by Tom Haase
She had invited Yuri to stay with her now that the husband had exited from her life. Yuri went around the house, observing the way wealthy Americans lived. The lower level sported a full bar and party area, complete with a sixty-inch flat-screen TV on the wall. Upstairs he found a kitchen that looked as if a master chef resided here. It contained the best Viking range and two Subzero refrigerators. The breakfast table, at the far end of the kitchen overlooking the pool in back, bore a country design.
The rest of the main floor consisted of a dining room and living room area with a grand piano. Off the main room, a screened-in porch almost as big as the inside room looked over a manicured lawn. The master bedroom, down a small hallway off the living room, contained its own separate screened-in veranda. The entire house overflowed with art and antique furniture.
Yuri came back from his walkabout in the house and they sat in the kitchen, having coffee and lemon squares purchased earlier at a Starbucks.
"You like the place?" she said.
"It’s better than anything in Russia. You Americans certainly know how to live well." Yuri stuffed a large part of the square in his mouth.
"We’ve had a great time for a few days, and I know you said you were coming to Atlanta to meet someone to find a job here. What do you plan to do?" Marilyn queried. She sat back in her chair and took a sip of her coffee, waiting for an answer.
"The man I’m supposed to link up with is looking for a physicist in nuclear engineering to assist him in developing a new method of using atomic energy. He contacted me on the Internet and arranged for the meeting. I have to check my email and let him know I’m here. He’ll tell me where I need to go."
"Let’s finish our coffee, and while you’re doing that, I can get ready to go to work. Will you be able to stay tonight?" Marilyn got up and did a sensual would-you-like-to-get-your-hands-on-me? walk over to Yuri. She put his hands on her breasts. "They’ll miss you if you say no."
He squeezed her and massaged her for a few seconds when she sat on his lap. Then he said, "I’m sure I can come . . . back. I have to get on the Internet now and see what is planned for me. If nothing today, then we can—what did you call it? Play around, before you go to work."
"Great. Now I’ll get my things ready, and you do your Internet browsing." She got up, put her coffee cup in the trash, and headed for the master bedroom. Yuri watched her go and pulled his computer from the knapsack he’d carried in from the car. He’d left the case that contained the atomic weapon in the trunk of her car, and Marilyn had said nothing about it when he’d helped her carry her suitcase and his duffle bag into the house.
He went outside to the small patio deck off the kitchen and started his computer. In a few minutes, he connected to the Internet and opened his email. After the decryption program ran, new messages from Fatimah appeared for him. The first contained a response to his demand for payment before conducting the operation to set off the bomb.
“Money request met. Deposit made to account this day. Instructions to follow.”
Yuri went to the bank’s website and checked on the deposit. The money now showed in the account provided to Fatimah in Savannah. He electronically moved it into another account at the same bank in case they got some idea of withdrawing it at a later time.
The second message from Fatimah rendered a shocker.
“Target arrives Hartsfield International at 1430 hours local today. Ensure package is delivered by 1440 hours local. God is Great.
Fatimah”
Yuri smiled. This was more like it. They had given him everything he demanded, and now he simply needed to set off the weapon and get out of the country. Better yet, he could stay here and hide for a while with his ability to access millions to live any lifestyle he desired. He could disappear, and the Russians would forget about him in time.
The next email he sent updated the control group at Fatimah:
“Will accomplish mission today. Plan to arrive at airport before 1430 hours local and place instrument in the tower. Will contact you after to confirm, and expect transfer of remaining money to my account. The Russian.”
Yuri realized that by now they must suspect that Basam was not the one writing the messages and that it must be him. He didn’t care, and maybe it was better that way. He possessed the knowledge for which they now paid. Maybe they would need to do it again at some point in the future.
The mission parameters required it be accomplished today, and only three hours remained to set it up. He held the ace in the hole. Now he knew a way to access the airport and get the bomb into position. The Americans didn’t even know it existed. With Marilyn going to the airfield and working in the tower, getting the case there would accomplish his objective. If possible, he wanted to place it at the top of the tower, since the destruction area would be greater in proportion to the height above ground at which the detonation occurred, but if not at the top of the tower, anywhere on the airfield would completely obliterate everything within a four-mile radius. After setting the timer, he would take her car to get a safe distance away.
An hour and a half remained before she would leave for work. He went back to the bedroom, where she stood in a bathrobe, unpacking her suitcase. What a beauty, he thought as he walked over behind her and reached around to hold her. She straightened up and took her time as she opened the robe.
She slid around in his arms and put hers around his neck. After giving Yuri a passionate lingering kiss, she walked backwards toward the bed. She pulled him down on top of her near the edge of the bed, with her hands still around his neck.
Afterwards, Yuri rolled over to take a rest, and Marilyn headed for the shower. He dozed off for a few minutes and woke to hear her on the phone out in the living room.
"You’re not going to believe what I did over the last few days. I can’t believe it myself."
Yuri walked quietly down the hall to listen.
"I met this guy named Yuri in Savannah and he screwed my brains out. I can’t get enough of it. Honey Jo, can you believe it? Come in at two and we’ll meet in the break area and I’ll tell you all about it." She considered for a few seconds, then said, "Okay, I have to get a move on if I’m going to be there earlier. See you there."
Yuri went back to the bedroom, got dressed, packed his duffle bag and placed the pistol in his belt on the small of his back donning a light windbreaker to help conceal the bulge. After a few minutes, Marilyn didn’t reappear. He went to find her, but before he did, he took her cell phone out of her purse and turned it off as a precaution, since the time for action loomed only a few hours off. He didn’t want any unexpected events. Then he went to find her.
After searching in the house, he went to the garage. There he saw the trunk of the car open. He tiptoed over to the car and when he reached the vehicle, he saw her bend over and reach into the trunk.
She started to open his case.
42
This Morning — Interstate 16 — 11:44 AM
Colonel Anton Ivanov sat in the passenger seat of the silver Mercury Sable rented in Savannah and observed the topography of the land. An old infantry soldier, he visualized the type of military action that would be needed to conquer this sort of terrain. It would take a bloody campaign, the American Civil War had proven that.
The coastal plains of Georgia slipped behind them, and the rolling hills they now passed through, created by the various ice ages that had sliced valleys in the earth, appeared covered mostly with woodlands on this monotonous stretch of rural countryside the interstate traversed. The bright clear day did nothing to improve his disposition.
Ravshan drove as they rushed toward Atlanta. They traveled in silence for almost an hour. Anton’s mind focused on capturing the mad Russian, thereby ensuring acquisition of the weapon. That crazy traitor had actually betrayed the motherland by selling out to radical Islamists. Anton’s duty and his career rested on his ability to retrieve the bomb. How could the security services have allowed this creep to get by their scans? How could
they not keep track of him? The military knew they’d let go a man capable of making an atomic weapon. Ivanov knew the answer—money. There wasn’t enough of it to cover everything. Surveillance on every unemployed, highly technically trained individual couldn’t be done.
Anton had fought for Russia in Afghanistan. That country, a cesspool of humanity one step out of the Neanderthal age, consisted mostly of knuckle draggers with no ability to think or to see reason. The Russians had offered them a way into the present century, and they’d preferred to ride camels and horses while attacking tanks. Anton had received three wounds fighting these tribesmen, and when the government had decided to leave that desolate and impoverished country, the Koran-thumping bastards known as the Taliban had soon taken over and plunged the whole area back into the Stone Age. But they didn’t seem to care.
A musical sound in the car whipped his focus back to the present. He shifted in his seat and turned to Ravshan with a questioning look.
"It’s just an email coming in on my phone. I’ll view it later," said Ravshan.
Anton calculated the time to be early evening in Moscow; the director should still be in his office.
"We’ve got to stop and get gas and a map. I would like to use your phone once again to check in with the director."
They stopped at a filling station. Ravshan read his message and deleted it, then handed the phone to Anton. Ravshan got out to pay for the gas and to obtain a street map of Atlanta.
The director came on the line. Anton said, "We are within an hour of being at the address we have for our man. Your assistance helped to get us the location. Do you have any further instructions?" Anton played to the man’s vanity and hoped his reporting on the current situation would mitigate the failure in Savannah.
"This is welcome news. The defense attaché in Washington also informed me that the Americans may be ahead of you. Take care of the problem and get the goods back here. Call me when you have accomplished your task." The director hung up.
Anton realized from the director’s tone of voice that he’d somewhat softened his previous position, and things might work out after he recovered the bomb. All that remained for him to do was complete this mission successfully, and the whole event in Savannah would be forgotten. The director must realize that what had happened there wasn’t under his control and that the information had been too old by the time they were able to act on it. On one hand, only a few knew the operation in Savannah hadn’t worked out, but on the other hand, if he succeeded, only a very few would know that too. At least in the latter case, he could plan to retire in less than a year.
Ravshan got back into the car after pumping the gas. He started the engine but did not put the car in gear because he heard Igor in the backseat, tapping his hands on the back of his headrest.
Another car pulled into the gas station while Anton was speaking on the phone to Moscow. Igor almost came over the top of the seat to tap the colonel on the shoulder as Anton gave the phone back to Ravshan.
"Sir, look over there. The people in that car over at the far pumps are the ones I saw leave the house where you killed the Arab."
43
This Morning — Outskirts of Atlanta— 11:44 AM
Matt pulled into the filling station south of Atlanta to take a break and to gas up the car. They both got out to stretch their legs, and after Matt filled up the car, they moved it to a parking space in front of the convenience store. Inside they got some drinks. In less than five minutes, they returned to the car and got back on the road headed to Atlanta.
"You’ve been very quiet. What’s on your mind?" Matt said.
"Well, we’ve had all this time on the drive up here, and I’ve been thinking about us."
"What have you thought?"
"I realize we’re not rushing into any relationship. Not really. We’ve been together for over a year in the same unit and gotten to know each other over a long period of time. You see what I mean?"
"Yes," Matt said. He had waited a few seconds before responding, trying to imagine where this was going.
"I’m wondering if you’re ready for a long-term commitment for us to work together?"
"I don’t know if we’ve gotten that far."
"No. No, I don’t mean it as a pressure for you to do anything at this time. It’s more of a thought process I’m going through. Remember, we promised to be open and honest. You asked, and I told you what I was thinking. I still want to go to get my degrees when my enlistment is up."
"That's being truthful. I really think we should postpone this talk till after this mission and then take a day to communicate about what each of us might see happening in the future."
"Okay. Right now I’ve got the GPS map programmed to take us to the address. I do think we can work in the field together. I have to go in order to keep saving your ass," Bridget finished with a wide grin on her face as she punched him in the shoulder.
They were so involved in their conversation that the silver Mercury Sable that pulled in, clearly visible in their rearview mirror, went unobserved as they left. The traffic density increased when they exited off I-16 and joined I-75. Even an amateur could follow someone on this overcrowded interstate. Matt followed the directions given by the GPS for the next half hour. As they neared their destination, Bridget got out her weapon and rechecked it, put an extra magazine in her coat pocket, and then checked Matt’s, just in case he needed it as soon as they exited the car.
"Really a swanky neighborhood. Money, money, and more money," Bridget uttered as they approached the address.
"Our man must have hooked himself a winner in Savannah to get into one of these," Matt said. "Wonder if she knows anything about him other than a bar pickup?"
"We’ll be there in two blocks, so we can ask her."
They now traveled on city streets. When they were only one street away from the address the general gave them, Matt picked out a car following them and told Bridget.
"I’ll keep going . . . no, wait the car turned off. False alarm," he said.
"No one else could know about this woman. There should be no one after her but us." Bridget got out of the car as Matt cut the engine in front of the address. "What a mansion. If she’s got a hubby, he must be loaded and out of town, or maybe she’s divorced or having a quickie weekend with our man."
"She could have inherited it. You’re right though, she didn’t buy this on an FAA controller’s salary," said Matt.
They walked up to the door and rang the bell. After waiting two minutes and ringing again, they decided to walk around the house. They went to the back by the pool, where Bridget pushed on the back door, and it opened. "Let’s go," she said.
Methodically, they searched each room but did not find the woman or Yuri. Lastly, they went to the garage, but they saw no car.
"Look here. Duct tape on the floor. Stuff scattered on the workbench. What do you make of it?"
"Not enough information," said Matt. "Let’s go back inside and check again."
As they searched, Matt picked up the landline phone and hit star 69 to redial the last person to phone this number.
"Hello, sugar," came the female voice with a Southern inflection. "What’s happened for you to call again so soon? That stud balling you again?"
"Ma’am, my name is Matt Higgins, and I’m a federal agent. We are looking for Marilyn Grosse."
"What? What are you?"
"Please listen. I’m a federal agent, and we have reason to believe that Marilyn is in grave danger. You answered like you’re an intimate friend. Do you know where we can locate her?"
"No, but she’s supposed to meet me at work a little before two."
"At work? Are you an FAA controller?" Matt waved at the phone and gave a thumbs-up sign. He thought they might have an absolute lead in this person.
"I been one for eight years. What the hell is going on?" came the response.
"Could you give me your name?"
"Honey Jo Stevens. Now what is going on?"
"We have reliable intelligence that a terrorist is in Atlanta. Your friend may be in danger from the man she’s with. We believe he is one of the terrorists. Where is she supposed to be at two?"
"The supervisor wants us all in early today to do the turnover before the president gets here at two thirty, since he’s landing at Hartsfield instead of Dobbins, and none of us has ever handled Air Force One. I told Marilyn to get here then and I’d meet her in the snack bar."
"The president is arriving at fourteen hundred thirty hours," Matt said. "That's only two hours from now. If you hear from her, please contact me or have her contact me immediately." He gave her the number.
"“You’re for real. Holy shit! . . . Okay, I’ll try to call her now on her cell. I’ll call you if I get her.”
Matt didn’t get a chance to confirm her cell number because Honey Jo disconnected. Matt stared at the phone and told Bridget what Honey Jo had said. "We’ve wasted an hour here. Yuri must be on his way to the airport if Marilyn’s going to meet Honey Jo at two. I bet he’ll use her to get into the airfield.” He rotated to face Bridget, "We have to warn the President and call—“
Then he saw the three men standing behind Bridget, with one weapon pointed at her head and the other two aimed straight at him.
44
Buckhead Area, Atlanta, GA — 12:46 PM
Matt stared at the three men. Black shirts and black pants showed a lack of sartorial imagination, but their weapons, easily recognized Glocks, left nothing to visualize. One of the men started to move towards them and indicated for both to raise their hands. As he passed Bridget, she grabbed his arm and flipped him over her shoulder. She did not know more armed men stood behind her. One of those men, with instant reflexes, hammered her head with his pistol, and she went down in a heap.