by Tom Haase
Mary Jean returned her chair to the upright position and put her hands on the desk. That ought to get them talking. She occupied a very difficult post, and nobody else wanted it, because all you did was stick your neck out without any safeguard. She made the decisions, she bore the responsibility, and she could not shift the blame for failure to anyone else.
Her team would get the weapon, regardless of the cost. No second place existed in this contest. The destruction that would be caused by an atomic explosion in one of our cities was unthinkable.
29
Two Days Ago — Savannah — 10:35 AM
Yuri rolled away from Marilyn and found a pad and pen on the nightstand. He wrote a short note saying he would be back in a couple of hours. Basam would be worried about him since he hadn’t returned last night.
His head hurt from the amount of alcohol consumed on the previous evening, and he needed a cigarette. He dressed and took the elevator down. At the entrance of the hotel, he took a cab. The ride to the house took only ten minutes.
He arrived in front of the rental and asked the driver to wait. He got out and staggered to the door. Something instantly felt wrong, and he shook his head to clear it. The door stood ajar. This shouldn’t be. Come on, come on, and get a hold of yourself, he thought. On pushed the door open, and his mouth dropped on seeing the scene in front of him. Basam lay on the floor, filled with bullet holes.
The weapon. Did they get it? He ran into the bathroom. The tub didn’t look to have been moved or disturbed, so he pulled it to the side and exposed the panel. He opened it, removed the insulation, it, and viewed the case with the bomb.
Relief swept over him, but only for a moment. Now what to do? He must get out of here with the weapon, because he still needed to carry out the mission to get his money. It was too bad about Basam, but now he would be operating on his own. The hell with their jihadist ideas. He would get the money, then go to Russia and live like a king.
He took the case, gathered all of his belongings, and put them in the duffle bag. After a quick search to make sure nothing of his remained, he took the case and the bag out to the taxi.
The taxi took him back to the hotel. He headed to Marilyn’s room. Now he needed to think, because someone did pursue them. Someone knew they possessed the weapon and had attempted to get it. The condition of the house indicated they had unsuccessfully searched for the case. Stop and think, you idiot. He didn’t believe the Americans had done it. If they had, the police and FBI would have been there, processing it as a crime scene. Fatimah couldn’t be involved, since they wanted him to carry out the mission. Couldn’t be the Saudis. They didn’t know anything about this operation. Who did that leave?
The Russians. The fucking Russians now targeted him. His own government. Damn them.
Now he started to sweat. His hands trembled as he lit a cigarette.
30
Two Days Ago Savannah, GA — Mid Morning
Matt closed his phone and told Bridget they had obtained an address for Yuri. They rushed down to their car and used the GPS to enter it in. They turned off Bay Street and cruised up to the house.
"What’s the plan?" Bridget asked.
"We pull into the driveway and get out. We assume we’re at the right address. We knock on the door and say that this is the address we have for my uncle Mr. Morgantown, and we’ve come to visit after not seeing him for years."
"You have an uncle named Morgantown?"
"No. Do you?" he said with a wide grin.
"Weak plan. I guess we’ll have to go with it. I’ll keep my hand in my purse on my weapon."
"Okay."
Matt drove into the driveway and shut off the engine. "Let’s go."
They approached the front door and saw the destroyed doorframe. Both pulled out their weapons, and Matt shoved the door open. He went low on entering and Bridget stayed high, pointing their guns, ready for any target to appear.
"Damn, looks like someone beat us to it," Matt said, observing the body on the floor. He checked it for a pulse, and then searched the rest of the house. "God, this guy looks like he was dead before the bullets got him." On coming back to the main room, he holstered his weapon and observed Bridget as she examined the spread-eagled corpse.
"Three hits to his front in a small pattern. Someone tore this place apart. We aren’t the only ones searching for the weapon," Bridget said.
"Who else could know about it? Let’s get back to the hotel and we’ll see what the general thinks."
"The police haven’t been here, so no one heard anything. Silencers on the weapons, I think. This has the smell of a professional hit. Yuri must have escaped, because this isn’t the guy in the photo," said Bridget.
"I don’t know. Let’s brainstorm it with her. We don’t want to be here if anyone arrives. Let’s get going."
Back at the hotel, Matt called Mary Jean. He gave her a brief summary of what they discovered at the address and ended with. "So who’s after them besides us?"
"I don’t know for certain, but I might guess the Russians are trying to find the weapon and get it out of here before it’s used on American soil. They wouldn’t want to be blamed for the attack, since it’s Russian technology and one of their citizens who would detonate it. That could be interpreted as state-sponsored and land in the Kremlin’s lap."
"We found only one body, so our man Yuri may have already left town. I think our best bet is to continue to search for him here."
"Okay. I’ll get in touch with my Russian friend here and see if I can get anything. Did you use the NSA tester for radiation?"
"Damn. Sorry, I didn’t. We rushed over when you gave me the address, and I didn’t take it. We can go back and do that now. At least that way we can confirm that it had been there," Matt said.
"Call me when you’ve done that and, if positive, I’ll get the team from Fort Stewart there. They can also work with the local police at a murder scene."
After disconnecting, Matt gave Bridget the gist of the conversation and they headed back to test for the presence of radiation.
* * *
Mary Jean made a call to the Russian defense attaché in Washington. When came on the phone, she said, "I think you’ve been holding out on me, General."
"It’s a pleasure to hear your voice again, General. What have I been keeping from you? I gave you the information we received from the ship’s captain on the whereabouts of the man in Savannah, did I not?"
"Andrei, you did give that to me and my people acted on it. The problem I see is that your people got there first."
"My people?" Major General Andrei Marshankin said with surprise in his voice.
"I thought we agreed not to jerk each other around. That’s what you’re doing now. You and I knew about that location. So the Arab is shot to death before my team gets there. I eliminate the Islmofascist, the FBI and just about everybody else, and I can logically conclude you had men who did it. Are you with me?"
"Yes, I am. I’m constrained in what I can relay, but in the spirit of cooperation that we have established, I will say that your logic is impeccable. Do you understand?"
"Now, I do. You’re trying to prevent the same thing we are. So why send your own team? We would gladly hand him over to you when we get him."
"I think that some in Moscow view this as a point of honor. We need to get the renegade and retrieve the weapon. That’s all I feel comfortable saying. I hope you understand, Mary Jean."
"Yes. Thank you. I’ll advise my team to be on the lookout for your people. I don’t want a shootout between the good guys."
"That’s an excellent idea, and if we had anyone here, I would do the same."
"Thank you for your time, Andrei."
"Always a pleasure to speak with you. We must meet again soon, General Bergermeyer. Good-bye."
Mary Jean hung up, knowing for certain that a Russian team currently operated on US soil in a clandestine manner.
Her private phone rang, and the identification showed M
att's name.
"General, there’s residual radiation in this house. No doubt about the weapon being there. We’ll keep after it," said Matt.
"I have to go to a meeting right now. I’ll call you back as soon as possible and give you an update. Keep looking for our man," she said and hung up.
* * *
"Anything?" Matt said to Bridget, who had just returned from a search of the outside of the small house.
"No, but I get a feeling we’re being watched. Couldn’t see anyone, just a sense," she said.
"Let’s get back to the hotel. We’ll notify the general to have the house put under surveillance in case the man comes back here. Let’s start our search around town for Yuri. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky."
"Don’t you wish, mister? We have work to do, a company to run, bills to pay, a country to save, and I bet we’re on a short time fuse with this Yuri now that his partner is dead," she concluded.
They left the house, and headed for the hotel.
* * *
Igor wasn’t a soldier and shouldn’t be on the watch detail. He returned to the car to take up his observation duty on the house after sitting in that restroom for the tenth time. He suffered from diarrhea that had hit him from the spicy chicken at the fast-food joint where they had eaten last night. Why did people eat it? He couldn’t stop running to the toilet.
Down the street, Igor watched as two people departed the house. They were not his targets. He called Anton.
“Anton, we have visitors to the house."
"Is it Yuri?"
"No, they’re definitely Americans, as best I can tell. Looks like military or cops."
"Did they wait for the cops to come?"
"No."
"Then they’re not cops, and my guess is that we have an American team after the weapon and our man. They’ll arrange to have the house under surveillance now that they know the Arab is dead. Get back to our location before they’re able to spot you."
"I’m leaving now. I didn’t see anyone else, but I’ve been on the toilet a lot," Igor said.
31
Two Days Ago — Savannah, GA
Matt and Bridget returned to the hotel. They contacted Mary Jean, who informed them about the suspected Russian team on Yuri’s trail. While Matt conversed on the phone Bridget lit up a cigar and handed him a Diet Coke. She sipped a Red Bull.
"What’s with the cigar?"
"I used to smoke them when I was happy. Haven’t done it in a long time. I’m enjoying our mission.”
They went out for a walk, stopping at the gelato store for a cone and sitting outside in the open market area to watch the world go by.
Matt started the conversation. "We have to pick up on this guy’s trail. I feel like we’re too late. We have no real clue where he is or what he’s doing." He stopped and pushed his hair back from his forehead. Then he pointed at Bridget, "What do you think is our best course of action? You’re always good at planning. Let's hear it."
"We’re at a dead end here. He’s left that house and there’s really no chance he’ll go back there. If he has a mission with the bomb, he’s already on the way, but if he’s still in Savannah, we need to concentrate on places he might go." Bridget licked her cone and continued, "After being on the boat, my guess is he’s hunting to get laid, unless he’s a three-dollar bill or something."
"Maybe. Let’s go check out locations a guy might go as a tourist. Someone might remember a Russian. Probably not a lot of Russians in Savannah."
"Let’s start with the restaurants. They’re open this afternoon, and the evening staff is probably already on duty," Bridget said.
They strolled down Congress Street to Garibaldi's. After looking around the place, Bridget approached a waiter and asked him about a Russian tourist who might have been in last night. She got a negative response. Matt received the same answer from the other waiter. They went back out onto the street.
"Well, we didn’t get lucky at the first place. Let’s try the other places here. You take the left side and I’ll go right."
"Meet you at the end of this long open-air street," said Bridget.
After two hours of searching the restaurants for any sign of a Russian, they regrouped and realized they were not making any progress. Sitting at the outside tables on the rooftop bar of the Churchill pub, they started to reformulate their plan.
"We should shift our focus from eating establishments to bars, like this one and the ones that open later. No one here remembers a Russian, but the evening staff will come on soon."
Bridget took a drink from her Diet Coke and said, "Let’s start at the Tapas."
"Okay. Now we have an hour to kill. I’ll call in and give the general an update and see if she has anything for us." He dialed her number. She answered, and he gave her a brief account of events and the plan for the evening.
He closed the phone and Bridget said, "We need to talk."
"About what?"
"About us, about this job, about the future." She made a circle in the air and ended by pointing at him.
"I suggest we hold up on the talk," he said rubbing his chin. “Not because it’s not important, but we’ll have time later. We agreed to a partnership in the business, and the one topic I have to think about is that I’ll have to take Laura on a full-time basis after the murders at my sister-in-law’s house."
Bridget sat back and stretched in the early evening light. The sun reflected off her bronze skin, causing Matt to take a deep breath as if to inhale her beauty.
"Matt, I’ve given that a lot of thought and as you remember we killed the terrorists in Saudi Arabia and I thought your sense of revenge for the attack that killed your wife was satisfied. Am I wrong?"
Matt averted his eyes. Then he relaxed and took a couple of swigs from the Coke, trying to get his thoughts together before answering.
“You know that there are over one point four billion Muslims, of which eighty percent see America as hostile to Islam. Within that percentage, there is a very dangerous minority that either has, or wants to have, a small nuclear, chemical or biological weapon to use against us. These guys are basically Nazis in keffiyehs. All who do not give in to Islam must be killed, subjugated, or converted. You know, that’s how they think. They also want to finish the Holocaust by destroying Israel—”
Bridget interrupted, "I want to know about your own goal in fighting these madmen."
"The bottom line is that we’ll deal with radical Islamic terrorism until we defeat it. It won’t go away if we ignore it. There are many who oppose this fight against these fanatics, but I don’t want my daughter or my grandchildren to live in an Islamic America under mullahs and their Sharia laws. Never . . . not an America that looks like Iran. All wars are fundamentally about ideas, and the most determined always wins. We have to win this for ourselves and our children."
"You think that the most ruthless bastard always wins, because of the indifference of the masses in the beginning?" Bridget commented.
"Yeah. Peace activists always seem to demonstrate here in America, or in other democratic countries, where it’s safe. Where are the demonstrators in Iran, Syria, or Saudi Arabia? Where are the so-called moderates? Why aren’t they demonstrating in Iran and elsewhere? No friggin’ way. They’d end up dead."
The late afternoon sun was setting, and shadows started appearing on their faces. Both sat in silence as they took sips from their drinks.
"Thank you,” she said. “I thought it was something like that, and not hatred because of what happened to your wife. I think we’re on solid ground in our business, and we need to get going and find this Yuri. He surely went to some clubs, assuming he was in town at all. Time has to be running out. Let’s go.”
32
Two Days Ago — Washington, D.C. — 4:30 PM
Mary Jean drove her new Cadillac, purchased the day before, to the office of SPAT, Inc. She wanted to see Julia and spend a few minutes with Laura. Julia had explained to Laura what happened in simple terms bec
ause the little girl had pestered her to death to tell her about it.
Mary Jean felt sure the child must still be traumatized by the murders at her former home. After spending ten minutes talking to the little girl, she asked Julia how things were going.
"We’re getting along just fine. Matt is sure he’ll be able to take care of Laura when he gets home, and I’ve volunteered to be the on-site baby sitter if required."
"It’s apparent that’s going very well. I’m glad for all of you."
The office phone rang and Julia answered.
"Well, speak of the devil," she said. "We’re just talking about you. The general’s leaving now. You want to speak to her?" Julia handed the phone to Mary Jean.
"Matt, I’ve been thinking about the meetings I told you about at the restaurant. Someone’s giving the terrorists information, and I’m still concerned that you’re being targeted. I’m going back tonight to watch my suspect, and I have the FBI on Fazio. It still may be nothing, but I’m in this until we find out who’s orchestrating all these hits. Anything new there?"
She waited on Matt’s response and then concluded, "Keep trying to pick up his trail. You want to talk to your daughter? I’ve got to get going."
She handed the phone to the girl. "Laura, your daddy wants to speak with you," she said, then gave her a little kiss on the cheek, waved good-bye to Julia, and left the office. She went to her apartment and changed for the evening’s surveillance mission on Avery.
She arrived after dark, but found a place to park on the street and then walked a block to the restaurant. She managed to get the table in the cubbyhole again, from which she could see most of the patrons and the spot favored by Avery.