Anton Kalinikov sat by the small window and watched the horizon darken as the plane headed west. His final job, he thought. He’d never allowed himself the luxury of thinking past his next assignment, it was too dangerous. But ever since he’d heard the staggering amount he was getting paid, his retirement plans became an irresistible reality.
“You traveling for business?” the voice next to him said. Kalinikov turned to see a middle-aged man with a pot-belly and a bookmarked copy of “The Iliad” on his lap.
Kalinikov smiled amiably and spoke with a tremendous mid-western accent, “Yes, I am,” Kalinikov said. “How about you?”
The man grinned. “Just coming back from a sales trip to Philadelphia. I’ve lived in Phoenix for almost forty years, so I’m practically a native.”
Kalinikov extended his hand. “Norm Jennings,” Kalinikov said.
The man shook his hand. “Marv Sinter.”
“What kind of sales?” Kalinikov asked.
“Medical supplies. You?”
“Insurance.” The word alone always put a damper on any conversation, so it was no surprise when the he spent the next ten minutes reading the airplane magazine. He’d achieved the desired effect.
The plane began to descend and the airline attendant made all of the necessary announcements. As Kalinikov was moving his seat into an upright position, Marv nudged him and gestured out the window.
“Look,” Marv said, pointing to a long line of headlights below them. The row of cars were at a virtual standstill and seemed to continue on for eternity. They were all going in the same direction away from the mountains and toward the desert.
“What is that?” Kalinikov asked.
“That’s the road out of Payson,” Marv said. “My brother is in one of those cars with his family. They’re all heading to Phoenix.”
“How long of a drive is it?”
“An hour and a half if you step on it. But the way that looks, it’ll be four or five hours.”
Kalinikov noticed no traffic going the opposite direction toward Payson.
“They really think this terrorist is going to destroy the town?” Kalinikov asked.
Marv shrugged. “After what happened a few months back, I wouldn’t blame them if they never returned. That sheriff up there is just inviting trouble.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because, he’s a target, that’s why. If he left town, the place would be safe again.”
Kalinikov grinned. “Is that what you would do? Run away? You would spend your entire life chasing bad guys, then one of them threatens you and your community and you’d run? Is that the kind of sheriff you would be?”
Marv grinned back at him. “You bet your ass. Especially if I had kids. I’d run like a little girl.”
Kalinikov stared down at the huge traffic jam below them. “Does he have children?”
“I don’t think so,” Marv said. “That’s probably part of the problem right there. Give a guy kids and their entire philosophy on life changes.”
“Really? Tell me about it.”
“You don’t have kids?”
Kalinikov shook his head as the plane bounced on clear air turbulence. “I have two nephews however. Does that count?”
“Sorry,” Marv said. “I can’t let you into the club unless you have one of your own.”
“I see,” Kalinikov turned to face his new friend. “And this Sheriff doesn’t have any children, so that’s the main problem?”
“Yes,” Marv said with a grin threatening to break out. “That’s the issue. He’s got too much testosterone. Give him some young ones and he’d soften up a little.”
“Let the terrorist do what he wants with the city as long as his kids are safe, right?”
Marv looked over at Kalinikov incredulously. “You’re actually having fun with this, aren’t you?”
Kalinikov smiled. “Of course.”
“What about you, tough guy?” Marv asked. “What would you do?”
Kalinikov gave it some thought. “Me? I’d probably track the terrorist down and kill him.”
Marv appraised Kalinikov as if seeing him for the first time. “You’ve got some years on you, Norm, but I’ll bet you could kick some butt when you wanted.”
Kalinikov gave him a paternal smile. “You have the wrong guy, Marv.” He gazed back out the window toward the tail of the spiraling line of cars. Toward Payson.
“I don’t even like watching hockey on TV,” Kalinikov added. “Too much violence.”
Lynn Harding was sleep-deprived and she knew it. Three straight days without more than a two hour nap. As the ASAC of the Baltimore Field Office, she’d just lost four of her fellow FBI agents to a Russian assassin hired by Temir Barzani. All of this led to a nervous stomach and bags under her eyes.
She sat in a booth along the side of the War Room, fifty feet below ground and tried to catch her breath. There were three separate booths along the perimeter of the room set up for officials to make and take calls without interrupting the flow of conversation around the table in the middle of the room. The booth looked very much like an old fashioned telephone booth with a much more comfortable seat and a soundproof glass door which allowed private conversations.
Her hand trembled from both physical and mental anguish as she pushed the button on her cell phone.
“Hey, Lynn,” Nick Bracco said in her receiver.
Just hearing his voice calmed her nerves. “Nick, how’s it going?”
“I’m still breathing, so I’ve got that going for me.”
Harding gazed out the booth window at the circle of men hunched over the round table with varying degrees of ugly expressions. Most hadn’t left the building in days and their ties were dangling from the back of their chairs while their shirts were opened to the third button or more.
“Nick,” Harding said, “it’s getting rough down here.”
“What’s going on?”
“Ken is pissed that Walt went over his head to the President.”
“Of course.”
“Well, now Ken has intelligence from Switzerland that a half a million dollars has been wired from Kharrazi Construction Company in Istanbul to a Swiss bank account.”
“Sure, payment for the murders of our team,” Nick said bluntly, putting it together quicker than even she’d expected.
“Yes, however that’s not how Ken is spinning this. He’s suggesting this is payment for an assassination of President Merrick. He suggests we focus our attention on the D.C. area and find this Russian before he gets to Merrick. He wants everyone to return back home to track him down.”
“Oh, so now all of a sudden he believes The Russian is in America?”
“Yes.”
“And if he’s wrong about this, he can say he was just protecting the President.”
“Uh huh.”
There was silence while Nick seemed to think it over.
“He doesn’t like Walt sending support my way, does he?” Nick said.
“No. Once this LAX thing blew up, he wanted everyone back here.”
“Boy.” Nick breathed out a long breath. “I knew the guy hated me for bagging Kharrazi, I just never knew how much.”
Harding said nothing. She waited to hear something she could use. Information was the most potent currency an intelligence agency could traffic. Those with it had the leverage. The average civilian had no idea how much the FBI and CIA used this leverage to maintain their status. Each one fighting for their own budget survival.
“I’ve got hunches, Lynn,” Nick said, “that’s all.”
Lynn glimpsed out the window and saw CIA Director Ken Morris glaring at her as if she’d just poured sour milk in his coffee.
“I’ll take it,” Lynn said, desperate for something to use against the CIA director’s power play.
“Well, Barzani’s still here for sure,” Nick said. “He called to threaten me, maybe hoping to rattle me, I don’t know. But he said if the President didn’t announce a reduction in troops in Turkey at his press conference tomorrow night, Arizona was going to look very different. Not America. Arizona. I think he’s planning something big here. He’s had months to prepare.”
“What have you come up with?”
Silence.
“Nick?”
“Nothing. I’ve got a weak lead from a Turkish cigarette left behind at Barzani’s safe house, but otherwise … nothing.”
“What about tonight? Has Barzani got something planned?”
“I don’t think so. He knew about the Prime Minister’s visit to the White House. He seemed to allow a reprieve until the President’s speech.”
Harding closed her eyes and took long, deep breathes. She could almost feel Morris staring at her from the table. They had just twenty-four hours before the President’s speech.
“Nick,” she said, “your best guess. What’s going to happen tomorrow night?”
“The President isn’t removing troops, is he?”
“No.”
She could hear Nick breathing, but nothing else.
Harding twisted her back, which was stiffening from all the sitting. “Nick, I don’t want Walt’s job.”
“I know that, Lynn.” Nick snapped. “This is bigger than our careers.”
“So why don’t you give me something I can run with?”
After a few moments of silence, with a reluctant tone, Nick finally said, “Palo Verde is the country’s largest nuclear power plant.”
Harding smiled with relief.
“Is that enough to keep Walt safe?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But it might be enough to save the country. I’ll take your instincts over Ken’s any day.”