He grabbed his friend’s full attention and leaned forward in the uncomfortable chair. “When this starts, when the army rolls, you, Andre, will need to ensure our support in both the Duma and the Federation Council. The people will back any successful action. Marx had it wrong. Religion is not the opiate of the people; pride is. National pride is the drug of choice. And our people are crying out for pride.
Even Andre understood this concept.
Derek Walsh walked quickly along the sidewalk, practically dragging Alena by the hand. He’d taken a moment outside her apartment building to say, “Don’t ask any questions yet. Let’s get a safe distance away.” He pulled her east and intended to turn south toward Times Square. His first order of business was to make sure she was safe in a cheap hotel, and the empty tourist district would be the perfect location. Once he knew she was safe, then he could do whatever he had to, which looked more and more like it might be something desperate.
He also needed a few minutes away from her to call his friend Mike Rosenberg back. He would have to tell Rosenberg how he had saved Walsh’s life by distracting a man with a gun when the phone rang at just the right moment. That made Walsh consider what had happened. It wasn’t just a man with a gun. It was a Russian man with a gun. And another Russian tried to strangle Alena.
A few blocks away from her building, Walsh stopped and examined Alena’s neck to make sure she wasn’t hurt. There was almost no visible trauma, and she didn’t seem to have any trouble breathing. But she was still clearly upset and started to ask him questions now that they had paused in their trek.
“Derek, what’s going on? Who are those men?” Before he could even answer she added, “We need to call the police.” She stopped and stared at him, then said, “What happened to your hair?”
He shook his head and said, “Have you been watching the news at all and seeing what’s going on?”
She nodded.
“Everyone is blaming me.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
He felt a wave of relief that she had not seen his name or photograph on the news. He gave her a quick overview of what had happened and how he got away from the FBI. It didn’t seem to satisfy her in any way.
She just stared at him and said, “I don’t understand. Why did you allow someone to make a trade like that on your computer?”
“I didn’t allow anyone. Someone must have stolen my security plug and used it to make the trade. If that’s what happened, I have a security feature on the plug enabled, and it would have taken a photograph of anyone at the computer at the time of the trade. All I have to do is get back to Thomas Brothers Financial and access their computer network. That will allow the plug to bring up the photographs stored on it.”
“Have you told the police about the photos?” Alena asked.
“They didn’t really listen. I intend to be better prepared the next time we talk. That’s why I gotta get back to my office.”
“Right now?”
“First we’re going to get you to a hotel safely.”
She nodded her head and said, “There’s a W in Times Square.”
“We’ll be staying at someplace a little more modest. Maybe the Edison.” He ignored the little face she made. This was not one of the times that he was working overtime just to make her happy. He had to preserve his stash of money just in case this thing went on longer than he expected.
After walking for a while and then jumping on a bus, Walsh and Alena found themselves in a nearly deserted Times Square. This would make for easier negotiations with a hotel clerk. It was now dark outside, and the brilliant lights of Times Square seemed eerie shining on an empty street.
They stopped at a McDonald’s to grab a quick hamburger. They weren’t going anywhere fancy tonight. As they sat in the booth, he decided that Alena had calmed down enough for him to ask, “How did those men find your apartment?”
She didn’t stop chewing on the cheeseburger as she shrugged her shoulders. “When I heard the knock on the door, I just assumed it was you. They only got there about ten minutes before you.”
That made Walsh consider what linked him to her apartment. The FBI might have interviewed coworkers and learned about Alena, although he hadn’t told them much about her and she had never come to an office party. She preferred privacy. Then Walsh remembered another person he had told: Charlie. Had the vet been playing a game or given up information for money? Was that how he was able to get the drop on the younger Russian outside Walsh’s apartment? It was unsettling to consider. He turned his attention back to Alena.
Walsh said, “What did they say? Did they tell you anything I might be able to use?”
“They just asked where you were, if I had talked to you, and if I expected you at the apartment.” She put down the remnant of her cheeseburger and said, “I think we should go to the police right now.”
He shook his head and said, “Please trust me on this. I’ve got to figure a few more things out. We’ll get a room and a good night’s sleep, but first I have to make an important phone call.”
Joseph Katazin sat up from the floor and immediately grabbed his side. That son of a bitch Walsh was so strong he cracked Katazin’s rib when he slammed into him. Katazin had just enough strength left to stop Serge from chasing the couple fleeing from the apartment. Serge already had his CZ model 75 in his hand and murder in his eyes. Although Katazin had questions he needed answered, Serge just wanted to kill. It was a Russian mob point of honor to get revenge for attacks like that. Too bad Serge had no idea that this wasn’t mob business and the same rules didn’t apply. He’d have to get used to that. Katazin was sure Serge wouldn’t say anything to any of his friends, simply out of embarrassment. But with a loud snap of Katazin’s voice Serge had frozen in place.
Then the younger man looked back at his employer and said in Russian, “I can catch up to them before they’re on the street.”
“It’s better this way. He might inadvertently lead us somewhere we hadn’t thought of. I know you want your revenge, but this won’t be the last time we see Mr. Walsh. I can guarantee you that.”
Katazin had to be careful to keep in mind that this was only one small part of the overall plan. He needed to spend more time on the other elements. Already the protests and violence had started to subside here in New York. He knew his government needed at least four days of distraction to maximize the benefit to their military. That was the goal.
He wasn’t sure what his temporary partners the Muslims had left, but he knew there were still a few surprises. They could disrupt travel easily in the United States, but he suspected there were other attacks he had never even considered.
He stood up and slowly decided he needed to head back to his house to keep his wife happy and quiet and get some much-needed rest. He turned to his young associate and said, “Serge, tomorrow you will have another chance at Mr. Walsh. Unless it is an emergency, I will let you deal with him any way you’d like. Is that fair?”
The Russian with the puffy eye and sore jaw nodded vigorously.
Mike Rosenberg couldn’t sit still and fiddled around his small rented house near Interstate 495 just outside Bethesda, Maryland. He was surprised he’d gotten such a good deal on the two-bedroom house north of Washington, D.C., only a short drive from his office in Langley, Virginia. The CIA liked to help their own, and a case officer who was deployed in South America had given him a sweetheart deal for a year. In fact, it was almost as if he were house-sitting. He took the responsibility seriously and kept the place looking like a showroom floor at IKEA.