“Okay, now if you both would be so kind to stay right here, okay?
Okay.”
I start to leave, stop, then come back. I decide these two need more duct tape. So I place George in a chair and duct tape him to it. Then I tape him to a wall.
Next I tape Katrina, standing, to another wall on the other side of the room.
“There.”
I pick up my gun and duct tape and, as I’m about to leave the room, I look back at the suitcase loaded with a million dollars.
“Oh, I almost forgot this!”
George goes nuts when he sees I’m taking his millions in cash.
I walk back over to him and sarcastically say,
“George, George calm down. You’re liable to kill yourself.”
I don’t even think this Harvard “genius” got the joke.
I glance over at the entire roll of duct tape now on the two murderers taped to the wall.
“You know, there’s just nothing you can’t do with a nice, big, roll of duct tape!”
Moscow — The Kremlin
Christmas Day
Russians celebrate Christmas on January 7th so this is a workday like any other.
Well, not exactly.
President Ivan Mironovich and his right hand man, Viktor Sokolov, are huddled in the President’s office in the Kremlin. It looks just as you might imagine. The deep, dark rich, wood from Siberia surround the walls. The crystal chandelier hanging above them alone is worth millions.
Viktor Sokolov is waiting for instructions as the president looks to be in intense thought. Finally, he answers.
“I’ve spent years cultivating republicans and democrats in the U.S. From U.S. Senators to American business people, we’ve tried to convince America we want to be in business together.
We brought that one lecherous U.S. Senator to Moscow, gave him millions and millions of Rubles for his boring twenty minute speeches and then let him have his way with as many of our beautiful Russian women as he wanted and you’re telling me one FBI agent is about to ruin my plans?”
“It appears the FBI agent, Denning, has not been able to communicate with anyone. The other FBI agent, Tavana, is wounded and has been locked up along with the traitor who helped them,” he then hesitates,
“Do we proceed?”
“Of course we do. By the time the Americans find out what is happening it will be too late.”
Sokolov asks, “So implement Phase III?”
“Yes. There’s no turning back now, Viktor. Is the new currency ready for upload?”
“Yes.”
“How are the Chinese reacting?”
“The Chinese Premier says China is ready to implement. They are waiting on us.”
“When other currencies devalue to the point of worthlessness if anyone wants to buy or sell anything they will have to have our currency.”
“These are exciting times, Mr. President.”
Ivan Mironovich nods this head in the affirmative while immense concern hides behind his weary eyes.
Ketchikan
Police Chief Robert Stone’s Diary
Yura has decorated our house for Christmas and she’s not even here to enjoy it.
I hate my job.
I can’t wait ’til I retire.
I’m moving somewhere warmer too!
So I’m sitting in my old, ripped, cloth recliner at home watching TV. I had forgotten how funny the movie Police Squad was:
Frank Drebin is searching a drawer and says,
“Bingo!”
Drebin then pulls out and holds up a bingo card.[9]
“Bingo! That’s funny,” I say chuckling.
I look around my home and notice that nobody’s ever here anymore. Everybody’s working twelve-hour shifts.
I’ve really gotta retire.
The phone rings and I ignore it as I’ve just finished another twelve-hour day.
I continue watching Police Squad on TV but the phone just won’t leave me alone.
It begins ringing again and, annoyed, I finally walk to the area of the nuisance.
I have to rifle through a tall pile of unread newspapers!
Finally, I locate the annoyance stuffed down the side of my sofa and now, really annoyed, I answer:
“Hello!”
On the other end of the phone is Yura. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you.”
I check my pockets and realize my cell phone isn’t on me.
“Guess I left my cell in the car,” I mumble.
“Tony is at Ketchikan Aviation. A guy over there says he just flew a couple of guys out fitting our man’s description,” says Yura.
“Where they goin’?” I ask.
“A fishing lodge twenty miles south of town,” says Yura.
“Have the pilot stall them.”
I exclaim: “And tell the Eskimo to fire up our plane!”
“That sounds so racist,” says Yura.
“Lighten up, he’s our son! Stone out.”
I toss the phone onto the couch; pick up my belt and gun, and head to my gun safe.
I open the large six-foot high safe and pull out a Springfield .308 semi-auto rifle and an ammo bag before heading out the door.
Outside it’s dark as I climb into this piece of crap SUV that the department owns.
Inside, I start it up as it sputters and pops. I back out of my driveway thinking:
If I moved to a beach in Barbados tomorrow, I wouldn’t miss this damp, musty old place.
I see this crazy Totem pole we have in our front yard that Yura has put Christmas lights on and think, It would kill Yura, a native Aleut, to move from her heritage and place of birth but I’m not sure how many more cold winters I can take.
Tony is on the two-way radio,
“A couple of suspicious looking guys were hanging around here on their phones.”
I say, “Are they Middle Eastern looking?”
“Ya, I think so. Want me to arrest them?”
Now I’m worried saying, “On what charge?”
A long pause before Tony answers, “I dunno.”
“We can’t arrest people that look Middle Eastern!”
Tony answers matter of fact, “Uh, okay.”
“Idiot!”
Tony yells, “I heard that!”
“Good! ’Cause you’re an idiot!”
“You raised me!”
“I’m an idiot too!”
Yura now chimes in, “Boys, boys, be nice to each other.”
After a really long pause Tony answers, “Okay mom.”
I just shake my head as I pull up to Ketchikan Aviation.
I step out of the car, close the door and start to walk away.
Suddenly, I realize I don’t have my cell phone.
Seeing it on the seat, I reach back inside, pick it up, and without looking, put it in my pocket. Then I head into the aviation building on the dock.
Gulf of Alaska
Cape Decision Lighthouse
Kuiu Island
Twenty-one miles due west
A clear but cold night that would make even a Russian shiver. Commander Orlov sips some hot coffee, as his boat bobs up and down on a fairly calm Alaskan night.
The Russian GRU Special Forces team leader stands on the bridge of a 100-foot commercial fishing trawler named “King of the Crabs,” sitting dead in the water.
This was the exact location where Jack Tanner was when he saw a Russian sub.
The Russians look very serious as if something important is about to happen. None are talking but rather they sit on deck, waiting. Their automatic weapons are not carried but are at their ready.
Inside the bridge, Commander Orlov, is speaking in Farsi on a Motorola SRX-2200 radio to someone. The Russian commander then says to his sonar men with very sophisticated equipment: