Walsh was thankful Charlie had dozed off almost as soon as he had parked the VW. He was surprised how the missing rear window caused almost no distraction once he was used to the extra noise of the wind. After he was done here, he’d abandon the car. One way or the other, he wouldn’t need it again. He just hoped that there were no industrious cops in the area who would check every parked car. He was purposely in a dark spot between two streetlights and ducked low in the seat.
The problem was that now he had time to consider everything that had happened and process the fact that not only was his girlfriend dead, she wasn’t really ever his girlfriend. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that she could fake her feelings for him for so long and in so many situations. On the other hand, as he considered their relationship, he really hadn’t spent as much time with her as he thought. There’d been several long stretches when she said she returned to Greece, and they rarely had more than one date a week when she was in town. But that didn’t change the fact that his feelings for her were real, and that was why he was in total shock as he realized he would never hold her in his arms again.
He had seen the effects of grenades in Afghanistan. He was glad that he hadn’t stepped into the living room to see what this one had done to her. He was also glad he he’d been able to help the wounded FBI agent. The guy was in bad shape, and Walsh didn’t think he would’ve made it if someone hadn’t given him attention immediately. Not that anyone at the FBI would appreciate it. Walsh felt good about it anyway.
He was trying to keep his spirits up as he considered what his life would be like without Alena in it. Even if he was able to make all the charges against him disappear today, what did he have to look forward to? Lonely evenings in his tiny apartment by himself? Working eighty hours a week at a job that didn’t help anyone?
He could use this experience. He needed to find something with meaning. As these thoughts boiled in his head, something caught his eye. A light in the upstairs bathroom of Tonya Stratford’s house popped on.
He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.
Bill Shepherd was running a few minutes late, but he didn’t like to push a Humvee too hard on the highway. German drivers tended to be safe, if a little fast in their driving habits. The road was not crowded as he decided to hit the gas harder. It was just now eleven o’clock, and all he could think about was Fannie’s smiling face when he walked through the doors of the café.
He pulled off the highway and realized the café was only a mile up the road where several main highways came together. It was the start of the urban sprawl of Stuttgart. The area catered to many of the young servicemen and focused more on nightclubs than on pleasant cafés.
Shepherd’s phone rang in the cargo pocket of his fatigues. He had to shift at an odd angle to reach it because of the pistol he had in his waistband. It was not a regulation way to carry the M-9, but it was more surreptitious, and the Germans weren’t crazy about seeing guns in public.
He stole a quick glance at the phone and saw it was his friend Mike Rosenberg. He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Mike, what time is it over there?”
“Five.”
“Mike, this is a bad connection. Is everything okay?” He listened but caught only a few words. Something about phones. He hoped the interference might clear up, but after a few seconds he ended the phone call. He was getting close to the café and would try to reach Mike after brunch.
He pulled onto a side street and saw several parking spots open directly in front of the café. Everything was working out perfectly for him today.
Anton Severov, sitting in the commander’s seat of his tank, in line with his unit, ready to cross the border, glanced at his watch for the fifth time in the last hour. The Narva River was up ahead, just out of sight. Beyond that was Estonia. Who would have guessed anyone would consider conquering the small republic an actual military feat. They still were not rolling, and it was practically midday. The sun was bright but not brutal. The cooler autumn temperature relieved the worry of heatstroke. He wondered if they would feed the troops lunch before they moved. He had waited for word and even called the colonel himself. He could tell by the portly man’s curt manner that he was under a lot of stress. They all were. They were potentially starting World War III. But he was told to stand by and be ready to move. That was it. And that was what he had to tell the captains and lieutenants and sergeants who all showed their anxiety by asking him repeatedly when he thought they were going to move.
A few minutes after noon he heard several rifle shots ahead of him. Then the sign to go came over the radio. It was happening. He couldn’t deny the fact that he was excited. Soldiers were when they were about to do something like this. He still had serious concerns about the operation itself, but the idea that he could face an American or German tank on an open field was exhilarating. All of the tanks started to crank up their engines at once and rolled as if they were one giant caterpillar. It was only half a mile to the Narva River, and after a couple of minutes he saw that the route was completely open and the scout vehicles were rolling across the bridge without opposition. By the time his tank got to the bridge he was standing tall in the cupola, taking in the full view of the river, bridge, and town before him. To his left, several Russian soldiers held a group of Estonian border guards at gunpoint. Severov noticed one border guard was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood and a second sat on the ground leaning against a post and holding a bullet wound in his shoulder. The others apparently had enough sense to surrender immediately.
Severov sincerely hoped the rest of Estonia had that much common sense. He doubted NATO did.
Mike Rosenberg sat alone in his rental house and frantically hit redial, trying to reach Bill Shepherd. He didn’t know how much his friend had heard from the first call, and now all he got was a carrier signal saying the call did not go through. He looked at his clock and couldn’t believe it had only been one minute since he had gotten through to his friend. He dialed the phone again and again. On the fourth try he wanted to slam his phone onto the floor. Instead, he screamed out in anger and knew he sounded like a wild animal that had been wounded. He wondered if all of Western Maryland could hear his frustration.
He took a moment, sucked in a deep breath, and dialed the phone again. He needed to get through to his friend before he went to work.
35
Yuri Simplov rushed into Putin’s office in the palace at Novo-Ogaryovo. The former KGB man was as excited as Putin had ever seen him. He wore a sport coat over casual clothes, and his hair was not in its normal perfect position. He looked like a child about to open a gift.
For his part, Putin stayed in his seat behind his great desk and remained placid, waiting for his old friend to say what was energizing him. When Simplov realized Putin wasn’t going to ask, he simply said, “It has begun. I mean the military aspect of the operation. We have crossed the Narva River and are moving swiftly through Narva. The supplies for the long-term occupation of the country are starting to move on a combination of passenger and freight lines. One of the largest convoy trains will be moving south with our troops shortly.”
Putin still kept silent as he stared over his desk at Simplov. Finally he said in a very quiet tone, “Any issues?”