“Looks like production — and shipment — has increased dramatically over the last six months,” Olivia said. “Now, can you show me the industrial sector of Vladivostok, same time progression?”
Seconds later, the screen displayed a view of a mammoth industrial park. Casini dialed down to a series of structures flanking a rail yard, then applied the magnification software.
“Heavy electrical cable. Spools and spools of it,” Olivia whispered to herself as she inspected the image. “Go to April, then July.”
Casini did so. There was more cable in April than in January, and still more in July, Towmotors loading them onto a nearby freight train.
“Now Arkhangelsk, please.”
Seconds later, a January shot of an industrial area located near the port city appeared. Casini scanned for data points similar to the images of Murmansk and Vladivostok and then magnified and sharpened the resolution.
“Don’t know what that is, but it looks like some kind of electrical equipment,” Olivia said. “April, please.”
April appeared on the screen. “More of whatever it is,” she said. “July, please.”
July came on the screen. “Tons of it, now on forklifts being loaded onto trucks.”
“Have any idea what this means?” Casini asked.
Olivia shook her head. The buzzing was getting louder. “Not yet,” she replied, only half-truthfully. “But it can’t be good.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Rapidly moving lead-gray clouds hung low to the west as Garin navigated around Dupont Circle, careful to remain several cars behind a white Chevy Blazer proceeding north on Connecticut.
By the time the FBI had abandoned its search of the Crowne Plaza, the man resembling Gates had disappeared from his post behind the Fourteenth Street barricades. Fortunately, Garin had spotted Gates getting into the passenger side of a white Chevy Blazer parked along the curb on Fourteenth Street. The barricades had impeded traffic for several blocks around the hotel, allowing Garin to retrieve his own car and keep the white Blazer in his sights as it drove north onto Connecticut.
Despite being only a few car lengths behind the Blazer, Garin was unable to tell how many occupants were inside because of the SUV’s darkened windows.
Just as the traffic began to disperse along the spokes of Dupont Circle, the winds picked up and the clouds exploded, releasing waves of hard-driving rain. Though the traffic had lightened considerably, it slowed once again as the rain reduced visibility to barely two dozen feet. Garin could just make out the outlines of the Blazer as he leaned over the steering wheel and peered through the windshield.
The traffic continued to disperse as drivers sought refuge in side streets and parking lots adjacent to Connecticut. Within five minutes Garin found himself directly behind the SUV. He quickly resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do but continue to tail the vehicle or lose it. He hoped that the heavy curtains of rain would provide cover, but Garin’s hopes evaporated seconds later as the Blazer’s rear tires spun wildly and it began to fishtail as its driver floored the accelerator. It shot forward and separated from Garin’s car, disappearing into the rainstorm. Garin also sped up, and within a few seconds he reacquired his target, now slightly more than a block ahead of him.
The two vehicles raced along the nearly deserted street at speeds approaching seventy miles per hour. Garin realized he had no plan. He’d hoped to at least follow the Blazer undetected until it reached its destination and then improvise, depending on the circumstances. If he could apprehend Gates, he’d try to do so. If not, he’d observe and acquire whatever intelligence he could.
Now, however, he was in a damn high-speed car chase. The element of surprise was gone. He wasn’t going to be able to gather intel without the subject’s knowledge, and the number of potential outcomes had just multiplied.
Ahead, the Blazer swerved to the left around a slower vehicle. Garin did the same, holding his breath as he felt his car hydroplane momentarily until he eased off the accelerator and regained traction. No sooner had he done so than he saw the Blazer jolt upward as it ran over a large tree branch deposited in the street by powerful gusts of wind. Garin instantly recognized that his vehicle lacked the clearance to duplicate the Blazer’s action. Instead, he drove around the branch, struggling to maintain control as his left rear tire caromed against the curb on the lane divider. He slowed and swung back onto the northbound lane, losing visual contact with the Blazer in the process.
Again, Garin accelerated, the muscles in his upper body taut from almost losing control of the vehicle. A few seconds later, he could make out the rear of the Blazer as it approached Chevy Chase Circle. He was gaining on the vehicle when it swerved around another slower vehicle, Garin pursuing closely behind. As the two vehicles swung around the circle back into the northbound lane of Connecticut, the Blazer’s taillights flashed. Garin stomped his brake pedal to avoid rear-ending the SUV, causing the back of his car to spin to the left until it was nearly perpendicular to the curb. Garin turned into the skid, righted the vehicle, and avoided slamming into a westbound taxi, horn blaring, as it crossed the intersection.
The chase was barely three minutes old, but the tension of the near collisions made it seem far longer. Garin guessed that the Blazer’s occupants were heading for I-495, but he had no idea what their plan was from there.
Garin caught a break less than a quarter mile later when the Blazer swerved to avoid a Volvo that had come to a complete stop in the northbound lane, its driver deciding it was safer to flash the emergency lights and wait out the storm than to navigate blindly down the narrow street. The Blazer skated across the center line, then across the southbound lane, and catapulted over the curb onto a grassy expanse between two light-colored brick houses. Garin braked as he watched the SUV pitch to its left and tip onto its driver’s side as it landed in the vacant lot, its wheels still spinning furiously.
Garin came to a stop on Connecticut, approximately fifty yards beyond where the Blazer had come to rest. A few seconds later, the passenger-side door opened upward, and one of the occupants struggled to climb out. Garin could barely see through sheets of rain as he sprang from the car and was met by a volley of gunshots that were wildly off target.
The Volvo, a block back, did a U-turn and sped off.
Garin scrambled to the passenger side of the car and knelt next to the right front wheel well. Peering over the hood, he saw one of the Blazer’s occupants jump to the ground as a second occupant climbed out of the same passenger-side door. Garin drew his SIG from his waistband and cursed as he realized his extra magazines were in the gym bag in the trunk. With visibility severely reduced in the blinding rainstorm, he’d have to make his shots count.
The din from the rain, wind, and thunder nearly drowned out the next round of gunshots coming from the direction of the SUV. The shots came nowhere near Garin, who saw the figures of two men, neither resembling Gates, in front of the SUV, pistols aimed in his direction. Garin fired two rounds in return, designed merely to pin them down and prevent them from making a run for it. To Garin’s surprise, one of the men collapsed to the ground, a round having struck him in the right kneecap. Even under the best of conditions, Garin couldn’t have replicated that shot.
Both men returned fire, this time several rounds striking the Fusion. Garin waited a beat before popping just above the hood of his vehicle and squeezing off two more rounds, at least one of which appeared to strike the wounded man in the chest, dropping him face-first into the wet ground. The other man took cover behind the Blazer, firing a shot in the Fusion’s direction as he moved.