The Prague Plot: The Cold War Meets the Jihad (Jeannine Ryan Series Book 3) (28 page)

Josef Hrubec moved among the workers on the plant floor.
Hamm is here, I can smell him.
He spoke into his phone.

“Hugo, where are you?”

“I’m near the main dock. There’s no sign of Hamm.”

“Get over to the store room. Keep Hermann in sight. Hamm may try something there.”

He returned the phone to his pocket. Some distance away, four men lifted a tank onto a pallet. A forklift speared the load and started towards the side dock. The group of men headed to load another tank.

The small group of workers wasted no time. They were already pushing another tank onto a pallet. Hrubec was impressed. Erik Holub knew his men. Erik was weak, but he had succeeded at finishing the work. When the FBI arrived they would find nothing.

Hrubec turned back to see the tank slip off its pallet and pin the foot of one of the workers. A second worker jumped in to restrain the tank and relieve the pressure on his partner. As he did so his helmet fell off his head exposing his face to the light.

Hrubec started. He reached in his coat and gripped his Browning

The rescuer was Bill Hamm.

Bill Hamm pushed his shoulder against the tank with all his strength. The worker’s foot pulled free. At that, Bill let go and jumped backwards. The tank crashed off the pallet.

The worker balanced on one foot. He looked at Bill.

“Hey, thanks man.”

Bill inhaled deeply.

“No problem. Is it broke?”

The man stopped hopping and put his weight on the foot. The result was favorable.

“It feels all right. It’s OK.”

He grinned and held out his hand.

“They call me Jack.”

Bill’s hand was lost in the big man’s grip. Jack was strong.

“I’m Bill. Let’s get this tank back on board.”

Two more workers joined Bill and Jack as they wrestled the tank up onto the pallet.

They waited for an oncoming forklift.

Hrubec scanned the floor. Most of the tanks had been moved to the side dock for loading, but there were still a number on the floor, awaiting pallets. He estimated that thirty minutes remained before all would be stacked on the side dock. The step vans would be loaded in another thirty, at least an hour before the FBI could be expected.

There would be nothing for the Feds to find!

Hrubec was torn. To apprehend Hamm was to risk disrupting the work in progress. A fracas could cause a delay that would jeopardize finishing before the arrival of the SWAT team.

But the hated Hamm was within his reach. Hrubec had to act.

He slipped quietly through the teams of workers.

At last, he had Hamm in his sights.

He licked his lips.

Hrubec lacked neither confidence or ability.

He approached Bill Hamm from the rear and shoved his browning into the small of Bill’s back. Simultaneously his free hand felt under Bill’s sweat shirt, removed the Beretta and pocketed it.

“Hamm, I’ve waited for this moment. You’re a dead man. Come with me.”

Bill did not move, nor did the other workers. Hrubec glared at them.

Good. Weak Americans. They freeze.

But Hrubec had no understanding of American workers, or of their friendship, even one of only minutes’ duration. Jack faced him.

“Mister, who the hell are you?”

He turned to Bill.

“Who is this guy”

Hrubec spoke first.

“Police. This man is wanted for murder.”

Jack was not deterred.

“If you’re a cop, show me a badge. You don’t talk like an American. Who in hell are you? And get that damn gun out of my face.”

Josef Hrubec was short in height, but his frame was solid. Still the man addressing him was built as solidly and on a taller frame. And Hrubec did not want a disturbance in the work schedule.

Bill twisted to answer Jack.

“He’s no cop, and he’s no American. He’s a ... .”

That was enough for Hrubec. He slammed the Browning on the side of Bill’s head. Bill crumpled to the ground. Then Hrubec turned to face Jack.

Jack was quicker. He grabbed Hrubec’s wrist and twisted leaving the Browning dangling from useless paralyzed fingers. Not done, he seized Hrubec by the neck, and slammed him on the floor.

The Czech’s eyes glazed over. Bill’s Beretta fell loose and clattered on the tiles. Jack stuffed it in his jeans, and lifted Bill up.

“Come on buddy. I don’t care if this guy is a cop. He’s messed with the wrong crew.”

Jack glanced at Hrubec. He was out cold.

With Bill’s arm about his shoulder Jack walked him towards the main dock. He yelled over his shoulder to the other workers.

“If that ‘cop’ comes to, tap him on the head again. Take him to Mr. Holub. He’s on the side dock. He’ll know what to do. I got to get my friend out of here.”

Had he been conscious, Hrubec’s sole consolation would have been that, aside from Jack’s crew, the mass of workers continued their tasks without interruption.

The SWAT members assembled behind the
massive five-story FBI building outside of Manassas, Virginia. Black Kevlar vests and automatic weapons were the rule as they awaited word that Judge Henley had signed the warrant.

A Hazmat team waited also, along with Tom Fletcher, Bill’s partner, who stood nearby with Michal Pacak.

Tom had left Elena Krkova to guard Ivana at the safe house. Michal was here to provide expert assistance with bipartite canisters and tanks.

Tom prayed that none of the containers contained “live” mixed precursors. He shifted his feet. It was nearly 2 pm.

Damn.
How long could judge Henley take for lunch?

The SWAT commander put his phone to his ear. He held his thumb up and nodded to Tom.

“The warrant is signed.”

Moments later a caravan of vehicles turned onto the 234 By Pass that skirts Manassas and headed towards Gainesville and Route 29 to Warrenton.

The W&C Fire Equipment Company was forty five minutes away.

Jack put a dazed Bill Hamm into the passenger seat of his F150 pickup, and strapped him in.

“It’s OK buddy. We’re out of here. My place is not far. You’ll be all right there.”

Bill tried to speak.

“Jeannine, ... Jeannine.”

Jack smiled.

“Whoever she is, we’ll call her. Don’t worry. You’ll have a headache, but you’re going to be all right.”

A car pulled in front of Jack. He braked and felt the pressure of Bill’s Beretta against his stomach.

“I’ve got your gun for you. But who are you? Don’t worry, I owe you. You can tell me later.”

Bill mouthed ‘Jeannine,’ but his lips refused to part. The effort was too much. He drifted into darkness.

Jack drove on.

Hrubec opened his eyes. His head pounded.

His vision cleared. He was on a cot in the warehouse near the side dock. Just outside stood Erik Holub, clipboard in hand. Erik was busy writing something.
Of course, the step vans.

Hrubec sat up, or tried to. A sharp pain shot across his forehead, behind his eyes. He slumped back. He pushed himself up again. Success. He called towards Erik.

“Where the devil am I? What happened.”

Erik continued to write, his eyes fixed on his work.

“The men brought you here. You fell against one of the tanks as it was loading.”

“They assaulted me and you know it.”

Erik turned and stared.

“You were on the work floor, without a helmet. My men know what they are doing. You don’t. I believe them.”

Hrubec grimaced.
You simpleton, I will kill you, as soon as Karel permits, maybe sooner.

He struggled to take in his surroundings. Only one step van remained in line behind the one loading at the dock. He focused on his watch. It was time to leave, but first he needed information. He spoke.

“The men who brought me here, who were they?”

“They were part of Jack Cannon’s crew. One of my best.”

“Jack Cannon?”

“A big guy. Huge, you can’t miss him. But he wasn’t with them.”

Hrubec stood from the cot. He balanced himself and took a step towards Erik.

“Where’s this ‘big guy’ live?”

“Haymarket, up on Bull Run Mountain somewhere.”

Hrubec was amazed at Holub’s naiveté.
You idiot. You just signed Cannon’s death warrant.

Hrubec was not done. He still had to deal with Jeannine!

“Where are my men?”

“Your two goons? They’re guarding the store room.” They’ve been there the whole time.”

Hrubec turned in that direction, but his legs refused. He fell back onto the cot. Erik’s face spun in circles before him.
Not now. I must ...
His eyes closed.

Erik frowned. Most of the workers had been sent home. The plant was nearly empty. Hrubec would have to take care of himself.

Erik signaled the last van to approach the dock.

The FBI SWAT team arrived to an empty building. Throughout the main floor, abandoned work stations with twin tanks of oxygen and acetylene gave testimony to the intense activity of the morning.

An initial inspection by the Hazmat team revealed no evidence of dangerous substances. Chemically, the plant was clean.

While the FBI searched the plant, two elderly watchmen arrived for duty. They were totally bemused at the empty installation. Neither could offer information concerning the vacant plant. They knew nothing of activities prior to their arrival.

Their only information of interest was that their services had not been needed the two previous nights.

Jim Harrigan had joined Tom Fletcher and the FBI upon their arrival. He had handed Willy Johnson over immediately. Willy was wanted on two additional warrants, beyond the initial ones. He would be in jail for some time.

But Jim was deeply disturbed. Tom too.

Where was Bill? And Jeannine?

Were they alive?

The brown van headed north on Lee Highway, Route 29. Hermann drove. Josef Hrubec sat in the passenger seat. The vibration from the road accentuated his headache, but his main suffering was from frustration and failure.

He groaned silently.

Damn you Hamm
.

From the back seat, Hugo leaned forward.

“Why don’t we kill the woman now? Why are we keeping her?”

Hrubec turned and gave him a baleful stare.

“Shut up. You want to lead this party?”

Hugo froze. Hrubec continued.

“Check on her ankles and wrists.”

Hugo looked on the floor behind his seat. Jeannine was securely bound. He turned back to his Chief.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Hrubec turned to the driver.

“Hermann, turn left ahead, onto Old Carolina Road. We’re going to Haymarket and Bull Run Mountain.”

“But you said you wanted to go to Area One to check on Holub.”

Hrubec licked his lips. This was personal. Jack Cannon would die, and Hamm would see his girl tortured before he himself came under Hrubec’s knife. He spoke.

“Later. First, I have something I need to do.”

Hermann swung the van onto Old Carolina Road.

In Prague, the sun had disappeared leaving an eerie twilight that cloaked the streets of the old town in hazy shadows. Karel Moravec stood and watched the smooth waters of the Vltava ripple their way under the Charles Bridge. To his German mother, the river was the “Moldau,” but his mother had been a gentle woman and pliable. His Czech father had not allowed Karel to use that name.

Karel’s phone vibrated. He shook the thoughts of his mother out of his head and punched “Talk.”

“Yes?”

Erik Holub spoke.

“The last tanks are on their way to Area One. I’ll check the partitions on them tomorrow. We had to ship early because the FBI was coming. After I check, I’ll supervise the loading with the first precursor, and then move them to Area Two for the final loading.”

“When do you think you’ll be done at Area Two?”

“Hard to say. We don’t want to die. It will be slow.”

“How slow”

“Two days, at least.”

“Erik, you’re doing well. Finish fast, but do not take unnecessary risks. The sooner we hand over the Novichok-H to the crazy jihadists the better. Let them kill themselves if that’s what they want. We need to get our money and get the hell away.”

On the other end of the line, Erik agreed with that assessment!

On the Charles Bridge, the lamps came on. Prague at night, what splendor! Karel watched a moment in appreciation as he evaluated the situation in Virginia.

Josef Hrubec called Erik Holub a weak link. Yet Erik had achieved the nearly impossible task of finishing the tanks and shipping them in only days.

Karel needed Erik.

“Erik, Hrubec hasn’t called me. Where is he? He’s supposed to be with you. He needs to secure Area One.”

Erik hesitated, swallowed and spoke.

“He left me. He took Hermann and Hugo. They’re going to the house of one of my workers. It’s on a ridge called Bull Run Mountain. The other direction.”

“What?”

“He’s crazy. He wants revenge because a worker beat him up. He has forgotten the mission. He thinks someone named ‘Hamm’ will be there too. And he’s kidnapped Hamm’s woman. It’s all personal with him.”

Karel frowned
. So Hamm is still alive. Josef, leave him alone. The mission comes first. You know that. Damn it, Hrubec! We’re almost done with our part. Don’t screw up now.

He spoke.

“Erik, you go to Area One. They need you there. I’ll call you later.”

He hung up.

Across the river the Prague Castle glowed, but now its beauty was lost on Karel. He muttered.

“Hell, Hrubec, what
are
you doing?”

Erik Holub drove north on Route 17, away from Warrenton, Virginia. He had planted a seed in Karel’s mind about Hrubec, but how long would it take to ripen?

Erik was fearful. Hrubec was ruthless. As soon as Eric’s usefulness ended, Hrubec would get rid of him.

Karel needed both him and Hrubec, but once the tanks were finally loaded, he would have to choose between them. Whatever choice Karel made would be based only on logic and necessity. Besides, Karel was far way!

Erik shivered. If he were to survive he needed to act. There was one way to deal with Hrubec.

He put a handkerchief over his mouth and called the Prince William County Police in Manassas.

“I want to report a kidnapping. A woman, maybe 28 years, red hair. Three men forced her in the back of a brown van with Maryland plates. I trailed them to Bull Run Mountain, some house on Mill Creek Road.

Erik guessed that Hrubec was headed to Jack Cannon’s house. He continued.

“These men are armed. They’re dangerous. You have to act fast.”

“Sir, who are you? What is your name?”

“It’s not important.”

“Click.”

Take that Hrubec!

Jack Cannon stood by the rear door of his house on Bull Run Mountain. He had put Bill Hamm on the bed in the spare room, now he had a moment to rest. At the rear of his lot, the thick dry woods, mostly oak and hickory, were dark in the twilight. Nothing moved.

Jack lived in the same house that his father had built in the late forties, after the war. Some said that Jack Senior had operated the last still on Bull Run mountain and that his whiskey had been the most popular of any local’s.

Jack could not verify that, but before his father’s death (Jack was twelve) he often had heard his father complain about the Feds and their “new” helicopters.

“All they do is fly around till they see smoke curling up through the trees where nobody’s supposed to live. Then they come back later and wreck the still and spill the liquor. It’s a waste and it ain’t fair. A little ‘White Lightning’ never hurt nobody?”

His father was long gone, but Jack kept his independent spirit. The concern now was not for Treasury agents, but the local game warden. The woods in the back of Jack’s house were full of pampered and protected deer, and Jack liked venison.

To keep his freezer supplied, Jack had hidden a salt lick not far from his back door. Thanks to this “lick,” and a pump-action 12-gauge (loaded with buckshot) his freezer was never empty.

The only problem posed by this “hunting” was the secret disposal of the hides and bones, but this he accomplished in an ingenious way thanks to plastic contractor sacks and the Prince William County landfill.

Jack’s lack of respect for the law’s technicalities had served Bill Hamm well earlier this day. That man (Hrubec) had identified himself as the police, but Jack had struck hard and fast. It did not matter whether Bill’s assailant was telling the truth. Cop or not, he had hurt Jack’s friend. That was enough.

Jack left the back door and went to the spare room. He looked in.

On the bed, Bill Hamm slept. A thin line of blood marked where Hrubec’s Browning had made first impact.

Jack wandered back to the rear door and stood looking out. In the twilight, a graceful doe slipped out of the woods and delicately approached the salt lick.

Jack laughed.

That doe was lucky. His freezer was full.

In the back of the van, Jeannine was sore all over. Every pothole and bump on the road up Bull Run Mountain had transferred its energy directly to her cramped limbs and weary torso.

And she had difficulty breathing. When Hugo had moved her to the van, he had noted that her mouth was free. Now it was taped again.

Her body jerked forward and then rolled backwards as the van came to a stop. She froze. The voice she heard was Hrubec’s.

“Hermann, that’s the big guy’s house we just passed. You work your way through the woods and go around back. Cover the back door. I’ll walk back down the road. There’s a tree in the front yard. I can cover the front door and the large window from there.”

A pause.

“When you’re ready in back, whistle. We’ll move in at the same time.”

She heard the driver’s door shut, steps leave, and once more, Hrubec’s voice.

“Hugo, you stay here with the bitch. I’ll call you when we have Hamm.”

Bill’s alive!

“I want him to see his woman die before I finish him.”

But for how long?

Jeannine struggled against her bonds. They did not yield.

Despair and fear filled her.

Jack Cannon stood by the rear door of his house. It was his favorite spot to appreciate nature, as well as to spot a target when the freezer was low. But this evening he was not “hunting.” The quiet female at the “lick” proved that.

As Jack studied the peaceful woods, another form appeared in the shadows.

From the dark foliage, a young buck stepped gingerly into the clearing. A six-pointer, it froze, and checked sideways before taking another step. This was no trusting doe, but a skittish male well aware of the dangers about him.

The buck froze again, looked to either side, and then stepped forward to the salt lick. The doe backed off to wait her turn.

Once more the buck looked to either side. Only then did it lower its head.

Instinctively, Jack reached for his shotgun, full freezer or not.

The buck’s tongue never reached the salt. He lifted his head and froze, wide ears focused toward some sound not audible to Jack. The pose lasted but a millisecond.

“Crack, snap. Crash!”

Branches broke as the buck sprang backwards and bounded, white tail flapping, into the brush. The doe hesitated a split second, then followed.

Jack’s grip tightened on the shotgun.

Peace had departed the back yard. Something, or someone, had spooked that buck.

He pumped a shell into the chamber.

Josef Hrubec stood by the tall Pin Oak in Jack Cannon’s front yard and waited for Hermann to whistle that he was in position. That signal never came.

“Brroom.”

The dull blast of a shotgun broke the evening stillness, followed immediately by an agonizing scream. The next sound was that of Herman’s assault weapon.

“Brup, ..., Br, Br, Brup.”

But that burst was brief.

“Brroom.”

The shotgun again, then silence.

Hrubec stood motionless in the protection of the oak. The light in Jack’s front room went dark. Whoever was inside was scanning the front yard.

Hrubec did not move. He waited a moment and then retreated into the roadside brush.

Hermann was gone. That was clear. Hrubec was on his own.

With surprise and Hermann on his side, he had liked the odds, but his Browning against a shotgun?
No thanks.

Sticking to the shadowy shoulder, he headed back to the van.

The Ryan woman must die. Now!

As Hrubec rounded the bend in the road, not only his van came into sight, but also two police cars with red and blue lights that flashed crazily.

He saw Hugo, face on the hood of one car being handcuffed from behind, while other police, guns drawn, addressed the van front and rear.
Hapless Hugo!

Moments later, a limp Jeannine, her legs and arms free, was helped from the van.

Hrubec turned as an ambulance, siren wailing, raced in his direction. A third police car followed.

Hrubec ducked into the brush.

On the map he saw that a nature preserve was nearby. It was his only chance. He could get lost there.