Francis Joseph Smith
Fury From Within
To my wife Kathleen,
daughter Andrea,
and son Frankie.
Prologue
The senior congresswoman from Pennsylvania anxiously tapped the senate podium's angled microphone, verifying its acoustics for the third time since her one-on-one meeting with the President—a meeting where he had overtly threatened her life.
Her hands trembled as she shuffled her notes, deciding it best to lay them on the podium. She knew the Presidents threat had to be taken seriously due to his former directorship at the CIA. The President had informed her that she would be signing her own death warrant if she went public with her claims.
Washington hardball — just the way she liked it.
Eye contact with her husband in the visitor’s section provided some sense of reassurance via his boyish smile. She mustered a slight nod in response.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the worldwide press,” she said nervously. “I would like to thank-you for attending my impromptu news conference.” She looked about the room, amazed at the full turnout on only an hour’s notice before continuing. “I don’t want to keep you from enjoying the rest of this beautiful day. As I stand here today, it is with a heavy heart that I disclose certain facts to you. Facts so sensational that the governments of both Russia and the United States will ardently deny what I am about to tell you.”
She removed a small pair of wire rimmed reading glasses from her jacket pocket, referring to a single sheet of handwritten notes before continuing. “Several months ago, I had the privilege to meet with General Alexander Lebed, the onetime head of the Russian Department of Defense. I will not bore you with the details, but it was during a low point in our meeting that General Lebed excused himself from the table, motioning for me to follow suit. Once out of earshot, he proceeded to inform me of something his Government would ardently deny, and would still deny to this day.” In disgust, the congresswoman suddenly pushed aside her notes, the words already burned into her memory. She cast a nervous glance towards her husband. He smiled once more in return. She turned to the assembled reporters only to be greeted by their bored expressions.
Little did they know, she was about to become one of the most famous woman in Washington in the next minute or so. And the bored reporters that sat before her would make it all happen.
She continued. “The General realized the life-threatening position he faced, willingly discussing a subject only nine people were even aware of. The General had a genuine look of fear about him as he uttered the words that have kept me awake each night since our meeting: ‘Russian authorities cannot account for dozens of portable nuclear weapons that are thought to be lost somewhere in the United States of America.’ ”
The audience gasped.
Reporters anxiously called their editors, begging for airtime. In their ever-changing world, a new top story had been crowned.
In the visitors’ gallery, Lawrence Trevers straightened his United States Capitol Police officer’s uniform, only minutes removed from its original owner. He moved easily among the tourists as he searched for just the right position to accomplish his mission. His high and tight haircut, lean body, and quick, darting eye movements betrayed that his true identity lay somewhere else, another employer.
Originally instructed to be in position before the congresswoman’s speech, a traffic jam in DuPont Circle put an end to that notion.
She now had their undivided attention, of this she was sure. “After our impromptu meeting, I waited until the initial shock wore off before approaching Defense Minister Pavel Sergeivich for confirmation. I simply wanted him to state that my source was misinformed. His silence confirmed my worst fears. Minister Sergeivich went on to inform me that such devices did exist, and that yes, they are indeed missing in the United States.”
The room came alive once more, reporters snapping photo after photo of the congresswoman. The news media cursed at the absence of a television crew.
Who would have known?
Trevers circled to the rear of the visiting crowd. Satisfied no one was watching him — he screwed a bulbous silencer into the tip of his 9mm before placing it back into his jacket pocket.
No one took notice as he maneuvered into shooting position, looking perfectly normal to anyone who happened to glance in his direction.
The congresswoman continued. “Minister Sergeivich said he would never officially restate his comments. He considered his comments strictly off the record. Within two weeks of my discussions with Minister Sergeivich, he was killed in an apparent burglary in his home. The FSB, the KGB’s heir apparent, are considered the prime suspects in his death. As for General Lebed, an assassin’s bullet found him while attending a veteran’s reunion. The same crooked finger pointing to the FSB.”
She paused once more, the stress of the past several weeks evidently weighing on her. “I thank-you for your time,” she said in haste. “That is all I have to say right now. More statements will be forthcoming over the next several days.”
As the Congresswoman walked from the podium, reporters shouted questions at breakneck speed, searching for additional details, only to have her casually wave them off.
Crossing before the Senate Master at Arms chair, a red dot suddenly appeared on her forehead.
The bullet had clearly hit its target.
Several days following the congresswoman’s funeral, Russian officials issued a formal statement denying they had fielded such weapons, and widely denounced the United States.
In a closed door meeting, a highly placed United States official admitted to the Government Accounting Office that the Soviet Union had indeed placed nuclear devices in the United States. They also went on to state that all of the weapons had been accounted for and dismantled.
Someone was lying……
Chapter One
Adolf Hitler shuffled into the bunker corridor-half bent, dragging his left foot, the left arm shaking uncontrollably. Although he was 5 foot 8 inches tall, now, with his head and body twisted to the left, he looked much smaller. The eyes that his admirers had once called “magnetic” were feverish and red, as if he had not slept for days. His face was puffy, and its color was a blotchy, faded gray. A pair of pale green glasses hung from his right hand; bright light bothered him now. For a moment he gazed expressionlessly at his generals as their hands shot up and out to a chorus of “Heil Hitler.”
The corridor was so crowded that Hitler had some difficulty getting past everyone to reach the bunkers small conference room. Slowly, as though in pain, Hitler scuffled to his place at the head of the table. He motioned for those about him to sit before turning to the colorful maps that were spread out on the table in front of him. He managed a slight smile as he anxiously tapped the maps of his ever shrinking empire.
His hands trembled as he shuffled his notes, deciding it best to lay them on the table. He knew the Russian threat had to be taken seriously. They were at the very edge of Berlin itself. As he was about to speak, there was a loud commotion in the hall and the vast bulk of Goering filled the doorway of the little conference room. Pushing his way in, Goering heartily greeted those present, pumped Hitler’s hand vigorously and excused himself for being late.