by Tom Haase
"My friend," General Marshankin continued, "said that they were there as of early this morning. He can’t assist further as he has now departed Savannah."
"It’s nice to have such a good friend," Anton said, "and I bet there’s more to the friendship than you’re letting on."
“Perhaps you’re right, Colonel. It’s enjoyable to have old comrades-in-arms.”
They arrived at the Signature FBO.
"I leave you here. I’ll have to share this information on the location with the Americans, but I can wait until morning. You should complete your task by then, and I can maintain the appearance of cooperation." He handed him a card with phone numbers. "When you call, I’ll arrange for the same plane to pick you up. Enjoy success in your mission. When you’re finished, I’ll book your transportation back to Moscow."
"Thank you, General. I’ll be calling you soon."
Marshankin departed. Anton and his two assistants went out to the airplane. The jet, a blue-and-white Cessna Citation V, the largest member of the straight-wing Cessna fleet, possessed sufficient fuel to travel to Savannah.
Anton met the pilots and asked if he could check on the bags delivered on the plane. After retrieving them, the pilot went forward to prepare for departure. Two suitcases, one containing communications gear to enable inter-team voice and audio transmissions, plus three pistols, all Glock 17s with fixed sights and seventeen-round magazines—one extra magazine for each weapon. No additional ammo, since this mission wasn’t envisioned to include a firefight. The other suitcase contained a Russian SAKO TRG-22, a 7.62mm sniper rifle, broken down into component parts.
"Ravshan, what do you think?" he asked the brother of Nodira from the Republic of Uzbekistan.
"It’s an old model, Colonel, but I employed it in Afghanistan, and it’s reliable. They’ve included a high-power scope. We have no time to zero the rifle, but I’ll enter the settings I used then and that should put me within acceptable tolerance of four centimeters up to five hundred meters."
"Okay, we’ll distribute this when we get to Savannah and rent a car. Igor, you’ll do the talking to get the car, since you’re here to take care of things in English."
Igor Belofsky nodded as he wrinkled his brow. His sandy hair, egg-shaped head and thick glasses gave him the appearance of an old college professor, and indeed he was, in a sense. For many years he had taught English at the army language school after his return from four years of study in America.
The flight to Savannah took only an hour and a half. The plane deposited them at the Signature FBO on the cargo side of the field, where the Georgia Air National Guard facilities stood diagonally across from the Signature building. The Gulfstream aircraft factory, where multimillion-dollar executive jets were assembled, occupied a large space on the airport.
The copilot deplaned first, helped them off, and placed their luggage on the ground near the steps of the plane. They picked up their bags and headed for the inside lounge. The pilot started the engines and taxied away.
On the flight, the pilot had radioed before they landed and asked for a rental to be available, and Igor attended to the details while the other two moved the gear to the car. Anton opened the suitcase with the pistols and distributed one to each out of sight of any prying eyes.
"Now it’s time to get this done," he said.
"Colonel, you know I’m not field-trained and am only here to help with the language." The short, stocky man didn’t look at Anton.
"Yes, Igor, but you are under my command here, and you will do as you are told. Understand?"
"Yes," Igor said, lowering his eyes and hunching his shoulders. He moved to get into the back of the car.
"I hope," Anton said, "that it won’t be necessary to use the rifle now that we know exactly where he is. It’s only here in case we need to do the job from a distance."
"Inside a house, the pistols will be better," Ravshan replied.
"Agreed." With everyone in the car, Ravshan drove away from the passenger terminal out onto Dean Forest Road and headed for the city. The clock on the car’s dashboard read 8:35 p.m. as they sped along I-16.
21
Four Days Ago — Savannah, Georgia
Air National Guard Terminal - 8:30 p.m.
Matt and Bridget deplaned from the Marine Corps Osprey minutes after the Russian team exited the airport in their rental car. An airman waited to take them over to the civilian passenger terminal on the other side of the field, where Matt arranged for a car. He drove out the long exit road to I-95 and addressed Bridget. "I’ll book us into separate rooms."
"Sounds good to me." Bridget took out a map of the area she picked up at the rental office. "Where do we start looking? We don’t have a clue as to his exact location. If we do find it, we should get the FBI to handle it, don’t you think?"
"We might need help, and the general told us to give her a call and she’d get the cavalry to come to our aid in no time."
"If we find him," Bridget said in a deadpan tone, "clarify for me. Do we try to take him alive, or just shoot first and ask questions later?"
"I’m in favor of shooting first, but I realize there’s substantial value in getting this guy alive," Matt stated as he merged onto I-16 and headed for downtown. They checked into the Comfort Suites on Bay Street and went to their rooms.
Matt bought two Diet Cokes in the hall machine and gave one to Bridget. They went to his room to check on the gear.
"Let’s put on our commo in case we’re separated, and get the weapons ready," Matt said.
They accomplished both tasks. The communication gear allowed them to talk to one another through almost invisible microphones on their shirt collars and an embedded receiver in the ear that was much smaller than the average hearing aid. The power pack slipped easily onto the belt or could be hidden under some clothing. They both chambered a round in the weapons and put on the safety. The army training proved difficult to overcome. A weapon without a bullet in the chamber when you are going into battle is nothing more than a club. In the two seconds it takes to chamber a round, you could already be one second dead.
"What now?" Bridget queried.
"Let’s sit and play this out," Matt said as he chugalugged the Coke.
"What about some food?"
"Sure, let’s go out and find a restaurant." Matt stood up and headed for the door.
They exited the hotel and walked toward the sound of music they heard in the distance. In a few minutes, they arrived at the market area of old Savannah, where a band performed on the stage in the opening between two rows of buildings. They strolled the two blocks of the market area to the end of the plaza and picked one of the open-air restaurants. After they ordered a large pizza and two Guinness beers, they settled back to listen to the band that played somewhere out of sight.
"Okay," Bridget said, "this is the way I see it. They’re here in Savannah. Why? Because, after getting off the boat, they would want to rest for a day or so and make sure no one was on to them."
"Sounds reasonable," Matt said.
"They would also need to get some supplies, since they wouldn’t carry any from the container ship the general said they arrived on. It wasn’t like a cruise liner with all the amenities of home. What would you do if you landed here without much and carried an atomic weapon with you?"
Matt took some time to think. He sipped on his beer and said, "I’d find a place to hide. Not a hotel. Too many questions, and there is room service that might find my bomb, and I couldn’t put it in the safe."
"So where?"
“A short-term rental, maybe—”
"There are too many to check," Bridget interrupted, “and we don’t yet have a picture of the man to pass out. The general said we might get one by tomorrow if the Russians provide it. If it’s old and he’s now using some kind of disguise—at best, it’s probably a long shot."
Matt took time to search Bridget’s eyes. He saw those beautiful browns, flaked with a glittering of gold, and he smiled. She w
as something, but at present he concentrated on the task at hand—find the terrorists with the atomic bomb.
"What would you do if you were them?" Matt asked.
“I’d need some time to get my land legs back. We don’t know if they have a target and a timeframe at this point. Assume they don’t, because if they do, we’re already in deep shit and won’t be able to stop them without some outside help and a lot of luck if they act within the next twenty-four hours.”
"Let’s assume you’re correct and they’re still here waiting for instructions. I’d want to go out and see the place. They have time on their hands until they receive orders, and nothing to do in a strange city. I’m guessing, but it’s probably the first time they’ve been in America."
Bridget got up and headed for the restroom. Matt tried to think what he would do. It seemed logical to stay out of trouble, not to drink too much to arouse suspicion, not to be together. Right. It would attract too many looks to have a Russian and an Arab hanging out together. I’d split up and explore on my own, not going with someone people would glare at with distrust.
On her return, he told Bridget his thoughts. "Do you think they’re horny after being on the boat for a few weeks? Might seek some companionship?" she queried.
"Yes," said Matt, "but I believe at this stage they’ve already obtained money, probably acquired from some ATM with cards we don’t know about. Maybe they’ll hit the nightlife here in the city to get some action. I bet they would be afraid of our hookers here. Besides, the Saudi might not touch an infidel woman. But then again . . . maybe the Russian will go out to find some entertainment around town."
"If he has money, he can hang out in the nice places. Maybe we should take a look at the upmarket establishments," Bridget suggested.
"Before we do anything, I’ll call Julia and see how things are." Matt took out his cell and dialed. Julia answered on the third ring.
"Julia, it’s Matt. How are things?" He could hear Gandalf in the background, saying, "Pretty Laura, pretty Laura, squawk."
"Everything is fine. Where are you?"
"In Savannah. We’re about to go chasing the bad guys and I just wanted to check on Laura."
"She’s doing wonderful, considering the trauma of the day. You know I switch off the phone at midnight and we go to bed. So please don’t try to get me after that until six in the morning."
"May I speak with her?" He waited.
"Hi, Daddy. Are you and Bridget in Savannah? Is it warm there?"
"Yes, sweets, we’re here and it’s hot. Are you all right?"
"Sure. When are you coming home? I need to talk because Julia told me some things, but what is going to happen to me."
"We will talk as soon as I finish this job. It’s very important that I complete it and then we’ll settle everything for the future."
"Okay. I have to go to bed now. Good night, Daddy."
"Good night, little one." The phone call ended.
Bridget waited for Matt to say something. He could tell she wanted to hear his thoughts on the Laura situation.
"I don’t know how to solve Laura’s future right now. I’ll have to do more planning and thinking, but that’ll have to wait. Let’s get out and see if we can figure out where we might find the Russian. We eliminated the Saudi from doing the nightlife, but that may be a false conclusion, since I’ve seen many of them go bonkers in a Western city, away from the restraints of Islam."
"We have to start somewhere, but for now we have nothing to go on until the general gets us more information."
* * *
In Julia’s house in Reston, Virginia, Laura finished feeding the parrot and learned how to cover the cage for the night. Julia led her to the guest bedroom in her small condominium and got her tucked in for the night. She stayed until Laura slept and then turned off the light and closed the door.
Julia went to her closet and put on an outfit she would wear for a regular meeting she attended every week on the same day. She slipped out of the apartment at 9:15 without a sound.
22
Four Days Ago — District of Columbia
After Matt left for Quantico, Mary Jean headed back to the White House for a briefing. The president had asked her to come and tell him everything about the hit at the kid’s house. Mary Jean arrived at 8:30 p.m.
The room contained representatives from the NSA, DIA, FBI and Homeland Security. The president opened the meeting with a summary of the report Mary Jean had given him earlier. They now assumed that a terrorist had landed on US soil with a weapon of mass destruction. As of a few hours ago, they believed it to be in Savannah.
"Anything new?" President Christopher Brennan said, sitting in the largest chair, with the presidential seal imprinted into the leather.
"I’ve prepared copies for everyone of the picture I received from the Russian attaché." Mary Jean said. "Unfortunately, the photo is over ten years old. It may be a guide, but in that amount of time, things could be drastically different, and we don’t know if he has a beard or other disguises."
“I’ll have this sent to the office in Savannah immediately,” the FBI representative volunteered. He added, “It’ll be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack, since we have no prints, and the perp has no previous contacts here in the States and no known associates for us to lean on. But it’ll give us something to use to ask for assistance from the locals.”
"All right,” the president said, "do what you would normally do in such a case. I know you’re all stretched to the max in trying to find the active terrorists who are continuing to attack our installations, like the firebombing of a barracks in Fort Benning today. I’ve sent a special team to go to Savannah to hunt for this Russian. That’s their sole mission. No protocol or bureaucratic red tape will hamstring them. If General Bergermeyer contacts the FBI with a request for you move on information she passes to you, I want you to consider it a direct order from me. You will act as quickly, and without regard to any obstacle in order to comply. Am I clear on that?"
"Yes, Mr. President," replied the FBI man.
"NSA, do you have anything on this?"
"At present, no. Nevertheless, we’ll target the Savannah area. We have some information on the Russian from his laptop, captured by Captain Matt Higgins in Saudi Arabia that he may not be aware of. It’s hard for someone to completely change the way they use a computer and how they access the Internet. If he uses the web, there might be a slim chance of picking it up," replied the NSA representative.
The Homeland Security representative said, "There isn’t a chance in hell they would try to take the bomb onto an aircraft, but I’ll still pass the picture to all our agencies."
"Every agency here is busting a gut trying to stop this rash of terrorist attacks. I know you’re doing everything to prevent them, but if we get a handle on this WMD, everything else stops and we go after it." The president stood up, and all followed suit. He headed for the door and indicated for Mary Jean to follow him. They went up to the Oval Office, where he offered her a seat on the couch, then took the single armchair, his usual habit.
"I need a bourbon and water," the president said as he pressed a button on the table for an aide. "What can I get you?"
"A gin and tonic would be great."
He placed the order and looked at Mary Jean. "What do you think is happening? I think this is all too organized. It all started everywhere at the same time—the installations getting attacked, Matt and Bridget at a place where terrorists hit, his daughter or someone connected to Matt attacked in a Virginia house. What do you think? Wait, before you answer, let me get Dean Avery in here."
Mary Jean had no way of forestalling this. Avery was the president’s friend from college days, who held the position of the national security adviser to the president, and what they were going to discuss fell under that purview. Just the same, she would be careful of what she said.
"Before he gets here, Mr. President, I need to inform you that I think someone in your offic
e is leaking things, and I’m doing an off-the-record search of various people who have access to certain facts."
"Come on, Mary Jean, you don’t suspect Dean?" the president said as he waved his right hand in a circle.
"Sir, I’m investigating what I think is a leak. It may be nothing and a pure fantasy, but I feel that it’s in your best interest to know if there is one without going through official channels. Please don’t reveal this to anyone, and I’ll tell you the results of my investigation." Mary Jean felt like she’d fulfilled her duty in apprising the commander-in-chief of her actions.
"Okay, I guess such draconian measures are necessary in light of the attacks on our country, but I can assure you Dean Avery is not a problem. If you find anyone who is cavorting with these terrorists, you have the team to take care of any situation. So do it. No questions asked."
Dean Avery entered the Oval Office.
"Hi, Dean. How did the speech go at our old alma mater?"
"I had a really splendid time and saw some of our now really aged professors. They’re still pounding things into the students’ heads. What did I miss?"
"You know Mary Jean Bergermeyer from the DIA?"
"Yes, I’ve had the pleasure." Avery took a seat on the couch next to her without shaking hands.
"I’ll let her bring you up to date on events that happened while you were away. Mary Jean, the floor is yours."
Mary Jean recapped the happenings of the day. After describing the attack on Matt Higgins’s sister-in-law and the information received from the Russian defense attaché, she concluded with the fact that she had recently dispatched Matt and Bridget to Savannah to intercept what could be an atomic weapon. She did not want to say anything more, and acted as if the team of Matt and Bridget operated under her orders and not as the president’s black ops unit. The president did not correct that impression.
"Boy, see what can happen when you get away from Washington for a few hours. So we’re now in a wait-and-see situation?" Avery said.