Nodding his head in understanding Jimmy saw the Routes 95 and 295 interchange below, wisely steering the craft as directed, following 95 north.
Peter also saw the interchange and grinned, knowing that he could still complete a portion of his mission.
His message would still be the same but with less potency.
This was his last and final chance.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The traffic flowed steadily for a summer Sunday evening, placing Igor only 90 minutes from his next destination in Philadelphia. Before he left the embassy, Igor asked his friend Sergey to keep a close and personnel eye on the fluid situation involving the Peace Enforcer at its downtown location. If Sergey saw the weapon was removed by the American FBI and not the terrorist, the better for Russia and the world.
Igor realized Sergey had his connections and could possibly swing a visit to the area. At least if the FBI had possession of the weapon, Russia could protest via diplomatic channels for its eventual return. It would be considered a major political embarrassment for Russia but hopefully it would be kept “close hold” between the countries spy agencies.
Careful to maintain the speed limit, Igor didn’t require any unnecessary attention at this juncture of the mission. The Russian embassy vehicle he drove came absent its customary diplomatic plates, a generic Maryland plate added in its place. The 2009 Toyota Corolla also had its trunk loaded with grenades, an AK-47 with cursory ammunition, and night vision goggles. That along with his personal 9mm would be a police officer’s dream stop. Right up there with a major drug bust. The newspapers would have a field day with his background and his Russian Embassy ties.
Approaching the first of two rest areas, Igor saw a highway sign announcing city mileages: New York 132 miles placed on top, with Philadelphia 53 miles right below. Igor reached over for the file on Fort Mifflin that Sergey had provided him. It was time to get acquainted with the area surrounding his destination. Pulling into the busy Maryland House Restaurant parking lot, he would pause for a few minutes and scout the best approach to take.
He had less than an hour to reach his target.
Peter constantly monitored Jimmy’s actions as he maintained his 1,000-foot altitude; below them lay Baltimore Harbor with its ships at anchor or heading out into the Chesapeake Bay. It had been an uneventful 10 minutes since Peter fired the second bullet through the Helicopters windshield to gain the pilots silence. He heard tales of hijacked airliners whose pilots conversed with their hijackers, leaving the radio on to relay to ground controllers their precise location.
That wasn’t about to happen, Peter was too smart for that.
The Air Traffic Controllers no doubt tracked him on radar. The ground controllers were informed of the hijacked helicopter by his FBI supervisors and clearing a traffic path for him, at least he had hoped so. With his transponder being in the off position, the helicopter would be hard to locate.
What really worried Jimmy was his present course; he would approach Philadelphia’s International airport and hence another heavily congested airspace. He had to say something even if he was ordered to keep his mouth shut.
Half-turning in his seat, Jimmy could see Peter pointing his weapon at him, indicating for him to turn around.
“Look buddy,” Jimmy said. “I have to tell you about the area we are heading into,” pausing to see if Peter would stop him, hearing nothing in return he continued. “When highway 95 approaches’ the city of Philadelphia, it runs parallel to the cities International Airport, that’s a lot of heavy duty air traffic. It would be wise to steer clear of that area. I can plot us a course……”
Peter cut him off.
“Enough,” he said, knowing exactly where they were and what they would encounter along the way. “Do you actually think I would allow you to provide us a course? What kind of fool do you think I am? Keep your mouth shut and fly. You have performed well up to this point; I would hate to see anything happen to you.”
Jimmy realized time was running short and he had to take some type of action. He would have to attack when they landed or even while they were in the process of landing.
Yes, that’s it, while they were landing.
Forsythe stood toe-to-toe with Boris in front of the Red Cross building. He wanted information, and he required it pronto.
Boris smelled a deal. It had to be a foolproof deal; one that would grant him immunity and transportation back to Europe, having already missed his reserved flight the night before.
Forsythe brutally pulled Boris aside, away from the gathering of people on the sidewalk. He didn’t require their conversation to be overheard. Satisfied that they were safely out of earshot, Forsythe dug his claws in.
“Boris do you remember our little conversation? Forsythe said referring to the torture he had to endure.
He remembered it only too well, allowing his hand to traverse the cuts above and below his right eye. He still experienced difficulty breathing from the blows to his stomach, possibly breaking several of his ribs in the process.
“Yes, Michael, I will remember it for the rest of my life,” Boris said. He now stared directly at Forsythe, knowing he truly held the upper hand this time, unlike earlier when Forsythe performed the old bait and switch. Promising him a quick return home in trade for his information on the Washington DC weapons location.
“But now, I want a commercial flight out of Dulles.” Boris looked at his watch, realizing that a Swiss Air flight was departing in 3 hours. “And I want to leave now. I will provide you the location of where our friend is flying to when I am safely aboard and granted Diplomatic Immunity.”
Forsythe grabbed Boris’s jacket lapels, pulling him in close. “Look here you sad excuse for a human being. I’m trying to save thousands if not millions of lives from being lost,” throwing him to the ground before kicking him once more in the ribs.
Forsythe looked back at the group of officers and agents who were watching the impromptu interrogation; he could see the look of disapproval only from the uniformed officer. His agents were ready to restrain the uniformed officers if need be, knowing the importance of the information Boris possibly held.
Forsythe reached down to help Boris, pulling him up, brushing the grass clippings off his clothing. “Boris, I will put you on the plane personally if need be. You can be home at 27 Alter Strasse, in Bern, Switzerland by tomorrow morning.”
A look of surprise shot across Boris’s face concerning his personnel address, one that he thought a closely held secret. “How did you locate my home Michael?” Boris said his voice cracking.
“We have our friends around the world, Boris,” Forsythe said, now taking his own turn at grinning.”
Boris rubbed his hands over his ribcage in obvious pain, his earlier bravado having vanished.
“I want your personnel guarantee of my safety Michael,” Boris replied meekly.
Forsythe put his arm around Boris to help him walk due to his busted ribs. “You have it, scouts honor,” Forsythe said. “But I will require the information right now, none of this waiting three hours bullshit.”
Stopping a few feet short of the group, Boris turns to Forsythe, the pain showing upon his face. “If you are aware of my new address, that means the FSB is also aware.” His expression now turned to one of fear.