Fury From Within

Chapter Twenty-Four

Another beautiful summer day with the temperature in the low 90’s albeit with high humidity. But it was summer — he could be shoveling snow or battling ice. He didn’t want to rush the seasons. It was the end to a perfect day, thought Tom Giacono, a private security guard working at Fort Mifflin as he waved goodbye to the Forts daytime volunteer staff. Having experienced one of the largest crowds ever for a Sunday, Tom was looking forward to a little “down time” and relaxing down by the Forts south wall, one that ran parallel to the Delaware River.

Tom had placed a cheap wooden rocking chair he had bought at Kmart on top of the forts earthen wall in order to view the ships passing by in front of him, mostly oil tankers and small pleasure craft. He would break the rocker out after the last of the staff had left in order to not disturb the historical surroundings while the tourists still muddled about.

His shift started at noon day and would end at midnight, when he would be relieved by Charlie the midnight-to-noon guard. Until then, Tom would pass the remaining 6 hours by waving to the people passing by in their pleasure boats. Of course since he was the security guard, he would also perform his customary walk around the Forts interior every hour on the hour and check the doors and windows for any sign of break-in. Not that anyone would want to break-in to an old Fort.

Having recently retired from his city job where he had worked for 45 years, Tom approached his 66th birthday in stride, feeling and looking as if he was a robust 56. Sporting a pronounced beer belly on a short frame, salt and pepper graying hair with an accompanying waxed mustache, he looked like a typical grandfather. With his wife, Denise, they planned an around-the-world cruise for the following year. This was the main reason for him taking the weekend security position at the Fort; to earn the drinking and side-trip money with his part time gig. With his children long gone from the house and no grandchildren to speak of as of just yet, they both thought this would be the ideal time to slip away for 4 months and really enjoy themselves.

From his perch, Tom looked over to his right and observed the aircraft taking off and landing at the Philadelphia International Airport.

Life is good, he thought, leaning back in his chair. Life is real good.

The Philadelphia International Airport lay off to his right hand side as Peter’s car exited Highway 95. Soon the president’s jet would join the aerial circus in jostling for prime position. Of course his jet would take precedence over the commercial variety, with the airport virtually shutting down 10 minutes before and after his specially configured 747 appeared in the landing pattern.

It was easy to navigate the back roads that led around the airport and towards his objective, Fort Mifflin, following the historical markers placed conveniently about. Driving past the airports east side, Peter could see the elaborate steps being under taken to guard the various approaches to the airport. The Secret Service types now patrolled the airports fenced perimeter, easy enough to identify by their cheap suits. The local National Guard units were also assisting with vehicles parked every 25 meters or so along the fence line to handle the crowds that would suddenly materialize before the Presidents aircraft would arrive.

Peter drove past the last of the “weekend warriors,” still following the historical markers leading to the Fort.

After 500 meters, he drove through a stately bank of maple trees that occupied both side of the road driving slowly towards the Forts impressive brick and earthen structure. It would be a shame to destroy such an honorable piece of history, thought Peter, parking his car next to the only one left in the gravel lot, most likely the security guards. But such is war. People are killed and places destroyed. Brutal, but of human origin in nature.

With the hour approaching 6:30 in the evening, the sun was still high in the western sky, thus providing Peter with plenty of light for the work he had yet to accomplish. It was perfect timing as he glanced down at his watch. If he could set the weapon for 8:30, he would have the President of the United States in his crosshairs. The president along with the targets the old Soviet Union programmed to be destroyed back in the 70’s; the vast complex of oil refinery’s on both sides of the river, the International airport and the old US Navy base, now since deactivated but 2 mothballed carriers in its lonely port just the same. With close to 500,000 people living in the bombs immediate range, a major catastrophe was in the making. Not as impressive as the Washington DC weapon would have been, eliminating practically the whole government, but this would be just as deadly.

Peter removed a trenching shovel he had bought at an Army/Navy surplus store from his trunk. Boris had informed him that the weapon lay buried only one meter below ground. With this information in hand, he could have the weapon out of its dirt grave in the matter of an hour or so.

Peter gained his bearings from the evening sky before heading towards the Fort.

It was time to get to work.

It was Igor’s turn to traverse the same ground that Peter had undertaken only an hour before, now approaching the Airports east side. As he did, Igor began to encounter heavy traffic, both pedestrian and auto. He also noticed a heavy police presence, this along with military troops stationed along the airports perimeter fence line. His mind raced. What if his rebel had already set the bomb in motion?

Spotting an older couple that was pausing to allow his car to pass, Igor pulled up alongside them, rolling down his window. “Good day sir,” Igor said in his best-polished English. “Could you tell me what this is all about,” gesturing with his hand to indicate the hundreds of people scattered about. “Was there an accident?”

The man removed his pipe from his mouth, exhaling a cherry scented tobacco into the air about him. He paused a few seconds to evaluate Igor in his car before responding. “You must be from out of town.” He tapped his wife with an elbow to the ribs. “The President is flying in here in about 30 minutes. The crowd you refer to is the welcoming committee.” The man placed his pipe back in his mouth, shaking his head at Igor before leading his wife by the hand, trying to get a better vantage point as he moved with the pack.

Igor realized he was on the right track. He was absolutely sure of it. If the roles had been reversed, it’s what he would have done.

The clock was ticking — he had 30 minutes to prevent a nightmare from happening.

A five-meter long wood bridge led to Fort Mifflin’s sole entrance, echoing Peter’s heavy footsteps as he crossed. The bridge itself stood over a 4-meter wide moat that looked to dependant on the generosity of the Delaware Rivers tide to provide the Forts protection, currently exposing its muddy bottom. Hate to slip in there, he thought, careful to avoid its steep banks. Looking up at the Revolutionary War era Forts imposing brick structure then from side-to-side, Peter noticed that it was built in a pentagonal shape similar to a brick structure that was located outside of his hometown of Sergov.

The Forts massive wooden doors were locked and bolted for the night, providing some sense of reassurance to Peter. The last thing he needed was some unsuspecting soul lurking on the Forts exterior. He knew the guards would only worry about its treasured interior. So he should be safe on the outside. Peter followed the narrow dirt footpath that ran between the Fort and its moat, allowing it to lead him to where the Forts brick façade turned into an earthen wall of the about the same height. The earthen wall was originally built to withstand enemy ships cannon blasts, absorbing the cannon balls in its soft, ruddy earth so they couldn’t penetrate to the forts interior.

The Forts earthen edge was located a mere 20 meters from the banks of the Delaware Rivers. Appropriately for Peter, this would also be his starting point. Looking from side-to-side for his bearings, Peter positioned himself on the Forts southwestern corner. He walked in a straight line 5 meters from the forts edge, pacing off the distance as he walked towards both the moat and the river. Peter could see and feel a minor depression in the earth where he stopped counting off his steps, 1-meter from the edge of the moat. This is it, he said excitedly eyeing his watch to make sure he was still on schedule. Satisfied he still had plenty of time, he placed the shovel into the soft ground to remove the first spade full of earth.

From his perch above the Forts earthen wall, Tom Giacono sat on his rocker, gazing between the pleasure craft heading in for the night and the majestic sunset. What a fantastic day to be alive, hoping his wife had the same view from their homes back porch. Where else could I actually get paid to work and have a view like this? He looked at his watch before rising up from his rocker in order to perform his hourly rounds.

Stretching his legs due to his sitting so long, Tom tried to work out a leg cramp. He tried jogging in place for several moments to no avail. He should have listened to his wife and taken some additional potassium pills. Damn if she wasn’t right again. Deciding it was best just to walk it off. Moving towards the edge of the Forts earthen edge, he heard a sharp metallic noise somewhere below. It sounded as if someone was digging and had struck a rock.

Tom had been warned by his supervisor about history buffs who scoured the grounds around historic battle sites with metal detectors, searching for items of value to sell to collectors on E-bay, hoping to make a quick buck or two.

Tom walked to the Forts earthen edge to view over the wall, careful not to lose his footing and avoid a 20-foot drop. With a clear, unobstructed view all the way to the river, he was afforded an excellent vantage point. Looking both ways he could see nothing as the sun’s light faded into night. Having heard numerous accounts of ghost soldiers coming back to visit the place of their deaths, Tom discounted their stories as “hogwash,” for the tourists. No, he had definitely heard something close-by and it was not a figment of his imagination nor supernatural in nature. Walking the remaining 50 feet over to the western side of the Fort, he leaned over where the brick edge met the earthen portion of the Fort. He scanned from north to south, peering into the night’s twilight.

Another sharp metallic click was heard. This time it was off to his left, enabling him to now narrow the focus of his search to a specific area. His eyes getting older and not being what they were 50 years before, it took time for Tom to notice movement below him and towards the edge of the moat. Focusing more intently on the shadowy figure before him, he could see it was a man digging in a pit, a pile of dirt in evidence beside him. Tom backed away from the edge not wanting to alarm the man. He instinctively reached for his 38 caliber Smith & Wesson snub nose, opening its barrel and inserting six bullets from his pocket where they were mixed with his spare change. Tom always carried the weapon empty, trying to avoid an accidental shooting if he tripped or fell.

Quickly making his way down the forts interior steps, Tom maneuvered carefully among the Forts stationary displays, making his way to the Forts only entrance and exit, the front gate.

Sliding back the 200-year old lock which essentially employed a six foot wooden beam as its main deterrent, Tom was able to crack open the door to peer outside. He looked from side-to-side to see if there was a lookout in place, having heard during training lectures that they operated in pairs. Observing the illuminated parking lot off to his right, he spied another car beside his own. He even had the nerve to park beside me!

Slipping through the open door, Tom pulled it shut as best he could, this accomplished with no exterior lock in place. Carefully maneuvering up the Forts living history trail to where he last saw the shadow of a man digging, fingering his weapon as he walked. Tom was ready, nervous, but ready.

The digging proceeded at a fairly rapid pace with the ground still soft from the previous night’s rain. The soils content had the consistently of a good Irish peat moss, with the dirt lifting up as though it had wings attached to it. After 60 minutes of digging, his shovel struck something metallic, a hollow ping its announcement. He excitedly tossed aside the shovel, looking up at the Forts ramparts to see if anyone else had overheard the sound. Sensing no movement, Peter resumed digging, only now with his calloused hands. He had no desire to damage the suitcase’s exterior with the metal shovel.

An additional five minutes of simply moving the soft earth aside provided him with the outline of a suitcase, digging along its sides until he was able to locate its titanium handle. A smile crept across his face as he yanked the case from its earthen grave. The very case that was first placed there by a KGB agent some 35 years earlier, an excitement crept through Peter as if a child opening presents on Christmas Day. Placing the case beside his freshly dug pile of earth, instinctively checking his watch he could see that he still had 20 minutes till the president’s aircraft landed. If he could set the weapon and arrange the timer to explode in 15 minutes, he could still manage to escape. The president would still be in the ceremonial process of greeting various dignitaries on the airports tarmac, this before heading downtown for his speech at Philadelphia’s prestigious Union Club.

But if Peter ran out of time and could not escape, he would become a martyr to his people.

Negotiating the crowd was slow at best until a police officer took pity on seeing Igor’s car surrounded by a sea of people swarming his auto from both sides. The officer waded into the crowd blowing his whistle as he went, able to clear a path for his car, allowing him to proceed on his way. Igor provided a casual salute to the officer in response as he drove past, thanking him for the kind gesture.

Once past the anxious crowd, Igor drove the remaining 2-kilometers to the Forts entrance. The road was devoid of traffic with everyone concentrating on the President’s arrival. Turning off his cars headlights before he actually turned into the Forts entrance, he didn’t need a potential lookout to identify him. With this in mind, he wisely chose to park just off the airport’s perimeter road and out of view. Igor would walk the last hundred meters or so. It would provide him with a chance to reconnoiter the lay of the land, always important before any assault. Exiting his car, he proceeded to his trunk and his arsenal, removing 2 grenades, night vision goggles and his 9mm. He was ready for battle.

Jogging down past the Forts parking lot, he approached a wooden bridge that crossed the Fort’s moat. Stopping to scout the immediate area before realizing he had no other options, he slowly made his way across by softly sliding his feet, realizing the sounds of his crossing would echo for 50 meters or so if he walked normally. Once across, he knelt on the grass to scan both directions around the Fort for any signs of activity. Satisfied he was indeed alone, he donned his night vision gear, adjusting its intensity and once again scouring the Forts perimeter before proceeding. With his night vision gear, the night’s darkness would be his ally. Looking straight ahead, he detected the main door to the Fort ajar. That presented him with two options: that the security guard was on patrol and carelessly left the door open or the rebel was now in the Fort using it as a platform for his mission. Igor prayed for the first option.

Following Sergey’s directions he readied his weapon before proceeding down the path between the moat and the Fort.

It was time.

Using the base of a 30 foot oak tree for cover, well within range of the person who was digging, Tom took several deep breaths to calm his racing nerves, looking up to the sky and wondering what in the hell he was getting himself into. Looking down to his weapon, satisfied for the tenth time that the safety was indeed off, he stepped out from behind the tree, pointing his weapon at the man that stood before him.

“Freeze,” mimicking the same stern tone he used to discipline his grandchildren. “Stop the digging and put your hands in the air!”

Peter was caught totally off-guard, being so engrossed in his work that he had disregarded his immediate surroundings. Damn you. Having been instructed to always stay in tune with the area in which you work. Searching the night’s darkness in the general area from where the voice had emanated, his hawk-like eyes locating the man’s distinctive shadow outline a short distance away. Peter cursed aloud, realizing his own weapon lay just of reach, located halfway between himself and his newfound friend. He had removed it from his pants waistband in order to dig more freely, without constrictions, this being his second possibly fatal mistake.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting?” Peter said, trying to draw the man closer and possibly overwhelm him or at least stall for time, enabling him to dive for his own weapon.

Moving closer to his subject, Tom flicked on his bulky flashlight, shining it abruptly in Peters face, still pointing his weapon at the man.

“Don’t try any funny business. I have a weapon here and I know how to use it son,” Tom said menacingly. He looked down at the metal case Peter had recently removed. “What do we have here?” He then pointed down at the case with the flashlight’s beam. “Does this help you detect metal items in the ground that you then dig up and steal from the American people? Looks like a fancy metal detector.”

Peter’s mind raced before realizing the man had unwittingly provided him an excuse for his being there. The security guard must be thinking that he was stealing wartime related artifacts from the hallowed grounds surrounding the fort. That had to be his rationale. Only now to play along with that very thought.

“You caught me sir,” Peter said. He was trying to find a foothold that would enable him to spring from the hole and dive for his weapon. “I have found something of extreme importance and placed it in this case for transport. I was hoping to sell it for close to a million dollars. He was trying to peak Tom’s interest and have him to move closer to the case, knowing he couldn’t balance both the gun and the flashlight at the same time. Something would have to give.

“And I already have a buyer.”

The flashlight almost dropped from his hand when he heard the man say one million dollars. That would supplement a lot of vacation time thought Tom, as he stood there dumbfounded. He had to lean against a tree for some stability in order to keep from falling down.

“Are you telling me,……..Do you mean,………” Tom said, stammering as he searched for the proper words. “You dug something up around here that was worth one million dollars?” His senses grabbed hold, wondering what this guy was trying to pull, his hand tightening on the gun. “No, wait one minute young man.”

“Look for yourself,” Peter said. He redirected his attention back towards the metal case. Peter had to move quickly, this man was having some doubts about the credibility of his story. He could tell he wasn’t dealing with the typical stereotyped security guard, uneducated and bored with the job. That type of person would have called in the police to handle his intruding upon the forts property. This man had ambitions. But he also was aware of the predicament that all security guards in the US faced, undervalued and underpaid. Underlining that issue could work to his advantage and where Peter could strike first. Money.

“If you were to over look this little incident, I may see my way to providing you a 10 % finder’s fee.” He knew he had the security guards full attention, as Peter found a foothold and was ready to maneuver closer to his weapon, waiting for the right moment.

Tom’s mind was spinning now. A hundred grand just for looking the other way? Several moments passed as Tom stood transfixed staring at the case; the money already spent supplementing the little extras in life he and his wife would require. He looked back in time to see Peter trying to extract himself from the earthen hole.

“Stop right there,” Tom said, common sense taking hold, moving the flashlight over to the metal case then back to Peter. “What’s to stop me from taking the case and making the deal myself, that way I get to keep the whole million?”

Peter realized he now possessed the man’s soul. He had snapped at the bait.

“You’re right, you could have the whole million. But you would also require the buyer information now wouldn’t you? Peter had attained his position and ready to dive for his weapon. “Let me call the buyer right now,” pointing over to where the case was, possibly leading the man to think he had a cell phone near the case. “He doesn’t live far from here.”

Everything was moving way too quickly for Tom. Walking closer to both Peter and the case, realizing he held the edge with a loaded weapon to back him up. “All right, I’ll take the 10 %,” Tom said against his better judgment, something deep inside telling him that everything wasn’t as cut and dry as it seemed. “But you have to fill in this hole,” using his flashlight to point to the 3 foot deep hole Peter stood in.

The Americans and their greed had saved him once more from certain death. That was the one surefire downfall for most Americans, greed. Only money talks in their capitalist society.

“Deal,” Peter replied, having nothing to lose, knowing there was no money or artifact in his case to sell, only its lure. “Can I get out from this hole without you shooting me?”

“One minute,” Tom said, “Catch,” throwing the flashlight to Peter. “You hold the flashlight so I can open the case. That way I still can my gun pointed at you,” thinking he had outsmarted the thief with his simple maneuver. “I want to see what a million dollars looks like,” fumbling with the cases titanium latches.

Peter caught the flashlight with one hand. The idiot having provided him a weapon: one lacking bullets but still a weapon.

“Thank-you for your trust,” Peter said sarcastically, holding the flashlight, its beam redirected on the case. “Go ahead, open it,” looking over at his own weapon only a meter away.

The helicopter that Michael Forsythe and his team appropriated happened to be one of the Navy’s latest Seahawk’s, fresh from the Sikorsky manufacturing line and delivered only a week earlier. Coming straight off the manufacturing line, it still lacked any of its associated weaponry or anti-submarine avionics, providing additional room for Forsythe, Thomson, and Rocco to ride along in relative comfort.

Luckily for Forsythe the helicopter was on a flight training exercise out of Patuxent River Naval Air Station and operating in nearby airspace when ordered to Washington DC. It landed on the Washington mall within 30 minutes of the FBI helicopter being stolen and took off within seconds of Forsythe’s team boarding.

Flying the helicopter was newly minted Navy Lieutenant Anson West and Commander Tubby Half. Being fresh out of Navy helicopter flight school, Lieutenant West required 55 hours of flight time before he could be considered qualified to be a Seahawk pilot in charge.

Due to the unforeseen circumstances, the helicopter and its pilots both operated under the command of Forsythe, those on direct orders of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, they having been recently briefed on the weapons existence.

Forsythe provided the pilots with their new priority, allowing them to put the helicopters advertised speed to the test. Hopefully they would arrive in time to prevent a potential disaster from unraveling.

With the Presidents aircraft, Air Force One, already alerted to the emerging situation, it was diverted back to Andrews Air Force Base. The base also contained an emergency bunker which was built in the 1950’s to withstand a direct, low-grade, nuclear attack and was now being put to use as the nations new command post until the event passed.

Forsythe had alerted the FBI’s Philadelphia office while in-route to the situation and ordered his fellow agents to clear the immediate area surrounding the Fort. He also informed them that they were not to approach anywhere within 500 yards of the Fort itself. That prize was to be reserved for himself and his ad hoc team. They would take the suspect down.

“Sir, we are approaching the Philadelphia International Airport,” said the Navy Commander as he pointed out the pulsing white runway lights just ahead. “We have been given complete control of the Philadelphia Airspace by the airports control tower sir. It’s your call.”

“Commander, proceed down to the far eastern edge of the airport where we are supposed to have a car waiting for us,” Forsythe said, removing his weapon and checking its status, indicating for Jim and Rocco to do the same.

“It’s time gentlemen. Lock and load.”

The night vision gear was an ideal asset for Igor as he maneuvered the Forts manicured dirt trail, careful to avoid the moats muddy bank on his right-hand side. He had his weapon positioned in front of him, ready for any unforeseen dangers as he approached what appeared to be a sharp turn in the Forts structure. Positioning himself flat against the Forts brick wall, he was able to peer around its edge with his awkward head mounted gear, not wanting to be surprised by anyone on the other side. Taking a quick 5-second glimpse, Igor was able to view two men, one with a flashlight standing above another man in an apparent hole no more than 20 meters away.

So I see he has help, Igor thought, peering once again around the wall, this time for a few seconds more. With him able to clearly see the area around him and any potential pitfalls that the terrain provided, Igor decided to make his way towards the figures position. Luckily for him, Igor was able to view the figures clearly due to the subject’s flashlight providing the illumination source for his night vision gear, enhancing the view usually relied upon the moons light to provide daylight viewing conditions.

Carefully maneuvering close enough to overhear the men’s conversation involving money and a metal case, Igor realized he had acquired his rebel. The chase was about to reach a climatic end. The other man with him was apparently a newfound accomplice or quite possibly a buyer, not that it mattered for they were both about to meet their respective God. This was not a situation where prisoners are to be accorded the rights of the Geneva Convention.

Igor took advantage of the animated discussion to quietly approach his subjects, positioning himself behind an old oak tree for security, fixing his weapon on the uniformed man standing over the hole.

Taking a deep breath, Igor readied for battle once more, before announcing himself. “If you would both stop what you are doing, I can remove that case you are arguing over and be on my way.”

The security guard was caught off balance from the unexpected appearance of the person behind him, turning quickly in response to the intrusion, his weapon making the turn before his body.

Igor had no choice but to shoot before the man chose to shoot first, able to squeeze off one quick shot from his weapon, the bullet propelling forward where it entered Tom’s chest cavity, killing him instantly and the momentum tossing his body rearward towards Peter. Unfortunately, the sudden flash from Igor’s weapon temporarily blinded him due to his night vision gear magnifying any light source. It was as if a flashbulb had just illuminated directly in his eyes.

With the weapons sudden discharge, Peter saw an opportunity to take advantage of the situation and retrieve his own weapon. Searching the murky darkness, Peter located it opposite his shovel. Quickly retrieving it and rolling back into the hole he had dug, removing the safety. The area’s sudden popularity was starting to alarm Peter as he lay with his back braced against the fresh earthen wall, ready to repel the new invader.

Igor removed the night vision headgear, throwing the delicate electronic piece carelessly to the ground, blinking several times in a fight to clear his vision of the effects of the guns sudden flash. Feeling foolish; he of all people should have realized the blinding effects provided by the weapon’s discharge on the night vision gear. Standing out in the open, he suddenly realized he was a sitting duck, falling flat to the ground, his weapon pointing towards where he had last saw Peter.

Peter was trapped. That much he realized. His immediate choices were fast appearing grim. The hole he had just dug was now taking on some resemblance of a grave. If this newcomer had any company with him, they could easily surround Peter’s position due to the Forts wall being on one side and the river on the other. There was only one chance of escape — Peter had to kill whoever was out there. Leaning out of his hole, Peter fired a shot in the general direction of the man in front of him, the shot echoing loudly through the night’sair. At least that might postpone a charge towards his somewhat defensible position — with the outsider now realizing he was armed.

Igor instinctively ducked his head, hugging the ground even more if it were possible, and the bullet ricocheting off the Forts brick wall before embedding into the dirt in front of him. Peter aimed his own 9mm and placed a shot into the pile of dirt in front of Peter, the weapons noise being the only sound in the darkness besides the whirling blades of a helicopter landing somewhere off in the distance.

“Why don’t you give up and come out with your hands up, surrender before I have to kill you,” Igor yelled, hoping he wasn’t killed himself by some errant bullet.

Looking to his left, Peter could see that the Titanium case was easily within his arms reach. He could pull it into the hole and code the weapon for an immediate detonation. That would enable him to still accomplish his mission. He would die a martyr’s death.

Looking to the east, Peter realized the time had come. Positioning himself for a rapid 2 shot burst to keep the other man off guard — Peter leaned up and out of his hole, firing before grabbing the case, sliding it onto his lap. This would be his grave.

Igor was ready for this, knowing the type of criminal he was dealing with. He was a fanatic. The two shot burst caused Igor to once again dive for the exposed ground, waiting until Peter had pulled the suitcase into the hole, knowing he would be slightly off balance by the case’s sudden weight. This could work to Igor’s advantage. Jumping up from his position, Igor ran the remaining 5 meters up to the dirt pile, diving at its base causing some of the dirt to fall in on Peter who now couldn’t turn around or get up due to the suitcase being on his lap. Igor then reached over the top with his weapon and fired two shots of his own into the hole, not worried about hitting and damaging the weapon due to its protective titanium case.

Igor waited several seconds before repeating the motion. He then rolled around the dirt pile with his empty weapon still fixed on where he expected Peter to be, seeing Peter was right where he had anticipated — only he was already dead from a gapping head wound — the suitcase on his lap, unopened. He reached over to grab the security guards’ still lit flashlight, prying it from his hands. Igor then reached down to remove the case from Peter’s lap before he saluted both and bid a quick exit from the area. He had his own schedule to meet.

Choosing to use the security guards flashlight instead of the night vision gear was an unwise decision as far as Igor was concerned — but he was in a hurry.

“Did you hear that?” Forsythe said in a hushed tone.

Rocco and Jim instinctively dove for cover outside the Forts front entrance, the popping noise sounding as if a string of firecrackers had been set off.

Rocco was first to respond. “Definitely 9mm shots.”

Jim was next. “It sounded like it came from the footpath.”

“From the information we have on the Forts layout, this is the only way out,” Forsythe said. “We’ll stay here and take him or them when they emerge.”

Forsythe removed his own 9mm Beretta from his leather shoulder holster.

“Rocco you take the first shot,” he ordered, knowing that Rocco had a night scope mounted on his weapon. He also wouldn’t miss.

“Roger that boss,” Rocco replied, flipping around his black baseball cap so it wouldn’t interfere with his shot.

Forsythe watched as his men expertly dispersed across the trail without so much as an order from him, taking up positions exactly where he would have placed them.

Experts all.

Igor had committed the one mistake a true professional would never think of, complacency. With his objective reached, a natural letdown ensues. It was the body’s way of controlling emotions, the same way a pressure valve allows steam to disperse harmlessly into the atmosphere. Being a professional soldier, he should have realized the dire consequences that could present themselves.

Igor was already thinking of the next stage of his operation, not concentrating on the present. Flashlight in one hand, the suitcase in the other, Igor hoped he could take the morning Aeroflot flight to London. There he would meet up with General Poszak and Sir Robert and together they would deliver the weapon to Jerusalem. At least, that was the plan.

Lifting the flashlight temporarily from the path, Igor shone it ahead to see how much further he had to the bridge. As he did, he spotted the three FBI agents lying across the path in front of him. His weapon was in his pants pocket, not that it would have made a difference.

Igor never realized what hit him.

Rocco let out a quick burst that cut Igor in two — the Titanium case dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

Forsythe was the first to move forward. “All right let’s check the immediate area and then get the hell out of here before anybody realizes what’s going on.”

Rocco held his weapons stock squarely against his shoulder as he surveyed the scene through its night vision scope, walking down the dirt path, wanting to verify the spot was right where Boris had said the weapon would be. They didn’t need another weapon being on the loose.

Jim moved quickly to check the status of Igor, a look of surprise emerging on his face when he realized it wasn’t who they expected. Seeing the man’s body essentially cut in half from Rocco’s burst, Jim reached over the body to grab the case. Opening the case’s latches, Jim viewed something that had lay hidden for over thirty-five years, seeing it was indeed what they were looking for.

“We have it boss,” he said aloud to Forsythe.

At the same moment,Rocco came running down the footpath to confirm that there were two additional dead — one being their suspect.

Boris was right on with his information, not that he would care, for at that very moment he was already being in-processed to the FBI witness protection program, taking the name of and identity of one Jack Forney of Oklahoma City.

Case closed.