Roddy and Yuri were creating quite a furor as they cursed and flailed away.
The window was down in the truck, and a voice just above Burke growled. "Damn drunks! Switch your lights on. See if it'll chase 'em away."
As the headlights pierced the darkness of the driveway, Burke jerked the door open, causing the dome light to flash on the two occupants of the seat. "Don't move!" he yelled, leveling the SIG-Sauer on the tall, thin man whose large, round eyes widened with surprise.
The driver already had his hand on the keys in the ignition. He turned the switch and the engine coughed, then began to rumble beneath the hood. The sound startled Burke into momentarily shifting his eyes away from the passenger.
The short man snatched a 9mm Smith & Wesson from a shoulder holster.
Burke caught the move and squeezed off two quick shots. The passenger fired at almost the same time, but Burke's first shot had struck his arm, throwing the round off its mark. It only grazed Burke's shoulder. His second shot hit the side of the man's head, which seemed to explode.
Burke barely dodged the open door as the truck lurched backward into the alley, then swung around and roared off with tires screaming. The door had not closed enough to kill the dome light, and Burke got a glimpse of the driver's thoroughly terrorized, gray-bearded face.
He heard running feet and turned to see Roddy and Yuri.
Roddy shined the flashlight at him. "You've been shot!"
Glancing at his shoulder, Burke saw blood around a tear in his shirt. He also felt a stinging sensation. And he felt awfully lucky. He shoved the gun back into its holster and shrugged. "I'll live."
"I heard two or three shots," Roddy said. "Did you get him?"
"Yeah." He could still see the bullet that shattered the gaunt man's head. "I don't believe he'll be taking any more contracts."
"Shine your light over here," Yuri said, bending down beside them. They saw a small metal box, heavily taped, with a button switch on top covered by a red metal guard. A small antenna was attached to one side.
"Careful with that," Burke said. "Unless I miss my guess, that's a radio detonation device. Must have fallen out when he jerked around."
When they checked Burke's car, they found a bomb under the front seat fashioned from C-4 plastic explosive attached to an electronic detonator. A similar device was located under the seat of the Honda. On further examination, they discovered the small tone transmitter that had been attached to Burke's Buick while it was parked at Dulles.
Roddy rubbed his forehead disconsolately. "This means our lookout is compromised. We'll have to find a new location."
"Maybe not," Burke said. "That guy was a hired gun. He tracked us down through my car. I don't imagine he's going to get a public funeral. The way that bearded driver looked, he's probably still running. If we're lucky, Stern may not find out what happened for several days yet."
"What about the gunshots?" Yuri asked. "Somebody may call the police."
"With all the fireworks going off around here, I doubt that anybody paid any attention. Let's get back to our post."
"We'll get back there," Roddy said. "You had better go let the doctors look after that shoulder. The handkerchief you put under there is soaked already. Yuri and I can look after things here. We'll let you know if anything happens."
69
The holiday dawned in quiet splendor. A bright sun peeked slowly into the cloudless sky as Washington dozed. Even the tourists appeared to have slept in. It would obviously be a gorgeous day for celebrating, but Burke Hill felt almost lonely driving toward the District. The birds had barely begun venturing out in search of the early worm as he drove Walt Brackin's four-wheel-drive Blazer into the city.
Lori had been at the Brackins when he arrived late the previous evening with his bloody shoulder. It turned out to be a bit more extensive than he had at first thought. The bone was chipped along with a jagged tear in the skin. She had talked him into resting after Chloe patched him up. But before stretching out on the bed, he had checked with Roddy to be sure all was quiet, then viewed the result of the project his friends had pursued a good part of the day. The pain pill Walt provided relaxed him so thoroughly that he hadn't awakened until after five a.m. Chloe got up and cooked a big breakfast for the troops, which he carried to them in a styrofoam box.
While Rodman and Shumakov devoured the eggs, sausage, and biscuits, Burke took up the monotonous vigil at the bogus office window.
Nikolai Romashchuk and his crew of illegals had changed motels after Adam Stern's warning. They were up early also and set out after breakfast in the gray Chevrolet van that had brought them here from Texas. They went on what would have appeared to be a typical Washington sightseeing tour, except they didn't break out cameras and snap away at every stop. Their first objective was to learn the routes the two drivers would take when the operation began.
Afterward, they took a real tour, driving past the Kennedy Center, through Georgetown, up Rock Creek Parkway and down Massachusetts Avenue along Embassy Row. Romashchuk had served an assignment in Washington several years before and wanted to see how the city had changed. He was impressed mostly by the renovated houses in the historic areas and all of the massive, soaring high rise hotels. His Peruvian charges viewed the American capital with the same wide-eyed wonder as country folk from the nation's hinterlands. Somewhat oddly, perhaps, they seemed to enjoy Washington's beauty and charm on a warm holiday afternoon just as much as the visitors and residents who would be their victims.
The elements had not treated Minsk so kindly. Menacing dark clouds blanketed the Belarus capital all day. Nightfall brought a slow, drizzling rain that coated the streets and sidewalks with a treacherous glaze. Those inclined to Russian fatalism viewed it as a bad omen for the meeting of commonwealth leaders scheduled the following morning.
Most of the heads of state had already arrived and were gathered for a pre-summit dinner. They were a highly diverse group, representing a variety of nationalities, cultures and religions, each with its own unique agenda. Even a casual observer had no difficulty understanding the dynamics that had caused the Soviet Union to fragment like a shattered clay pot. Once the protective glue of the Communist Party had softened, then utterly failed, the pieces had fallen in disarray. A few recalcitrants would not join them until morning, just in time for the opening session. Security was tight. The local militia and the Belarus KGB were out in full force, intent on guarding the dignitaries and assuring a peaceful climate for the decisive meeting. Several units of the Belarus military remained on standby in their barracks in case they were needed.
A group of men with an entirely different agenda rendezvoused at a comfortable dacha on the outskirts of the capital. A baker's dozen, they represented a coalition of civilian, military and former state security officials with a single purpose, to right the perceived wrongs that had been committed back in December of 1991 in the name of so-called "independence." They had witnessed the Soviet Union being destroyed from within. Now they would see it reconstituted in the same fashion. Their plan was not greatly dissimilar to the one V. I. Lenin and his Bolsheviks had used in 1917. And just as Lenin had financed his revolution with Western capital, this group had been bankrolled by leaders of the Council of Lyon. They knew the most significant change from Lenin's era was the emergence of the United States of America as the lone superpower, willing to commit its forces around the globe in support of friendly governments. They had developed a bold scheme to blunt the possibility of American interference with this operation.