Two loud blasts from the ferries horn informed everyone of the ferry’s intention of docking.
Walking down the crowded metal stairway to the vehicle deck, he noticed a tall white male exiting his vehicle. “What the hell,” Peter said aloud, startling the older couple walking in front of him.
The woman provided him with a nasty scowl.
Peter finally broke free of the main crowd as the stairway suddenly widened allowing him to run down the remaining steps with the speed of a gazelle. He effortlessly moved past the three rows of cars positioned along the base of the steps until stopping at his own car. Peter stood for a moment watching Jim jog back to his own vehicle. There was no time to chase after the man, for they were pulling into port.
Peter quickly entered and closed the door of his car. He had nothing of value in the car. Maybe some change from the tollbooths, looking to see that it was still in the ashtray. He then opened the glove compartment checking to see that his rental documents and maps were intact, satisfied they were, he slammed it shut.
It has to be the FBI, he said aloud.
Peter checked under the front seat of his car locating his weapon, removing it and laying the weapon within arm’s reach. He recited a quick prayer, finishing in time to watch the ferry as it slowly inched its way into the Lewes city dock.
If it’s a fight you desire, I am more than willing to oblige.
With the lowering of the ferries draw-bridge, tens of cars all started their engines in unison. Adjusting his rear view mirror Peter suspected his adversary would call in the car’s location and allow Peter to be “handed-off” to another FBI or unmarked police vehicle. Peter would have to deal with this possibility and quickly.
He was only hours away from achieving his mission and no one was going to interfere, not at this stage.
Jim started back to his own vehicle, leaving the suspect’s car virtually untouched except for the glove compartment. Retracing his steps past the middle-aged pot smoking couple, now evidently feeling more relaxed by the combination of pot and the gentle rocking motion of the ferry. Jim noticed the man calmly point back to the car he had just broke into and silently mouth shame, shame to him, waging his finger at him in jest. This caused his wife to burst out in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
Who else noticed? He looked over his shoulder at the car, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. He scanned the group of people now coming down the steps from the topside lounge area. The group contained mostly white, elderly tourists heading for a tour bus, included among this group was a well-tanned man with dark hair.
He was staring right at Jim.
Jim picked up his pace. I have to get back to my car and call this in.
Chapter Eleven
The Chechnya Mujahedeen Headquarters lay situated deep within a pristine pine forest preserve, located along the valley floor of the Nakyata Pass. The area lay blessed with a virtual carpeting of pine trees each seemingly towering one over the other. Their sheer size provided a jungle like canopy, with the suns bright rays barely able to penetrate to the moss covered ground below.
Its location posed somewhat of a mystery to the Russian military, having never been betrayed nor observed by any Russian forces that eagerly sought its existence. Most of those same troops thought its existence to be mere fiction. Others knew better.
Naturally camouflaged from Russian surveillance aircraft, the headquarters for the Rebel Army was a highly sought after prize by the Russian government. If they could capture the facility or even destroy it, they might be able to end the rebellion in one swift maneuver. This was motivation enough for the Russian government, the war already costing them over 10,000 Russian soldiers killed or wounded in battle.
At present, the area contained a defending force of only 150 men and women whose job alternated between loading equipment and being ever vigilant for the marauding Russian forces.
One man walked the gravel path between two of the wooden “residence huts,” fingering his prayer beads as he received warm greetings from all who passed by. As head of the rebel resistance movement Omar Turhaniz was deeply saddened by the disappearance of his second in command, Sirna Miliruid. His sudden disappearance only increased the burdens and pressures placed upon him.
Omar knew the possibility existed that the Russians had captured Sirna. Not wanting to take any unnecessary chances, Omar authorized the evacuation of his headquarters complex. He ordered his small staff to retreat 10 kilometers west of their present location, to a cross roads near the old market town of Goltea. They would retreat to a network of limestone caves first excavated on orders by Stalin in 1942.
Omar took time to reflect away from the main hustle and bustle of the evacuation, rubbing his graying beard as he contemplated Sirna’s situation. When first informed of his disappearance, Omar deployed as many men he could spare, virtually saturating the area with his freedom fighters, disbursing them in all directions searching for possible clues. For over 12 hours, his troops combed the area surrounding the ambush site, finally reaching the conclusion he had indeed been captured. Omar ordered the troops to keep silent on Sirna’s capture. He didn’t want the remainder of his forces knowing the truth. His troops held Sirna in high esteem valuing his leadership skills and lion-hearted bravery. Omar preferred to let his troops continue thinking that Sirna died fighting bravely in battle; only his body had yet to be located. No need to let them think otherwise.
Omar’s primary concern at the moment lay with Peter’s mission in the United States.
Once Peter fulfilled his mission, the Americans would have no choice but to enter our war, on our side.
Just as planned.
Chapter Twelve
Speaking rapidly into his cell phone, Captain Isinov updated his commanding general on the situation with Sirna.
“Yes sir, our prisoner is awake as we speak. May I be so bold to recommend we alert our bomber forces to proceed to a stand-by status with a 3 hour alert?”
The General obviously concurred as he allowed the captain to continue.
“Comrade General, the medical staff has informed me that it will take several minutes for the drugs to have the desired effect and work its way through his system.”
After a short series of yes sir, no sir, Captain Isinov hung up the phone. He walked over to where Sirna lay restrained with metal hand and foot cuffs, awaiting the arrival of the staff doctor.
“How is our patient today?” Captain Isinov said, now wearing his full dress uniform, displaying 4 rows of service ribbons for combat military actions in Afghanistan, Angola and now Chechnya. He hoped to intimidate his prisoner in some perverse way.
Captain Isinov mocked Sirna’s conditions, laughing as he grabbed the leg restraints, pulling on the metal chain that held his legs affixed to the standard Government Issue hospital bed.
“Are you enjoying our Russian hospitality?”
The prisoner chose not to respond, staring overhead at the white tiled ceiling, redirecting and channeling his anger for the moment.
Captain Isinov moved around to the opposite side of his bed, taking time to smooth the white cotton sheet that Sirna lay upon. He sat down on the bed beside him.