Days of Rage (31 page)

W
hen Akinbo exited the restaurant he saw that Kristov had been replaced with a new man. He attempted to engage the driver in conversation, but all he managed to learn was his name. Oleg. Something that sounded as foreign to Akinbo as the heavily accented English the man spoke.

Akinbo felt Oleg looked exactly like what a Cossack thug should be. A single thick bony brow and a coarse beard. The man’s breath stank of boiled eggs and stale cigarettes, making Akinbo want to roll down the window.

They rode in silence to the DHL storefront, Akinbo worrying the problem in his mind. How to get both keys.

There was no question in his mind that the second key held the means of mass destruction. There was no other explanation. What he questioned was why the Russians were willing to use him to set off a dirty bomb, but not a real nuclear explosion. The only reason he could see for the self-imposed limitation was the fear that the world would understand Russian complicity in the attack. Like all the cowards in the West, they feared the wrath from using the device instead of embracing it.

The truth was he hated the Russians as much as any of the infidel regimes. They
all
stank of boiled eggs and stale cigarettes, and they all needed to be cleansed. There was no such thing as coexisting in peace. He’d watched his village live in poverty since he’d been adopted, the people scraping by trying to compete in a world that was inherently unfair. The south owned the oil, and because of it, they owned the happiness. Exactly opposite of what the Prophet preached. There was no help from anyone who believed the West. No help from the Christians. The only help was through their own exertions, and the only path was through Allah.

The dim memory of his father shamed him, as he was once one of the oppressors. It made Akinbo quiver in quiet rage, praying harder and harder for forgiveness. Praying that he would get the chance to strike back at the inequality. And now he could.

He said, “Oleg, I was told I would get the key for the weapon. Do you have it?”

“I do, but you won’t get it until you mail the package. That’s your ticket.”

“Where is the package?”

“In the trunk.”

“And the key?”

Oleg looked at him with his snake eyes, drawing on a cigarette. He said, “What fucking difference does it make?”

“The difference is I’m about to risk my life on a bill of lading you created, taking a bomb into DHL. I’d like to know I’m not being used.”

Oleg stopped at a red light. He glanced at Akinbo, then reached behind the seat, pulling up a small black corduroy nylon bag. Military looking, with loops and velcro all over. Oleg unzipped a top pouch, showing the vinyl sleeve with the two keys. Deeper in, Akinbo saw a pistol and what looked like brass knuckles.

Oleg said, “There it is. Now shut the fuck up.”

They drove in silence for another ten minutes, then Oleg pulled into a parking lot. He said, “The DHL store is around this corner. The device is in the trunk. I’m sure they have cameras, and I don’t want to be seen driving in. When your attack is done, everything will be analyzed. You will drive from here.”

Akinbo nodded slightly, then said, “You’ll wait here? You won’t leave me?”

Oleg laughed and said, “No, I’ll be here. Don’t wreck the damn car.”

Akinbo said nothing. Oleg reached behind him, pulled out his go bag, and exited the vehicle. He said, “You’re gone more than twenty minutes, and I’ll hunt your ass down. You won’t like the results. I promise.”

Akinbo put the car in drive without responding. He saw the DHL storefront as soon as he turned the corner. He pulled in, parked, and opened the trunk, seeing the weapon inside. A square piece of plastic luggage that looked like a modern Pelican case, complete with butterfly closures. It was something that transported a myriad of innocuous equipment around the world on a daily basis, now secured with padlocks to prevent entry.

He went inside, initially nervous, but he gained courage by watching the actions of others. He presented his bill of lading, filled out the paperwork presented, then signed. The machine spit out a complex receipt, and he took it. He went to the car, hoisted the box out, and placed it on a dolly, wheeling the weapon inside. When the man behind the counter placed his hand on the dolly, Akinbo said, “Does this have to go to an address, or can I pick it up?”

The man said, “Yeah, you can pick it up. Save you some money, actually.”

Akinbo smiled and said, “That would be better. The address I gave you isn’t for sure yet. I’m worried about losing these tools, but I won’t be able to pick the box up immediately. Can you hold it?”

“Yes, but not forever, and it’ll have to be at a distribution facility.”

“I understand.” Akinbo pulled out his wallet, saying, “I’d like one in São Paulo. Can you do that?”

The agent squinted and said, “That’s nowhere near this address.”

“I know, but my company is located in São Paulo.”

“Okay. If that’s what you want. I need to redo the entire transport application, though.”

Eight minutes later he was back in the car, slowly driving back to Oleg and wondering what his next move would be. In order to get the second key, he needed to separate the man from his bag. What would do that? How could he get Oleg to turn his back and leave something that was as attached to him as a pacemaker?

He pulled around the corner and saw Oleg standing next to the shell of a pay phone, the phone itself long gone. He parked next to it and waited until Oleg was inside, then said, “Here is the receipt. Please pass the keys.”

“
Keys?
You only get one key.”

“What about the padlocks on the outside?”

Oleg unzipped his go bag and pulled out the vinyl sleeve, saying, “Use bolt cutters. I don’t have the keys for them.”

Akinbo took the single key and said, “Why can’t I have the backup as well?”

“Cause Jarilo said so. Let’s go. Head to Tegel Airport. You got about two hours before your plane takes off.”

Akinbo pulled into the street, feeling his opportunity slipping away. He drove south, weaving through the congestion toward the airport. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, and saw the bag sitting in Oleg’s lap. No way to get to it.

Ten minutes of fruitless thinking later and he reached an intersection with a sign proclaiming
TUNNEL
FLUGHAFEN
TEGEL
. The Tegel Airport tunnel. Once he entered that, there would be no further chances. The next stop would be the terminal building.

He glanced again and saw nothing had changed. Oleg held the bag on his lap and was gazing out the window. Through the glass, Akinbo saw a police officer mounted on a late-model BMW motorcycle.

He returned his eyes to the front, seeing the light still red. The police officer jarred loose a single thought:
Oleg will hide the bag from him
. He made his choice, goosing the gas pedal.

Oleg shouted, “Whoa!”

Akinbo slammed on the brakes just as they skidded into the car in front of them, an old Peugeot sedan, crumpling the bumper. They had traveled no more than five feet.

Oleg leaned forward, surveying the damage to the car in front. He slapped the dash and said, “You fucking idiot. What the hell are you doing?”

Akinbo said, “Police officer to the right. He’s coming this way.”

Oleg stuffed the bag under the seat and said, “Stay here. Don’t say a fucking word.” He pulled the rental agreement from the glove box and exited, waving at the police officer.

Akinbo waited until they were talking, then reached beneath the seat. He unzipped the top pouch, slid his hand in, and took the second key. He left the vinyl sleeve as camouflage for what he’d done. He heard someone tap on his window and jerked upright, seeing the driver of the Peugeot staring at him curiously. He palmed the key, wondering what the man had seen. He rolled down the window and said, “I’m so sorry. Very sorry.”

The man said something foreign and Akinbo pointed at Oleg and said, “I don’t speak German.”

Oleg took over, speaking German to both the driver and the police. Twenty minutes later he came around to the driver’s side, watching the police officer motor away. He slapped Akinbo’s head, telling him to get in the passenger seat.

He sat behind the wheel and pulled out his bag, zipping open the pouch. He saw the sleeve and closed it back up. He put the car in drive and entered the tunnel, muttering under his breath. Two miles later he pulled into the departure lane outside of terminal A.

He said, “Your flight is KLM. You do know how to get on an airplane, don’t you? No chance of you causing it to crash into something, is there?”

Akinbo gritted his teeth and said, “No. I can get on an airplane.”

Oleg said, “Then get the fuck out.”

Akinbo did, barely having enough time to grab his small carry-on before Oleg sped away, leaving him standing on the curb by himself. Clutching two keys in his palm.

Y
uri handed across the locker key and the envelope of instructions he’d gleaned in the beer garden the night before, saying, “Tell me the bona fides again.”

Oleg said, “Simple. One: right time, right place. Two: The designated linkup enters the cul-de-sac alone, turning off his lights. From inside the headquarters office, I flash twice with a penlight. Three: He responds with two flashes from his headlights, then approaches the door. Four: He knocks four times, I reply with two, then open the door.”

“Good. Get him inside and subdue him. Do not, under any circumstances, kill him. Remember that. Capture only. We’ll kill them once we round up the entire team. It could be the female coming in. If it is, rest assured the male will be close. We’re lucky, we’ll shut this down in one night.”

Oleg nodded and said, “You’re not worried about them getting the locker key and real instructions?”

Yuri racked a round into his PP-19, aiming through the holosight at an imaginary target. “No. I’m more worried they’ll smell a trap. I don’t know if those things are a one-off, or another safety signal. They can hold them for the forty seconds it’ll take before I collapse their world.”

Oleg said, “Good enough for me.”

After Oleg left, Kristov said, “You want me here? Or on the airfield side?”

“Airfield side. I want to block all exits. Peter stays in the vehicle in case we need a chase team, but you and I will choke off the entrance to the cul-de-sac.”

Kristov nodded and said, “I’m headed out. I want to use the light while I got it.”

As he left, Yuri said, “Check for bums. We don’t need any witnesses.”

Kristov said, “Will do,” and slammed the door.

Alone in the dilapidated building, Yuri’s thoughts shifted from the Americans to Akinbo. He considered sending a message to his cryptic presidential contact about the status of the mission. He decided not to. Better to do his own cleaning. There was no reason for the FSB to know that Akinbo now had the means to initiate a nuclear explosion. Not yet, anyway.

Oleg had come back with his story of the accident, cursing Akinbo and generally badmouthing his bad luck to be assigned to handle the African savage. Good-natured bitching until Yuri had asked for the receipt and the key. What he got was the receipt and the vinyl sleeve. The Cyrillic instruction for the keys’ use was still inside the pocket, but the key was history.

In a panic, Oleg had ripped the car apart, to no avail. The key was gone. It could have ended up on the side of the road, but Yuri knew it had not. Akinbo—the savage they thought was so stupid—had taken it.

Reeking of fear, the sour odor wafting out as Oleg flapped his arms in the air, he’d begged Yuri to let him fly to Brazil. Let him get it back. Yuri had declined, although he did think about killing Oleg for his stupidity.

Instead, Yuri had contacted the Control of the safe house in Brazil. Thinking about what Akinbo had done, he figured the man would try to protect his theft of the key. He had to in order to penetrate the safe house and gain access to the weapon. Yuri had the DHL receipt, so he knew that’s where the weapon was going, but Akinbo would be on edge, trying to determine if he’d been found out. The last thing Yuri wanted was a spike, whereupon Akinbo knew they were aware of his treachery and afraid to enter the safe house. No, he wanted Akinbo chained to a toilet until he could arrive and provide some corrective action. Then force him on his little mission with a single key.

He’d fired off an e-mail to the safe house, instructing them to send Akinbo an innocuous introductory message from their address. Ordering them to lull Akinbo into complacency. He ended the message by giving them Akinbo’s itinerary, stating in no uncertain terms that if they failed to capture Akinbo when he arrived, the repercussions would be dire.

In the end, he was surprised at Akinbo’s skill and cunning. He’d thought the African was an ignorant peasant, and for that Yuri was now paying the price. But not for long.

Akinbo had managed to get the key, but he’d still shipped the Hammer via DHL. Yuri had the tracking number and Akinbo’s flight itinerary, which meant he could stop the weapon from ever arriving in Akinbo’s hands. Yeah, he had been smart about the key, but he was woefully inadequate in modern-day logistics.

Yuri wanted to gut the African as much as he did the American team, but first things first. He glanced out of the cracked window, seeing the sun dip below the horizon and knowing that his position was about to get dark, the electricity having been long since cut off at the old air base.

He keyed his radio, getting a confirmation from Oleg in the linkup position, Kristov on the other side of the cul-de-sac, and Peter in the reaction vehicle. He said, “Keep your eyes out. This is about as easy as we’ve ever had, but it could still go wrong. Peter, after early warning you’re still in play. I call, you’d better be able to react. Kristov, I have the west. You got the east. Nothing escapes.”

They acknowledged and he had one final command. “Oleg, it’s your mission now. You understand what that means?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“Remember Dmitri. Remember what they did. I want that bitch. I want that team. I told her I would skin her alive when I caught her, and I intend to keep that promise.”