Chapter 30
Xander Moore and Billy Jenkins were in Nathan Hall’s office in the secret DARPA building, located one block over from the Washington Mall, and three down from the headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Six days had passed since the dual-battles in Karachi and D.C., and Xander was livid.
“What do you mean Almasi wasn’t there? Of course he was.”
“That’s right — he was. Search teams located several escape tunnels within the complex, two even leading from the control room. He obviously got out through one of them.”
“And Jonas?”
“We traced the calls he made to you to Dubai. He’s gone as well.”
“So both of the bad guys got away?” Billy summarized.
“For now, Billy, but you know how these things go. The whole world’s out looking for them. Justice will be served.”
A sharp knock came to the door and the other person they were expecting entered the room. The three men rose to their feet when Tiffany Collins entered, dressed in professional broadcast-reporter attire, including a gray vest that struggled to mask two of her most prominent on-air distractions. “What did they say?” Xander asked.
“Just a few minor edits and it’s ready to go.”
“Well, Ms. Collins, this could be a big step for your career,” Nathan Hall said.
“I want to thank you again, Nathan, for the access you’ve given me. I know a lot of people were against it.”
“It’s time more of the truth about drones — and our susceptibility to them — was better known. Besides that, your unique perspective on the events of last week will help counter some of the crazy rumors flying around out there.”
“Frankly, I was surprised your people allowed me to be so open and forthcoming. I know I put a lot of personal spin on it, but I was there. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“That’s the best type of reporting — firsthand. Cuts through all the he-said-she-said BS. However, I am sorry about the restriction concerning the Russian link to the crisis. It’s better if we keep that part of the story under wraps until an official response can be worked out. Don’t want to go start World War Three, now do we?”
Tiffany smiled and looked at the men. “I don’t know? Sure would provide me a lot of job stability. You know what they say, Never let a good crisis go to waste.”
Billy turned to Nathan Hall. “So… did we save Christmas?”
Nathan laughed. “And then some! There’s no denying that Americans sure love to buy things, and they’re out doing it with a vengeance. Of course, the retailers are cooperating. My wife is out right now spending twice as much as we budgeted but getting four times as much, at least when supply catches up to the demand. They’re having a hell of a time getting inventory on the shelves. Still, my kids are really going to be spoiled this year.”
It was Billy’s turn to smile. “There’s still four shopping days left, and with the hefty contract advance I got to build Goliaths, I might actually splurge a little myself. Is there anything the two of you want in particular?” he asked, addressing Xander and Tiffany. By now, the two of them were standing very close to one another.
“I don’t know?” Xander began. “I kinda liked that Learjet we flew in coming out here. But short of that, I could sure use a vacation.” He looked into Tiffany’s blue eyes as he made the non-verbal invitation.
“I’ve always fancied the South Pacific.” Tiffany’s eyes locked on Xander’s. “Never been there before, but there’s always been something romantic about the word Polynesia.”
“Consider it done!” Billy said. “First class all the way. Hell, I might even spring for a yacht charter. It’s absolutely gorgeous down there, and the two of you would make for the perfect travel poster.”
Xander nodded before breaking his gaze with Tiffany. He looked at Nathan and then to Billy. “Thanks, dude. Oh, and also, the surf down there is supposed to be pretty gnarly this time of year.”
“In that case, I just might tag along.” Billy then lifted his right hand, curling in his index, middle and ring finger while extending the thumb and little finger. He wiggled the familiar gesture at Xander. “Kowabunga, dude!”
Epilogue
The snow falling over Moscow in late January let up briefly and the temperature climbed to a few degrees above zero. Even so, Abdul-Shahid Almasi was not used to the extremes of the Russian winter.
His puppet-masters had placed him in a small apartment not far from the Kremlin, with a sporadically-operating steam heater, and then left him there for over three weeks before granting him the meeting with President Mikel Marko and his inner circle of advisors. The meeting had not gone well, as everyone wanted to sweep the terrorist under the rug and pretend that their once warm and mutually-beneficial affiliation had never existed.
Almasi knew there was nothing more the Russians would do for him, with the possible exception of sparing his life. To this end, he humbled himself before the leader of the Russian Federation, vowing to disappear from the world stage with the modest contingency funds he had hidden away. They wouldn’t even have to give him money, just let him leave.
In reality, he had over twenty million American dollars stashed in various front accounts across Europe. He would, indeed, disappear from the world stage, but he would not remain so. Already plans were underway to resurrect the now-disbanded Arm of Allah. And from the look of things, he just might get the chance to once more serve as its leader.
Marko escorted him out through a side door of the Kremlin and into a wide courtyard surrounded on all sides by four levels of gaudy-looking architecture. Almasi shivered, even as the Russian shrugged off the cold while wearing only a bland blue suit and red tie. Six security guards stood in the courtyard, while a screen of eight, nearly-silent sentry drones hovered near the roofline of the surrounding buildings. Almasi eyed the drones with concern. Even though he used the machines in his work, he never trusted them. They always made him nervous.
“So you will be taken to the airport and flown to Switzerland,” Marko was saying. “At that point we will have no further contact with you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“You came to us with a plan that ultimately failed,” Marko continued. “Yes, our ultimate goal was to accomplish just as you said you could deliver, yet if you had not come to us, we would have proceeded along our own timeline and in our own manner. As it’s turned out, I’m now receiving too many phone calls from the Americans with rather pointed and embarrassing questions. Of course they know all, and now I may find myself having to make concessions to them just to keep the truth from being revealed.” The tall, slender Russian glared down at Almasi. “I am the leader of the Russian Federation, and now I will have to bow down to the Americans simply because of public relations. Do you know how furious that makes me?”
“I’m sorry it has come to this,” Almasi said. “The plan was sound and it nearly succeeded. If it hadn’t been for the financial blackmail committed by the Americans, it would have.”
“If’s and blame will not salvage the situation, Almasi.”
Abdul-Shahid continued to watch the hovering drones as the Russian spoke.
“And neither will your death — as long as you remain silent. Even as we choose not to follow that course of action, I wouldn’t be surprised to read of your assassination sometime soon.”
One of the hovering drones seemed out of place. Instead of looking outwards, scanning for threats, it had rotated until it now faced the pair on the cobblestone courtyard below.