The conspirators, who had chosen an innocuous designation, the New Party Committee, sat around an oval-shaped table lavishly furnished with typical Russian zakuska, snacks such as caviar, blini, cheese, pickles and cold cuts. Bottles of French brandy sat at both ends of the table. The chairman, a short, bald man with cold gray eyes and a talent for cutting to the heart of any matter, began the discussion with a call for General Konstantin Nikolsky to report the status of his troops.
"The men are at full readiness," he said. A veteran commander who had distinguished himself in Afghanistan, Nikolsky was tall and rugged in appearance, a persuasive speaker. "The officers have been well indoctrinated. They will obey my orders without question. Although they will not understand the ultimate objective, they trust me implicitly. I have assured them they will be on the road back to military respectability."
"These are the troops being held supposedly to support the militia?" asked a swarthy Muslim from Kazakhstan.
"Correct. They are heavily armed, including enough armor to assure success. Air units are available to patrol overhead if needed."
"Are they prepared to move on a moment's notice?" the chairman asked. "The moment General Zakharov confirms that his American operation has been concluded successfully?"
"Yes. Perhaps General Zakharov can enlighten us on that prospect."
Zakharov smiled broadly. "I spoke with Major Romashchuk just before coming here. His team of guerrillas is ready to strike. I assure you, when they do, you will witness a panic in the American capital such as has never been seen before. We can expect a complete breakdown of law and order. The government will be paralyzed. Making any move to interfere with our mission here will be the farthest thing from the President's mind. We will be able to act with impunity. Our friends in Moscow and the other capitals are prepared to follow up. Once we start the action, inertia will take over."
Seated near the center was a bushy-browed Ukrainian who was highly placed in his country's government. He gave the chairman a concerned look. "Are you sure the authorities here have no hint of what we plan?"
"Hints, perhaps," said the chairman. "But knowledge, no. I talked this morning with both Chairman Latishev and General Borovsky of the Belarus KGB. They are counting on the militia and General Nikolsky's troops to guard against any trouble. Latishev believes there may be attempts to disrupt the proceedings. Borovsky was more tight-lipped, but he apparently suspects something similar. By the time they learn the truth, it will be too late."
When noon arrived with nothing more exciting than the occasional popping of firecrackers or a booming M80, the surveillance crew across from Advance Security Systems began to suspect this could turn into a mind-numbing marathon stakeout. Burke Hill had participated in a few of those years ago. It could make you feel trapped in a time warp. He called the Brackin home and told Lori to stick with her plans as though nothing had happened, giving everyone the impression that he was still in Seoul.
Shortly afterward, the cellular phone rang and Karen Rodman asked to speak with her husband. Lori had given her the number, along with a warning to use it only from a pay phone.
"I'm fine," Roddy assured her, conveniently omitting any mention of the previous night's close call with the car bomb. "Hopefully this will all soon be history. Are Renee and Jim coming for lunch?"
"They should be over shortly. I left Lila finishing up the potato salad. I've had to preach hard to that girl to keep her off the phone. She'd love to call the newspapers and the TV stations and complain about what's being done to you."
He shook his head. "Please keep her quiet, Karen. If the news people start probing, the FBI will release word about my being wanted in Mexico. They'll run my picture and every damned cop in this town will be looking for me. Don't say anything to Renee, either. Just tell her I couldn't make it back in time. Will Sergeant McGregor be there?"
"No, he has a rehearsal. We'll see him tonight after the concert."
Roddy's voice had a forlorn note. "Well, I hope you enjoy it. Wish I could be there with you."
When he was off the phone, Burke gave him a hesitant grin. "What would you like for your Fourth of July picnic, chicken, fish or burger?"
Roddy frowned. "Is there a barbeque place around?" That's what he would have eaten at Karen's house.
"Probably, but I have no idea where it would be. The other three I can find."
They wound up with crunchy, breaded chunks of fish, french fries and cole slaw. It wouldn't be the most memorable Fourth from the standpoint of the cuisine, but what was yet to come would likely make up for that.
The closest thing to excitement during the afternoon was a race of sorts along the street out front, featuring two go-carts that were little more than tubular frames with wheels and lawnmower engines. A group of boys, about half white and half black, took turns noisily roaring up and down the street. The competition literally ran out of gas at one point, being delayed while a couple of youths playing "pit crew" headed off with two large gasoline cans.
It was Roddy's turn at the window. He turned to Burke. "Those kids reminded me of something. I haven't paid any attention to how much gas is left in that Honda. Those boys went down the driveway next door. Is there a service station back that way?"
"Seems I remember seeing one a couple of blocks over," Burke said. "When Yuri takes the window, you'd better go check, and get some gas if necessary. Walt's Blazer showed half a tank when I was coming over this morning. That should be plenty for me."
The boys were quickly back and the competition resumed. It provided a welcome relief from the wearisome chore of watching and waiting for something that seemed in no hurry to take place.
When the phone rang just before 7:30, it was Lori. "Wanted to be sure you were okay,"she said. "We're finally here."
"Where?" Burke asked.
"West lawn of the Capitol. Chloe brought a phone along. One she borrowed from somebody. Hers isn't working. There's a real mob here. People are spread out with their blankets and picnic baskets."
"Did you get a good spot?"
"We're not too close, but we can see the stage fine. The kids are behaving great for the moment. I don't know how long that will last."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed. It's quiet around here, except for a few firecrackers now and then. Some kids were racing go-carts this afternoon, but they're long gone. How's the weather?"
"Humid. There's a nice breeze blowing from the south, but it looks like it's blowing some clouds in. I hope we don't get a shower."
"When does the concert start?"
"In about thirty minutes. I saw the cannons lined up. They're parked beyond the stage beside the Reflecting Pool. Sorry you're going to miss it. It'll be on radio, you know. Maybe you can listen."
Yuri, who was on window watch, suddenly raised his voice. "Someone's driving into the yard."
"Got to go," Burke said. "Looks like a little action across the way."
They gathered at the window. It was the gray van Major Romashchuk had driven up from Texas. Yuri watched through the binoculars as the vehicle pulled around and parked near the door to the shop. "That's Romashchuk getting out," he said.
"I can only see three men with him," Roddy said.
Romashchuk appeared to punch a code into a number panel and the overhead door began to rise. The group entered the shop, disappearing from view.
"Where are the other two?" Burke asked. "And where's the minivan?"
Roddy cocked his head, his brows knitted in a look of concern. "You don't suppose they're getting ready…?" His voice faded away.