Putin's Gambit

36

Derek Walsh waited by Tonya Stratford’s front door as the car slowly drove past. He didn’t want to be obvious but felt like crowding against the wall away from the street. It didn’t look like a police car, and no one showed any interest in him. Suddenly he realized he was directly in front of the door so he jumped off the landing. He took a moment to reposition himself and was careful not to be too close to the front door if it opened unexpectedly. It was never a good idea to startle someone carrying a gun. He had left Charlie snoring soundly in the front seat of the VW when he made his way toward the front door of Tonya Stratford’s residence. He had no idea if she lived alone or had a boyfriend or maybe even her parents living with her. The Internet tended not to give that kind of information.

He was a little chilly in his simple white shirt with the sun just starting to throw light over the top of some buildings to the east. He was nervous, but this had to be done. He’d left his pistol under the front seat of the VW so there would be no mistake about what he was trying to do. He didn’t want to get shot now because of information he needed to get to someone about what these crazy Russians were up to. He should’ve realized it was a more sophisticated plan than just someone trying to rip off Thomas Brothers. His only leverage was the security plug, and no one was going to use it but him. He wasn’t going to tell anyone where he had hidden it and wouldn’t let it out of his sight once he had it in his possession.

Just as Walsh was starting to wonder how long he’d wait, he heard some movement inside the brownstone by the front door and noticed the lights upstairs were now turned off. Almost a minute later the knob of the front door turned and the door swung outward onto the low landing.

Now he wasn’t sure what he should say or when he should say it. Agent Stratford’s back was turned to him as she secured the door, so he just cleared his throat and said, “Good morning, Agent Stratford.” He tried to keep his voice level and calm.

It didn’t work as well as he had hoped.

Standing in the courtyard in front of the café, Bill Shepherd slipped the phone into the cargo pocket of his fatigues and realized quickly this was no mistake; he was in the real shit now. He slowly started to walk backward toward the Humvee as Fannie sped up to catch him, still trying to make it look like she was waiting for a rendezvous. Her right hand was inside her purse.

He turned his head quickly and saw that the two men on the sidewalk were now almost in front of his vehicle and the man with a duffel bag was setting it on the ground. This was a tough position between two threats, and he didn’t even have his weapon in his hand yet. He quickly calculated the rounds in his pistol. One in the chamber, and he’d counted fourteen in the magazine when he checked it, securing it in his waistband. But who was the bigger threat? Two unknown men near cover, or a woman who probably had her hand wrapped around a pistol at that moment?

He tried to be casual as he let his arms drop to his side and his left hand grasped the bottom of his fatigue blouse. He was going to move quickly once he lifted the blouse and reached for the pistol. He glanced around for his own cover. The only chance he had was to dive for some heavy potted plants, and even that didn’t give him much protection.

One of the men on the street shouted something in German. He thought the man was yelling to him, then realized it was a question directed at Fannie.

Definitely not a good sign.

Fannie Legat realized something was wrong once the major started walking toward her on the concrete path that weaved between buildings from the street. He was on the phone and getting information that made him hesitate. Some instinct told her she couldn’t wait. He wasn’t going to meet her. He looked splendid in his military uniform. That would make this easier. He was even dressed as her enemy. And if he was getting information about her, she needed to stop him before he could use it. She hated the fact that she might waste an opportunity to really hurt the U.S. military.

She stepped out of the café waving to him, hoping he would overcome whatever concern he had, but instead she saw him slip the phone into the lower pants pocket of his uniform, then turn and see her associates as they approached his vehicle. Both of the men were German-born Muslims who had been part of their movement since their teens. One of the men carried the plastic explosive that was to be placed under the vehicle.

She could see the hesitation in the major’s face as he looked back and forth between her and the man. Then he started to lift his shirt, and she realized he was carrying a gun.

Typical American.

As soon as Walsh cleared his throat and said, “Good morning,” he was shocked at how quickly Agent Stratford moved. She jumped away from the locked door and fell into a crouch behind the low landing. Somehow she had pulled a pistol and had it pointed directly at Walsh’s head.

Her first words were a harsh whisper. “How in God’s name did you find me?”

“The Internet. You’d be shocked at what you can learn on a few simple sites.”

She kept her position. “Just when I was starting to think you were slick, you do something this stupid. Are you crazy? After what happened last night the entire Bureau is focused on finding you.”

“Is that why you’re getting an early start?” He realized he had inadvertently raised his hands.

Tonya Stratford slowly rose to her feet with her gun still pointed at him. She scanned the area quickly, then focused entirely on him again. “Are you alone?”

“I have a harmless old man asleep in the car. He has nothing to do with any of this other than being concerned about my safety.” He noticed her eyes track across the street, then down to where the VW was parked. He was impressed with her powers of observation.

“Turn around and place your hands against the building.”

He didn’t argue. Once his hands touched the building he felt her kick his feet back farther so he was completely off balance. She quickly used one hand to pat down his body on both sides. Then she said, “Stand up and turn around.”

She took a couple of steps away from him and let the pistol drop to her side. “Lower your goddamn hands. You look like the victim of a street robbery.”

“At least you realize I’m a victim. I didn’t move that money. Those crazy Russians kidnapped me last night. If you can get me into Thomas Brothers for ten minutes I can prove to you I’m innocent, and at the same time we’ll discover who transferred the money.”

“There are still FBI agents over at that office working. I couldn’t get you through the front door without someone raising the alarm, even if I did believe you. Why don’t you give me the plug and I’ll get it to a computer.”

“This is no offense to you personally, but I’ve been through too much the past few days to let anyone else handle the security plug.”

She nodded slowly and said, “I can see your point.”

“C’mon, Agent Stratford, let’s cut the shit. You do believe me. I could tell last night. I could tell when I called you. You know there’s something fishy going on here, and I can point you in the right direction. If all else fails you’ll still have me in custody at Thomas Brothers.”

“I have you in custody now.”

Before Walsh could answer, he heard a rough voice say, “No you don’t. Drop the pistol.”

He looked up and Charlie was standing there, pointing a pistol at the FBI agent. All he could do was cry out, “Charlie, no.”

Shepherd never panicked as he pulled the semiautomatic pistol from the leather inside-the-pants holster. Instructors at Officer Candidates School at Quantico would have fainted if they saw him carry an official sidearm in such an unorthodox and unauthorized holster. Today it did the trick perfectly. He pulled the pistol and moved quickly to dive behind the cover of the heavy potted plants to the side.

The first bullet came from the street and flew wide of his position. Fannie hadn’t started firing at him yet. Somehow, in the odd void of time in which firefights take place, he was able to think about how he wouldn’t want to shoot a woman he had feelings for. Even if she had never reciprocated them.

Then a smaller-caliber bullet struck the cement near his head. That was Fannie. She had retreated to the edge of an outdoor stairway and had heavy concrete protecting her. He thought she was firing a .380. Not that the smaller caliber wouldn’t kill him if she found her target, but for right now he was focusing on the man with a 9 mm who was standing in front of his Humvee and apparently didn’t think anyone would shoot back. That was a guy who had never been in combat.

Shepherd risked popping out from behind the heavy planter, aimed his pistol, and fired three times. The man had already started to fall to the ground as Shepherd ducked back behind the planter. Now he turned his attention back to the stairs where Fannie was hidden. He couldn’t see her and tried to figure out if she had changed positions. The last thing he wanted was her popping up out of nowhere with a pistol in her hand.

In the big scheme of combat, this was not particularly challenging to a marine who had fought in Afghanistan and Iraq. He had been part of the battle for Fallujah and seen what street-to-street fighting could be like. Having a couple of middle-class Europeans haphazardly shooting at him didn’t concern him as much as what was in the satchel one of the men in the street was carrying. It could be anything. His imagination took hold and he decided he had to leave this secure position and stop the remaining man in the street from causing some serious casualties in a civilian neighborhood.

Shepherd peeked out from behind the planter and couldn’t see Fannie anywhere. He turned his head, scanned around the Humvee, and saw the man near the back of the vehicle. Shepherd sucked in a lungful of air, then didn’t hesitate once he decided to move. He sprang up from behind the planter and rushed the vehicle with his pistol up in front of him. He couldn’t risk glancing behind to make sure Fannie wasn’t about to shoot him in the back.

He was about halfway to the Humvee when he heard the first shot from behind him.

Fannie had been shocked at the quick and decisive action from the U.S. Marine major. It reminded her of all the propaganda she had ever seen or read about the U.S. Marines being the finest fighting force in the world. Maybe it was true. She also wondered how he became suspicious. It appeared that someone had called him with information, because he’d been walking to meet her and then slowed. His facial expressions gave away everything she needed to know. Now she wasn’t sure what would happen. Her grand plan of destroying the front gate of the base was ruined. Her only hope for the cause was that the death of an officer near the base would sow seeds of concern among the troops. Perhaps they could use the bomb in some other way.

She had sought cover in the cement walls of an outdoor stairway. She fired one round to the area of the courtyard where the major had jumped. There were heavy planters filled with soil and growing a variety of plants and bushes. When she peeked around the corner ten seconds later, she saw the major pop out from behind one of the planters and fire three times toward the street. She didn’t know if he hit anything, but he clearly was uninjured and still capable of defending himself.

For a brief moment, Fannie considered cutting her losses and fleeing. She was much too valuable to the organization to waste her skills, skills no one else possessed, by being killed or captured trying to kill a single U.S. military officer. Then she got hold of herself. She would never be able to face misogynists in her group who already thought women were weak. She could blow up a hundred banks and they would never give her credit for being cold and tough. If she ran now she would never hear the end of it. Besides, she had gone into this part of the operation without any authorization or acknowledgment from her superiors. They thought she and Amir were still acting as guides for Anton Severov. The Russian major was another reason she wanted to hurt the Americans. She would do anything to protect him. Fate was cruel and mischievous.

She peeked around the cement stairwell again just as the major moved from his position and ran toward the big, ugly military vehicle. She jumped out and started running behind him, still ten meters away. In front of the big vehicle she could see the body of one of her men crumpled on the ground. Why would the major risk himself like this?

Fannie fired once on the run and watched as a bullet flew wildly to the left. She thought it hit the vehicle, but she wasn’t certain. The major didn’t even look over his shoulder. He was focused on the other man, who was now emerging from the side of the truck with the satchel around his side and a small Italian machine gun up and ready to fire.

Her man was distracted when he saw Fannie running behind his target. It was clear he wasn’t confident all of the bullets would go just where he aimed. She watched as the major dove for cover behind a low, decorative brick wall. Fannie kept running toward him, knowing she would have an opportunity to shoot at him unobstructed as he sought cover from the machine gun. Just as she was about to reach the angle from which she could fire at him behind the low wall, Fannie saw the major sit up and shoot four times at the man with the machine gun and the satchel on a strap around his shoulder.

Almost immediately she realized the bullets could detonate the homemade explosives in the satchel. Before she could stop and line up a shot on the major, who was behind the wall again, a flash in the street blinded her; then she heard the explosion at almost the same time the shock wave carried the intense heat across her face and body. Her blouse began to melt across her arms, and she felt her long hair sizzle. Then the blast itself knocked her off her feet.

Even in her dazed condition as she tried to scramble for whatever cover she could find, she realized the second blast was the fuel tank from the military vehicle going up. It was even more powerful than the first explosion.

The heat, sound, and force of the detonation sucked the air out of her lungs as she clung to the wooden bench she’d crawled behind. She wondered if this was what hell would feel like.