Gridlock

by Byron L. Dorgan

  “You are creating a disturbance, Miss,” Van Rijn said in passable English. He and the other officer were very young.

  “And I will continue to do so, unless I can make a telephone call,” Ashley said, lowering her voice.

  The officer said something else to DeJong, who replied.

  “We may be forced to place you under arrest, unless you cooperate with this gentleman,” Van Rijn said reasonably.

  “That’s fine with me, but first I need to call my embassy.”

  Again the security officer and DeJong had a brief conversation in Dutch. Clearly exasperated because of the commotion they were causing, DeJong took out a cell phone and called someone.

  He spoke in Dutch for a minute or so, but then broke the connection and made another call. This time he spoke in English.

  “Timothy, it is Andries. Is Mr. Osborne with you? Someone here would like to talk to him.”

  A moment later DeJong handed the phone to Ashley. “Make it quick, they are on the taxiway and once they reach the runway their phone will have to be switched off.”

  “Nate?”

  “Ash, I don’t want to hear that you’re in Amsterdam.”

  “I came to help you,” she said, her relief sweet. “Are you okay, did you get it?”

  “No. Dekker escaped.”

  “And I was told so did Makarov,” Ashley said. “But it’s okay now, they’re going to put me on the next flight back to D.C.”

  “Do what you’re told for once, and soon as you get home go to your dad’s. I’ll meet you there.”

  “He’s not going to try to come after me in the States. He’d be a fool to try it.”

  “They want me to shut off my phone. Just go to your dad’s.”

  Ashley looked up, past the two security officers, in time to spot a slightly built man in jeans and a dark jacket following a younger man, a laptop computer under one arm and a leather satchel slung over his other shoulder. Something about how both men moved attracted her attention.

  Just as they passed where she stood the man in the jeans and dark jacket looked over at her, and she saw his eyes. They were violet, and a hint of recognition came over his features.

  It was Makarov, she would have bet anything on it. And the younger man he was following had to be Dekker.

  “It’s them,” she blurted.

  “What are you talking about?” Osborne asked.

  “Makarov is following Dekker. They just passed.”

  “Ash,” Osborne shouted.

  Ashley shoved the cell phone at DeJong. “It’s them,” she shouted. “The guy in the jeans and dark jacket.”

  The security officers turned to where she was pointing.

  “Who are you talking about?” Van Rijn asked.

  “Goddamnit, they’re getting away,” she said, and she bolted away from the three of them, just eluding DeJong, who grabbed for her.

  “Ms. Borden,” he shouted.

  “Don’t just stand there, come on,” she screamed over her shoulder.

  73

  FOR JUST A minute Dekker paid no attention to the noise some woman was making at one of the gates he’d just passed. “It’s them,” she’d screamed. Or something like that. But it began to dawn on him that one of the them might be him.

  He turned and looked over his shoulder. The broad corridor was very busy now, packed with people hurrying to or from gates in this terminal, but a great many of them had stopped and turned toward the direction of the hysterical woman.

  His gate was only three away. He’d passed through passport control and the security check with no problem, and his flight to Bangkok was scheduled to leave in little more than an hour. He was practically home free.

  During the cab ride out to the airport he’d gone online and transferred the entire five hundred thousand euros to an account in the Channel Islands, and from there spread the money in three portions to a bank in Luxembourg, one in Barbados, and one in Bangkok. All of the transfers were done under different identities, making it next to impossible for anyone, even a government intelligence service to ever find them. And before that happened he would cash out, and put the money in a mix of gold and diamonds, and maybe some cash for ready spending, though he’d never needed much, not even when Karn wanted to shop.

  Makarov was suddenly there, less than ten meters away and moving toward him. Dekker backed up a step, then two, his heart racing. Somehow he’d been traced this far, and the North Dakota shooter he’d managed to get away from at the Haven was here now to kill him.

  He turned and headed away, any thoughts of actually getting aboard his Bangkok flight and leaving the country completely impossible. The only two things he figured he had on his side were the thumb drive which contained the virus that he’d already loaded onto a Cloud memory in Germany, and the fact that the shooter would not risk a violent act with so many witnesses.

  Looking over his shoulder, Makarov was right there, nearly an arm’s length away, and the woman less than twenty meters farther down the corridor was being restrained by a man in civilian clothes while two uniformed cops were standing by. She was still screeching.

  With a squeak Dekker broke into a flat-out run, knocking several people aside until he came to a gate whose boarding door was still open. He was across in a half-dozen steps, bowling a gate attendant off her feet as he entered the Jetway and pushed past the still deplaning passengers.

  At the turn just before the aircraft’s main hatch, Dekker slammed open the Jetway’s service door and took the stairs down to the tarmac, the huge 747 looming overhead. A baggage handler driving a cart pulling two trailers filled with luggage came from inside.

  Someone was coming down the stairs, and Dekker sprinted to the service door from which the baggage cart had emerged, but Makarov was right on him, grabbing his arm and pulling him around.

  “Give me the thumb drive with the virus and you just might live to reach Thailand and spend your money.”

  “How do I know you won’t kill me?”

  “You don’t. But it’ll be just a matter of a minute or less before Ms. Borden convinces the authorities that the both of us need to be arrested. I won’t allow that to happen. The thumb drive. Be quick.”

  Dekker took the drive out of his pants pocket and gave it to the Russian.

  “Your laptop as well.”

  “It’s not on there. Only my games. The copy is on an encrypted Cloud memory in Germany that only I can access. I swear it.”

  Makarov was looking at him, gauging the truth, and Dekker found that he was almost mesmerized. He figured it was just like looking into the eyes of a cobra on the verge of striking.

  But the Russian let go and stepped back. “Leave now while you can.” He glanced toward the Jetway door. “Someone else will probably come after you, so bury yourself deep. Deeper than Thailand. And if you value your life, forget about the virus. If you use it they’ll hunt you forever.”

  “I don’t know where to go,” Dekker said, and he was frightened. If only Karn were here she would know what to do.

  “Go up to the baggage claim area, and from there take a taxi back into the city. Now. Fly away.”

  Dekker turned and ran toward the baggage-handling service door, when a woman screeched something from the top of the Jetway stairs, and a Gulfstream came right at them from the direction of the runways.

  74

  IN THE COCKPIT of the CIA Gulfstrean Osborne was in time to see Ashley heading toward a figure retreating into the baggage handling bay, DeJong along with two uniformed officers coming down the Jetway stairs.

  “Stop here,” Osborne shouted.

  “We can’t,” Dennis Tate, the pilot, said. “Ground control is on my case right now.”

  Osborne reached around him and hauled the throttles back to their stops, then turned and went to the hatch, undogging it and shoving it open.

  Tim Winkler tried to haul him away. “You son of a bitch, you’re going to get us arrested. We’re going to have to explain why a CIA op
eration took place in a neutral country.”

  The Gulfstream was nearly at a complete stop when Osborne lowered the boarding stairs. “You can explain everything, I’m going to try to save some lives.” He turned back and yanked Winkler’s pistol from its shoulder holster then hurried down to the tarmac.

  A siren sounded from somewhere in the distance, a police car with blue lights flashing coming very fast directly across the taxiway.

  Osborne ran under the 747’s broad wing, and around the baggage cart past the two men loading luggage onto a moving conveyor belt into the belly of the big aircraft. They didn’t stop what they were doing.

  Ashley had disappeared inside the building, DeJong and the cops so intent in their pursuit that Osborne took them by surprise as he ran right past them.

  “Seal off the airport,” he shouted.

  “Halt! Halt!” Van Rijn ordered.

  Osborne ignored him, and raced inside past two baggage trains and toward the left where mounds of luggage were contained inside tall wire racks. Just beyond them, down a long row against the rear wall, were the baggage conveyor belts that went out to the claim area on the ground floor of the terminal.

  Ashley had just ducked around one of the piles, and she shouted something Osborne couldn’t quite make out. But it sounded as if she were in trouble.

  He redoubled his efforts, DeJong and the security officers not far behind him. “Ashley,” he shouted.

  “No! Stay back!” she screamed.

  “Halt, or I will shoot,” Van Rijn warned.

  At that moment Osborne rounded the baggage rack, and pulled up short. Ashley stood facing him, Makarov behind her, an arm around her neck.

  “If need be I will kill her,” the Russian said. It didn’t seem as if he was winded, or in any hurry.

  “Stay back,” Osborne shouted over his shoulder. “We have a hostage situation here.”

  Winkler was somewhere back there. “What do you need, Nate?” he called.

  “Seal the airport right now”

  “It’s being done,” DeJong said.

  “Osborne turned back to Makarov. “You might as well give it up, because you won’t get out of here this morning.”

  “That’s my concern, Sheriff. Not yours.”

  “Prison is better than a graveyard.”

  “Your concern is Ms. Borden. If you cooperate I will have no need to kill her. This time.”

  “Sorry, Nate,” Ashley said. “I was stupid.”

  “What do you want?” Osborne asked.

  Makarov took the thumb drive out of his pocket and tossed it overhand to Osborne, who caught it. “It’s the virus from Dekker. Russian probably, but the thing is the kid says he made a copy and sent it to a Cloud memory somewhere in Germany.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “I had no reason not to. He was in fear for his life.”

  “He was here in the airport?”

  “Yes. Heading toward Bangkok. I sent him back to the city, but if the authorities act quickly enough to close down the airport they might catch him. Which leaves you and me and Ms. Borden.”

  “You won’t escape.”

  “As I said, that’s my concern.”

  “What do you propose?” Osborne asked.

  “Your word that you will stop following me for the next twenty-four hours. Take Ms. Borden and go back to the States.”

  “If you give me your word that you won’t try to retaliate by trying to reach her again.”

  “There’ll be no need,” Makarov said.

  “You have mine,” Osborne said, and he lowered the pistol. “Go.”

  Makarov hesitated for just a moment, but then released Ashley and turned and disappeared down the long rows of baggage racks into the darkness.

  Ashley half turned in the direction he’d gone. “You can’t just let him walk away,” she said miserably. “Not after everything he did to us.”

  “I gave my word,” Osborne said. He took her arm. “Let’s get out of here now. They’ll catch him.”

  She looked up into his eyes, an odd set to her mouth, as if she was having a difficult time figuring out something that was just beyond her ken. “Just for me?” she asked in a small voice. “Grafton and Kas and the lineman and the people in the pickup?”

  “They’re dead, you’re not.”

  “And you’re in love with me.” She said it as a statement, not as a question.

  Osborne managed a smile. “Didn’t you know?” he said. “We’re coming out,” he shouted.

  More sirens were converging on the baggage handling bay, and Osborne realized that he’d not heard the sounds of jets landing or taking off for the past several minutes. Only the sirens.

  75

  CHINESE MINISTRY OF State officer Zhang Wei, a slightly built man dressed in a conservative Western business suit, doubled back through the terminal after Dekker came under pursuit and he waited in the baggage retrieval hall, the only possible avenue of escape for the young man.

  His partner, Wan Xiuying, remained upstairs at the gate, which looked down at the commotion on the tarmac.

  “I’m in place,” Zhang Wei radioed from his Bluetooth headset.

  “He went into the baggage loading bay as you thought he might.”

  “Is it likely that he will be apprehended?”

  “Very likely,” Wan Xiuying replied. “Mr. Makarov was behind him, along with the woman from the terminal, the Dutch intelligence officer, and two airport security officers. But there is another further complication.”

  “Shi de.” Yes.

  “Sheriff Osborne got off the CIA’s aircraft along with another man, and they also are in pursuit.”

  All things amazing, Zhang Wei, thought. From the near miss on the Iranian border, when the thumb drive had very nearly been theirs, to the events in the U.S., to the war fleet at this moment approaching Venezuela, and now this.

  “If Dekker is arrested, he will almost certainly be led past your position,” he said. “Stay in contact with him, no matter the circumstances, and do what is necessary if the chance arises. There are no other considerations.”

  “I understand. But it may not be possible to retrieve the drive.”

  “It will be of no concern if he is dead,” Zhang Wei said.

  The large baggage hall was crowded with people waiting for their luggage to arrive on the carousels. Nevertheless Zhang Wei spotted Dekker hurrying from the far end of the hall, where the two carousels were idle and no people were gathered. Somehow the young man had managed to slip away from his pursuers.

  “I have him. I’ll meet you at the car. Hurry.”

  “Shi de,” Wan Xiuying said with a measure of relief. Unlike Zhang Wei, who did not pass through security, he was unable to bring a pistol into the gate area. If the chance arose to kill Dekker he would accomplish it with his bare hands. Not difficult, but his escape would have become problematic.

  Zhang Wei turned and followed Dekker outside just as several airport security officers came down the escalators to seal off the baggage area.

  Dozens of cars, several buses, and more than a dozen taxis were lined up along the curb, people exiting the terminal and loading their luggage for the trip into the city. Traffic streamed past in four lanes. The scene was busier and more chaotic than it had been inside the baggage retrieval hall.

  For a moment or two Zhang Wei lost sight of the target, but then he spotted the young man stopped at the end of the taxi queue, hopping nervously from one foot to the other, obviously unsure of what he was doing.

  Zhang Wei walked up behind him. “Mr. Dekker, I am a friend.”

  Dekker almost jumped out of his skin, and he pulled back. “What?”

  “Come with me right now, or you will certainly be apprehended. Do you understand?”

  “No,” Dekker squeaked. He looked back at the baggage area doors and saw that people were being stopped by airport security officers.

  “I have a car and I will take you to a place in the city where you wi
ll be safe. But you must make up your mind before it’s too late.”

  Still Dekker hesitated.

  Zhang Wei took his arm. “Come,” he said, gently. “I will explain on the way into the safe house we have prepared for you. The Russian won’t be able to get to you.”

  “He has the thumb drive.”

  It was a blow, but Zhang Wei did not let it show on his face. In any event it was Dekker who was the crazy one. So far as he understood Makarov was a professional, and would have no reason to unleash the virus in the U.S.

  “We’ll discuss that as well. I believe that I may be able to give you information that would allow the virus to be neutralized.”

  “No way,” Dekker said, a glimmer of interest in his eyes.

  “I’m sure that you’ve already thought about it,” Zhang Wei said reasonably, and he led the young man away from the taxi line. “It’s actually complicated, but for a man of your education and experience, it would be relatively easy. I’ll show you.”

  They stepped out into the lanes of traffic and made their way across to the median, and then across the other three lanes of traffic, where in the shadows of a bridge abutment below the road that approached the main level of the terminal Zhang Wei pulled out his silenced 9mm Beretta 92F, the standard-issue pistol in the U.S. armed forces, stepped back a pace to keep out of the blood spray, and shot Dekker in the back of the head.

  The young man went down hard.

  Zhang Wei glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one in traffic or waiting outside the baggage hall had spotted anything. Satisfied that no one was raising the alarm, he turned back and fired four more shots into the back of Dekker’s head.

  He tossed the pistol aside, not worried about fingerprint evidence; all MSS field officers had their fingerprints surgically removed during training, and he walked away.

  “Wan Xiuying, mission completed.”

  “I’m on my way to the parking garage, though I may be somewhat delayed by this lockdown.”

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  “Shi de.”