In the big scheme of combat, this was not particularly challenging to a marine who had fought in Afghanistan and Iraq. He had been part of the battle for Fallujah and seen what street-to-street fighting could be like. Having a couple of middle-class Europeans haphazardly shooting at him didn’t concern him as much as what was in the satchel one of the men in the street was carrying. It could be anything. His imagination took hold and he decided he had to leave this secure position and stop the remaining man in the street from causing some serious casualties in a civilian neighborhood.
Shepherd peeked out from behind the planter and couldn’t see Fannie anywhere. He turned his head, scanned around the Humvee, and saw the man near the back of the vehicle. Shepherd sucked in a lungful of air, then didn’t hesitate once he decided to move. He sprang up from behind the planter and rushed the vehicle with his pistol up in front of him. He couldn’t risk glancing behind to make sure Fannie wasn’t about to shoot him in the back.
He was about halfway to the Humvee when he heard the first shot from behind him.
Fannie had been shocked at the quick and decisive action from the U.S. Marine major. It reminded her of all the propaganda she had ever seen or read about the U.S. Marines being the finest fighting force in the world. Maybe it was true. She also wondered how he became suspicious. It appeared that someone had called him with information, because he’d been walking to meet her and then slowed. His facial expressions gave away everything she needed to know. Now she wasn’t sure what would happen. Her grand plan of destroying the front gate of the base was ruined. Her only hope for the cause was that the death of an officer near the base would sow seeds of concern among the troops. Perhaps they could use the bomb in some other way.
She had sought cover in the cement walls of an outdoor stairway. She fired one round to the area of the courtyard where the major had jumped. There were heavy planters filled with soil and growing a variety of plants and bushes. When she peeked around the corner ten seconds later, she saw the major pop out from behind one of the planters and fire three times toward the street. She didn’t know if he hit anything, but he clearly was uninjured and still capable of defending himself.
For a brief moment, Fannie considered cutting her losses and fleeing. She was much too valuable to the organization to waste her skills, skills no one else possessed, by being killed or captured trying to kill a single U.S. military officer. Then she got hold of herself. She would never be able to face misogynists in her group who already thought women were weak. She could blow up a hundred banks and they would never give her credit for being cold and tough. If she ran now she would never hear the end of it. Besides, she had gone into this part of the operation without any authorization or acknowledgment from her superiors. They thought she and Amir were still acting as guides for Anton Severov. The Russian major was another reason she wanted to hurt the Americans. She would do anything to protect him. Fate was cruel and mischievous.
She peeked around the cement stairwell again just as the major moved from his position and ran toward the big, ugly military vehicle. She jumped out and started running behind him, still ten meters away. In front of the big vehicle she could see the body of one of her men crumpled on the ground. Why would the major risk himself like this?
Fannie fired once on the run and watched as a bullet flew wildly to the left. She thought it hit the vehicle, but she wasn’t certain. The major didn’t even look over his shoulder. He was focused on the other man, who was now emerging from the side of the truck with the satchel around his side and a small Italian machine gun up and ready to fire.
Her man was distracted when he saw Fannie running behind his target. It was clear he wasn’t confident all of the bullets would go just where he aimed. She watched as the major dove for cover behind a low, decorative brick wall. Fannie kept running toward him, knowing she would have an opportunity to shoot at him unobstructed as he sought cover from the machine gun. Just as she was about to reach the angle from which she could fire at him behind the low wall, Fannie saw the major sit up and shoot four times at the man with the machine gun and the satchel on a strap around his shoulder.
Almost immediately she realized the bullets could detonate the homemade explosives in the satchel. Before she could stop and line up a shot on the major, who was behind the wall again, a flash in the street blinded her; then she heard the explosion at almost the same time the shock wave carried the intense heat across her face and body. Her blouse began to melt across her arms, and she felt her long hair sizzle. Then the blast itself knocked her off her feet.
Even in her dazed condition as she tried to scramble for whatever cover she could find, she realized the second blast was the fuel tank from the military vehicle going up. It was even more powerful than the first explosion.
The heat, sound, and force of the detonation sucked the air out of her lungs as she clung to the wooden bench she’d crawled behind. She wondered if this was what hell would feel like.
37
Walsh froze as he stared at Charlie holding the gun on the FBI agent. There were too many ways this could turn to tragedy. Despite his appearance, Charlie was a combat veteran who knew his way around guns and had already proven he could act under stress. He had overpowered Serge Blattkoff. Walsh didn’t want to think what he could do now that he had a pistol in his hand.
For her part, Tonya Stratford remained calm, even though she had not dropped the pistol from her hand. He didn’t want either one of these people hurt. He had seen enough bloodshed in the last twenty-four hours.
Walsh held up both hands, trying to avoid panic while telling Charlie this was not what he wanted to happen. “Just calm down, Charlie. She and I were talking. She’s going to help me.”
Charlie shifted his bloodshot eyes to the FBI agent and mumbled, “Is that true?”
She nodded her head slowly.
Charlie looked back to Walsh, who reinforced it by lowering his hands. He started to breathe a sigh of relief as Charlie lowered the gun, but he kept his eyes on Agent Stratford, who didn’t know Charlie the way he did. Suddenly the idea of the older veteran being shot by a federal agent terrified him. Walsh took a quick step and stood in front of Charlie, then reached down and plucked the gun from his hand. He immediately turned and handed it to Agent Stratford, butt first.
Walsh looked Agent Stratford in the eyes and saw the decision-making process running through her head. He knew that if someone pointed a gun at a federal agent, that person generally went to jail on some charge. Then Agent Stratford took the gun and let out a frustrated sigh. Walsh relaxed because he knew even an experienced FBI agent would have a difficult time arresting a homeless man who’d served his country in combat.
Now the question was how she felt about his status as a former military man and if she believed his story.
Joseph Katazin quietly got dressed, careful not to give his wife an excuse to leave the bed. He had considered the information she’d figured out a thousand different ways and recognized that to follow operational security he would have to eliminate her. He kept thinking of the practical aspects of disposing of her body. Now that he was faced with the need to do it, he had to consider the consequences. It was no longer a game where he was liberated from a tyrant; now he was wondering if his loyalty to Russia could make him murder a woman he had lived with for fifteen years. The mother of his daughter. A woman who, while suspicious and nagging, had done nothing to deserve something like this.