Enemy In the Room (52 page)

He could feel adrenaline starting to pump
through his system. Once again he looked at the distance from his
seat to Mustafin, trying to gauge whether, with his left hand
cuffed to the armrest, he could stand, step, swing, and hit the
man’s head. It would be close. A few inches.

If I miss, he’ll kill me. But if I don’t
try, he’ll kill me anyway. I’d better swing low, in case he ducks
or pulls back. That way I’ll at least hit something.
His mind
knew that he had to try it, but his heart pumped faster and his
stomach was in turmoil.

A few minutes later the President finished
her speech, and a short question and answer session began on the
USNet News feed. Mustafin said, almost to himself, as he watched
the screen, “Hurry up. We need you back in the Kremlin before
seven.”

They’re going to take out the Presidents,
the Kremlin, the entire Russian leadership—plus our Secretary of
State and several senators!

David couldn’t focus on the questions being
asked. He kept thinking about his uncertain plan.
This will
never work. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m a dead man either way.
Lord, I…

At about 6:15 the questions ended, and Knox
looked at his watch. As they stood on the podium, he said privately
to President Harper, “Thank you again for coming. I know that you
and President Temirov have a state dinner at the Kremlin, so we’ll
try to get you out of here quickly.”

“No problem. Thanks for hosting us and for
agreeing to back our reforms. I know they’ll be good for the
country, and I appreciate your support. And thanks for the flags!”
She touched the pin on her lapel.

“Our pleasure. Have a Happy Fourth of July
celebration.”

“You’re not coming?”

“No, we have to head back for meetings
tomorrow. But all of our people are attending. I’m sure it will be
great.”

“Yes. Fourth of July fireworks in Moscow.
Who would have thought!”

Knox led the way over to the wide door
opening into the software assembly area. With smiles and a flourish
for the cameras, the Presidents, Knox, and Goncharov cut the ribbon
across the doorway. After general applause, Knox turned and led the
two leaders around the perimeter of the room. They stopped to shake
hands several times with other guests, and Knox continued to check
his watch. Finally, just before 6:30, he put his two guests in
their special limousine and waved good-bye as they drove off.

As the limousine left the compound, Knox
turned to Akbar Kamali, who had been shadowing him. Kamali nodded.
Knox moved across to Peter Goncharov, standing with a group of
guests.

“Peter, as you know, Akbar and I have to
leave. We have to prepare for an early meeting tomorrow back in the
States, so we must get airborne soon in order to make it. But I’m
really worried about David. When you hear from him, please let me
know. You’ve done a great job. I hope that all continues to go
well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Knox.”

Knox turned just as the black Mercedes
pulled up to the door. “Your bags are in the trunk,” Kamali said,
as he opened the back door for his boss.

As soon as they left the compound, the
driver stopped, smiled and produced a blue police light. He reached
outside his window and fastened it to the roof. In broken English
he said, “From friend with police. We go to airport very
quick!”

“Good!” Knox said, as he sat back and they
sped off.

Outside the Departures Area at LAX, Kristen
exited the bus from the parking lot first, then turned and took
Callie’s roller case as she stepped down to the sidewalk. It had
already been a busy morning. They had awoken early at the hotel,
driven to Callie’s apartment to pack her bag and leave a note for
Alex, then head to the airport. Kristen, who had been shepherding
her younger friend, finally breathed easier as they turned to walk
inside.

“We’ll use the kiosks to check-in, and then
I still have a card to the Business Class lounge from my USNet
days, so we’ll get some coffee and Danish.”

Callie smiled. “Sounds great. Lead on.”

At that moment, just two miles away, Yusef
pulled up to the mini-storage unit, got out, and, thankful that
there was no one else on his row that morning, entered the code on
the thick lock attached to the door.

Inside the corporate jet back in Moscow,
David watched the white light speed closer to Moscow. Mustafin
reduced the scale on the map as the missile came closer. At that
moment David detected some slight movement in the red light, even
though it was in Moscow.

The Russian in the video conference screen
said, “All right, control has passed to you. ETA is about
twenty-five minutes.”

“Yes. Thanks. I’ve got it. It seems to be
tracking the GPS repeater perfectly.”

David sat and watched. The USNet reporter
was interviewing a young Russian businesswoman who had attended the
reception.
When should I do something
? Mustafin was quietly
watching the screen, and he knew in the silence that the Kazakh
would hear his attempt to pull the pouch from under the seat. Just
then Mustafin turned around, looked at David, and smiled. “It won’t
be long now. Knox and Akbar will be here soon.” He turned back to
the console.

David edged to the left a few inches, so
that when he leaned over, he would have a better angle to grasp the
pouch.
Will it just pull out, or is it fastened somehow
?

At that moment the Russian general on the
video phone said, “Hey, isn’t the GPS repeater getting very close
to the Kremlin now?”

“Yes,” Mustafin answered.

“But looking at the ETA, that means the
missile will hit inside the Kremlin walls!” the general said,
clearly agitated. “We’ve always planned to hit them on the way to
Kuskovo Park. You said they would leave the reception and drive
there!”

“I guess they changed their plans,” came the
nonchalant reply.

It must be time. Lord, please help me. And
take me to you if I die in the next minute.

“But that was never the plan! You had us
prepare to take them out in the car, not inside the Kremlin, for
God’s sake.”

“Like I said, I guess they changed plans or
something.”

“But we can’t destroy the Kremlin! I agreed
to help get rid of a pious U.S. President and a weak Russian one—to
reestablish strong leadership in our country. Not to destroy eight
hundred years of our history.”

“I guess it can’t be helped,” Mustafin
replied tersely, as he moved the range scale again, clearly showing
the slow-moving red light to be inside the Kremlin, and the faster
white one rapidly approaching the city from the southeast.

As David leaned forward and reached down
with his right hand, the general on the screen was becoming
angrier. “Whoever you are, you must abort that missile! We can’t
blow up the Kremlin and the entire Russian government!”

David could just reach the pouch. He closed
his eyes and slowly started to pull.

Mustafin raised his voice. “General, you’ll
do whatever you’re told!”

Velcro. The pouch was held to the frame with
Velcro, and just as Mustafin yelled, David pulled all the way. The
pouch came off in his hand, and he sat up again, keeping the pouch
low and behind his right leg.

“We’re making great time,” Kamali noted, as
they raced down the last portion of Leninsky Prospekt before the
Ring Road, the blue light flashing and the horn sounding every few
seconds.

“Yes.” Knox smiled. “We might even get there
in time to see the missile hit.”

“I hope so,” Kamali replied.

The case with the Stinger missile fit easily
in the rented van. Yusef took time placing and wedging together the
several parts of the bomb for the van, as Salim had shown him.
First the explosives, then the bags of nails and ball bearings
packed around them. Finally the detonator plug, which he would
insert at the final destination, and the cell phone, which would be
attached to the detonator, and whose ring would be the trigger for
the conflagration. When he had finished and checked everything
several times, Yusef said a prayer of thanks and drove off. He was
headed to a high school located just north of the northern most
parallel runway.

Unknown to him, Perviz in New York would
soon arrive in his own van at a deserted housing construction site
not far from the southeastern end of the longest runway at JFK.

Meanwhile, Kristen showed her card at the
entrance to the lounge, and she and Callie went inside for some
much needed caffeine.

The white dot was moving rapidly toward the
outskirts of Moscow, and Mustafin and the general were now yelling
at each other in Russian.

This is it
! David pulled the pouch up
and moved it to his left, where he grasped it in his cuffed hand.
The flap was also held with Velcro. As quietly as he could, looking
up, he opened the flap and reached inside for the flashlight.
Full of batteries. It’s heavy
.

Switching back to English, Mustafin said, “I
don’t have time to deal with you, now.”

At that moment David stood, his legs
unexpectedly weak from sitting, took one step forward with his
right foot, and swung the flashlight for Mustafin’s right ear.
Sensing the motion, or seeing the reflection in the console screen,
Mustafin turned quickly to his right. Simultaneously he yelled,
ducked, and started to bring his hand up. But because David swung
low, the flashlight connected with the Kazakh’s right front temple.
David heard a crack, and Mustafin fell off the seat and hit the
floor. He didn’t move.
Should I hit him again
? Mustafin
remained still.

Gotta move fast
. David dropped to his
knees, and with his right hand grabbed Mustafin’s leg to pull him
closer. Reaching inside the coat, he found the automatic pistol and
put it on the seat. Then he fished inside the Kazakh’s pants
pockets, found the key, and unlocked his handcuff. For good measure
he quickly brought Mustafin’s hands together and cuffed them.

The fall had ripped the small headset off
Mustafin’s head, and it was hanging from the console. David quickly
put it on and sat in the chair. The missile was eight minutes
out.

“Hello,” he said.

The Russian general looked surprised and
said, “Who is that?”

Focusing on the videophone screen, David
said, “I’ve been here for quite a while, watching. I disabled the
other man. Do you know how to stop this missile?”

“Control has passed to your side. We can do
nothing. It’s going to be terrible.”

“I was listening to your argument, and I
assure you that the plan has always been to destroy the Kremlin. He
told me so a little while ago.”

The Russian appeared to curse. Then he
turned to his right, and the other man came back into view. “Simon,
did you know this?”

The other man shrugged. “What difference
does it make?”

“What difference?” the Russian yelled. “You
fool. I won’t be known as the man who destroyed the Kremlin!
Dmitri, Sasha! Come and take Mr. North. We’ll settle with him in a
few minutes. Now, who are you?”

“I’m David Sawyer. I’ve been watching what
Victor has done, but I don’t know how to stop a missile. Can we
abort it?”

“The codes are known only to those on your
end. We have never seen them. You are only a voice. At any moment
the missile will switch to terminal homing mode, the television
camera in the nose will come on, and then no one can abort it.”

“So how can we stop it?” David asked loudly
again, as he watched the flashing light cross into the Moscow
suburbs.

“I don’t know.”

David looked up at the code in the digital
window. “What about another GPS reflector code? Will it accept
another code to home on?”

“I’m not sure. It would have to be one
within its lock-on range. If the position is not acquired within
five seconds, it automatically switches back to the previous
one.”

“How do I give it a new code?”

“Scroll to the box, right click the mouse,
type in each number, and then press Enter. But hurry.”

David painted all the boxes with the mouse,
right clicked and then clicked the Yes box next to “New code?”

As each box came up he typed in 9-2-7-5-1-2,
then pressed Enter.

The code in the box changed, and he held his
breath. Suddenly the white light coming from the south turned to
the left, the ETA box blinked, and a new number appeared: 2:47.
Then the seconds began ticking down.

The Russian general said, “It took the new
code! What is it?”

“The GPS in my ID. Here.”

“My God!”

David ripped off the headset, looked outside
and saw the guard still standing watch.

He reached for his coat, pulled out his
wallet, checked that his ID card was inside and threw it on the
console.

He put on Mustafin’s coat, took the pistol,
then bent down and struggled to lift the Kazakh’s upper body. As he
dragged him aft, he noted on the screen that the picture had
changed to that of an aerial scene above rooftops.
Terminal
homing mode
!

He dropped Mustafin by the door and pulled
the handle to activate the stairs. Keeping his back to the opening
door, so that it might look to the guard like Mustafin, he picked
up the Kazakh again, slid the pistol into his belt, and started
backing down the stairs.

The guard saw one figure coming out,
dragging another, but he didn’t realize until David had one foot on
the ground that it was Mustafin being carried. He immediately
cocked his automatic rifle, leveled it at David, and started
yelling in Russian.

Help me. Please help me.

David turned slowly, his left hand barely
supporting Mustafin, his right hand in the air. He was staring down
the barrel of an automatic rifle, with an agitated Russian behind
it.