“Mr. Phillips,” Congressman Dempsey said, “please forgive me, but I thought you said you didn’t believe the Russians were behind this attack? Why would these two know anything about the mole who may have infiltrated our Justice Department, or even Rocket’s Red Glare?”
“I was going to ask the same question,” Doyle said matter-of-factly.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s a fair question. Deception is one act thatterrorists do well. Rarely do events occur at face value, or at legitimately random times,” I said. “The enemy’s consistent calculus: Maximize damage while efficiently using a limited amount of time. Sending the good guys in the wrong direction allows more time to accomplish their real objective.
“In this scenario, I would say that although the Russians may not have orchestrated it, and probably have fantastic deniability, the Egorovs’ business is arms dealing. They sure as shit had something to do with the arms and ammo the bad guys used. If you want to find dirty people, don’t hang out with clean people. Those two fuckers are as dirty as they come. They’ll know something.”
“How soon can you execute?” asked Congressman Jennings.
“Plan on our takedown in thirty-six hours, like 0300 the day after tomorrow.” I looked at the principals of Black Star Services, Dallas Fletcher and Morgan Porter. “Can you guys get us in that soon?” Realizing I had put them on the spot in front of everyone, I mouthed a weakSorry.
“Do you want a window seat or an aisle?” Fletcher laughed. “Nat, the answer is yes. Morgan and I will get the assets organized and brief you as soon as I get off the phone with our planners. Too easy.”
“Well, folks, it seems that we now have our first sanctioned Rocket’s Red Glare mission,” Sam Starnes said. “The president will be briefed as soon as we conclude. Before you get busy, I want to remind you that while you’re cleared to use what force you need, be safe, be smart, and don’t get caught.”
With that, Tabitha Doyle raised her glass, saying, “God bless you and God bless America.”
CHAPTER 81
Egorov compound
Palm Beach, Florida
“The beauty of this device is its simplicity,” Pavel Egorov explained. “A child could work it.”
Pavel was giving his demonstration to his twin brother, Taras, as well as to Rowan Anderson and Elise Courville.
Courville had been able to secure a French embassy jet for this trip to Florida, ostensibly to take a meeting on behalf of her ambassador father, though the assumption that the new widow would also take time out to do some retail therapy didn’t hurt. The women would be able to transport the materials back to Washington, DC, as easily as they could bring a purse purchased on Worth Avenue without fear of TSA or customs. And Anderson’s badge and pistol would be quite enough to send anyone who did get too close in the other direction.
Now the four co-conspirators were gathered around a largeheavy wooden table in a fortified room—essentially a bomb shelter.
While Alexander Egorov was a master of the arms trade, both his sons were savants with explosives. They partied too much and spent outrageous sums of money pushing the limits of their father’s patience. But if a customer ever needed something exotic in the explosives department, the Egorov boys were as good as could be found anywhere in the world.
For the past year, they had given both product and advice to the customer in Boston. The Serbian was good, but they were better. Most of the bomb building and design work had been done offshore, but this latest order was homemade in Florida.
“Only three things you need,” Taras Egorov explained. “One, the bomb sheet. Two, the miniature initiating device. And three, your cell phone. Let me show you how it works.”
He pulled from a heavy cardboard sleeve what appeared to be a three-by-four-foot sheet of green Christmas wrapping paper. At the southeast corner of the sheet were several items that resembled sticks of chewing gum.
Pavel Egorov pointed to the sticks, which were all wrapped—not with aluminum foil, but a neutral-looking cover. “This is the igniter that is built into the device. We color-coded everything, so there is no mistake about what goes with what. This green wrapper is matched with the green initiating device my brother is holding. The parts can be easily adapted for camouflage purposes.”
Taras Egorov reached inside a box the size of a pack of cigarettes and held up what looked like a green coin, no bigger than a half dollar. “This is the initiating device. Again, it is color-coded to its matching explosive sheet so you don’t get mixed up.The industrial-grade adhesive can be applied to almost any surface, wet or dry.”
“What’s the range between the two?” Rowan Anderson asked as she nodded her head in appreciation.
“Fifty feet, maximum,” Taras said. “It has worked at fifty-two, but there are too many variables. At forty-five feet or less, it has never failed.”
“So all I need to do is set up the device where I need it and then plant the initiator about forty feet away?”
“Set it and forget it,” Pavel Egorov laughed. “Once you dial the number, the detonation is almost instantaneous.”
“Using heavy shears,” added Taras, “you can cut this sheet to whatever size you need. A three-inch square will vaporize a human body. A foot square will cripple and demolish an armored military vehicle, and this whole sheet with make a three-story building crumble.” His face was expressionless. “It’s good work, and our client said this is what you wanted. Yes?”
Anderson looked at Elise Courville, then back at the twins. “Oh, yes—this is precisely what we wanted. I promise you it will be put to good use.”
CHAPTER 82
Egorov Compound
