Igor was ready for this, knowing the type of criminal he was dealing with. He was a fanatic. The two shot burst caused Igor to once again dive for the exposed ground, waiting until Peter had pulled the suitcase into the hole, knowing he would be slightly off balance by the case’s sudden weight. This could work to Igor’s advantage. Jumping up from his position, Igor ran the remaining 5 meters up to the dirt pile, diving at its base causing some of the dirt to fall in on Peter who now couldn’t turn around or get up due to the suitcase being on his lap. Igor then reached over the top with his weapon and fired two shots of his own into the hole, not worried about hitting and damaging the weapon due to its protective titanium case.
Igor waited several seconds before repeating the motion. He then rolled around the dirt pile with his empty weapon still fixed on where he expected Peter to be, seeing Peter was right where he had anticipated — only he was already dead from a gapping head wound — the suitcase on his lap, unopened. He reached over to grab the security guards’ still lit flashlight, prying it from his hands. Igor then reached down to remove the case from Peter’s lap before he saluted both and bid a quick exit from the area. He had his own schedule to meet.
Choosing to use the security guards flashlight instead of the night vision gear was an unwise decision as far as Igor was concerned — but he was in a hurry.
“Did you hear that?” Forsythe said in a hushed tone.
Rocco and Jim instinctively dove for cover outside the Forts front entrance, the popping noise sounding as if a string of firecrackers had been set off.
Rocco was first to respond. “Definitely 9mm shots.”
Jim was next. “It sounded like it came from the footpath.”
“From the information we have on the Forts layout, this is the only way out,” Forsythe said. “We’ll stay here and take him or them when they emerge.”
Forsythe removed his own 9mm Beretta from his leather shoulder holster.
“Rocco you take the first shot,” he ordered, knowing that Rocco had a night scope mounted on his weapon. He also wouldn’t miss.
“Roger that boss,” Rocco replied, flipping around his black baseball cap so it wouldn’t interfere with his shot.
Forsythe watched as his men expertly dispersed across the trail without so much as an order from him, taking up positions exactly where he would have placed them.
Experts all.
Igor had committed the one mistake a true professional would never think of, complacency. With his objective reached, a natural letdown ensues. It was the body’s way of controlling emotions, the same way a pressure valve allows steam to disperse harmlessly into the atmosphere. Being a professional soldier, he should have realized the dire consequences that could present themselves.
Igor was already thinking of the next stage of his operation, not concentrating on the present. Flashlight in one hand, the suitcase in the other, Igor hoped he could take the morning Aeroflot flight to London. There he would meet up with General Poszak and Sir Robert and together they would deliver the weapon to Jerusalem. At least, that was the plan.
Lifting the flashlight temporarily from the path, Igor shone it ahead to see how much further he had to the bridge. As he did, he spotted the three FBI agents lying across the path in front of him. His weapon was in his pants pocket, not that it would have made a difference.
Igor never realized what hit him.
Rocco let out a quick burst that cut Igor in two — the Titanium case dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
Forsythe was the first to move forward. “All right let’s check the immediate area and then get the hell out of here before anybody realizes what’s going on.”
Rocco held his weapons stock squarely against his shoulder as he surveyed the scene through its night vision scope, walking down the dirt path, wanting to verify the spot was right where Boris had said the weapon would be. They didn’t need another weapon being on the loose.
Jim moved quickly to check the status of Igor, a look of surprise emerging on his face when he realized it wasn’t who they expected. Seeing the man’s body essentially cut in half from Rocco’s burst, Jim reached over the body to grab the case. Opening the case’s latches, Jim viewed something that had lay hidden for over thirty-five years, seeing it was indeed what they were looking for.
“We have it boss,” he said aloud to Forsythe.
At the same moment,Rocco came running down the footpath to confirm that there were two additional dead — one being their suspect.
Boris was right on with his information, not that he would care, for at that very moment he was already being in-processed to the FBI witness protection program, taking the name of and identity of one Jack Forney of Oklahoma City.
Case closed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The FBI clean room was built for air to be filtered up to 100,000 microns, ideal for manufacturing a satellite or nuclear weapons parts. The room was mostly utilized for high profile criminal cases where the requirements for utmost care and cleanliness of murder implements or DNA could be extracted without cross-contamination.
The FBI lab technician hovered around two metal case’s wearing a disposable white paper body suit and accompanying booties for his feet — even his hair was covered in a white paper hat. Rubber gloves protected his hands as he probed the open case before his assembled guests who viewed his every move from the outside viewing area.
With the age of the parts involved and both having been buried in the corrosive earth for thirty-five years — there was a certain need for a pristine environment. Of course, the initiators were already removed, no need to have two, unstable nuclear weapons in a major US city.
Once opened, the case’s interior looked as though it were a classic piece of test equipment — assorted analog dials, hard black plastic facing. Very simplistic in nature; easily looking as if it could reside in somebody’s workshop, not at all resembling a weapon of mass destruction. Off to one side, the only parts to stand out to the naked eye were the units highly polished stainless steel tubes, still gleaming 35 years after its manufacture; the same tubes that contained the unit’s uranium and where the nuclear explosion would have been generated.
Outside the clean room, Forsythe stood beside two nervous CIA officers. Both of the “Spooks” looked as though they were making a mental picture of everything pertaining to the unit’s composition, obviously comparing it to their own hidden units in some obscure locations.
Inside the clean room, the FBI technician sat in his chair, shaking his head as he removed his gloves, a wide smile upon his face. He looked to be talking to himself before realizing he had an audience and a supervisor who required an answer. Walking over to the room’s phone, he indicated for Forsythe to pick up the connecting phone outside the clean room.
“What’s the problem,” Forsythe said, wondering what the hell was so funny. “It’s not a laughing matter — these two weapons could have killed millions of people including our whole upper levels of government.”
The technician held up his hand indicating for Forsythe to calm down and let him finish; he still had something important to say. One of the CIA officers hovered near Forsythe trying to pick up any possible tidbits of their conversation, the other agent already on his cell phone to some unknown person awaiting the conversations outcome.