“I will. Now I’ve got some news. We have learned the terrorist target. It’s in San Francisco. The Golden Gate Bridge.”
“What? You’re positive?”
“Absolutely. I got the intel from the leader, well, from his things. And I’ve got a name that may help.”
“Go ahead,” Carrie said as she leaned over her laptop.
“Adlan Aydamirov,” Justin said and spelled the name for her.
“Adlan? Why does his name sound familiar? Oh, yeah, he’s one of the people whose e-mail we got from Bashir.”
“Correct. Adlan’s mission is to blow up the bridge. He’s working with at least two other groups of terrorists.”
Carrie’s face fell into a grimace. She sighed, “Construction workers carrying explosives. The bridge is San Francisco’s most famous landmark. Its destruction will cause so many casualties, not to mention the psychological impact on the people and the cost to the economy.”
Gunfire resounded in the background. There was a short pause before Justin answered, “I couldn’t agree more. The initial plans had the explosions planned for Christmas Eve, but I suspect the terrorist cells will speed things up once they hear about our work in their HQ.”
Carrie fell back in her chair, which had lost all its previous comfort. She shifted her weight, then stood up and began to pace down the aisle, finding it impossible to sit still. “Yes, we’re running out of time. I’ll inform the CIA and the FBI and I’ll instruct the pilots to take me straight to SF. Perhaps we can still stop them.”
Justin returned a weak sigh. “I hope so, and I’m sorry I can’t be there with you.”
Carrie shrugged and said, “No worries, just get better. I can handle this situation on my own, just like you did on your side trip.”
Justin’s tired laugh came over the phone. “Yes, interesting side trip. I’ll tell you all about it when I meet you in a few days.”
“All right, stay safe, okay?”
“Will do. Unless the medic screws up, I should make a full recovery. You be safe too.”
“Will do my best,” Carrie said. “See you soon.”
“Take care,”
“Yeah, you too.”
Carrie took a deep breath. Time to put an end to this.
She walked to the galley. The blonde flight attendant was pouring water from a kettle into a white porcelain teapot. The dark-haired one was talking on the radio.
“Do you need anything?” the blonde asked with a smile.
“Yes, some privacy,” Carrie said. “I have to make an important phone call.”
“Yes, of course, madam,” the blonde replied. “I’ll shut the door and you’ll have total privacy.”
“I appreciate that.”
Carrie stepped outside the galley and the blonde closed the door in silence behind her. Returning to her seat, Carrie picked up her satellite phone again and dialed a number from memory.
A man answered the phone right after the first ring. “This is Special Agent Fox. Who is this?”
“This is Carrie O’Connor with the CIS. I’ve got an update on the Chechen terror plot.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
The Gulfstream G550 glided onto the wet black tarmac of the runway and began to taxi toward the private terminal and hangar of the flight support company Signature. They were located across from the main terminals and away from most of the air traffic, right on the shore of San Francisco Bay. Carrie sat impatiently in her chair, glancing at the thin gray fog and the darkness veiling most of the airport complex.
It had started to rain just as they were descending over the runway and the visibility was reduced to just a dozen or so feet. The Russian pilots did not seem too bothered, as they landed the plane without as much as a bump. It was clear this was not their first time landing in a fog, and Carrie suspected Romanov had picked these men to fly his plane specifically because of their ability to land in such poor conditions.
She spotted two black Chevrolet Suburbans parked in front of the gray terminal building. Their bright headlights cut like thick laser beams through the hazy curtain. It was Fox and someone else from his CIA team. One of the Suburbans started to slide slowly in reverse toward an empty section of the ramp where the pilot was steering the plane. Two other airplanes were sitting on the ramp. One of them was a Gulfstream, but a smaller model, and the other one was a Learjet.
The blonde flight attendant opened the door as soon as the pilot’s voice came over the PA system. Carrie thanked her and her partner and hurried down the flight of stairs without waiting for the Suburban to pull up next to the plane.
She lifted the collar of her brown woolen coat and threw her knapsack over her shoulder. She took a few quick steps and the Suburban stopped by her. Carrie pulled open the back door behind the driver and jumped inside the vehicle.
“Welcome, O’Connor. I’m Fox and this is Special Agent Drew Conti,” said the man in the front passenger seat. He cocked his head and looked at Carrie as he spoke in a firm tone.
Carrie nodded. “Nice to meet you both, and thanks for meeting me here. And you can call me Carrie.”
“Sure thing,” Drew said and he smiled at her in the rearview mirror.
Carrie noticed his clear blue eyes, which she thought were uncommon for a man of Italian descent like Drew. Maybe he’s from northern Italy. On the other hand, Fox had short blonde hair, green eyes, and pale skin, which made her think of a Scandinavian complexion. It went well with his last name, Anderson. The CIA special agents were both dressed in black suits and felt overcoats.
Drew’s foot found the gas pedal and the Suburban roared to life. It went past the other Suburban, then it headed toward the exit on the left side of the terminal.
Fox’s eyes fell on Carrie’s knapsack, then he looked back at her face for an explanation.
“My things,” she said with a shrug. “Cellphone, laptop, an MP-443, and an AK.”
Fox’s face registered a small frown.
“Didn’t want to be a burden, so I brought my own gear,” Carrie said before Fox could voice his protest about the illegal weapons Carrie was bringing inside the United States.
Fox’s frown disappeared as quickly as it had formed and he gave her a nod. “Fine, but we’ll have to take them away at the end of this op.”
Or I can just take them with me to Canada, Carrie thought, but only nodded back.
The Suburban turned right, and someone from inside the terminal flicked a switch and the chain link gate began to roll away with a loud rumble. Drew made a left turn and they were now on North Access Road. The gray waters of the San Francisco Bay appeared on their right side. The thick haze was hanging low over the surface and the darkness had engulfed everything beyond a dozen or so yards from the shore.
“We couldn’t get a chopper as it’s too foggy for a safe flight,” Fox said.
“How long until we get to the bridge?” Carrie asked.
“About half an hour,” Fox said. “Once we’ll get on I-380, we’ll put on our flashers.”
“Is everyone in position?” Carrie asked as she unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted to the middle of the back seat, in order to look at both Drew’s and Fox’s faces.
“Yes, most of the agents. It took some time to bring them in with unmarked vehicles and in a discreet way. They’re on standby at both ends of the bridge. There are also some FBI agents and SFPD officers spread out on the bridge itself.”
“How many construction workers are on the bridge?” Carrie asked.
“We’ve gotten reports placing that number between eight and twelve. See, there are currently four different construction companies working on the bridge. The weather was much nicer during the day: clear, sunny. So we had painters on one side and ironworkers on the other, inspecting and repairing the corroding steel and rivets. And there were some problems with the electrical systems and the foghorns, so another team was fixing those problems. Finally, more workers were paving a section of the bridge. It was pretty crazy.”