Fury From Within

Chapter Twenty-Two

With the pilot’s experienced touch, the helicopter dropped expertly from its 2,500-foot altitude to land mere feet from the rear gates of the White House, directly across the lush lawn from the Red Cross Headquarters building. At any other point in time, the Mall would be a virtual beehive of activity with football and soccer games and everyday people picnicking on its grassy expanse. With the gas leak’s evacuation, it emptiness resembled a 1950’s “B” movie scene after the effects of a nuclear attack, the exception being the numerous police officers strolling its concrete sidewalks.

Wendy Wexler sat beside Officer Mark Lipatree in the back seat of the helicopter, having enjoying her first ride, laughing at the sudden drop in altitude.

Mark sat beside her— sick and pale from his own helicopter experience.

Jimmy Sanders turned to Mark and Wendy, applying his best southern accent and said. “Ya’ll come back now.”

With their arrival, the noose had slowly tightened around Peter’s neck.

The office looked typical for an American business executive, with an oak desk topped by a laptop computer, plants hanging around the perimeter and a backdrop of family pictures neatly arranged behind the desk. The photos were the usual; kids posing in their baseball or soccer uniforms, the family at Disney World, his deceased Mother and Father. The only problem was it belonged to Colonel Sergey Vasov, of the Russian Embassy.

“Sergey, I worry about you,” Igor said as he looked about the room. “I think you are becoming too immersed in the American culture,” pointing to the family picture at Disney World.

“Kids, Igor, kids. They love it over here,” Sergey said as he removed a key from a chain around his neck, inserting it into a file cabinet lock, allowing the top drawer to open. He searched his color coded files before carefully extracting two from the drawer, one green and the other purple, laying them on his desk for Igor to see.

“Langley, Virginia and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” he said matter of factly. “They are the closest locations to our DC weapon.”

“It has to be Philadelphia,” Igor said confidently. “Langley is too close for comfort, the whole DC area is crawling with FBI and police with this gas leak story. It would also put our man on a direct path to New York and an international flight home. That has got to be it.”

“I’m heading to Philadelphia. I will require some background information on this,” pausing as he looked down at the folder for the exact location, “Fort Mifflin,” a puzzled expression breaking out on his face. “Is this really an American Fort?”

Sergey allowed a laugh to escape. “At one time yes it was, but that was about 235 years ago during the American Revolution,” Sergey replied. “Now, it is a tourist destination. Being the American history buff that I am, I have visited the Fort several times.”

Satisfied with Sergey’s response, Igor felt the target would be lightly guarded, if at all. “Very well, have my items available and downstairs in 5 minutes,” Igor said, before realizing he was outranked. “I’m sorry Sergey; please have them downstairs in 5 minutes.”

“Remember your pay grade,” Sergey said jokingly, brushing aside his friend’s comments. ”And I will throw in a set of night vision goggles due to darkness settling in by the time you reach your destination, that and a detailed ordinance map of the area should do nicely.”

“You’re like a mother hen,” Igor said, putting the file in his garment bag.

“Just catch this thief,” his mouth spitting out the words as if he had tasted something that did not agree with him, “and when you do, kill him.” Sergey could only think of his own family, safe in Woodbridge, Virginia.

Igor smiled at Sergey, seeing his friend had not lost his passion for a fight after his many years in the United States.

“That’s my intention. Either him or me.”

Michael Forsythe had conducted his final security check of the surrounding area. He now walked with a bruised and battered Boris in tow, having gone back on his word on letting him go free. After Forsythe had flown out of Ocean City with Jim Thomson, a second helicopter returned for Boris and the remainder of Forsythe’s team. Forsythe knew Boris required some form of hope to hang onto, thinking his freedom could be bought. Boris was still valuable — he had intimate knowledge of what the suspect looked like. Forsythe could keep him out of view until needed. Boris was also within the weapons range if detonated. Forsythe thought this might encourage Boris to possibly be more forthcoming with any additional information he may have held back.

The slightest possibility existed so Forsythe was taking no chances.

As the FBI helicopter approached Forsythe realized his reinforcements were in-hand. Two additional bodies that could help identify the suspect, and not a moment too soon.

“Boris, wait here,” Forsythe said, calling over a DC policewoman.

“Miss, I want you to watch this man and make sure he doesn’t move,” Forsythe said, pointing towards the battered Boris.

“Be a good boy Boris and maybe I will let you go home after all,” turning to walk the 100 yards to where the helicopter was in its final approach.

Boris smiled at the policewoman, nodding his head in a polite greeting before tuning to watch Forsythe walk towards the helicopter.

He fixed an all-knowing gaze on Forsythe before laughing aloud. You have no idea where he is going after this, do you my friend? I will be long gone before you realize you have lost a major city.

The policewoman thought the old man had lost a screw.

Boris turns back to her, still smiling. “I must apologize for my outburst, I just thought of a joke that a friend of mine told me yesterday. I would tell you but you would probably find no humor in it.” He turns back to watch Michael greet his guests. “It’s concerns an old Russian joke from long ago that is now coming home to roost, right here in the United States,” still maintaining a smile. “I’m sure you will be hearing about it soon.”

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen,” Forsythe said to Wendy and Mark above the din provided by the rotors, nodding to Jimmy and Richard in the same instance.

“Jimmy, keep the motor going, I want to take a quick look over the scene,” shouted Forsythe, pointing to the air above them.

Jimmy responded with nod.

Helping Wendy step out first before noticing the mess on the floor at Marks feet, Forsythe could see the Officer was white as a ghost. “You all right Officer?”

“I am now,” he replied stepping out and onto the level grass lawn, his knees buckling slightly.

Forsythe held his tongue, remembering his own first experience in a helicopter 15 years before. The pilot was a cocky Vietnam vet who decided to pull a few fast maneuvers to spook Forsythe. It turned out to be the wrong thing to do because Forsythe relieved himself of that morning’s meal, leaving a nice mess for the pilot to clean up. Unfortunately for the pilot, somebody learned a fine lesson that day, and it wasn’t Forsythe.

“I want you two to follow me over to the briefing area where I can go over a few ground rules before I deploy you to the surrounding area. We are going to use you to enhance our spotters.”

They walked over towards where Boris stood beside the policewoman.

Forsythe could see the Russian still providing him that same silly-assed smile despite all that had transpired.

He knows something, thought Forsythe, picking up the pace — that bastard knows something!

The perimeter around the gas leak was loosely guarded, having had only an hour to implement. But it was the best that could be arranged on such short notice. With each passing moment, it would only get tighter as additional manpower was brought to bear.

Aware that the security perimeter had to be breached before the area was indeed “locked down,” Peter lacked the luxury of time. Choosing to walk along the edge of the security zone, he scouted for a potential entryway, probing for a weakness. Having infiltrated many a Russian combat line, he was confident he could penetrate an incompetent American security barrier.

Peter walked along the perimeter, easy enough to identify due to the strategically placed police cars positioned every 1/2 block or so, he immediately spotted a weakness. He had to exploit it before the police became suspicious of him walking just outside the zone. It was only a matter of time before they would question his intentions.

As he approached his targeted entry point, Peter overheard two police officers in their parked vehicle arguing about the upcoming Redskins football season.

They didn’t see him.

Peter realized this was his opportunity, ducking behind a large elm tree for cover.

From his position, he could see the police car 20 meters away parked half on, half off the sidewalk. Just five meters beyond their car lay what looked to be a service alley. That would be his objective, the alley. It must lead to some sort of business or an apartment building. A second elm tree just behind their car could only help provide cover as he moved move into position.

It looked as though they weren’t paying much attention to anything but themselves.

Peter checked his weapon then stepped out from behind a large elm tree, keeping parallel to the next elm tree and using its angle to eliminate the officer’s view as he approached. Reaching the next tree placed him only 5 meters from the police car.

“But I’m telling you the Eagles don’t have an offensive line. How can they even challenge the Redskins for the Division title?” asked the first officer.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” the second officer replied, obviously disagreeing with this point.

This was his chance. Peter fell to his hands and knees and crawled over to the driver’s side door of the police car. The officers still faced each other in their rapid-fire discussion. Seeing no response, he chose to crawl along the ground to the rear of the car. Once at the back of the car, Peter took a deep breath to calm his nerves, thinking that it couldn’t be this easy. Hearing the discussion heat up again, Peter saw his opportunity, crawling the remaining 5 meters to the service alley. Once at the alley’s entrance, he ducked out of view of the street. He decided to keep his weapon at the ready, unaware of who he might encounter. Scanning the immediate area, he was able to see down the garbage strewn service alley to what looked like the kitchen delivery entrance for the Washington Hotel, only 1–1/2 blocks away. Picking up his pace, he jogged the remaining distance to the propped open rear door, choosing to enter the hotel via its empty kitchen area. no doubt evacuated for the gas leak.

Peter was now within the perimeter and moving forward.

From his studies of the immediate area, he knew the Washington Hotel afforded him the best vantage point of the Red Cross building, located directly across from the Washington Mall. He would only have a wide expanse of green lawn between himself and his objective.

Running past the neatly hanging stainless steel pots and pans in the quiet kitchen, his weapon at the ready, he searched for the stairs or a door to the lobby area. Seeing the door leading to the restaurant, he burst through, scanning the room before maneuvering around the deserted tables. As he walked past, he could see remnants of the afternoon brunch still laid about, its diners having abruptly departed with the gas scare.

Exiting the restaurant’s main door brought Peter into the atrium lobby, a waterfall providing the only noise in what was one of Washington’s most popular hotels. Peter decided to slow his pace.

It was a wise decision.

Less than 20 meters from his position, Officer Lester Maddox stood by the hotels glass front doors, peering through his Minolta binoculars at a helicopter attempting to land on the Washington Mall. With the sudden evacuation of the hotel’s occupants and staff, Officer Maddox provided security for the hotels safe. As he stood watching the helicopter settle down his radio suddenly sprang to life.

The radio transmission also startled Peter as he cast an eye about the lobby looking for security. Following the radios sound he was able to see the officer. Peter looked about for any additional officers before over hearing the officer say he was “still alone and well.”

That was a fatal mistake, thought Peter. He just handed me the key to the front door.

As the policemen signed off the radio, he resumed viewing the helicopter with his binoculars, something to peak his interest in what was sure to be a long, boring day.

With the Officers interest fixated on the helicopter, Peter eased through the lobby, his gun focused on Officer Maddox as he crept closer, the water fall providing a soothing background noise to mask any noise of his own.

Walking past the front desk, Peter kept his weapon trained on the Officers back as he glanced about the room, not wanting to be caught from behind. Satisfied the area was indeed empty, he moved to within 3 meters of the Officers position.

“Put your hands in the air and no one will get hurt,” Peter demanded, the waterfall providing the only other sound in the Italian marbled lobby.

Officer Maddox responded immediately, placing his hands in the air, holding the binoculars aloft in his right hand. “Don’t shoot man. Take what you want and beat feet out of here,” he said. The Officer responded as trained, immediately giving in to the man’s demands, buying time until he could find his own weakness on the man.

Peter nodded. “Walk backward away from the door and don’t turn around.” He wanted to keep the officer off balance and out of sight from any help that may arrive via the street.

“You know the area’s surrounded,” Officer Maddox said before complying with Peter’s demands. “There’s a major gas leak in the area, this hotel could blow up at any moment.” He was trying to use some basic psychological tactics on Peter, thinking he was a common criminal trying to take advantage of the situation and steal the hotels money.

“Yes, and I am Peter Pan,” Peter replied sarcastically. “Don’t make any sudden moves or I will use this,” reaching in to remove the Officers weapon from his holster, surprised it was an older style 45 caliber. Peter saw another opportunity arise. The officer looked to be about the same weight and height as himself.

Again, Allah presents himself.

“Take your clothes off and hurry. I don’t have time to rationalize,’’ Peter demanded, watching as the officer quickly complied.

Peter removed the binoculars from the Officers hands before using them to view the helicopter.

Looking back, the Officer had his clothes in hand.

“Drop them at your feet and take ten paces backward and no one will get hurt.”

“Come on buddy,” he said. He hid a canister of pepper spray in his hand under the clothes. “I’m standing here in my damn underwear. What the hell could I do to you?” He tried to entice Peter to come within range of the spray, the effective range being only eight feet with Peter now about 15 feet from the Officer.

“Just take the clothes, would you? He held them at arm’s length as he started to walk closer to Peter’s position at the door.

“Stay where you are. One more step and you’ll be a dead man,” Peter said, aiming his weapon at the officer.

The Officercould see the man meant business, dropping the clothes to the floor with the pepper spray at the bottom of the pile — the canister providing a dull metallic thud as it hit the marble floor.

Walking over to pile of clothing, Peter reached down to remove the Officers handcuffs from his uniform belt. “Turn around and walk towards the front desk.”

Officer Maddox followed his demands, proceeding to the front desk. Peter took the handcuffs and attached them to a brass foot bar at the base of the check-in desk and then to the Officers left wrist.

“This should hold you until I can get away,” Peter said. He walked over to the pile of clothes and started to undress and exchange them for his own. After several minutes, Peter placed the officer’s hat upon his head completing the transformation, resembling a newly minted Washington DC Police Officer, the only exception being the pants being too big around the waist.

“You should go on a diet,” he said, holding the pants out before tightening the belt to pull them in.

“Yah, I’ll take that under consideration,” said Officer Maddox. He looked embarrassed as he stood in his boxer shorts against the front desk.

Walking over to the front door, Peter focused the binoculars on the helicopter then back to the group of people meeting before the Red Cross building. Applying additional magnification, he refocused in on the people in the group.

“You bastard!” Peter said loudly. He viewed Boris, Wendy and Mark in the group talking to an FBI agent. “I thought Boris was a true patriot,” focusing in on his face and seeing the bruises that were now visible and then noticing the handcuffs. He quickly changed his mind. “No, they made him talk. Sorry my Russian friend, but it looks like you will be serving a long prison sentence.”

This situation was now compromised. That was easy enough to rationalize. Peter had to reach Philadelphia before the next weapon was moved into protective custody. If under duress, Boris might reveal the plan for his own entry into Philadelphia to lessen his sentence. Peter needed to think fast. It was a matter of pure survival — his own. Focusing the binoculars back to the helicopter, Peter could see that it was still running and evidently waiting for someone. Shifting his gaze 100 meters ahead of the helicopter, he saw a police officer walking a post pattern as if on guard duty. Peter looked down at his uniform then back out the door to the waiting helicopter.

“I would like you to meet, Boris,” Forsythe said to Wendy and Mark. “He is one of the gentlemen responsible for all of today’s actions. You have him to thank for your unfortunate predicaments.”

Wendy and Mark both eyed Boris as if he were the devil himself. Wendy walked up and kicked him in the shins before Forsythe and Mark could restrain her.

“Please, miss,” Forsythe said as he held Wendy from behind, her legs still lashing out in defiance to Boris. “The three of you will be working together.”

“I’m not working with him,” Wendy replied, her eyes burning with rage.

“What I require from you right now is teamwork until we catch this guy,” Forsythe said, turning her around to face him. “Now calm down little lady, we don’t have much time,” waiting until she closed her eyes and started to tear up, the rage still building.

The woman police officer that held Boris by the arm noticed a fellow officer walking across the Mall towards where the helicopter was running. Thinking something was amiss she reached for her radio to place a call to her supervisor.

“Charlie this is Carol, can you tell me if we have someone patrolling the east side of the mall across from the White House?”

Overhearing her radio call, Forsythe turned around to see what she was talking about, seeing a police officer only feet from the helicopter, holding his hat against the rotors forceful winds. “What’s the hell’s going on there? He said aloud.

Wendy and Mark turned to see the police officer by the helicopter reach up for the door, letting go of his hat in order to do so, providing them a full view of the police officer’s true identity when his hat blew off.

“Oh my, God,” Wendy said, letting out a scream. “That’s him! That’s the man who stole my car and beat me up!” She now pointed to the man entering the helicopter.

Mark had the same thought as he joined Forsythe in running towards the helicopter, weapons at the ready.

“We have the SOB.”

Peter felt exposed, almost naked, as he walked across the street and up onto the Washington Mall, proceeding towards the helicopter. Looking straight ahead and keeping his focus on the helicopter Peter could fell the adrenaline flowing through his veins, providing him with a powerful rush.

Not taking any chances, Peter sprinted the remaining distance reaching the helicopter’s door as the whole crowd turned to look at him.

Thrusting himself into the helicopter, Peter quickly placed his gun to Jimmy’s head before he could respond with his own weapon. “Get this bird into the air in 2 seconds flat or you are a dead man,” Peter said, pressing the cold steel in to the base of his skull.

“You got it boss,” Jimmy responded, trying to stall a bit, seeing Forsythe running to his aid. “I just need to trim the blades for a few….”

Peter cut him off by firing a bullet through the co-pilots portion of the windshield before pointing the weapon back at Jimmy. “I said now!”

The helicopter lifted off just over the heads of Mark and Forsythe as they pointed their weapons skyward wanting to shoot but knowing that an agent was on board.

“Damn it,” Forsythe said, running back to where Boris was standing, still smiling. “You know something, now spill it.”

Boris nodded, feeling the situation having changed dramatically in his favor, holding up his hands to be uncuffed.

“Michael, can we now make that deal?”

“Uncuff him,” Forsythe ordered, knowing he would eventually regret his decision.

“You will fly at 1,000 feet,” Peter said, his free hand frisking the FBI pilot before relieving the pilot of his standard issue 9mm, placing it on the seat beside him in the back. “You will maintain a northeast direction until you see Highway 95, you will then follow that route north,” Peter ordered. “No sudden deviations.”

“Come on boy, what do you think you’re going to accomplish?” Jimmy said, wondering what the hell was going on. “Why don’t we set this bird down and have ourselves a little talk and see if we can resolve whatever issue is bothering you.”

Peter responded by reaching over Jimmy and turning off his helicopters transponder, which would have allowed air traffic controllers to follow the helicopters path and thereby direct assistance to Jimmy. He then pulled the radio mike off of Jimmy’s head, cutting off any chance of Jimmy secretly allowing the air traffic controllers to monitor what was being said, possibly providing them clues of what direction he was flying.

“I don’t want you to say another word for the duration of this flight,” Peter replied angrily, firing another shot through the co-pilots window for emphasis, the guns noise in the close confines of the cockpit deafening. The bullets trajectory closely followed the first, allowing the cool air to now flow freely through the two small bullet holes in the windshield.

Nodding his head in understanding Jimmy saw the Routes 95 and 295 interchange below, wisely steering the craft as directed, following 95 north.

Peter also saw the interchange and grinned, knowing that he could still complete a portion of his mission.

His message would still be the same but with less potency.

This was his last and final chance.