Resurrection Day (30 page)

Mohamed Rashid stepped up out of the underground carpark and walked along F Street, his head reeling. For almost ten minutes he had sat in the back of the Volvo as his contact told him every detail of importance that had been discussed at the President's security meetings in the White House during the last sixteen hours. But two nuggets of information in particular had totally stunned Rashid. He was still in shock when the Honda came round the corner on to F Street and pulled in next to him, Gorev in the passenger seat, Karla Sharif driving. As Rashid climbed in, Gorev saw that the Arab was livid, his face contorted with anger. 'What's wrong?' Rashid ignored him. 'Drive,' he ordered. Karla shifted into gear and pulled out from the kerb.

Alexandria, Virginia 12.25 p.m.

Collins was frustrated. They'd driven through the neighbourhood for forty minutes but Enrico was unsure which street the apartment block was on. They had seen no sign of a dark green Honda Civic parked in any of the blocks they passed. 'All these streets look the same,' Enrico protested. 'I can't tell which one.'

'Try and think back,' Collins told him. 'Do you remember anything else on the street? A store near by? Another car? A house with a bright-coloured door, maybe? Anything that stood out? Anything at all?'

'No. But it wasn't down this far. I'm pretty sure, man.' They were almost down at the old harbour, moving towards a neighbourhood of derelict waterfront warehouses and gritty red-bricked tenements. 'Which way did you enter the area?'

'I told you. From the south, off Cliften Street.' Collins sighed aloud, caught Morgan's eye in the rearview mirror. 'OK, let's go back, start again, and have another look. And this time, we take it real slow.'

Moscow 12 November

It was a little past 4 p.m. that Monday afternoon when General Yuri Butov's chauffeured Zil took a detour off the Moscow ring road. Instead of delivering him as usual to his home after his day's work at army headquarters, the Zil pulled up in the rear carpark of a bathhouse near the Moscow river. A private, members-only establishment, the bathhouse was a favourite haunt of senior cabinet officials and Kuzmin's inner circle. Butov took a couple of towels from the heavily bosomed woman inside the door and went in. He made his way to one of the private chambers at the rear, undressed, and stepped inside. The room was filled with a fog of steam, but the general caught sight of Igor Verbatin, the FSB chief, sitting alone on one of the stone benches, naked except for a towel around his waist. Butov firmly closed the door and went to join him. 'Well?'

'You'll be glad to know that Major Kursk landed in Washington this morning.'

'And our nerve-gas expert, Professor Maslov?'

'He should be giving his talk at the White House this afternoon.' Verbatin shook his head in dismay. 'The Americans won't like what they're going to hear, Igor. The kind of damage they can expect if the device goes off will be truly awesome.'

'Don't remind me. I take it Kursk was made fully aware of his duty?'

'I'm certain he'll do his utmost to apprehend Gorev if he's involved in this.' Butov filled a ceramic bowl with hot water. 'I meant his other duty.'

Verbatin nodded. 'We've provided Kursk with a cellphone and set aside a secure phone line, manned twenty-four hours, at our Washington embassy. Whatever vital developments there are in the hunt, the major will keep us informed.'

'Good.' Butov's face looked taut as he added some sprigs of mint to the steaming-hot bowl by his side. 'There's something important you ought to know. I met with Kuzmin before I came here.'

'How did he seem?'

'Unhappy.' Butov sponged his brow. 'Having to back down in the face of the Americans' threat has made him furious. Not only that, he's certain his change of heart weakened his leadership. In the cold light of dawn, it made him feel less resolute, and he didn't like that. So he's made a decision, Igor.'

'What kind of decision?' Butov tossed his sponge into the bowl. 'We'll do our best to have our agents keep track of Abu Hasim's movements. We want to know precisely where the bastard is, so that next time we don't make any mistakes.'

'I'm not with you.'

'Kuzmin's made up his mind. If it appears Washington has to give in to these terrorists, we shall execute Operation Hammer as we originally intended, but do it swiftly, before the Americans are forced to withdraw their Gulf troops. Once that happens, the floodgates will already be opened and it will be far too late. That's not a situation we can tolerate.'

Verbatin frowned. 'But Kuzmin agreed to give the Americans until the deadline?'

Butov shook his head. 'Not if Major Kursk determines that they're running out of time and have no hope of winning their battle. Or if the terrorists are hunted into a corner and are threatening to set off their device. And there's another possible scenario that troubles Kuzmin. He has no intention whatsoever of releasing the Chechen prisoners, no matter what pressure the American President puts on him. But what if Kuzmin's refusal incites al-Qaeda to directly threaten Russia with a nerve gas attack? That's probably the most dangerous situation of all.'

'Then what?'

'If any of those scenarios arise, we immediately destroy Abu Hasim and his al-Qaeda camps. But use more than one nuclear warhead this time.' Butov's face had a look of steely determination. 'Finish it once and for all.'

'But ... what about Washington?'

'God help the poor bastards, Igor, that's all I can say.'

Alexandria, Virginia 12.48 p.m.

'They came this close to bombing the camps to oblivion. This close.' Mohamed Rashid held up two fingers, centimetres apart. He was enraged, smoking furiously, pacing his apartment living room as he addressed Gorev and Karla Sharif. When they arrived back at the Wentworth he had explained everything of significance his contact had told him — the sense of impotence in the White House; the anger; the US President's decision to move fifteen per cent of American troops from the Gulf. But most importantly, the two things that had troubled Rashid above all — the bombing attempt by the Russians and their involvement in the FBI hunt. 'This changes everything,' Rashid railed. 'The Americans didn't heed the warning they were given not to attempt to find us. And now, to make matters worse for us, they know who they're looking for.'

'Your contact was sure about the Russian officer's name?' Gorev asked quietly. 'Alexei Kursk?'

'My source was certain. He wouldn't lie.' Rashid was fuming. 'He said the American President agreed to Kuzmin's demand that the Russians help hunt us down. He said this Major Kursk knows you. Who is he?'

Gorev took a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, lit one anxiously. 'An old acquaintance.'

'You're certain it's the same man?'

'If it isn't, it's an incredible coincidence. Alexei Kursk is FSB. One of their top intelligence officers.'

'How does he know you?'

'A complex story. Let's just say we've known each other a long time.'

'I don't like it, Gorev.' Rashid was agitated. 'It smells of trouble.' Gorev crossed to the window, drew on his cigarette as he looked out over the parking lot below. 'Don't fret about Alexei Kursk, he's the least of our concerns.'

'It wasn't Kursk I was concerned about. The FBI will now know who they're looking for. They'll have both our descriptions plastered in every police station in Washington.'

'He's right, Nikolai,' Karla said. 'What can we do?' Gorev came back from the window. 'There's not much we can do. Except be even more cautious, all of us.'

'It's a disaster.' Rashid was still furious. 'I'll need to inform Abu Hasim of the Russians' involvement and what they intend if the Americans fail. Our people in Afghanistan will need to take precautions. And so will we.'

'And what would you suggest?' Gorev asked.

'Exactly as you say. Be even more cautious. Keep our heads low. Go out only when we have to. The less we're seen on the streets, the better.' Rashid was grim as he stubbed out his cigarette, started to lead them towards the door. 'You'd better get back to your apartment, both of you, and remain there. I'll contact you later, after I've sent my message.'

Alexandria, Virginia 12.45 p.m.

They spotted the Honda Civic. A patch of dark green parked behind some trees in an apartment lot. Morgan pulled up across the street. 'What do you think?' Collins said to Enrico.

'Is hard to say, man. I can't see the car too good from here. Those fucking trees are in the way.' Clusters of tall maple and oak dotted the parking lot, and Collins could just make out the green Honda behind the trees. A sign on the brick entrance wall said: Wentworth Apartments. They had passed the same block twenty minutes ago, but he was certain he hadn't seen the Honda. 'What about the block? You think this is it?' Enrico scratched his head. 'I think so.' He scanned the surroundings, nodded. 'Must be, yeah.'

'You don't sound sure.'

'I'm pretty sure.'

Collins studied the apartment block. The Wentworth was red bricked, four storeys high. A short entrance road led directly into the complex, and about a dozen cars were in the parking area out front. The lobby, what he could see of it through the trees, looked empty. Collins thought for a moment. 'OK, Enrico, this is what I want you to do. Get out and walk over close to the Honda. Pass it by but make sure you take a good look and remember the plate number. When you get close to the block entrance, pretend like you've forgotten something. Tap your pockets, whatever. Then walk back close by the car again for a second look and come back here.' Enrico was suddenly unsure. 'Hey, I don't even know who these people you're looking for are, man.'

'Terrorists,' Collins said honestly. Enrico paled, shook his head. 'Hey, that's some heavy shit, man. I don't want to get involved with no fucking terrorists. No way.'

'I'm not asking you to. All I want is for you to identify the car and get the number.'

'Yeah? What if the guy or woman I saw come out? What if they go over to the car? What if they blow me away?'

'Now why would they do that?'

'They might remember me, just like I remembered them. If they see me, they might get suspicious.'

'If they show up, just walk away, nice and easy. Make your way back here. Give a wave, like we're here to pick you up.'

'You got it all figured out, ain't you? Except it's me who's being put in fucking danger, man.'

'There's no danger, not if you do it like I tell you.' Enrico shook his head. 'Listen, I got three kids. I really don't want no fucking trouble.'

'There won't be. All you got to do is walk to the car, identify it, come back. Then you're out of it, OK? There's nothing to be afraid of, Enrico.'

'Easy for you to fucking say, man. You're still in the fucking car and I'm risking my ass.'

Collins nicked opened the door, patted Enrico's face.

'Listen to me. There's no risk. We'll be watching your back all the way. Just try not to look suspicious, OK?'

They watched Enrico stroll towards the parking lot, saunter up the driveway and disappear behind the bank of trees. Morgan anxiously lit a cigarette. 'If it's the car, how do you want to play it, Joe?'

'We have the plate checked out, take it from there. If it's them, we'll need to be damned certain. Put a twenty-four-hour watch on the place before we even think of moving in. I doubt they'd have the device in the apartment, but they may be able to trigger it remotely from a telephone.'

Collins glanced at a tense-looking Kursk.

'You OK, Major?'

Kursk nodded.

'A word of advice, Agent Collins. If Gorev's in there, you'd better be well prepared.'

Morgan distracted them. 'Hey, Enrico's on the move again. Little man's doing OK.'

Enrico reappeared from behind the trees and walked towards the block entrance before he doubled back and passed the Honda a second time, giving it a sideways glance. He strolled back to the Ford, waving as he approached, and climbed in.

'Well?' Collins asked expectantly.

Tiny beads of sweat covered Enrico's face. 'Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong, but to me it looks like the same fucking car, man.'

'You got the plate number?' Enrico nodded.

12.55 p.m.

At the elevator, a troubled Gorev pushed the button and lit a cigarette as they waited for the doors to open. Karla put a hand on his arm. 'Perhaps Rashid is wrong. This man Kursk might not be the same one you knew in Moscow.'

'I doubt it, somehow. It makes perfect sense. Who better to help track me down than someone who knows me? I obviously slipped up badly in Moscow. Let's hope it doesn't jeopardise us all.' Gorev's face darkened. 'But the last thing I'd want is to have to come up against Alexei Kursk.'

'He's dangerous?'

'He's one of the FSB's best, but it's not for that reason. Alexei and I go back as far as I can remember. He's maybe the best friend I ever had. In fact, you met him in Moscow.' Karla frowned. The elevator bell chimed, the doors slid open. Gorev stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray by the doors, took her arm. 'Come, I'll explain on the way.'

Collins, sitting in the Ford, flicked off his cellphone. 'The car's registered to a Safa Yassin.'

'Arab?'

'Her licence says she's Lebanese born. Aged thirty-eight. Came here on a work visa four years ago.'

'Except that doesn't mean Bo Diddley. Could be a cover. Any previous?'

Collins shook his head and looked over at the green Honda, trying to make up his mind. 'No convictions, not even a parking ticket. The lady's clean.'

'What's her address?'

'Not here. Jackson Walk, over in Arlington.'

Morgan said, 'What's the matter, Joe?'

'Maybe the woman's straight. Maybe we're on a wild-goose chase here.'

'Yeah, and maybe we're not. So what do you want to do?'

'I think I need to take a closer look.'

'How close?' Collins grabbed one of the two-way radios from the glove compartment, handed one to Morgan. 'I'd like to take a walk into the lobby. Find out if there's a caretaker or janitor. Ask him a few gentle questions about our friend, Safa, and show him the shots. See if he might recognise Rashid or Gorev. I'd like to be more certain we're on the right track before we think of escalating this.'

Morgan shrugged. 'Whatever you say.'

Collins said to Kursk, 'You got all that, Major?'

Kursk nodded.

'Lou, keep Enrico here company and stay by the radio.' Collins pushed open the rear door, slapped a hand on Kursk's shoulder. 'How about you and me take a walk to the lobby, Major?'

Alexandria, Virginia 12.52 p.m.

Collins strolled towards the Wentworth's lobby, Kursk beside him. They passed the green Honda Civic, and after he had double-checked the number plate, Collins glanced inside the car. There was no sign of any personal belongings on the seats, just an empty Starbucks coffee cup stashed in the driver's cup-hold.

'OK, let's take a walk inside.' They wandered into a lobby that smelled of vanilla air-freshener. Elevators on the left, stairwell beside it. On the far right, Collins saw what looked like an office door, and knocked. An elderly black man with gentle, watery eyes came out. He wore a blue work coat, carried a broom and dust-pan. 'Can I help yous, gentlemen?'

'Are you the janitor?' Collins asked. 'Yes, sir.' The man smiled back. 'Sure am. Janitor, caretaker, general dogsbody, you name it.'

'What's your name, sir?'

'Sam Burke.'

'How long've you been working here, Sam?'

'Couple of years, maybe.'

'You know most of the people in the block?'

'Most, I guess.' Collins showed his ID. 'FBI. I need to ask you a few questions. But it's kind of a delicate situation, Sam, so I'd like it if you didn't mention it to anyone. You understand what I'm saying?'

The caretaker's eyes lit knowingly, as if he'd just been asked to join a conspiracy. 'Yes, sir, I think I understand what you're saying.'

'The green Honda Civic parked outside. You know who owns it?' The caretaker looked out towards the lot, shook his head. 'No, sir. I see the lady who drives it, coming and going here a few times, but can't say I know her. She doesn't live here, see. Just comes by to visit. Matter of fact, she came through here a little while ago, with the gentleman she comes by to see.'

'Is he Arab?'

'Yes, sir. I think he is. A Arab gentleman.'

'You know his name?'

'Not offhand. I can check if you want. All the names, they's on the wall here. Gentleman's in Apartment Twenty-three, I do believe.'

'Could you check that, please?'

'Sure thing.' The caretaker stepped back inside the office, ran a finger along a list tacked on the inside wall. 'Gentleman's name, it says here, is Omar Aziz. Yeah, he's in Apartment Twenty-three, all right. That's on the second floor. You take the elevator up, turn right when you come out. About seven, maybe eight doors down on the left, near the end of the corridor.'

'How long's he been living in the block, Sam?'

'Not long. A couple of months, maybe a little more.'

'Does he rent?'

'Yes, sir, I believe he does, like most folk here. Pretty much all rentals.' The caretaker looked from Collins to Kursk again. 'Is this lady or gentleman in some kind of trouble?' Collins smiled. 'Not that I know of. We're just making some general enquiries. That's why I'd like you to keep this to yourself. It's very important nobody gets alarmed, Sam. Can I rely on you to do that? Keep this just between us?' The caretaker nodded. 'Sure. You got it.'

'You know where Mr Aziz works?'

'Can't say I do. Man pretty much keeps to himself most times. Says hello once in a while, maybe, but that's about all.'

'Does he have a car?'

'Yes, sir, I believe he does. Blue Explorer. Usually parks it round the back lot.'

'You've got the photographs, Kursk?' Kursk opened the envelope. 'Please ... can you tell me if ever you see these two people before?' The caretaker took the photographs Kursk handed him. He slipped on a pair of thick reading glasses, squinted as he studied Rashid first, then scratched his head. 'I don't recognise this gentleman. No, sir, I don't.'

'He doesn't look like Mr Aziz?'

'Mr Aziz don't look at all like this gentleman. He's got no beard, for one. And he's got short hair. Kinda fair, like blond coloured ... '

'You're sure it's blond?'

'Yes, sir. Maybe he dyes it.' The caretaker smiled. 'Guess he does. Not that that's any of my business ... '

'And the second man?' The caretaker flicked to the shot of Gorev, studied it closely, then stared back up at Kursk and frowned. 'Why, I do believe that could be the same man went by with the lady and Mr Aziz.'

'When? 'When they came through the lobby 'bout twenty minutes ago.'

12.56 p.m.

The elevator doors opened. As they started across the lobby, Gorev halted in his tracks. He caught sight of the two men at the office door, one of them turned slightly towards him, in profile. It took Gorev no more than a split second to register Kursk. For a moment he was stunned to disbelief, then the blood drained from his face as he gripped Karla's arm. 'We've got company. The two men by the door. One of them's Alexei Kursk.' Karla followed his stare, saw the two men standing in the door of the lobby office.

'Towards the stairway. Move, Karla!' Gorev whispered frantically. He took a firm hold of her arm, spun her round, and pushed Karla towards the stairwell as he reached for his Beretta.

The startled caretaker stared past his visitors and whispered, 'Why ... that's the man now ... and the lady.' Collins and Kursk spun round in astonishment. They caught a glimpse of Gorev and the woman across the lobby before they pushed through the stairwell doors and the doors swung closed again. Collins had his Glock out in an instant. He raced across the lobby towards the stairwell, his heart pounding, a stunned Kursk behind him.

Reaching the second-floor stairwell, Gorev took up a position near the door, covering the stairs below. 'Warn Rashid,' he ordered Karla. 'I'll hold them off and meet you both round the back as quick as I can. Give me two minutes, no more ... then get out of here. Go, Karla!' There was a brief look of indecision on Karla Sharif's face. '
Go!
' Gorev urged.

She darted out into the corridor, and Gorev turned back towards the stairwell, heard a movement below, and cocked the Beretta.

Mohamed Rashid heard his doorbell buzz twice, then twice again. Frowning, he crossed to the security peep-hole, saw Karla Sharif outside in the hallway, and wondered whether she had left something behind. As he opened the door she pushed her way inside.

'There are police in the lobby, looking for us. Get out now!'

Rashid was stunned, but in an instant he had grabbed his nylon backpack and yanked out the Skorpion machine-pistol. 'Where's Gorev?'

'On the stairs, holding them off. We have to move quickly!' Rashid grabbed her arm. 'How many police?'

'I only saw two.'

Enraged, Rashid cocked the Skorpion. 'Wait.' He turned, quickly checked the living room, took two incendiaries from his backpack, tossed one on to the couch and another on the carpet, and a second later came two snaps like firecrackers, the incendiaries bursting into flames. Karla checked that the way was clear, and they moved cautiously out into the corridor.