On the other side of the Potomac, about two and a half miles to the west, the remaining two Peruvians, Raul and Tomas, relaxed in the blue minivan at a parking spot in Lady Bird Johnson Park. It was near the entrance to Arlington Memorial Bridge. They watched as the setting sun stretched its long, golden fingers toward the striking monuments across the river, the classically-columned Lincoln and Jefferson memorials and the tall spire dedicated to the nation's first President.
Raul, the English-speaking driver, glanced at his watch. It was early yet, but they would make their move with plenty of time to spare. He had been warned of the likely state of traffic across the bridge, moving at the pace of a three-legged turtle.
"This has been an enlightening experience," said Raul, stretching his arms out and flexing his fingers. A short, muscular man with bulging arms and thighs, he took a fatalistic view of life, one that decreed your number would be called when your time came. Meanwhile, not to worry. He was a veteran of many bloody raids into the heart of Lima. "I'll be damned happy to get back home, though."
Tomas, who was younger and more contemplative, looked around with a skeptical frown. "Do you really think we'll get out of here alive?"
"Why not? Señor Gruber has our escape plan all worked out."
"Ha! In the first place, we'll be lucky to finish this job without a bullet through our skulls. But if we do, I'll be damned surprised if we're able to locate our esteemed leader. I suspect his escape plan only covers one individual."
Raul shook his head. "Have faith, Tomas. El Sendero Luminoso requires us to have faith."
The gray van started out in the direction of downtown Washington. But after a few minutes, Nikolai Romashchuk made a series of turns and began to retrace his route back toward Advanced Security Systems. It left Roddy with a perplexed look on his face.
"Do you think he's onto us?"
"Perhaps not," said Yuri. "Those turns made me wonder. But now I think maybe he forgot something and is returning for it."
"Might give us the opening we're looking for."
"We shall see." Yuri had learned not to get his hopes up when it came to Major Nikolai Romashchuk. He followed along at a discreet distance.
When Romashchuk arrived back at the security firm, he paused at the entrance gate, ran a coded plastic card past the card reader that activated the opening mechanism and drove through.
"Too bad we don't have one of those cards," Roddy said, watching through the binoculars.
"If we cannot get to him any other way, we may have to ram him like you did Adam Stern."
As soon as Romashchuk's van began to move, Yuri gunned the engine and headed for the fenced enclosure. As the gate came into view, Roddy pointed excitedly.
"It's still open."
Yuri wheeled the Honda through the entrance and the gate immediately rumbled shut behind them.
"It must have a delay mechanism to accommodate slow-moving vehicles, like big trucks," Roddy said.
Yuri drove cautiously toward the rear of the building, stopping near the back wall. He switched off the ignition. "We had better move on foot from here. Have your gun ready."
When they rounded the corner of the building, they saw the van parked beside the shop door, which remained open.
"Quickly," Yuri said, heading for the opening on the run. Roddy was right behind him.
Yuri sprang inside the shop, dropping into a crouch on the concrete floor, swinging the Rossi in front of him with both hands. Roddy came after him, the Beretta gripped tightly, eyes sweeping the empty maintenance area. Work benches, tool cabinets, a grinder, a drill press, various pieces of machinery lined the walls. Doors on either side at the back led into other parts of the building. Romashchuk was nowhere in sight.
"I will take this door," Yuri whispered, pointing to the left. "You go through the other one. Be very careful."
Yuri paused beside the doorway, listening. Then he stepped quickly inside, brandishing the revolver. He found himself in a hallway illuminated primarily by a light at the far end. Several doors opened off the corridor. The first one he came to was partially open, but for all he could see, it might have been the entrance to a cave. Obviously windowless, the room was a black hole. Then he heard a sound ahead and to the right, where he saw a glass wall. He thought it was a voice, though he wasn't sure. He moved ahead cautiously, getting a glimpse of TV screens beyond the glass.
He froze as something cold and metallic suddenly pressed against the back of his neck. He knew instantly that it was the barrel of a gun.
"Very slowly, Mr. Investigator," said a harsh, threatening voice in Russian, "place the weapon on the floor."
Yuri complied.
"Lean your hands against the wall," Romashchuk said and patted him down. He retrieved the Rossi from the floor. "Where is your friend?"
"What friend?"
He felt the gun press against his neck again.
"Don't get cute, Shumakov. Your friend Colonel Rodman."
Yuri decided to try bluffing his way through. Hopefully Roddy would hear them talking as he worked his way around to this area. "He's on the trail of your guerrilla band in the dump truck."
"Then I shall take care of him as soon as I dispose of you. Open the door on the right and step into that room. We'll take a look to be sure."
As he reached the door, Yuri noted the glassed-in enclosure was some sort of control center, holding an angular desk surrounded by TV monitors. When he stepped inside, he found they showed views from cameras placed around the perimeter of the building. The voice he had heard came from a radio, a police band scanner with the volume turned down. The brown Honda appeared on one TV screen, parked at the side where they had left it. Apparently the Major had seen the parked car and then hid in the darkened room.
Romashchuk glanced around at the monitors, which showed no evidence of Colonel Rodman. He motioned toward a chair with the barrel of a Walther P38. "Sit."
"I also have another friend who is prepared to thwart your scheme, Major." Yuri attempted to sound confident.
"Hill? You can count him out. A fellow named Adam Stern has already taken care of him."
"Not so. The killer Mr. Stern sent was shot last night behind a building across the street."
Romashchuk frowned. "You're bluffing, Shumakov. Too bad you won't be around to see what happens when those mortar shells land."
"Land where?"
"At the edge of a huge crowd at the Capitol Building. The wind will spread the mist over the entire area. It will be more spectacular than the massacre at Katyn."
Yuri had difficulty digesting that horrible prospect. "The concert?" He had heard Roddy and Burke talk of it. There would be hundreds of thousands of people there. The nerve agent would claim entire families among its victims. His hatred for the former KGB officer deepened as he reflected that the Rodman and Hill families would be among them.
Where was Roddy, he wondered? He had to keep Romashchuk talking. Keep his attention focused in here. The Major stood just inside the door from the hallway. "You people killed my brother to get those nerve agents," he said, a scowl on his face. "Now this. What kind of madmen are you and General Zakharov?"
"Madmen? You do us a disservice, Shumakov. We are patriots. This is merely a new form of warfare. I have nothing against these people, as I had nothing against your brother when I shot him. They are merely pawns in the grand strategy."
The confession that he was the one who had killed Anatoli struck a nerve, but Yuri fought to contain his rage. "What strategy?"
Romashchuk grinned. "This operation is merely a ruse. Since the terrorists come from Peru, it won't reflect on us. But the panic and confusion will be dramatic, particularly with the deaths of all those congressional leaders. After tonight, the American President will not have the stomach to interfere in our actions back home. Ironic, isn't it, that leaders of the American Foreign Affairs Roundtable are helping to finance our movement? You and your General Borovsky never figured it out."