Captain Isinov once again wiped the blood from around Sirna’s eyes, causing him to mumble a slight “thank-you” in response.
“Sirna, what are you referring to when you say weapons of mass destruction?”
Sirna laughed aloud as if a spirit had taken hold of his badly bruised body. Looking first to Captain Isinov, then to the general, eying both as if they were the last to know about the secret mission.
“I speak of the two nuclear weapons our comrades have secured in the United States.”
The general’s eyes went wide. “Where are the exact locations of the weapons and who has them Sirna?”
“One of our brave freedom fighters has found two nuclear weapons. He will use them to destroy Washington DC and Philadelphia.”
Sirna started foaming about the mouth, convulsions setting in.
The general tried to hold Sirna down on the bed, Sirna strained against the chains. “Get the doctor in here!” he shouted.
The doctor ran over to where the general held Sirna down. “This man is experiencing a massive coronary,” he glanced at his medical assistant, knowing the drug was to blame.
“Katherine, get the electric paddles from Room 2! Hurry!”
“A potent but evil side effect,” the doctor said in-between counting and pressing down heavily on Sirna’s now silent chest. He stopped after several minutes to seek a pulse, pressing two fingers against Sirna’s neck searching for the main artery. He shook his head as he looked at the general.
“You tried your best, comrade doctor,” the General said in response. “We have all the information we require.”
The General and Captain Isinov bid a hastily retreat from the room. Once they were clear, the general looked up and down the hallway before speaking. “The bombing will begin in several hours, followed up by a surgical insertion of KARPOV and regular army soldiers.”
Captain Isinov suddenly realized he would be missing one of the last, important battles of the war.
The General nodded to him. “For you, I have another mission, which if successful, could save a potential conflict between Russia and our old adversary.”
Ever the obedient soldier, Captain Isinov stared straight ahead, ready for his new orders.
“You are going to the United States.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jim Cooper started his car and immediately reached for his Motorola scanner hoping to get in touch with the FBI. He repeatedly pressed the scanner’s transmit button but the light would not change from red to green. I don’t believe this, banging the unit with his fist to see if he could persuade the unit to transmit.
He noticed the cars around him were beginning to slowly inch forward. Jim eyed the suspects Ford Impala as it inched its way towards the ramp no more than 200 feet in front of his vehicle. I guess it’s up to me to follow this guy before he gets away. He cursed silently for not bringing along his cell phone.
Exiting the ferry, Jim made a right hand turn, driving 200 yards to the first intersection. He searched the area looking for the suspect’s car. While waiting for the light to change, he noticed the suspect’s car stuck at a similar traffic intersection only 2 blocks ahead.
Little did Jim realize but Peter was already moving towards his first destination, Washington DC.
Chapter Fourteen
Peter decided it would be best to keep away from the main section of town, approaching the more rural part of Lewes. That is where I shall meet the gentleman trailing behind me. He drove confidently down the nearly deserted highway, wondering if he would have to use his weapon that now lay beside him. Looking in his rear view mirror, he could see the black pick-up truck no more than 100 meters back with only 2 cars physically separating them. The officer tried his best to stay out of sight, angling his vehicle so it would be positioned directly behind the one in front. This man certainly knew his business.
Peter picked up the Road Atlas he purchased in Philadelphia, opening the book to find a map of Delaware. Placing it on the steering wheel as he drove, alternating between searching the road for traffic and then the map for his location. He tried to find a possible ambush site ahead of him, locating a State Park Game Land only two miles away. Looking in his rearview mirror he noticed that the black pick-up was now the single vehicle trailing behind him.
Excellent. I can move this game into the forests where I will be the hunter.
A roadway sign to his right announced that for the next 3 miles the road would consist of a series of hairpin turns. A smile creased Peter’s face, knowing that only Allah could have provided such divine assistance.
Peter safely negotiated the first turn a good 20 miles an hour over the posted speed limit. Once out of the turn he sped up, allowing all 6-cylinders to kick in. He hoped to put some distance between the trailing officer and himself, seeing his opportunity approach via a 150-meter straightaway before the next set of turns.
A large green and brown sign on the side of the road proudly proclaimed that he had entered the Arnold J. Black State Game Lands.
Peter peered in his rear view mirror only to notice that the truck had yet to come out of the first turn. He should have been there by now with the rate of speed he was driving. Something’s wrong. Is he holding back? Were his fellow officers lying in wait just ahead? Is he “pushing” me into a trap?
The distance between them steadily increased to over 200 meters.
This was the break Peter was waiting for, steering confidently into the second turn, and once again allowing the speedometer to reach 20 miles over the turns posted limit before reaching its straightaway. He had the distance and surprise. Eyeing the road ahead Peter spotted what appeared to be a dirt road on his right. Slowing his speeding car before pulling up on the emergency brake, he steered his car into the turn. The maneuver enabled him to quickly veer off the road sending a cloud of dust and rock into the air. He drove down the dirt road before him.
Potholes introduced themselves to his vehicle. They were small at first, only to be greeted further down the road by the larger of the group. After several near misses, his car bottomed out on a hole whose impact caused two of the car’s tires to burst with a loud pop.
Peter had no choice but to continue driving on the flat tires, for he had to pick the spot of his ambush, not his pursuer.
Jim maintained a respectable distance behind the suspect’s car on the nearly empty road, with most of the ferry traffic heading north to the outlet malls that lined the shoreline. But not his prey, he headed west away from the hustle and bustle of the area. Jim followed suit, trailing his suspect as he drove off the main drag and out of town.
Peter allowed one car to separate them. Using a buffer car made it was easier to tail a suspect as long as they maintained the same speed as the suspect’s car. If the buffer car moved at a slower speed then the suspect’s car, he risked the possibility of losing the suspect’s vehicle in the process. This would force him to pass the slower vehicle and chance exposing himself.
The gray hair and small profile of the woman driving ahead of him provided Jim with no sense of assurance.
He had already passed several payphone’s but wisely decided to remain behind his suspect. He banged his scanner with his fist for the third time since departing the ferry. “Piece of junk,” he said aloud.
Looking down at his trucks speedometer, he noticed they had driven almost 7 miles outside of Lewes, wondering where the hell this guy was heading. It would be easier for someone of his ethnic background to blend into a city environment instead of the relatively flat country of southern Delaware. It was all farmland out here. Was he meeting someone?