Vector

Chapter 22

Wednesday, October 20

11:15 p.m.

Curt nosed the Dodge Ram into Oceanview Lane and navigated past the inevitable trash barrels.

“Why the hell don’t these people take these cans inside?” Curt complained.

“I wish I knew,” Steve said. “Hell, I’m not going to miss coming over here. What a shithole.”

Curt pulled to a stop in front of Yuri’s garage, where he’d parked on the previous visits. He turned off the lights and the engine.

“He better have the stuff ready for us,” Curt said. “Especially now that we have everything in place. We’ve lucked out having the captain on vacation. Your idea about us going in and telling him we were quitting after the event was the only part of the getaway I didn’t like. I don’t mind talking to the deputy. The guy’s a nerd.”

“Everything’s falling into place,” Steve agreed. “This time tomorrow we’ll be watching chaos in New York City on television from western Pennsylvania.”

“How many of those little timed detonators did you get?”

“A dozen,” Steve said. “Just to be sure.”

“You got your gun?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s go!” As Curt got out of the truck he grabbed the black rubberized canvas rabbit tool bag he’d brought from the firehouse. He’d checked its interior carefully for sharp edges or points. With the rabbit tool gone, there wasn’t anything in the bag sharp enough to puncture the sausages.

They walked in silence. When they reached the front door, Curt knocked. While they waited they both did a little two-step against the cold. With the clear sky, the temperature had plummeted, yet both were in T-shirts. Their guns were in holsters tucked into the small of their backs.

“What the hell?” Curt questioned when Yuri failed to appear. He pulled open the broken screen door and pounded on the inner door with his free hand. He looked at Steve. “If he’s not here I’m going...”

Yuri yanked open the door. “Sorry,” he said out of breath. “I was downstairs.”

Curt gave him a glare before stepping inside. Steve followed. Yuri closed and locked the door.

“Is it ready?” Curt demanded.

Yuri pointed toward the kitchen table. “It’s waiting for you. But first how about a toast?”

“Why not?” Curt said.

Yuri eagerly went into the kitchen and got the vodka from the freezer. Curt followed and looked down at the plastic sausages.

“How much is here?” Curt asked.

“Five pounds,” Yuri said while he got out three glasses.

“Are these the directions I asked for?” Curt questioned. He picked up the thick envelope and held it aloft.

“Yes,” Yuri said as he walked out into the living room. “And I included some suggestions of what you might do after your laydown for your own protection. Just a few helpful pointers.”

“Good,” Curt responded. He put the envelope and the canvas rabbit tool bag on the table and joined the others.

Yuri poured out hefty dollops in each glass. He then handed them out and took one himself. He raised it toward the firemen. “To Operation Wolverine,” he said.

Both Steve and Curt nodded. All three clicked glasses and then took swigs. Curt and Steve both sucked in some air after swallowing. As beer drinkers, they weren’t accustomed to such strong liquor.

“How did the Jack Stapleton chase end up?” Yuri asked loudly. “I can tell you, the first part was exciting.”

Curt and Steve exchanged glances. “Not so good,” Curt admitted. “We lost him in the park. So it’s a good thing that we’ve decided to move the operation up to tomorrow.”

“You are all prepared?” Yuri asked.

“We’re ready,” Steve said. “We expect the false alarm to sound at about nine-twenty-five. That would mean we’d be going in on the target at just about nine-thirty.”

“I’ll be ready to start at nine-thirty as well,” Yuri said. “Let’s have another toast.”

They touched glasses and drank again.

Curt wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We had a thought on the way over here,” he said. “Maybe it would be best if we used all the anthrax for the federal building and just forget the park.”

Yuri shook his head. “No, I want to do the park.”

“What if we insisted,” Curt said. He took a sip of his drink and eyed the Russian.

Yuri looked back and forth between the two firemen. “It would be too late to insist,” he said. “The pest control truck is already loaded with the other five pounds.”

“What about unloading it?” Curt asked.

“I can’t do that,” Yuri said. “The anthrax is loose in the hopper. I had to take the hopper off and load it down in the laboratory in the hazmat suit.”

“It’s not in plastic like ours?” Curt asked.

“No,” Yuri said. “The agitator action wouldn’t be strong enough to break the plastic.”

Curt nodded. “Well, it was just an idea.” He put his unfinished glass down on the coffee table. “Let’s load up so we can be on our way. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

The three men walked into the kitchen. While Yuri went over to the countertop to get the towel, Curt and Steve bent over the plastic sausages. Neither dared to touch them, knowing what was inside.

“You’re sure these things are safe?” Curt questioned.

“As long as you don’t break the seal,” Yuri said. He reached over and picked one of them up.

Curt and Steve reflexively stepped back.

“The outside has been thoroughly decontaminated,” Yuri assured them. “And it’s been heat-sealed to be completely airtight.” He extended the sausage toward Curt, but Curt pointed to Steve to take it.

Steve put out his hand. It was trembling slightly. Yuri laid the plastic sausage on his palm so that the ends hung down. It was about ten inches long.

“How many people could this amount of anthrax kill?” Steve asked. He hefted the object to appreciate its weight.

“A couple hundred thousand,” Yuri said, “provided it was dispersed properly.”

“The Fed building’s circulatory fans are going to disperse it fine,” Curt said. He grabbed the canvas bag and opened the top. “Let’s get the stuff packed up.”

Yuri handed Curt the towel. He used it as a lining for the bag. Once it was in place he had Steve reach in with the sausage he had in his hand. Curt gingerly picked up another and carefully placed it next to the first.

“You don’t have to be that careful,” Yuri said. “The plastic is surprisingly tough. There’s no way you could tear it with your hands.”

Encouraged, Curt picked up the other three sausages in turn and put them in the bag. He put the envelope in on top. Then he handed the bag to Steve.

“I guess that’s it,” Curt said to Yuri.

“Good luck,” Yuri said.

Curt started to turn, but as he did so, he drew his Glock from behind his back. In a quick smooth motion he whipped the gun around and pointed it at Yuri. Yuri’s eyes opened wide and his mouth went slack.

Curt pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Yuri in the middle of the forehead just above the eyebrows. Blood and bits of gore sprayed back and splattered against the refrigerator. Yuri collapsed, as if his legs had been taken out from under him.

“Jesus Christ!” Steve shouted in consternation. “What the hell did you shoot him for?”

Curt thrust his gun back into his holster. He nudged Yuri with his foot. He was still technically alive, although barely. With the gurgling noises he was making, it was apparent to Curt that Yuri’s end was near.

“I thought we were going to have the troops come back here later,” Steve cried. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to shoot him.”

“Are you going soft on me?” Curt demanded. He glared at Steve.

“Shit, no,” Steve said. “But you could have let me know you were planning on doing something like this. It scared the hell out of me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Curt snarled. “But the bastard pissed me off with the way he was acting. Did you hear the way he said it was too late to insist when we were talking about taking the anthrax out of the duster? It was like he was giving us orders. The irony is that I was trying to give him a chance. Hell, if he’d thrown in with us on the proper target and not this stupid, senseless terrorist stuff, I wouldn’t have done him in at all.”

Steve put down the canvas bag and went back to the coffee table. He picked up his glass and took a generous swallow of the cold vodka. He shuddered. “I just wish you’d clue me in ahead of time about what you’re thinking.”

“Come on, you pansy!” Curt said. “Get the bag! Let’s get out of here.”