by Lou Dobbs
There were two more men who would take up a position closer to the base and should be able to see when the major drove back through the main gate. Just as with her bomb at the bank in Bern, a simple cell phone call would detonate plastic explosive and cause a tremendous blast when added to the vehicle’s fuel. She had already determined that a blast at the front gate to the base would be devastating. Ideally she would time it so it was coordinated with the first Russian movements, but that didn’t look like it would work out.
She was done with her work in Germany anyway and would now be able to convince her superiors she should fight like other members of the jihad. The one thing that tugged at her guilt was the major himself. Although he was an American and represented much of what she found distasteful in the world, he had been courteous and decent to her at every turn. She suspected that was his nature more than just an act. Occasionally she thought about the people who died in furtherance of their cause. Sometimes, when she was alone, she would even consider the ramifications of a single death, such as how parents might be affected back in the United States. Usually those thoughts didn’t coincide with the death of a person in the military. She understood that was because it was easy to look at a soldier as a number or an impediment, as opposed to a real, living breathing person.
The time she had spent with Major Shepherd, in an effort to gain any possible intelligence, had taught her that he wasn’t quite the devil most Americans were made out to be. And she had to admit that his death would be unfortunate and cause her some guilt.
But that was what happened in war.
*
Major Bill Shepherd was behind the wheel of the Humvee. It wasn’t stripped down for field use, but it was by no means a luxury vehicle, either. It was tough and had its uses, but he wondered why on earth anyone would buy a Humvee for a family car back in the United States.
He checked his watch and saw that it was about quarter to eleven. He needed to get a move on. On his way out the main gate he stopped and looked to make sure everyone was in position and doing their job. Even though the army personnel maintained routine security and operated the main gate, he liked to see everyone doing their job. As he slowed to speak to the sergeant at the gate he looked down the street and noticed two groups of bored German police leaning against cars about fifty yards apart well outside the gate. He hoped they stayed bored.
The main entrance and exit to the base was as secure as anything in the area. Metal barricades, which could pop up on a moment’s notice, could keep suicide bombers and heavy vehicles from reaching the security checkpoint. The armed soldiers at the gate could have their M-4 rifles up and spraying a vehicle in a matter of seconds. The security sweeps by soldiers and vehicles covered the entire perimeter of the base and reinforced the main gate on a regular basis. Shepherd didn’t see any weakness in the defense.
He looked from the driver’s window down to the young sergeant and said, “Anything unusual today?”
“No, sir. Everything appears to be quiet. You and your marines were a big help the other night.”
“That’s what we’re here for. If there are no beaches to storm, we can sure as shit put down a riot.” He glanced into the twenty-foot-wide, air-conditioned security hut and said, “We seem to have a full house today.”
“We’re training another shift, so there’ll be sixteen of us on until 1500. Then they’ll go back to eight.”
Shepherd approved of the young sergeant’s tone and attitude. This would be valuable training. He looked down and said, “I’m off for a nice meal and will see you before 1500.”
“Have a beer for me, Major.”
Shepherd laughed and said, “I’m on duty, and it’s too early for beer. I’ll have a Bloody Mary for you.”
This was going to be a spectacular day.
*
Derek Walsh sat quietly as he watched the front door of Tonya Stratford’s tiny brownstone in Brooklyn. The sun had not yet come up, and the street was still asleep. There was not a single light on in any of the houses in the neighborhood. This was the kind of place he would’ve liked to live and used to think he’d be able to on his salary from Thomas Brothers. He had done some research during his limited computer time yesterday and discovered that federal agents made decent money. If she was a GS-13, getting an extra 25 percent as callout pay and a subsidy for living in an expensive city like New York, Agent Stratford was making over $130,000 a year. Not exactly the view most people had of police work.
Walsh was thankful Charlie had dozed off almost as soon as he had parked the VW. He was surprised how the missing rear window caused almost no distraction once he was used to the extra noise of the wind. After he was done here, he’d abandon the car. One way or the other, he wouldn’t need it again. He just hoped that there were no industrious cops in the area who would check every parked car. He was purposely in a dark spot between two streetlights and ducked low in the seat.
The problem was that now he had time to consider everything that had happened and process the fact that not only was his girlfriend dead, she wasn’t really ever his girlfriend. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that she could fake her feelings for him for so long and in so many situations. On the other hand, as he considered their relationship, he really hadn’t spent as much time with her as he thought. There’d been several long stretches when she said she returned to Greece, and they rarely had more than one date a week when she was in town. But that didn’t change the fact that his feelings for her were real, and that was why he was in total shock as he realized he would never hold her in his arms again.
He had seen the effects of grenades in Afghanistan. He was glad that he hadn’t stepped into the living room to see what this one had done to her. He was also glad he he’d been able to help the wounded FBI agent. The guy was in bad shape, and Walsh didn’t think he would’ve made it if someone hadn’t given him attention immediately. Not that anyone at the FBI would appreciate it. Walsh felt good about it anyway.
He was trying to keep his spirits up as he considered what his life would be like without Alena in it. Even if he was able to make all the charges against him disappear today, what did he have to look forward to? Lonely evenings in his tiny apartment by himself? Working eighty hours a week at a job that didn’t help anyone?
He could use this experience. He needed to find something with meaning. As these thoughts boiled in his head, something caught his eye. A light in the upstairs bathroom of Tonya Stratford’s house popped on.
He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.
*
Bill Shepherd was running a few minutes late, but he didn’t like to push a Humvee too hard on the highway. German drivers tended to be safe, if a little fast in their driving habits. The road was not crowded as he decided to hit the gas harder. It was just now eleven o’clock, and all he could think about was Fannie’s smiling face when he walked through the doors of the café.
He pulled off the highway and realized the café was only a mile up the road where several main highways came together. It was the start of the urban sprawl of Stuttgart. The area catered to many of the young servicemen and focused more on nightclubs than on pleasant cafés.
Shepherd’s phone rang in the cargo pocket of his fatigues. He had to shift at an odd angle to reach it because of the pistol he had in his waistband. It was not a regulation way to carry the M-9, but it was more surreptitious, and the Germans weren’t crazy about seeing guns in public.
He stole a quick glance at the phone and saw it was his friend Mike Rosenberg. He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Mike, what time is it over there?”
“Five.”
“Mike, this is a bad connection. Is everything okay?” He listened but caught only a few words. Something about phones. He hoped the interference might clear up, but after a few seconds he ended the phone call. He was getting close to the café and would try to reach Mike after brunch.
He pulled onto a side street and saw several parking spots open di
rectly in front of the café. Everything was working out perfectly for him today.
*
Anton Severov, sitting in the commander’s seat of his tank, in line with his unit, ready to cross the border, glanced at his watch for the fifth time in the last hour. The Narva River was up ahead, just out of sight. Beyond that was Estonia. Who would have guessed anyone would consider conquering the small republic an actual military feat. They still were not rolling, and it was practically midday. The sun was bright but not brutal. The cooler autumn temperature relieved the worry of heatstroke. He wondered if they would feed the troops lunch before they moved. He had waited for word and even called the colonel himself. He could tell by the portly man’s curt manner that he was under a lot of stress. They all were. They were potentially starting World War III. But he was told to stand by and be ready to move. That was it. And that was what he had to tell the captains and lieutenants and sergeants who all showed their anxiety by asking him repeatedly when he thought they were going to move.
A few minutes after noon he heard several rifle shots ahead of him. Then the sign to go came over the radio. It was happening. He couldn’t deny the fact that he was excited. Soldiers were when they were about to do something like this. He still had serious concerns about the operation itself, but the idea that he could face an American or German tank on an open field was exhilarating. All of the tanks started to crank up their engines at once and rolled as if they were one giant caterpillar. It was only half a mile to the Narva River, and after a couple of minutes he saw that the route was completely open and the scout vehicles were rolling across the bridge without opposition. By the time his tank got to the bridge he was standing tall in the cupola, taking in the full view of the river, bridge, and town before him. To his left, several Russian soldiers held a group of Estonian border guards at gunpoint. Severov noticed one border guard was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood and a second sat on the ground leaning against a post and holding a bullet wound in his shoulder. The others apparently had enough sense to surrender immediately.
Severov sincerely hoped the rest of Estonia had that much common sense. He doubted NATO did.
*
Mike Rosenberg sat alone in his rental house and frantically hit redial, trying to reach Bill Shepherd. He didn’t know how much his friend had heard from the first call, and now all he got was a carrier signal saying the call did not go through. He looked at his clock and couldn’t believe it had only been one minute since he had gotten through to his friend. He dialed the phone again and again. On the fourth try he wanted to slam his phone onto the floor. Instead, he screamed out in anger and knew he sounded like a wild animal that had been wounded. He wondered if all of Western Maryland could hear his frustration.
He took a moment, sucked in a deep breath, and dialed the phone again. He needed to get through to his friend before he went to work.
35
Yuri Simplov rushed into Putin’s office in the palace at Novo-Ogaryovo. The former KGB man was as excited as Putin had ever seen him. He wore a sport coat over casual clothes, and his hair was not in its normal perfect position. He looked like a child about to open a gift.
For his part, Putin stayed in his seat behind his great desk and remained placid, waiting for his old friend to say what was energizing him. When Simplov realized Putin wasn’t going to ask, he simply said, “It has begun. I mean the military aspect of the operation. We have crossed the Narva River and are moving swiftly through Narva. The supplies for the long-term occupation of the country are starting to move on a combination of passenger and freight lines. One of the largest convoy trains will be moving south with our troops shortly.”
Putin still kept silent as he stared over his desk at Simplov. Finally he said in a very quiet tone, “Any issues?”
Now Simplov stepped over to a chair and slid into it.
“Yes?” Putin said, beginning to grow impatient.
Finally Simplov said, “One French reporter was poking around about the intrusion into the financial markets in New York and London. She spoke to a tech person who said the algorithm was quite sophisticated, and he speculated it had originated in Russia. She was trying to uncover more information, so I ordered her eliminated.”
“Where?”
“Paris.”
“Can you have it done quietly?”
“It’s already done. A simple car crash. She was forced into a tree at high speed. Our people verify that she and her teenaged daughter were dead at the scene. I can show you a photo if you’d like.”
Putin held up his hand to stop Simplov from shoving his phone in Putin’s face. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve seen your work before. I trust it was handled correctly.” That made Putin consider everything he had heard up to this point. He said, “What about the American trader in New York? Have we caught up with him yet?”
“Our man in New York is looking for him. He has been told to go to ground once the military action is in full swing. If he hasn’t found the trader by then, we’ll have to take the risk that the trader won’t speed up the FBI investigation. We believe that our agent in New York must escape before the FBI has any leads on him.”
“Good thinking. Now the ball is in NATO’s court.”
“This is what you wanted, no?”
Putin nodded his head slowly as he considered how history would judge this entire operation. He said, “I did. I still do. I don’t think I’m wrong. NATO won’t move militarily. I believe that at worst, we’re looking at sanctions from the UN and perhaps something more from the U.S. But we will survive either.”
Simplov said, “The Estonian border guards surrendered after a couple of shots were fired. I’m told the Estonian citizens are just watching the convoys like it’s a giant parade. There have been no real media reports on it as of yet, but I know that will come in the next hour.”
Putin waved his hand and said, “Downplay everything. From calling it a minor incursion to confirming the very small military force we have used. You know what I want.”
Yuri stood up, sensing that their conversation was over and knowing he had much to do. He turned and headed for the door.
As he was about to leave, Putin called out, “Yuri.” He waited for his friend to turn and look at him. “Good work.”
*
Major Bill Shepherd pulled down the side street and saw the café facing out with a wide courtyard in front of it. He’d eaten at the place a couple of times in the past, but not often enough to worry about an old girlfriend wandering in or one of the waitresses recognizing him. This was the outskirts of Stuttgart. More accurately, it was the edge of the urban sprawl, and the upscale area attracted all types of people. He knew his younger marines liked to hit a couple of the clubs in the area on Friday and Saturday nights. They felt safe, and he had heard good things about how they were treated by the locals. Like all military men, he worried the attitude could change. There seemed to be a growing sentiment that the U.S. military should pull back from many of its bases. No one would be happier about closing bases in Germany than the Russians. They tended to learn from history, whereas the U.S. allowed history to fade from memory.
Shepherd had sat in a number of meetings where the comparison between Hitler and Putin almost slapped him in the face. Historians would point out the differences and say Putin was much more like Stalin, but to Bill Shepherd he was acting like Hitler as far as his interest in expanding influence and grabbing land. Shepherd was disappointed there were still no real efforts to contain the Russian leader. He’d scooped up Crimea with hardly a comment from the West, and his puppets were moving Ukraine closer to total chaos. Shepherd had seen other studies that showed the Baltic States were at great risk as well. But for now he was satisfied that his marines were doing their job at the base in Germany and he had earned this morning off to spend with the lovely Fannie Legat.
There was almost no traffic as he easily maneuvered the big Humvee down the street. He was a little surprised Mike Rosenberg hadn
’t called him back. He checked his phone and saw there were no calls and decided to catch up to his friend after brunch with Fannie.
There were two spaces open directly in front of the café, so he pulled the Humvee to the curb. He took a moment to look through all the windows in every direction. It was a very quiet day. Two men were on the sidewalk up the street, but other than that, the only face he noticed was Fannie’s. She gave him a beautiful smile when he looked through the main window of the café.
He opened the door and stood in the street, taking a moment to straighten his uniform and cover the bulge of his M9 tucked inside his belt. It was nonregulation way to carry a sidearm, but he liked keeping everything out of sight off the base. Most Europeans were crazy about gun control and freaked out seeing even military personnel carrying any firearm. He looked down at his phone for a moment, considering, then placed it on the seat. He didn’t want anything to distract him from Fannie.
*
Mike Rosenberg had not felt this kind of anxiety since he was in combat with the marines. The fact that he was just pacing in his own house made that seem even more ridiculous. He desperately wanted to reach his friend. He was about to give up and make a call from a landline inside the CIA headquarters in Langley. He was going to have to tell them what he’d found anyway, but he had hoped to give his friend a heads-up first.
He took one more shot at it. This time he didn’t hit redial but entered the number digit by digit and was surprised to hear a ring over the line. Had he really gotten through again? His heart was pounding in his chest, and he desperately hoped his friend would have a reasonable explanation for why his number was on a suspected terrorist’s phone records.
After three rings he started to get nervous that Shepherd wasn’t going to pick up. The fourth ring made him think he was about to get voicemail.