Putin's Gambit

19

Fannie Legat tried to hide her disappointment when Anton Severov said he’d been recalled to his company. He told her while Amir was standing next to her and made no mention of their brief liaison. She hoped it meant something to him and she wasn’t just another woman he had met during his career. Soldiers expected women to melt at their feet, but she had gotten the impression Anton Severov was different.

She appreciated how he had considered what the Russian invasion might mean to the people living in Estonia, as well as his professional demeanor as he made sketches and notes about their route. He was nothing at all like what she had expected. And she hoped he felt the same about her. Since she’d been sixteen, all Fannie had considered were the wrongs against Islam. Over and over her teachers and imams had told her essentially that everyone outside of Islam was a danger, but that Americans and Russians were an actual threat. She would often hear the older men talk about their time fighting the Russians in Afghanistan. That was where Osama bin Laden had learned many of his tactics and honed his rhetoric. The younger men talked about fighting the Americans in Afghanistan.

Partly due to the difference in decades, but also to a different philosophy, the Russians used brute force and tactics that drove all of the Afghanis away from them. Their tanks would level villages, and they would kill indiscriminately. No one was even sure why the Russians cared about Afghanistan. The popular political rhetoric was that the dying Soviet Union had to assert itself somewhere in the world, and Afghanistan was the best place to show off its military power.

The Americans were not met with as much resistance. Much of the country rallied to them in defiance of the Taliban. Also, the American tactics were considerably different. They avoided civilian casualties whenever possible and had such precision ordnance that they were able to take out military targets with very little collateral damage.

In the mosques and schools she attended, this distinction was never made. They talked about America as a breeding ground for a new generation of crusaders who saw Islam as standing between them and oil.

This experience with Major Severov had put a human face on the enemy. He’d even made her consider all the people who died in the bank building in Bern who had no knowledge of what was going on and were no immediate threat to Islam. Was this her conscience popping up?

The U.S. and Europe was another story. The French had kept her bottled up in a ghetto. The Americans treated all Middle Eastern people like petulant children or criminals. She abhorred their decadence and wastefulness, what Amir would call “sinfulness.” She and Amir were what the West should fear. Intelligent and ruthless. Ruthless on a scale Westerners couldn’t easily comprehend. Not only would she give her life for the cause, but she would sacrifice any of her comrades, too. As long as she hurt the West she would feel fulfilled.

She was sorry to see the town of Valga, on the Latvian border, disappear behind them as she headed north to the border with Russia. She had to talk the Russian major into sitting in the front seat, because he didn’t like having Amir behind him, but he had agreed. Anton Severov mostly looked out the window but would occasionally glance over at her, and her heart felt like it would explode.

From the backseat, Amir said, “Perhaps once we get rid of you, we can straighten out Fannie and turn her back into a good Muslim.”

Severov shifted quickly in his seat to look back at the little Iranian. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s none of your concern. You must plan to oppress these people in Estonia. You will not have time to worry what Fannie and I do once you are gone.”

Fannie was about to say something, but she saw the look on Severov’s face. She decided to see where this conversation would lead.

Grabbing sleep in short spurts had not helped Derek Walsh, and now, in the early morning hours, he sat on the edge of the bed staring at a TV, which was bolted to the wall, with the volume turned down low as he flipped between the different news channels.

Alena still slept soundly as he tried to piece together the events he was watching from around the world.

The BBC America channel focused on the meltdown of the London stock exchange, which had lost more than 16 percent in the last two days. They mentioned a faulty computer trading issue but acknowledged that the majority of that crash was panic selling by major funds. The newscasts showed protests turning violent in front of Parliament and even Buckingham Palace. English youth with shaved heads hurled bottles and rocks at police huddled behind shields.

The Russia Today “RT” channel seemed to cover the events in Germany, England, and the U.S. with a degree of glee not seen on other networks. He had barely even noticed the channel before, only seeing it in certain hotels. For the longest time he thought it was some kind of offshoot from MSNBC because they often talked about the same subjects with the same tone. It wasn’t until recently he realized it was a news station owned by the Russian government. It covered American news in English, much like Al Jazeera America. In this case, economists Walsh had never heard of were talking about the inevitability of these crashes and the inability of Western nations to sustain any serious growth. Specifically, they talked about the American desire to dominate the world militarily, hampering its ability to advance economically.

Walsh shook his head and paused briefly on the Al Jazeera International channel, which surprisingly covered the events honestly. Its talking heads seemed disappointed that Islamic-based terrorism appeared to be on the rise again. They did not shy away from mentioning that the suicide bombers in Western Europe and the U.S. had mostly been identified as Middle Eastern nationals from Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and Yemen, and fighters who had been trained in Syria.

He listened for reports on death tolls in the U.S. Across the world there were people killed in attacks in Italy and France, a dozen more in London, twenty-two outside a military base in Germany. That made him worry about his friend Bill Shepherd.

One estimate was that over five hundred had been killed in Europe and more than two hundred in the U.S., with more than five times that seriously injured.

The biggest attack had been on a Swiss bank in Bern. More than seventy people were dead and dozens still missing in the massive debris. The investigation was still under way, but the size of the bomb indicated that it had been built into the structure of the building and had left a huge crater on one side and a shaky-looking column of offices along the rear. One report speculated that the bank was also the original site of the algorithm that was introduced into the financial markets. Even Walsh knew that couldn’t be a coincidence.

Finally he settled on CNN, which interspersed inspirational messages from the president with news stories implying the worst had passed. It also had a panel discussion debating whether the presence of police officers had incited any of the protesters and caused more violence than it hindered. Walsh couldn’t believe idiots that spouted that sort of bullshit. It was more popular and easier for CNN to carry that line than it was to look at the deeper issues and what would happen if the police were not in place. It reminded him of the protests in Missouri and how CNN jumped to conclusions about the use of force by a police officer, which were later definitively rebutted by forensic evidence. No one at CNN sounded eager to clear the police officer’s name.

Walsh finally shut off the TV in frustration but felt no closer to sleep. He slipped back up onto the bed and tried to breathe deeply and clear his head. At least he knew Alena was safe. Now he had to keep her that way.

Major Bill Shepherd had used the several twenty-minute breaks during the inquiry board to run out and check on his men, who were either near the front gate or getting their gear ready for another night out on the line. The questioning had gone on much longer than he’d anticipated, but no one had thrown him any curve balls. Once he got a line on the German Ministry of Justice representative, he understood she was trying to create a narrative that relieved the Germans of responsibility more than she was trying to blame the U.S. military. Either way, it was just another day on duty. So he was happy.

He slipped back into his chair as the members of the board of inquiry finished up phone calls and got their notes in order. Shepherd expected the base commander to make some sort of final statement, but it was the FBI agent, Maria Alonso, who surprised him.

The sharply dressed and attractive young woman said, “From my training and experience in police work, it appears that the real failure here was in the civilian police’s ability to control the crowd. I understand the need for the military to protect their base and personnel, but the civilian police should have that responsibility. I’d like to commend you, Major, on your decision to bring up marines, some of whom have had duty at embassies and understand the subtleties of security. Your actions undoubtedly kept the situation from getting out of control.”

The German representative turned in her chair and said, “Are you saying it is my government’s fault?”

The FBI agent remained calm. She even took a moment to flip her hair back over her shoulder. Then she said, “I’m not attempting to assign blame, merely complimenting the major on his actions.”

The German ministry representative said, “And you say the situation didn’t get out of control? There are more than twenty dead German civilians.”

All of the military men at the table were smart enough to stay out of this fight. The FBI agent sharpened her gaze and said, “The people were killed by a terrorist. All of the preliminary forensics indicate it was a single person with a bomb strapped to their chest. Something civilian police would have been in a better position to deal with had there been more police outside who knew what to do. So in that regard, yes, it is the Germans’ fault. I realize history has taught us that you will have a tough time accepting responsibility for something like that. But I can assure you, my report back to Washington will indicate that Major Shepherd and his men are heroes. My only hope is that action like that is not required again.” She looked around the table, then stared at the German ministry representative again. “I assume the German government will provide adequate security from here on out. Is that correct?”

Shepherd had to hide a smile. The base commander was a little more obvious as he leaned back in his seat and said, “I think that just about wraps things up here.”

Ten minutes later, as Major Shepherd was getting ready to leave the building and return to his unit, Agent Alonso stopped him in the hallway. He couldn’t help but say, “Thank you for coming to my defense.”

“No thanks are needed. You did a great job.”

Shepherd thought she was flirting with him, but if he was wrong, it would be terribly embarrassing, so he just smiled and turned back toward the door. The FBI agent caught him by the arm with her hand and said, “There are a few things about it I’d like to discuss with you if you have time.”

Shepherd turned and said, “I am at your disposal. I’m sure we can find an office to sit in close by.”

The FBI agent said, “I was thinking more along the lines of dinner.”

This time Shepherd couldn’t hide his smile.

Walsh went over everything in his head. He wasn’t used to considering people as suspects. So far, Charlie, the homeless vet, was the only person he could think of who would’ve talked, and that would explain how the Russians knew he was going to Alena’s apartment. But he wasn’t even sure that made sense. How would Charlie know where she lived or what her last name was? All Walsh had said was that she was a student at Columbia and lived near the campus.

Outside, the sun was just starting to rise. For most of his life, if he was awake at sunrise, it was for a positive reason. He was usually in a good mood. Either he had been out all night having a great time or he was so excited about something he got up early. He could remember growing up in New Jersey and getting up at dawn the first day after school was out just so he and his buddies could go exploring in some of the Pine Barrens. They often looked for the elusive “Jersey Devil,” always without success. Even in the service he felt like he got the most work done early in the morning.

Today was different. He was dreading the day. He felt like things could only get worse. Even with this beautiful woman lying in the bed next to him, he was losing his hope. If this was a conspiracy, someone had been brilliant in its execution. There was almost no way he could explain how someone else had made the trades on Thomas Brothers’ accounts. And the chaos that had followed had only muddied the waters and hindered any investigation.

He considered what would happen if he turned himself in to the FBI. He thought about Tonya Stratford and her background in banking. Would she be open-minded enough to listen to him? Finally he sighed and sat up in bed. He didn’t want to wake Alena, so he carefully got dressed and decided to go out to find bagels and coffee.

He needed to get his shit together.