If there was to be trouble, this is where it would happen. And yet, the day had already been so blessed. Federov remained at her side as they exited the cathedral.
“There,” she said. “Was that so awful?”
“I prefer the clubs and the vodka,” he answered. “Sexy women and loud music.”
“I’m not surprised,” she answered. “Maybe someday you’ll learn to lift your eyes to the hills.”
“What’s that mean?” he asked.
Alex paused. “Nothing you’d understand right now.”
Leaving the cathedral, Alex caught sight of Robert. He was in a tight cordon of agents around the president. She knew he saw her. But he stayed focused on his assignment as the president stepped back into the limo. Alex held up her hand and gave him a wave, just in case he could catch it out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t. But in that short space of time, when she took her eyes off Federov to wave to Robert, Federov disappeared.
FORTY-THREE
She looked in every direction, but saw no Federov. Mentally, she beat herself up. How could he have slipped away so easily? How could she have been so foolish as to take her eyes off him, even for an instant?
But he was gone. Completely gone.
The president was already in the limo. Alex’s driver signalled to her. The motorcade needed to move quickly. Still turning her head, looking everywhere, searching the crowds, she tried to find Federov.
No luck. She ducked into her van. The door slammed shut behind her. An instant later the van moved forward with a lurch. Far up ahead, Alex could see the president’s limousine as it moved slowly away from the cathedral. It inched across the square while the president waved to cheering Ukrainians, and then it pulled to a halt at Mihaylavski Place. There, surrounded by flowers and candles, was the gray granite monument to the great famine of the 1930s.
Alex’s vehicle stopped, which meant that the president’s vehicle had stopped. She climbed out quickly and moved forward on foot, trying to draw as close to the memorial and the president as possible. She was within a moderate security area and from a distance of about twenty yards, she could see the president.
Security people gathered around him, including Robert. The president moved with slow dignified steps to the monument with the US ambassador, Jerome Drake. Alex positioned herself with a good view of what would follow.
The monument was a gray slab about six feet high, breathtaking and moving in its stark simplicity. The center had been cut away in the general shape of a cross with gentle contours. In the center of the cutout, there was the carved figure of a man, creating a silhouette. Within the cutout, another figure, presumably that of God, and within that a child’s figure, the infant Jesus.
Alex moved slightly. She found a position just beyond the dignitaries. The crowd was quiet now as one of the president’s assistants handed over a large floral wreath. The president stepped away from Ambassador Drake and closer to the monument. Alex’s gaze followed the president. For the first time, the great famine that she had heard so much about was a reality.
Several seconds passed in silence. Everyone around her was still. A strange series of emotions filled Alex. No matter what one thought of this president, at least the American leader was here to mark the significance of this monument. She felt a deep sorrow for the victims of the famine, the humans who had perished from starvation seventy years earlier in the bitter Ukrainian winter. She bit her lip.
Then, after another moment passed, jets roared low overhead, Mirage fighters, purchased from the French, followed by a quartet of aircraft from the United States. Everyone’s eyes moved skyward, and there was a surge of talking in the crowd.
A second wave of planes passed overhead and again distracted the crowd.
The president was at the monument now, head bowed, Ambassador Drake a few feet behind. Robert and Reynolds Martin and several other Secret Service agents were only a few feet away, watching the crowd, nervous, eyes intent, poised for trouble.
The wreath was enormous, and carried by two US marines from the embassy. They laid the wreath at the base of the monument. The president leaned over and twitched the ribbons on them, thus symbolically “laying” them.
The president’s head lowered itself for a moment in prayer, or whatever heads of state think about when they can’t wait to get a photo-op done and start home.
Standing thirty yards away, Alex felt a vibration in her pocket. It was her cell phone. An incoming call. She pulled the phone from her pocket and she looked at the incoming number.
Federov! What the-?
Cupping her hand over it to keep her voice low, she answered.
“Move,” he said in English.
“What?”
“Move from where you are!”
“Where are you?” she demanded.
“Doesn’t matter. I can see you. Move!”
“To where?”
“Anywhere! Now!”
The line went dead, the call over. Perplexed, but alarmed, she took several steps from where she was, searching any windows she could see. The marksmen were on the rooftops and the helicopters were overhead. Security near the president was as thick as a Crimean blizzard.
Everything seemed fine. Tense but fine. The president was still at the monument, head bowed, making sure the world press got ample coverage.
And yet, and yet…
Beneath the freezing cold, Alex felt herself sweating.
What was wrong with this? What was wrong with this picture? It wasn’t just that her guts were in a turmoil; every part of her was.
Her hand went to her weapon and rested upon it. She moved cautiously away from where she had stood, looking for hints as to what might be imminent, trying to figure what Federov might have known that she didn’t. Had he been warning her or jerking her chain?
Then there was an ominous noise. A bang in the distance. Then another. She saw all the security people stiffen to alert. For a moment, everyone froze.
Then she realized.
More airplanes? No! Something from beyond the perimeter. Something that defied the most zealous of plans of protection.
More loud blasts in the distance, followed by another round, then quickly a third. She saw the members of the president’s Secret Service escort cringe. Then there was a whistling in the air above.
Incoming projectiles!
Some of the security people quickly went for their own weapons. Then there were a series of explosions across the square. One, two, three, moving toward the presidential target with incredible precision.
Then all hell broke loose.
A few yards away, Alex saw a woman’s throat burst open with a horrible gash. The woman staggered and blood flooded from her wound. She never knew what had hit her. Smiling one second, dead the next.
Then someone else was hit by something. Chaos everywhere. Bodies were falling and people were running. Explosives were coming into the square from what seemed like every direction. The entire entourage, the entire ceremony, was under attack from far beyond the square.
She heard someone yell in English. “RPGs! RPGs!”
Rocket propelled grenades. Instinctively, Alex tightened her own security pass around her neck so everyone could see it. She ran toward her van and her presumed means of escape. But it was like running through a riot because everyone was fleeing in a different direction. She was knocked over twice and had to fight her way back to her feet.
An older Ukrainian man with an American flag ran across Alex’s path. Before Alex’s eyes, a piece of shrapnel hit the man in the face and blew his head open. Blood gushed from the wound, hot and wet, splattering everyone within a few feet. He reeled and went down.
Then another RPG landed and then another. Then she couldn’t count any more because the rounds were on top of each other and coming in on top of the entourage.