Resurrection Day (52 page)

'Thirty-six hours is insane. The Americans can never comply with all your demands in time.'

'They're already complying, Gorev.' Mohamed Rashid looked triumphant. 'They've started a complete withdrawal from Saudi and the Gulf. Whether they can meet our deadline is their problem. But by bringing it forward, we pressured them into seeing sense.'

'Like the bomb last night, is that what you mean?'

'It was a necessary warning, Gorev. And it worked, you can't deny that. You know as well as I do that the success of any mission depends on speed, aggression and surprise.'

Karla and Gorev stood in the centre of the living room. Gorev was angry. 'And whose idea was it to use the bomb?'

'Abu Hasim's. It was planned months ago, a necessary strategy in case we had need of it.'

'Are there any other strategies you haven't told me about?'

'Don't be smart, Gorev. And since when did you assume you had a right to know everything about al-Qaeda's plans? You shouldn't complain. It's got the kind of results you want. The Americans will release all their prisoners before the deadline they'll be flown to Afghanistan — and it won't be long before the Russians and the others are forced to do the same. Now the Americans have seen how far we're prepared to go, they'll bring unbearable pressure on Kuzmin and the rest — use whatever means they have to save their capital before the deadline runs out. It's what you wanted, Gorev, isn't it? Your comrades set free. And you, Karla Sharif. Or don't you want your son back?'

'What if the others aren't released?'

'They will be. Where's your faith, woman? Don't you see what we've achieved? In the last two days we've gained more than in decades of struggle, but only by showing the Americans we mean business. Which is why we have to be prepared to see this through to the end — stand by our threat until the last second.'

Rashid reached for his backpack. 'Enough. You should both be grateful this has gone as planned.' He looked at Gorev. 'You have an appointment to keep with this man Visto.'

'This evening, at five o'clock.'

'You'd better take the motorcycle. I'll have need of the car later, and won't be back until late.' Rashid turned to Karla. 'Go with him, in case that wound of his starts to act up.'

Gorev reached towards the coffee table, picked up his Beretta, which Karla had returned, and checked the action. 'There's no need. She's been in enough danger already. And I'm able enough to drive alone.'

'It's not you I'm worried about, it's our operation. You'll do as I say. She goes with you. She can wait somewhere near by, out of harm's way, while you attend to our business.'

Karla touched Gorev's arm. 'It's all right, Nikolai. I'd rather go.'

Rashid undid the straps on his backpack, plucked out a wad of dollar banknotes, handed them to Gorev. 'The rest of Visto's money. Give him what you have to, the remainder when he delivers. And remember, watch yourselves. The Americans may have promised not to search for us, but we know that's a lie. Their police and FBI will still be on the lookout, you can depend on it. If you're stopped, challenged, or find yourselves in danger, get away from trouble as fast as you can. I don't want us compromised, not at this late stage.'

Gorev tucked the Beretta in his jacket pocket. 'Don't worry, I've no intention of being reckless.'

Rashid took an interstate map from the backpack. 'You'll tell Visto you want to take delivery of the equipment tonight.'

'Where do we store the van?'

'Here, in the garage. It ought to be perfectly safe until we have need of it.' Rashid unfolded the map. 'I'll show you exactly where I want Visto to make our rendezvous. And don't botch this, Gorev. Our plans may depend on it.'

Washington, DC 1 p.m.

Benny Visto lay half naked in bed. Beside him, wearing only a black G-string and stiletto heels, was one of the new girls who worked his stable.

She was nineteen, half Cuban, half Puerto Rican, with big breasts and a slim figure. His head propped on a pillow on the king-size, Visto watched as the girl's tongue moved down his belly in slow flicking movements. He was just beginning to enjoy himself when the door opened and his cousin Frankie came in. He grinned as his eyes settled on the girl. 'You keep doing that, you're going to catch something, Benny.'

'Told you not to disturb me. The fuck's up?'

'The dude's here. Let him in the backyard. He's on a fucking motorcycle.'

'What dude?'

'One who wants the van and other stuff.'

'Find Ricky. Have him haul his ass up here.'

'What about the guy?'

Visto got up off the bed, pulled on a silk dressing gown. 'Dude sure knows how to pick the wrong time.' He clicked his fingers at the girl. 'Get the fuck out. I got business.'

'S ... sure, Benny.' The girl pulled on her clothes and left in a hurry. Visto plucked a small plastic bag of white powder from a sandalwood humidor. 'Motorcycle, you said?'

Frankie nodded.

'Get Ricky while I go take a look.'

Visto dressed and stepped into the kitchen at the back, overlooking the delivery yard below. It was enclosed by high stone walls and protected by a pair of sturdy metal gates. The blinds were closed and he opened them a crack and peered into the yard. The dude was standing beside a dark blue 1,000cc Honda, wearing motorcycle leathers and smoking a cigarette. Frankie came back, followed by Ricky.

Visto said, 'Take a good look, Ricky. You think that's the John in the photograph?'

Ricky studied Gorev's face through the blinds. 'Looks like him, Benny.'

'You're sure the Feds didn't say anything about what they wanted him for?'

'Naw. Just showed me the shots. The dude, another guy — an Arab — and some bitch. Maybe it was the one with him in the car last time? 'Cept I didn't get a good look.'

'Maybe.'

'You going to call the Feds like they asked, Benny?' Frankie said.

'Later. Want to take a good look at the dude first, then see the Feds' shots, make damned sure it's the same one they're looking for. If it is, then we try and find out from the Feds what he might be up to, and if it's worth our while turning him in, before we even think of telling them anything. No use showing our hand just yet.' Visto grinned. 'Could be a lot more opportunity than I thought.'

'What you mean, Benny?'

'Think about it, Frankie — maybe we've got a chance to double up on our profits. Get a piece of the dude's action, and a reward from the Feds. But let's see how it swings, play it cool for now.' Visto looked down into the yard again, rubbed his jaw as he studied the powerful Honda. 'Motorcycle like that, might make things a little tricky for you to follow him, don't you think, Ricky?'

The Cuban grinned. 'No trouble. I got it covered. The way I planned it, one of my guys is driving a Goldwing. We're using cellphones to keep in touch and do it like a relay. That way, any of us can drop back if he spots us tailing him, and another can take over.'

'How many fucking guys you got?'

Ricky's grin widened. 'Four, including me. I'm in a pickup, Ronnie and Hector are in a car, and the other guy's on the Goldwing.'

'Sounds to me like a fucking convoy.' Visto nodded. 'OK, do your thing. Shouldn't be no more than ten minutes. Don't fuck up, hear?'

'Don't worry, Benny. He ain't gonna get away.'

Visto had a dangerous look as he patted the Cuban's scarred face. 'Better be right. Else you're gonna wish you were back behind bars. Got that, Ricky?'

'Sure.'

The Cuban left. Frankie said, 'Ricky ain't the fucking brightest. What if he loses him?'

Visto grinned. 'There's always the delivery later tonight, ain't there?' He dipped his thumb and forefinger into the bag, snorted a pinch of coke, felt the rush through his veins. 'OK, let's go see the man, show him what we got.'

Gorev tossed his cigarette away when he saw Visto come down the metal steps to the yard, followed by Frankie.

'Good to see you, man.'

'Have you organised everything I need?'

'We got the van. Had it painted today. Takes about twelve hours to bake dry. Have it by tonight, midnight at the latest, right on schedule.'

'What about the markings?'

'Made up just like you wanted. Ready to stick on.'

'And the rest?'

'Show the man the goods, Frankie.'

Frankie led the way inside the warehouse. He lugged two heavy grey plastic suitcases on to a trestle table, flicked one open. Inside, Gorev saw a collection of metropolitan police uniforms, complete with caps, and when he had inspected the items he nodded his satisfaction.

'They look good.'

'Ought to. They're the genuine article. Took a lot of trouble to get them.'

'What about the weapons?'

'Show him, Frankie. Make the man's day.'

Frankie opened the second suitcase. Inside were three police issue Glock handguns, with leather belts and holsters, and two Browning twelve-gauge shotguns. Gorev checked each weapon thoroughly. 'Satisfied?' Visto said finally.

'I think you could say that.'

Visto rubbed his forefinger and thumb. 'Then how about I see some more cash?'

Gorev produced a wad of banknotes, handed them across. 'Another five thousand, as agreed. Count it if you like.'

Visto counted the money, greedily stuffed it in his pocket. 'Seems like we're on the homeward stretch.' He looked back at the Honda. 'I figure you won't be wanting to take the merchandise now. Not unless you're thinking of hitching a trailer to that machine of yours.'

'I'll take everything when you deliver the van.'

'Cool by me, so long as you got the other ten grand. So, where you want to do it?'

Gorev produced the interstate map and pointed to a town in Virginia, thirty miles south of Washington. 'There's a crossroads here, at Piedmont. You swing left and come to a Lutheran church. A half-mile down the road on the right there's a turnoff that leads into a forest track. Fifty yards along the track there's a clearing. You can't miss it. I'll be waiting at the clearing. I'd like you there at precisely ten-thirty tonight.'

Visto nodded. 'Sounds good.'

Gorev folded away the map, stuffed it in his jacket. 'It's been a pleasure doing business, Mr Visto.'

'Pleasure's all mine.'

Gorev crossed over to the Honda, Visto and Frankie behind him. As Gorev started to climb on, Visto said, 'Mind me asking something?'

'Ask away.'

'Man can't help wonder what you need all that stuff for. Cop-type van, uniforms, weapons.'

Gorev pulled on his leather gloves, fixed Visto with a dangerous stare. 'I'm sure you won't take it personally when I tell you that it's perhaps best you mind your own end of the business, Mr Visto. Otherwise there's likely to be a serious misunderstanding.'

'Don't follow.'

'Somebody's liable to get hurt. Badly.'

The threat registered instantly, and for a second or two Visto bristled, grinding his teeth in barely concealed anger, but then he suddenly laughed out loud. 'Hey, no sweat, man. No sweat at all.' He patted the motorcycle. 'Wouldn't like to lose my ten grand, so drive carefully, man.'

'I'll try to, Mr Visto.' Gorev eased himself on to the Honda, gunned it into life. He flicked down his visor and drove out through the gates. Frankie locked them and strolled back.

'What do you think, Benny?'

'What do I think? I think we've got ourselves one sassy son-of-a-fucking-bitch, that's what I think.' Visto's face twisted in a savage look. 'That's the second time the dude threatened me. Who the fuck he think he is?' He took another pinch of coke, inhaled deeply. 'Know what I say? Fuck the Feds. Fuck them. Me, I'm goin' to have that dude's ass. Know what else? That motherfucker thinks he can cut me out of this deal, motherfucker's got another think coming.'

Moscow 13 November

In lightly falling snow, at exactly 6 p.m. the Mercedes S600 carrying Vasily Kuzmin sped in through the massive gates of the Kremlin. The limo turned into a private courtyard, and when the convoy of vehicles protecting Kuzmin's car drew up, his bodyguards climbed out smartly and escorted him in through double oak doors.

Two minutes later Kuzmin was being led into the warmth of his office by Leonid Tushin, his private secretary. A log fire was blazing in the hearth. Kuzmin had been due to attend an important civic function in Kalinin that morning, and his car was speeding its way along the ring road to make the appointment when he'd got the call from Tushin. He immediately cancelled the engagement and returned to the Kremlin. He wanted absolute privacy for the phone conversation he was about to have. 'Well?' Kuzmin snapped at his private secretary.

'The American President is waiting on the line, sir.' Kuzmin, in a sober mood, nodded. 'Put him through.'

Washington, DC 13 November

It was already dark as Gorev and Karla headed out of the city, taking 14th Street towards the bridge and Foggy Bottom, and then turning south-east on to Route 105. Ten minutes later, Gorev slowed, braked to a halt. Glancing in the side mirror, he kept his eyes on the dim headlights of a car that had pulled into a lay-by a hundred yards back. Karla thought there was something the matter with his wound, because he clutched his side as he leaned slightly to the right, but then he started to fiddle with something on the engine. 'What's wrong?' she said.

'There's a car stopped not far behind. Maybe it's my imagination, but I get the feeling it's been following us since we left the city.'

Karla was tempted to glance round, but Gorev said, 'Don't look back.'

'What do we do?'

'Carry on for now, see if I'm right.' Gorev shifted the Honda into gear again and pulled out. The road ahead twisted in a series of dangerous snake bends, with stands of trees on either side, but Gorev nonetheless suddenly increased power, taking the Honda up to seventy, rounding the bends sharply, noting that the headlights behind him matched his increase in speed. A quarter-mile farther on, Gorev rounded a tight curve in the road and immediately switched off all his lights, slowed, and swung left, pulling into a cluster of trees. He braked, turned off the engine and snapped up his visor. The car came round the curve and carried on, picking up speed. He caught a brief glimpse of the two men in the front, but he didn't recognise them. The car disappeared round the next bend.

'What do you think?' Karla asked.

'Hard to say.'

'But who could it be?'

Gorev frowned. 'Visto and his friends, maybe. I wouldn't trust his type, no more than he'd trust us. We'd better take another route to be on the safe side. Keep your eyes peeled, but don't look round. Use the mirror, Karla.'

Gorev turned the Honda round. He switched on the lights again, cut across the road, and drove back in the direction from which they'd come. Three minutes later they passed a gas station on the opposite side of the highway.

They didn't notice a powerful Goldwing motorcycle with a single rider that had pulled into the station forecourt seconds before they passed. A dark blue Ford pick-up had halted right beside it, the engine throbbing. Ricky Cortez was behind the wheel, the window rolled down, gritting his teeth as he watched the Honda go past just as he finished talking on his cellphone. He took the phone from his ear and called out to the Goldwing rider, 'Ronnie and Hector think the dude and his bitch might have twigged them. They're going to fall back a little. Get after the Honda and stay as far back as you can. We'll switch places every five minutes.'

'Sure, Ricky.' The Goldwing rider snapped down his visor.

'Keep in touch on the phone and don't lose them, you hear?' Cortez snarled. 'Fuck this up and Benny's going to have a fucking fit.'

The Goldwing rider nodded, revved, pulled out. He roared across the road, picking up speed rapidly as he followed in the direction of the Honda, and Ricky Cortez did the same.

Moscow 6.55 p.m.