65
By seven p.m. the sun was dipping low, setting off a sparkling display on the glass front of the Presidential Plaza Hotel. In back, the street was all shadows as the black pickup truck parked near the service entrance. The nearby concrete apron held a collection of huge garbage dumpsters and led to a raised dock for delivery trucks. Although the street was a no-parking zone, Burke hoped the police would not give him a hard time since it was a Sunday evening. If asked, he would say he was waiting for his wife to get off work at the hotel.
Burke dialed the hotel number on his cellular phone and asked for Adam Stern. When a male voice answered, he said, "George?"
"This isn't George," an annoyed voice replied. "You have the wrong room."
Burke switched off the phone and turned to Yuri Shumakov. "He's there."
Yuri got out and walked around to the front entrance. He wore an old straw hat of Burke's, with cardboard in the band to make it fit. Lori had worked on his eyes with makeup to give him something of an Oriental look. He had a camera case slung around his neck. He carried a newspaper and a small hand-held radio in a green cloth tote bag from Singapore Airlines, something Lori had picked up at a convention.
Locating a chair that commanded a full view of the lobby, he sat down and took out his newspaper. There was a clock over the registration desk. He glanced at it occasionally as his eyes casually swept the area. He saw the hands swing to 7:30, then 8:00, then 8:30. He was getting fidgety, crossing and uncrossing his legs. When the clock's hands reached nine, he decided it was time to check in with Burke. He took out the radio, which was pocket size, and stuck the small earpiece in his ear. Then he spotted a man stepping off an elevator who met the description of Adam Stern perfectly, right down to the shadowy hint of a beard. He was dressed casually in a blue knit shirt and black-and-white checked pants. The way he looked, he might have just stepped off a golf course.
As Stern sauntered toward the entrance, Yuri keyed the mike and held the radio close to his mouth. "He is about to leave."
"On my way," Burke replied.
Yuri got up and followed as Stern reached the doorway. A few moments later, he spoke into the radio again. "He is getting into a taxicab."
Burke eased around the corner and accelerated as the cab pulled away.
He picked up Yuri at the brightly lighted entrance and started in pursuit of the taillights ahead. He was familiar with the usual routes the cabbies took in this area. After a few turns, he figured this one was headed for the Fourteenth Street bridge that led across the Potomac into Virginia. However, before reaching the bridge, it turned southeast on Maine Avenue, went past the big seafood restaurants along the Washington Channel and east on M Street. It then entered a mixed area of houses and commercial buildings in the vicinity of the Navy Yard.
Burke switched off his lights as he turned a corner and saw the cab slowing toward the end of the block. The taxi's interior light signaled that Stern was leaving. As Burke and Yuri watched, he crossed the street to a low building, the area behind it illuminated by floodlights on tall poles. After Stern disappeared from view, Burke drove on to the middle of the block and parked.
"Let's have a look," he said, climbing out.
The street itself was not well lighted. They stayed in the shadows as much as possible. As they got closer, they saw a sign out front that said "Advanced Security Systems." The building appeared to be a rectangular structure with a front entrance off the street. It occupied a corner lot. A high chain link fence with barbed wire on top extended out from each side, with a gate on the right, then angled off toward the rear, enclosing a large storage yard with sodium lights that bathed the area in a bright yellow glow. Lights were also on inside the building.
"Let's check in back," Burke suggested as they reached the intersection.
They crossed over, then walked down the far side to get a view of the fenced enclosure from the rear. It contained a few unmarked cars, some panel trucks and vans, and a variety of construction equipment including an air compressor, a concrete mixer, a front loader and a Bobcat.
At the rumbling sound of an overhead door opening, Burke and Yuri stepped back beneath the protective shadow of a large tree. The door was located at the rear of a projecting wing of the building. It appeared to house a maintenance shop. A yellow dump truck sat just inside. Yuri's eyes widened at the sight. It was deja vu.
Burke had brought along a Nikon with a telephoto lens and a roll of ultra-high-speed film. He snapped the view of the truck in the maintenance shop, then swung the camera around as three men walked out into the light of the yard. From his attire, it was immediately obvious that one was Adam Stern. Another was dressed in blue jeans and a yellow shirt with blue stripes, the same outfit they had seen when the gray Chevy van had stopped for lunch down in Virginia.
"It's Nikolai Romashchuk," Yuri whispered.
Burke, sighting through the camera lens, nodded. "Yeah, I recognize him and Stern. I've never seen the other one, though."
Continuing to snap pictures as the trio walked over to a blue minivan, he noted the name "Capital Surveys" on a magnetic sign fixed to the door. Then Romashchuk climbed into the driver's seat.
"We'd better get back to the truck," Burke whispered. "Looks like he may be ready to leave."
They hurried back to the corner, crossed the street and made their way up to where the black truck was parked. They had just settled inside when a pair of headlights appeared at the gate in the Advanced Security Systems' fence. As the vehicle pulled into the street, it turned in their direction.
"Get down," Burke warned, bending over in the seat.
After the vehicle had passed, they looked back and saw it was the blue minivan. Observing no other lights at the gate, Burke started the truck, wheeled around and followed the taillights that were now turning into a side street up ahead.
"Maybe he'll lead us to where they're staying," Burke said.
When Romashchuk made a few more turns in quick succession, Burke decided either the Major was lost or, more likely, attempting to find out if he was being followed. But at that point Burke spotted headlights in the rearview mirror, making the same turns, and concluded there was one other possibility.
"I think somebody's following us," he said, an edge to his voice. Recognizing the area, he realized the street led toward a dead-end at the Anacostia River.
Romashchuk began to slow the van, but the headlights in back relentlessly bore down on them. "It could be a trap," Burke said. "Did you bring your Rossi?"
"No. I am out of ammunition."
"Damn. I don't have a weapon either."
The blue minivan ahead turned sideways in the street and came to a stop. Burke slowed to a crawl but saw the vehicle behind closing rapidly. It was barely two hundred feet away. He wasn't sure just what kind of car it was, apparently a small, sporty Japanese model, but he was certain the driver would be Adam Stern. And without a gun, they were dead the moment they stepped out of the truck.
Burke saw only one possible way out. He jammed the brake, screeching to a stop, flipped the transmission to reverse and stepped on the gas pedal.
"Hang on Yuri!"
The truck picked up speed as Burke steered backward toward the car. It promptly halted, but there was no way the driver could avoid the black hulk that smashed into its front end with an echoing thud, accompanied by the crunch and tinkle of broken glass. The truck's heavy steel bumper suffered no more than a modest dent. Burke shifted into drive, hit the gas again and spun the wheel to the left. The street was too narrow for a clean getaway, but a short burst in reverse allowed him to straighten out, then shoot forward. He wondered if he had damaged the transmission, but the truck never hesitated. They sped away before Stern, dazed by the crash, or Romashchuk, caught completely by surprise, could react.