Blood Covenent, page 40
“All right,” saidHarlequin .
“If you lie to me, I will know and I will kill you if I have to come after you again,” Harper warned.
He wondered if it were possible to escape this demon. “There are three bombs here.”
“I know that!” snapped Harper. Something was wrong with his arm, and he was wondering how long he could hold up the Browning. His right arm felt like a lead weight. One ofHarlequin ’s kicks must have broken something. Most people think firing a handgun is a simple thing. They watch Hollywood actors do it all the time with one hand and limp wrists performing astounding feats of marksmanship. The real thing is a bit different. Harper learned to fire one-handed with both hands, but the left hand was not very good.
“The last two are in St. Louis.”
“That’s it!”
“We purchased everything available in the United States,”Harlequin explained calmly.
Harper edged over to his ammo bag and pulled the digital phone. He punched the speed dial button for Louis Edwards and held the Browning in his left hand. Sweat was streaming down his forehead and the pain coursing through his arm was incredible.
“Edwards,” came the voice after one ring.
“There are two more in St. Louis,” he said. “Harlequinwill give you the addresses.”
“May I sit up?” askedHarlequin .
Harper nodded and tossed him the phone.
Louis whispered over the ether, “Harlequin?”
Harlequinwiped the blood from his mouth, recognizing an injury standing before him, but not understanding the extent. “Yes, you have something to write with?” He realized his ribs were badly bruised and wondered:How hard can one man hit?
Harper caught the phone trapping it with his left hand. “Hurry it up, Louis. Let me know if our friend here is lying.”
“I’m free to leave?”
Harper shook his head. “Not until someone calls me back with confirmation.” He swayed dangerously to one side. He held the phone in his right hand and the Browning in his left. His fingers could barely work the phone. He stepped closer to ensure he could hit what he was aiming at with the Browning.
* * * *
It was close to midnight when the NEST Alert came across Harvey’s desk. He had the office to himself after Feldman received a phone call from the Director and the fugitive warrant on Harper was cancelled. Perhaps Feldman would get Harvey’s old posting in West Yellowstone—beautiful this time of year.
The odd thing about this alert was the location—St. Louis. How did Harper figure out St. Louis? He tuned the Real Audio monitor so he could listen to the St. Louis Police band over the computer’s speakers. They came across two weapons. The scene was chaotic and confused as the weapons were loaded into a semi-trailer truck bracketed by police and army troops. The weapons were hurried towards the airport and a waiting transport. The weapons were bound for a barbed wire installation on Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada. The bombs would be dismantled, the weapon-grade material would be salvaged, and the weapon design studied.
Harvey recognized the end of an operation and the reality that his time was over as well. He gathered his file folder, the Stetson, and his badge together. There would be an administrative hearing on his behalf. These things were always donefor you, notto you. Some sort of finding would be made and they would demand his resignation, and badge, but the gun was his. His wife left him over thejob , and sometime later, thejob changed.
The Bureau’s soul was poisoned. Maybe it was Ruby Ridge where the FBI shot a mother and two children, or it could have been Waco where they burned all those people alive. Harvey suspected the rot started earlier, and those were simply manifestations of a deeper problem. Harvey never could play the political game too well. Political games were for people like Feldman. He smiled at the thought. Feldman discovered he was not quite ready for the big leagues.
The file folder he carried out of the Chicago field office was something labeled by Feldman as an absolute waste of time. It was everything he had gathered on theHarlequin’s legal and financial network. Maybe the Bureau was no longer interested inHarlequin , but he was intrigued.
* * * *
The digital phone chirped. Harper held the Browning with his left hand. The barrel wavered. He held the phone in his right. “Yeah.”
“We found them.”
Harper grunted. He lowered the weapon slightly. His concentration lapsed and he forgot to consider the animal waiting atop the pool table.
Harlequinproduced a four-inch combat dagger from an ankle scabbard. He saw the opening and decided he would be safer if his captor were dead. He did not relish the thought of someone capable of tracking him. He forgot about the dog. Indiana Jones had settled down next to the corner of the pool table. He waited patiently with his head resting on his crossed paws.
The combat rule regarding knives and guns is seven yards. A committed attacker can cover seven yards in less than two seconds. Only seven feet separatedHarlequin and Harper. There was the difference in elevation. Harper stood on the floor.Harlequin was perched atop a pool table. It gave him a four-foot advantaged.
Harlequinsprang from his perch. He walled off the pain emanating from his battered ribcage. He extended his body, fully aiming the dagger for a point slightly above Harper’s breastbone. His body extension put him instantly in Harper’s face, and the weak left hand holding the Browning made the gun totally ineffective. Instinctively, Harper blocked with his forearm at a forty-five degree angle above his head.
Harlequinnever heard the dog; he only felt the impact, as Indy’s one-hundred pounds slammed intoHarlequin ’s one hundred sixty and altered the course of his flight.Harlequin grunted from the dog and felt his wrist smash into Harper’s waiting forearm. The block was hard enough to momentarily loosen his grip on the dagger. If the attack had originated from the ground instead of the air, Harper would have had the moment necessary to grab and twistHarlequin ’s arm and break the Iranian’s elbow. Unfortunately,Harlequin ’s weight slid down the angle of Harper’s arm.
Harper dropped the phone and feinted to the left. From the edge of his vision, he perceived the blade slicing through the air. He rolled his body sideways and still felt the searing pain burn into his shoulder. The fabric of Harper’s clothes tore and blood spurted from a jagged wound down the length of his arm. He gasped, focusing on his blood dribbling down the length of the black blade. He realized he had lost control and the line of the dagger was angling towards his stomach.
Somehow, he turned the Browning’s barrel intoHarlequin’s ribcage. He squeezed the triggeronce, twice… three times. The slide slammed back against his wrist. He smelled the powder and sensed death close by.
Harlequinfelt white-hot pockets spiral through him. He continued to move into Harper’s body. They cartwheeled together in a tangle of limbs. Something was wrong with his vision, it blurred strangely, and he had trouble breathing. It seemed his entire chest was lit with a strange fire. He felt the hot blood from Harper’s shoulder splash across his face. He tried to lift the knife in his hands and found his arm leaden. He felt a thumping along his torso and vaguely recognized the gun barrel turning towards him. His chest felt wet and slick and something that tasted like iron mixed with his spit.
Harper’s head slammed hard on the carpeted floor and stars raced across his vision. His stomach lurched and vomit swelled somewhere at the bottom of his throat. His neck felt bent and stretched. Harper kicked himself free fromHarlequin , fired a fourth, and fifth shot down the angle of his boots.Harlequin’s head jerked twice. The dog came to a halt overHarlequin . Harper pushed himself up, checking on the wound to his shoulder. It burned harshly. He examined the surprised and angry expression frozen onHarlequin’s battered face. He let the Browning fall free of his fingers, and pushed up against the wall holding his shoulder. Blood spurted like a memorial fountain through his fingers and his lips were a darker shade of blue. The knife had cut a long ragged gash into his shoulder and arm. It was the same arm that had taken a bullet at Arzamas-16—where it all started twenty years ago.
The Labrador’s big, sad, brown eyes stared at the man bleeding on the floor. Indy nuzzled his neck. “The cavalry will be here soon,” he reassured the dog just before he passed out.
* * * *
Harvey Randall heard the second NEST Alert issued on his scanner. He pulled over to the side of the road and worked with a map book until he figured out where Conway Road was located. The sudden reversal of Feldman’s fortune did not surprise him. Edwards was after everything in one sweep. His wolf must have found the scent and Harvey wondered if anyone was still standing. He headed north on the Interstate. He wondered if they had capturedHarlequin.
The quiet neighborhood was awash in flashing red, blue, and yellow beacons. There were two ambulances, a medical examiner, and several police cars clustered in the street. The surprise was the Marines in full battle dress standing as a buffer between them and the house. Their M-16 rifles were unslung, with full magazines loaded and safeties off. The locals did not know what to make of the sudden appearance of armed troops in a suburban neighborhood behind a golf course. Two helicopters circled overhead. They were not from the news stations.
People were staring out their windows and gathering on the front lawns. A couple of dogs were barking, and Harvey noted the front door to the house was missing. He moved through the police line and came to brick wall with a marine. He showed the soldier his FBI identification. The marine ignored the badge and checked his name against a list on a clipboard. He had a very short list. Someone had put Harvey’s name on the list. He was waved through the cordon. Harvey heard the grumbling behind from the frustrated cops and paramedics.
He found Harper sitting in the living room with a pressure bandage attached to his right arm, a black dog laying at his feet, and a Marine medical corpsman securing a saline drip on a field stand. Harper looked pale under the combat grease and black clothing. His sleeve was cut away from his right arm. A sergeant appeared at his side holding a Glock handgun and a Mossberg shotgun. “I understand these are yours, sir?”
The concept of personal weapons and the honor attached to such items was not lost in the Corps, although it seemed to be a dying idea with the public at large. Harper nodded dumbly. “Thank you.” His voice sounded thin.
Harvey pulled up a chair and sat down across from Harper. The dog eyed this new arrival with some distrust.
“Harlequin?” he asked.
Harper focused on Harvey through the haze of antibiotics, painkillers, and blood loss. “Dead.” He looked down at the hound and said softly, “I’d be laying down there instead if it hadn’t been for him.” He reached down and tussled the dog’s head. “Harlequinhad me.” He shook his head reliving the moments. Mistakes angered him, but stupid mistakes usually got you killed.
“You look a little rough yourself,” observed Harvey.
Harper looked at the drip and the pressure bandage. “Been better, been worse,” he muttered.
Been a lot worse.
“Do we have them all?” Harvey finally asked.
“We have his.”
Harvey nodded and wandered down the steps into the basement. There was a tremendous amount of blood on the far side of the room.Harlequin was rolled over on his back spread eagle. He had seen the carnage Harper produced before. Harvey bent over and rustled through his pockets retrieving some sales receipts and a billfold. He noticed the powder burns along his ribcage and wondered at the broken cue stick lying next to the big screen television. The 9mm brass cases were scattered around the floor. They were crusty with dried blood. The subtle tang of smokeless powder hung in the air. Still clutched inHarlequin’s hand was a straight-bladed dagger crusty with Harper’s blood. He held it with his thumb wrapped around the hilt, allowing him to slash downwards with all his weight and momentum.
The identification in the wallet was one he had not associated withHarlequin. He counted over four thousand dollars in fifty-and hundred-dollar denominations—mostly hundreds. Harvey pulled a paper bag out of his back pocket and dropped the wallet and receipts into the bag. He was unconcerned about fingerprints or contaminating the scene. He knew fingerprints were meaningless.
The house had a sterile feel to it. Harvey straightened himself and propped the Stetson on his head. The body, as everything else in the operation, was a dead end. It was anonymous. They would bury him in a pauper’s grave. He glanced into the brown paper sack and considered the receipts. He thought about the access list the marine checked at the yellow police line. Perhaps it was Louis Edwards’ way of offering peace. He leftHarlequin like so much battlefield litter and went back up the steps. There was much to think about.
PART 3
DAGON
“And Samson said, ‘Let me die with the Phillistines!’… So the dead whom he killed at his death were more than those whom he killed in his life.”
Judges 16:30
CHAPTER 39
Berlin, Germany
Tuesday, July 27, 1999
1:00 P.M. MESZ
Mister Jones and Mister Smith bracketed Louis Edwards as he walked through the lobby of the Hotel Villa Kastania. They noted the two Russian bodyguards in the lobby. One looked up from a newspaper and checked Louis against a photograph he had on the sports section. The other picked up a small handheld radio and notified the people waiting for Louis of his arrival. No one made any other moves to intercept or bracket the three men.
Louis’s bodyguards wore level III Kevlar vests with ceramic trauma plates over the chest and spine. The vests weighed about twelve pounds, plus another three pounds for each trauma plate. Louis disliked his vest. He found it hot, itchy, and heavy. They moved quickly to the elevators and ensured they formed a human shield around Louis.
Mister Smith was particularly unhappy about the idea of coming back to the Villa Kastania. It was one thing to invite the Russian to lunch when they couldsanitize the area and control the environment. It was an entirely different thing to walk into an area controlled by theenemy. Mister Smith did not consider the Russians to be trustworthy allies.
They took the elevator up to the terrace dining room. A Russian stood to one side of the elevator lobby. The transparent earpiece coiled down to a small radio pack in his jacket. He examined the trio emerging from the elevator with the same mistrust Smith had for all of them. Smith and Jones made eye contact before scanning the restaurant. The Russians made camp on the outside terrace where Louis met Kolokol the first time. They occupied the area with a mass of bodies wearing poorly tailored suits.
“Looks like he brought half a battalion with him,” muttered Mister Smith.
In reality, a ten-man team protected Kolokol. The Russians seemed agitated. Louis pondered their mood as he walked through the indoor tables. He found Kolokol sitting at a corner table with another. It occurred to Louis he should recognize the second person, but the memory slid around the edges.
Kolokol stood and said, “Thank you for coming.” He rarely thanked anyone.
Louis found his hand gathered up in the General’s massive paw. They settled down together. Louis noticed the handcuff and the chain extending to the chair for the other man sitting at the table. His face was lumpy with yellowish-green bruises along his cheek and eye bones. His lips were cut from a recent beating, but not so recent because they were scabbed over with new skin. It appeared one of his thumbs had been smashed by a hammer.
The face brought forth a name. Louis took a sip of ice water and said, “Major, I am so glad you’ve agreed to cooperate.”
Yevgeny ran his tongue over the broken bridgework in his mouth. The hollow spots where teeth belonged almost felt normal. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”
Louis swirled the lemon slice in his water and took another sip of water. He waited for Kolokol to make the next move. It was his party this time.
“The Major was kind enough to supply me with a list,” began Kolokol. “I brought him along today in case you had some additional questions for him. I would consider our account even.” He slid a two-page document across the tablecloth.
Louis brushed his fingers over the double-spaced paper and noted Kolokol had not lifted his hand from the other end of the page. He read the Conway Road address for the Chicago weapons from the top of the sheet. He looked from the sheet to Kolokol and nodded. “That would be fine, General. I appreciate your consideration.”
Kolokol lifted his stubby fingers from his end of the sheet. He waited while Louis ran his fingers across the address, and the number of weapons at each location.
“The Major placed forty-three weapons in America, France, England, Japan, the former West Germany, Iran, and Israel. He had access to a total of seventy-five weapons. We have recovered thirty-two of those weapons and are in the process of dismantling them. It would be best not to have any moreaccidents, ” explained Kolokol.
Louis opened a small valise and slid the document into it. “Yes, it would be best to avoid any further incidents.” He took a different file folder from the valise and laid it on the table.
“Is the Major returning to Russia with you?” he asked.
Kolokol shook his head. “No, the Major will be going his own way. He’s learned myspetsnaz can find him anywhere in the world. If I need him again, I know how to find him.” Kolokol paused before adding, “And should you ever need to find him, I’m certain I could supply you with an address.”
The message was not lost on Yevgeny. Next time he would use something more threatening than Basque farmers. The chain on his wrist tinkled uncomfortably.
Louis opened the file folder and spread theHarlequin photographs across the tablecloth. Two were the front and profile shots from the New York hospital when he killed Hassan Jamal and the New York Policeman. Two more were from Reagan National Airport when he arrived on July 19. The last two were from the game room at the Conway Road residence. The two bullet wounds at the top of his skull left nasty furrows running down the side of his face.
