Resurrection Day (68 page)

It was light when the GM Savana cruised into Winston Bay. Kursk squinted through the tinted windows. The small beachside community was no more than a few clusters of cottages and summer homes, most with private jetties. A quarter-mile past the bay, Razan's driver turned on to a narrow slip road. A sparse forest lay to the left, the beach to the right. There were residences either side, large and small, most of them set discreetly back from the road, surrounded by wooden fences or banks of trees, some with 'Private Property' signs displayed at the entrances. Kursk noticed very few lights on, and guessed that most of them were summer homes.

'Where's the house?' Razan asked.

'Coming up on the right,' Yegori, his bodyguard, answered. 'Right there!'

As they drove past a bank of pine trees, Kursk saw the entrance to a property in its own private grounds, a winding gravel driveway leading up to it. He got a glimpse of a grey-painted two-storey cottage built of wood and brick. It was well away from its neighbours, and protected by a hedge of tall pine trees. He noticed a light on in one of the windows, an American flag on the veranda. The Chechen driver kept going, and when they had driven past Yegori said, 'How do you want to play it, Ishim?'

'Keep on for another hundred yards,' Razan ordered the driver. 'Then pull in and switch off the engine.' The driver did as he was told, pulled in off the road, killed the ignition. Kursk looked behind him, saw that the cottage appeared to back directly on to the beach and the watery darkness of Chesapeake Bay.

'Did you get a good look at the place last time, Yegori?' Razan asked.

'As much as I could.'

'What's around the back?'

'A private stretch of beach, and a jetty. A boathouse, too, I think.'

'Could you reach the rear of the cottage from the beach without too much trouble?'

'I reckon so.'

'What are you going to do, Razan?' Kursk was sweating.

'You'll see.' Razan nodded to his men, and Glock automatic pistols suddenly appeared in their hands, the two bodyguards in the back hauling MP-5 submachine-guns from under the seats. 'Yegori, take Pashar with you and cover the rear from the beach. Leave your cellphone on vibrate, and if you encounter any problems, call me. And remember, Nikolai and the woman are not to be harmed under any circumstances, but I want them apprehended. Whoever's with them is another matter. I'll leave that to your own judgment, but be careful, they could be highly dangerous.' Razan consulted his watch. 'What time have you got?'

'Seven-forty.'

'You've got exactly ten minutes to get in place, then I'll go in the front way with the others.'

'Yes, Ishim.' Yegori yanked open the door and a blast of salty air gusted into the dark cabin. The second bodyguard joined him from the rear, and the two men moved out into the morning light as the Savana's doors shut again. 'You still haven't answered me, Razan.' Kursk was growing more anxious by the second. 'What are you going to do?'

'Try and talk sense into Nikolai.'

'And if that doesn't work?'

Razan didn't reply, took Kursk's service pistol from his pocket, handed it across. 'For you own protection, nothing more. I warn you again — harm a hair on Nikolai's head and you'll never see Moscow again.' Razan consulted his watch, slid open the door, said to the driver, 'Stay here. The rest of you come with me. You too, Kursk.'

Maryland 8.15 a.m.

On Route 4, Collins had the siren on as they sped through the early morning traffic towards Chesapeake. Morgan was at the wheel, overtaking anything in their path, the Ford touching ninety-five as he kept his foot down on the clear stretches of highway. Fifteen miles from Chesapeake Beach, Collins cellphone buzzed. It was Murphy. 'Jack? Where are you?'

'Just past Melwood.'

'I've got the teams moving up from Plum Point, inland and along the coast, checking every rental property in the Chesapeake area that's left on the list. It's slow going and they've still got more than three dozen properties to get through, but I've got more men on their way right now to try and speed things up.'

'What about the choppers?'

'We've got two already sweeping up the coast and four more on their way. If they see anything like a white box-van, don't worry, I'll let you know. Keep in touch, Jack.'

The line clicked dead. Collins flicked off the cell, relayed Murphy's update to Morgan, then thought for a moment and shook his head. 'You know, it doesn't make sense, Lou.'

'What doesn't?'

'Rashid's a professional — he's not going to risk moving the chemical all the way up from Chesapeake. He's got to have it stashed nearer DC. Know what I think? Chances are he's not going to be around even if we find the hideout.'

'You're saying we're on a wild-goose chase?'

Collins grimly checked the time: 8.17. 'Probably.'

Washington, DC 8.17 a.m.

The man finished packing his Samsonite suitcase. He hadn't packed much, just the essentials: extra clothes, a washbag, and the few personal belongings he could cram into the single piece of luggage he was allowed. He guessed that he and the others were being taken to the massive government underground bunker at Mount Weather for their protection.

Alone in the bedroom, sweating heavily, he turned to stare at the cloned cellphone he'd left on the nightstand. He knew he had to risk calling Rashid, but he didn't have much time. To make matters worse, two Secret Service agents were in the living room next door, waiting for him to finish packing, and he'd barely had a private moment since they'd delivered him to his residence. As if to prove it, a knock sounded on the bedroom door. 'Come in.'

One of the Secret Service agents poked his head round. 'I'm sorry, sir, but we really have to rush things along.'

'I'll need a few more minutes.'

The agent sighed. 'But no more than that, sir, then we have to move.' When he withdrew, the man picked up the cellphone, was about to step into the bathroom to make his call when suddenly the door burst open again. He slipped the phone into his pocket, was surprised to see Harry Judd step into the room. 'Mr Judd. What are you doing here?'

'If you could come with me, sir.'

'I still need a few more minutes.'

'That isn't possible. Just come with me.'

'Very well.' The man gave in to Judd's abrupt tone, sensing the urgency, grabbed his jacket from the bed. 'Are you at liberty to say yet where I'm being taken, Mr Judd?'

'Yes, I am. Back to the White House, Mr Rapp.'

The White House 8.35 a.m.

The President's face was tightly drawn as he took the manila folder Doug Stevens handed him. They were in the living room of Booth's private living quarters, and he stared at the folder, held it in both hands. 'This is it?'

'Yes, sir,' Stevens replied. 'Every personal detail we could find out about Bob Rapp. And it makes for disturbing reading. But if you like, I can save time and fill you in?'

'Maybe you better.'

'You may recall I mentioned the young Palestinian woman Yelena Mazawi, with whom we thought Rapp had a relationship while he was a correspondent in Lebanon?'

Booth nodded. 'You said she was a suspected Arab terrorist killed by the Israelis. What about her?'

'Her relationship with Rapp went much deeper than we imagined.'

'What do you mean?'

'She was his wife.'

Stevens paused, registered the President's shock. For a few moments, Andrew Booth was speechless, and then he nodded for Stevens to continue.

'Not only that, the PLO "camp" where she was killed was called Sabra. You'll have heard of the brutal massacres at the Sabra and Chatila refugee camps, sir. They've gone down in infamy. The Phalanginsts, an Israeli-backed militia, believed the camps were harbouring PLO guerrillas, so they stormed in and butchered all round them. They shot to death or cut the throats of every Arab they could find — men, women, and children alike. It was a heinous act, nothing but cold blooded murder, almost eighteen hundred people killed in a single day of savagery. Yelena Mazawi was visiting relatives when the attack happened, and was butchered like the rest. According to the Red Crescent report which catalogued each of the dead victims, she had her throat slit and bled to death.' Stevens paused. 'What's more, she was eight months pregnant at the time.'

The President, stunned, said hoarsely, 'Go on.'

'Rapp went to pieces afterwards, just cracked up. Soon after he returned Stateside he spent six months in a psychiatric hospital.'

'And afterwards?'

'We've tried to put the rest together, sir, but some of it's fact and some of it's conjecture on our part.'

'Tell me.'

'So far as we can ascertain, at least one of the young Arab radicals that Rapp associated with in Lebanon later became a senior figure in the Moslem Botherhood, and then al-Qaeda. What's interesting — and perhaps telling — is that he's a brother of Yelena Mazawi's. That's mentioned in the report, sir. Plus the fact that Rapp visited the Middle-East on several occasions over the years in a private capacity. Some months back he was also part of an official delegation that visited Istanbul, during which his Secret Service detail reported him inexplicably missing for almost two hours. It wouldn't surprise me if he met with an al-Qaeda contact, probably Mazawi's cousin.'

'Why did he betray us, Doug? What was his real motive? This country wasn't responsible for his wife's death.'

Stevens considered. 'If you want my honest opinion, I think for a long time Rapp's been a secret ally to the Arab cause. He's criticised US policy in the Middle East in the past, way before he joined your administration, and you knew about that. Obviously his feelings went far deeper and were far more personal and bitter than any of us imagined, though he's been careful enough to hide them.'

'But what did he hope to achieve?'

'I can only tell you what I suspect might have been his reasoning.'

'What?'

'That in some way he wanted to be a midwife to change.' Stevens shrugged. 'That's the only motive that makes sense. Looking back over the stuff he wrote years ago, it's plain he advocated strongly for a shift in our Middle-East strategic policy. That at the expense of our support for Israel, he felt the Arab nations were being deliberately kept in check, even downtrodden. And that it didn't matter to us if their just causes were being ignored — like Palestine — so long as we got our oil. Rapp believed passionately we were backing the wrong horse — that if we allied ourselves more favourably with the Islamic world we'd still have our oil, and a lot more Arab sympathy than we've endeared in the past.'

'Why didn't he advocate that policy more strongly? Why didn't he argue his cause with words rather than in a callous act of treachery?'

'Only Rapp can answer that question, sir.'

'Where is he now?'

'Downstairs. Harry Judd and a couple of his men are keeping watch over him.'

'Bring him up.'

Chesapeake 7.52 a.m.

Karla had gone through the cottage, checking all the rooms to make sure nothing was left behind. When she had finished, she packed her tote bag and changed into her motorcycle leathers. She still had a terrible feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, and it wouldn't go away. All that kept her going was Nikolai's promise, words she had waited such a long time to hear, but even their comfort couldn't ease her anxiety. Being with him again had meant so much to her, but she knew she couldn't be at peace, not until this was over.

Before Nikolai had left with Rashid, they'd had a brief moment alone together in her bedroom. He'd looked into her eyes. 'Do you have any regrets, Karla?'

'None.'

'You're certain?'

'More certain than I've ever been.'

Then he'd touched her cheek, kissed her, and tried to put on a brave face, as he always did. 'All will be well, Karla. Don't worry, I'll see you later, my love.'

But there was something in his eyes, a troubling look she'd never seen before, which told her he was as ravaged by fear as she was, and after he'd gone, thoughts assailed her. What if it goes wrong? What if Washington is destroyed, and hundreds of thousands of innocent people are massacred? What if I never see Josef again? As she went to pick up the keys to the Honda, the front door suddenly burst open and two men rushed into the room, brandishing pistols.

It happened so quickly that Karla didn't see another two men slip in the back way. For a split, shock-filled second, she couldn't even react, and then they grabbed her from behind and a hand went over her mouth. As she struggled, the first two men rushed up the stairs, armed with MP-5S. Then Ishim Razan stepped in through the front door, followed by Alexei Kursk, both of them armed with pistols, and Karla could barely take it all in. She suddenly recognised the other intruders. Razan's bodyguards.

The men who had rushed upstairs came back down. 'She's alone, Ishim. The place is empty.'

'Let her go. Then keep watch outside.'

The bodyguards let go of Karla. They left, and then she was alone with Kursk and Razan. The Chechen indicated a chair. 'Sit.'

Slowly, in a daze, Karla sat, her heart beating wildly.

Kursk came over, pistol in hand, pointed the muzzle at her head. 'Where's Nikolai?'

The White House 8.45 a.m.

President Andrew Booth stood at a window in his private suite. The door clicked open. Booth turned as Harry Judd entered. He was accompanied by Bob Rapp, and an escort of two Secret Service agents who stood just outside the door, each with a hand resting on the holstered sidearms on their hips.

Booth nodded. Harry Judd withdrew, closing the door, and then the President was alone with Rapp. A crushing silence filled the room, the atmosphere charged with electricity. Booth came away from the window, and his eyes sparked with an intense rage as he stepped closer to his visitor. For an instant it seemed as if he was about to strike Rapp, but with a supreme effort he managed to suppress the urge. 'I believe Mr Stevens told you why you're here?'

Rapp gave a silent nod, his face expressionless.

The President slumped into a chair by the window. With a deep sigh, he looked towards the lawns, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse with emotion. 'Ten years ago I met a man I very much admired. A man I believed to be honest, decent and full of principle. A man who eventually became a friend. Not only a friend, but someone I chose as one of my advisers. An honour that I bestowed on him because I totally trusted his judgment, his loyalty, his integrity.' Booth paused, shook his head fiercely, his disbelief overflowing. 'But never, never in my whole life, have I been so completely wrong about someone.'

Rapp remained silent.

The President, close to tears, slowly looked back from the window, stared at him. 'Right this minute I'm not even going to ask you exactly why you betrayed your country and placed it in such jeopardy, why you aided an enemy bent on holding this capital to ransom, perhaps even destroying it. I'm not even going to question your personal motives, or ask if you were in some way compromised and forced into this. All that can come later. But right now, what's more important is that this city is faced with terrible destruction because Abu Hasim may have made it impossible for me to satisfy his insane demands on time. For all I know, that may have been his intention all along.' Booth paused, searched Rapp's face. 'Do you have anything to say to that?'

Rapp, still silent, avoided the President's stare, looked down at the floor.

Booth noticed that the man's body was trembling, beads of sweat glistening on his brow and upper lip. 'In just over an hour from now,' Booth continued, 'this capital and its entire population may be subjected to the worst terrorist attack in human history. If that happens, you will have to face the awesome consequences of your treachery, because if this city dies, you die with it. And so will I, probably. I don't know if that scares you or not, but it sure as hell scares me. But you know what scares me even more, what horrifies me?' The President, his eyes wet, looked towards the window, then directly back at Rapp. 'All the thousands upon thousands of unknowing, innocent people out there who could be dead before this morning's out. And I can do nothing about it.' He paused. 'But maybe you can.'

Rapp's face was deathly white. He finally looked up, spoke. 'What do you want me to do?' he asked hoarsely.

'Help me.' The President's voice was strained, pleading. 'Help me stop this thing, before it's too late.'

Chesapeake 7.55 a.m.