we headed?”
“Flushing.”
“To watch some tennis?”
“To talk to an FBI agent.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“It’s the only one I have left.”
34
Even by Mike Rosenberg’s standards of getting up early, this was ridiculous. It was still the middle of the night, and the house he was living in felt unnaturally quiet. At least in apartments and barracks you often heard the neighbors. Here in suburban Maryland it was like a graveyard. He was trying to call Bill Shepherd to find out why his number was on the toll records of a suspected terrorist. During the night he wondered if his friend even had an idea who he was calling. Maybe it was a front business. Maybe it was just a mistake. God, let it be an hone
st mistake.
The number continued to go directly to voicemail, and he finally left a message, hoping Shepherd would call him back as soon as he turned on the phone. The frustration was eating him alive. This was not only personal; there was the very real element of duty involved in it as well. This was ultimately CIA business, and even if he was going to have trouble explaining it to his bosses, he couldn’t let it slip through the cracks. His main hope was to call his friend first, at least to find out what exactly was going on.
Rosenberg hoped he’d get hold of Shepherd before he walked back through the doors of the CIA. Ethically he didn’t think he could sit at his desk and ignore information like this. That was the culture of the agency and one of the reasons he joined the CIA instead of one of the other federal agencies. Despite what the public might have thought or understood from media reports about the use of torture or other negative facts, considering what they had to battle on a daily basis, the workers were incredibly dedicated and ethical. It started from the top and worked its way all the way through the agency.
He tried Derek Walsh’s number one more time but got no answer there, either. He was almost starting to think his phone was the problem. He decided to keep dialing Shepherd’s number until the major picked it up.
*
Fannie Legat arrived early at the café just to make sure everyone understood their role and their position. She was starting to get concerned that there had been no news of Russian military movement into Estonia. That didn’t change her resolve now. No matter what, this would cause a serious crimp in military activity around the base near Stuttgart. She nodded to her associates, sitting in a nondescript Swedish sedan at the far end of the street so they could see anyone who came or went.
Fannie had picked her table with the utmost care for strategic value. She could see the front of the restaurant and even the street, but the major would be stuck looking only at her. That was why she wore a ridiculously low-cut top to show off her assets and let her hair hang down around her shoulders. It was not particularly modest, but it was effective, and she justified it by the ultimate goal.