Ops Files II--Terror Alert (18 page)

They stopped on the outskirts of Birmingham and had dinner. Their conversation remained innocuous, Jeff divulging no information about himself to Maya’s occasional questions. Once they were in the neighborhood of the paint store, they both fell silent as they sat a block away. A light rain had begun en route, driving any pedestrians off the streets and into the shelter of their homes.

They waited an hour, until the district was dark, and then made their way down the slick street to an alley that ran behind the shops. Jeff led the way, and soon they were at the steel service entrance, a pile of soggy empty boxes beside it providing cover from any casual observation from the alley mouth.

Jeff examined the door while Maya kept watch, and then he moved to the windows, taking his time, his movements measured and calm. When he finished, he leaned into Maya and whispered, “There’s a contact sensor system on all the ground-floor openings. I could try to bypass them, but depending on the setup, there’s a chance they could trigger a silent alarm.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“I’ll give you a boost. See if you can work the ventilation grill on the second floor loose and get in that way. Here,” he said, slipping her a multi-tool. “But watch for sensors. It’s unlikely they’ll have them on a vent, but you never know. Do you know how to spot them?”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m not completely without chops, Jeff.”

“That’s good to know. Let’s see what you can do, then. It looks too small for me to get through; otherwise I’d tackle it.”

She was up on the slim second-story brick ledge in seconds, the rim barely deep enough to accommodate the soles of her shoes, and she teetered as she inspected the iron grid. Seeing no hint of it being wired, she unscrewed the bolts and peered into the ventilation shaft, which smelled like solvent and dust. After a glance down at Jeff, who was hugging the shadows by the boxes, she leaned the grid against the brick façade and crawled headfirst into the duct. The darkness engulfed her as she squirmed forward, hoping there would be a reasonable egress at the other end.

An outraged squeak sounded from the shaft ahead of her, and rat claws scrambled away in alarm. Maya tried not to think about what she was heading toward and focused on moving forward, ignoring the pungent odor of rodent droppings that greeted her as she moved deeper into the narrow passage.

Her efforts were rewarded when she reached a larger junction and the steel shaft material wobbled where it connected. She flicked on a penlight and removed two screws using the pliers on the combination tool, pushing their points loose once she’d unscrewed them until she heard them fall against wood. The shaft came loose and she was soon in the dusty confines of an attic, with crates stacked around her and cobwebs hanging from the overhead rafters.

She found the wooden stairs that led to the shop below and extinguished her light, taking a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the near-complete gloom before cautiously stepping down to the main floor.

The computer system was still on, and Maya was able to quickly negotiate the menus and find the day’s sales. She peered at the screen, committed the order in question to memory, and then, after a quick look at the light seeping around the steel-shuttered main display window, retraced her steps and went back through the duct. There was no way to reconnect the junction properly, but she did the best she could to wedge it in place, hoping that whenever it was discovered the contractor would be blamed.

Five minutes later, she had the exterior grid back on and was standing in the alley with Jeff. Neither of them spoke as a pair of headlights approached the alley mouth from the street and turned toward them. Jeff stiffened as the silhouette of a police cruiser approached, and Maya instantly pulled him toward her and tiptoed to kiss him.

The car drew even with them and an amused voice called out, “Go on, you two, get a room somewhere. Isn’t safe to be out and about at this hour.”

Maya pretended surprise and looked at the car, where two officers were chuckling. Jeff recovered quickly and gave them a wave. “I’m working on it, officers. Good evening to you both.”

The car inched forward, and Jeff put his arm around Maya protectively and led her away from the pile of boxes. They ambled to the alley mouth and disappeared around the corner, leaving the police to continue their patrol as they hurried back to Jeff’s car.

Once back on the road, Jeff handed Maya his cell phone. “Enter the information you gathered before you forget the digits.”

“I won’t forget.”

He glanced at her. “Humor me.”

She did as he instructed, checked the display, and set the phone in the center console. “There. But the question is, what does it mean? Fifteen liters of red paint, delivered to a Birmingham address? Do they make bombs out of paint?”

“We’ll send the data to London and see what they come back with.”

“Why don’t we just head over to the address, since we’re in Birmingham, and see what’s there?”

“Because we haven’t been authorized to.”

“How long will it take for London to get back to us?”

“Depends on how busy the analysts are.”

Maya glanced at her watch. “What would be the harm of just driving by?”

Jeff frowned. “That’s not how we work. I play by the book, which means you do too. No cowboy antics.”

“Cowboy? Come on. Let’s take a peek.”

“No.”

“You know you’re going to wish we had when we’re all the way back in Manchester and London orders us to look into it.”

“I’ll take that chance.”

“For the record, I think we should go.”

“Yes, quite. I got that. But as your superior, I’m saying I don’t want to do anything that hasn’t been okayed by London, which is the appropriate way to treat the situation. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m afraid that’s the last word until they get back to us with instructions.” He retrieved the phone, thumbed in a number, and transmitted the information.

“I climbed through rat droppings to get that address, Jeff.”

“If you’re trying to sweet-talk me, it won’t work.” His tone softened. “Quick thinking on the kiss, by the way.”

“I’ve been trying to think of some reason to throw myself into your arms. It seemed like the perfect opportunity.”

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and darted to her face, which was expressionless. She held the blank stare for a moment and then they both laughed, the tension instantly vanishing as Jeff swung the car onto the highway for the long drive back to Manchester.

Reims, France

Vladimir watched as Vahid put the final touches on the bomb using the robotic mechanism in the shielded chamber. After the precision-machined top slid into place and the mechanical arm screwed it shut, the Iranian leaned over to the Geiger counter readout and smiled.

“There. No trace of radiation. It is done,” he said, his voice tired.

“Excellent work, my friend,” Vladimir said. “I presume it’s now safe to enter the vault and remove it, so we can mount it into the casing?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And it is sealed against the effects of moisture?”

“Airtight, as you can see. The timer and trigger are inside the protective sheath, so they will remain dry. And the antenna is built into the sheath, so you will be able to activate it with the remote with a hundred percent confidence.”

“The one aspect of this that troubled me was immersing it in liquid for the journey to England. If something were to go wrong…”

“It’s foolproof, I assure you,” Vahid said confidently.

“Very well.” Vladimir barked instructions to the two waiting men, who exchanged nervous glances before moving to the heavy steel vault door and spinning the latch wheel so they could enter. The Russian moved to the exit and motioned for Vahid to follow him. The physicist rose and accompanied the arms dealer into the warehouse, where a metal beer keg sat beside a work bench, a welding torch and mask by its side. “We will insert the device into the keg and weld it closed, and then fill it with beer. Anyone inspecting it will see one of hundreds of kegs of German pilsner bound for the UK. Even if they tapped it, they would get beer.”

“It’s a good solution. Do you really think it’s likely they’ll inspect it that closely?”

“Of course not. But I believe in overkill, and in the event there’s a zealous customs inspector who’s trying to earn points, I don’t want the plan to unravel.”

“A sensible measure,” Vahid agreed.

The Russian studied Vahid’s face, lined with stress and fatigue, dark circles beneath his eyes lending him the appearance of a raccoon. “And now, you’ve earned a day’s rest, I should think.”

“Yes, I’ll sleep for a long time. Dreaming of my new island home.”

Vladimir had promised the Iranian that he’d be transported to a tropical paradise in Malaysia, where he’d spend his days on white sand beaches, away from the troubles of modern society. Now that the bomb was armed and Vahid’s role was over, Vladimir would have to break the news to him that none of that would come to pass.

“Ah, yes, well, there’s been a change of plans. The islands are no longer an option, due to the local government’s aggressive security measures.”

Vahid looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Not to worry. You’ll be transported to St. Petersburg, where we have several homes available for your enjoyment.”

“St. Petersburg?”

“Yes. Don’t look so glum, my friend. I shall ensure your every wish is attended to. Women, a private chef, whatever you like. You are a valuable contributor, and we will have more battles to fight.”

“I was hoping to go somewhere warm, Vladimir. That was the deal.”

“Nobody is more regretful over this new state of affairs than I am. But we are swimming in treacherous waters and must adapt.” Vladimir slapped Vahid on the back. “I can promise you that your time in Russia will be most enjoyable. I have a young lady I will introduce you to who’s enchanting. A member of the ballet company there. Extraordinarily beautiful and charming. You are a lucky man.”

Vahid was obviously not sold, and his face betrayed his conflicted emotions. Vladimir gave him a moment to absorb the new change in their arrangements and then extracted a passport from his breast pocket and held it out to the Iranian.

Vahid took it, opened it, and then looked to Vladimir.

“So now I’m Russian? Isn’t it a problem that I don’t speak five words?”

“Not at all. We have many immigrants who left their countries to find better lives. Nobody will look twice at it. Besides which, it’s a legitimate document. You’ve been officially granted citizenship – political asylum.”

“Doesn’t that leave a trail my government can follow?”

“It would if we had used any of your genuine information.” Vladimir smiled. “You must trust that I am more clever than that. You’re a valuable collaborator now, and I shall ensure you remain safe. But I can best do that if you’re in Russia. At least for the next year or two. Your people have a long reach, and I’d hate for something ugly to befall you.”

Vahid swallowed hard, the veiled threat obvious. He was a traitor, even if his motivation was to see their common enemies in the West brought to their knees. That distinction would be lost when an Iranian agent had Vahid in the crosshairs.

He’d been naïve to believe that he would be allowed to retire to paradise and help out with a device now and then. Vahid had merely exchanged his cloistered life in Tehran for an equally limited one in Russia – although if his new benefactor was telling the truth, one with considerably more creature comforts than Iran afforded.

He watched the pair of Russian technicians move the newly armed device out of the vault on a wheeled cart and fought back the urge to scream at Vladimir. He had made a deal with the devil and now would have to live with it.

But he wasn’t happy. He’d risked everything to be part of the struggle against oppression, only to find himself the captive housecat of an arms merchant whose trustworthiness was seriously in question.

“Do you wish to supervise the placement of the device in the container?” Vladimir asked as the men stopped near the keg.

“No, I’m exhausted. I need some sleep. Your people seem more than competent. You’re confident that you will be able to get it into England in time?”

“Absolutely. I’ll fly over tomorrow to supervise the exchange myself.”

“Sounds like you have it all under control.” Vahid stifled a yawn. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Let’s get you to the apartment. We won’t leave for Russia for another couple of days. In the meantime, you’ve more than earned your relaxation time.”

Vahid followed Vladimir to the roll-up door, his footsteps leaden, his fatigue increasing with each step. The hard part was done, and soon his handiwork would change the world order; but a part of him wondered whether he’d truly thought through the ramifications of depending so heavily on an ally about whom he knew so little.

One thing was certain, though. There was no going back, so he’d have to make the best of whatever the future brought.

For now, he would sleep.

And in only a matter of hours, his device would be front page news in every country.

The thought made him smile, and for a moment the image of a long-haired ballerina wearing only a smile, beckoning to him from a king-sized bed, popped into his mind.

Perhaps Russia wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Manchester, England

Gray light filtered through the curtains of the safe house as Maya padded to the door to answer it. Jeff stood on the porch, his jacket damp from another day’s drizzle, the day half over and still no word from him on what action headquarters wanted them to take on the information they’d discovered the prior night.

“Nice weather,” she commented as he stepped inside.

“This is the dry season. You should see it when it’s ugly.”

“Did you have to fight someone for this duty, or did you lose a bet?”

“Could be worse. At least we’ve got indoor plumbing.”

Maya escorted him to the kitchen. “Tea?”