The Prague Plot: The Cold War Meets the Jihad (Jeannine Ryan Series Book 3) (25 page)

It was near Dethorens that William Masoud Jones’s benefactor had rented a three million dollar mansion located on over one hundred rolling acres of woods and meadows.

A thick growth of white oaks, hickory, black gum, tulip poplars and other hardwoods screened the house from the road and provided needed privacy. On this date, the branches were mostly bare, except for the oaks whose dry twisted leaves refused to fall. No matter, winter or summer the extensive woods blocked all view of the house and its spacious front lawn.

To the sides and rear of the mansion, expansive acres of woodland and alternating meadows stretched to posted boundaries marked either by old fashioned rail fences of locust and cedar, or by overgrown low lines of piled stones. In those fields, Masoud had completed the training of his “volunteer firemen.”

Masoud occupied a second-floor bedroom located to the rear. He looked out the window and smiled. Since his arrival in October, no nosy neighbors had visited.

His domain was intact, the training activities had gone undetected. The “volunteer firemen” were ready. All that remained was the final command to complete the mission.

Allahu akbar!

At a booth in the IHOP in Warrenton Virginia, Josef Hrubec and Erik Holub faced each other. Erik sipped his coffee and scrutinized the face of his new Chief of security. Erik had never encountered eyes as dark as these. Perhaps it was the contrast with those pale cheeks?

Hrubec’s harsh voice broke into his consciousness.

“Are you through looking? Talk to me.”

“Excuse me, I was thinking. What did you want to know?”

“I was asking how many men I have for security?”

“Right now, only two of my welders. When they’re not busy, they double as guards.”

“From now on, they have no other work than mine. Understood?”

Erik frowned.

“Of course, Karel told me to help as much as I can. But the work cannot wait. We need to modify these tanks. The ‘buyers’ are impatient.”

Hrubec spoke.

“What did you mean when you said ‘Right now.’”

“Karel is sending you the North Carolina team. They’ll be here this afternoon. Three men.”

Hrubec grimaced.
Always Karel, the generous Karel. One day I’ll ...

Erik added.

“When they get here will you still need my welders?”

“First, tell me why your security is so weak?

“We’ve never had any of the nerve agent here. The modifications of the SCBA’s and those of the large tanks are innocent enough. And we can’t be traced to Hus-Kinetika.”

Hrubec stared at the engineer.
You idiot!
The Americans beat me, twice. They’ll wipe the floorboards with you.
He held his tongue a moment, then he spoke.

“Karel is too cocksure of himself. The people investigating Hus-Kinetika are not stupid. Trust me, they will find you.”

He changed gears.

“Do you know Ivana Novotna?”

“Karel’s mistress? I met her once in Prague.”

“She betrayed him. The CIA has her. They got her away from Karel, and when I caught her in Belgium, they got her away from me. In fact, she’s somewhere here in Virginia.”

This got Erik’s attention. Hrubec added.

“They
will
find you. It’s only a matter of time. That’s why you must speed up your time table. You
will
fix and deliver this last batch of tanks in two days. Your men
will
work all night. When my men get here from North Carolina, you can have your two welders. You will need every worker.”

Hrubec was not done.

“Here’s a photo of Bill Hamm. He’s CIA. Show it around to any men you can trust. Notify me the moment anyone sees him.”

He added.

“It’s not a question of if he’ll show, only when.”

For the first time Hrubec lifted his coffee cup. He swallowed and spoke.

“I’m going to finish my coffee. You go back to the shop. You need to schedule double shifts for your men.”

The car left Route 66 at the Gainesville, Virginia, Interchange and headed south on Route 29, Lee Highway. Bill Hamm drove at the speed limit. On the seat beside him sat Jeannine Ryan. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt. The casual clothes could not hide her feminine appeal.

Outside the wind was chill.

It was the end of the morning rush hour, and on the other side of the highway, the northbound traffic was still “stop and go.” In their direction, southbound, cars were few.

Jeannine pushed auburn hairs off her forehead and directed her eyes straight ahead as she spoke.

“Where’s your package? I’m surprised you could leave her.”

“First, the package is named ‘Ivana.’ Second, I have to stay with her. It’s my job. Either I or Tom Fletcher, my partner, has to be with her. He’s there now. That’s why I’m here.”

“Thanks. It’s clear you’re not here to see me. You’re here to check out this suspicious Warrenton plant.”

“That’s true, I am working, but it gave me an excuse to see you.”

His eyes left the traffic and turned towards her.

“Aren’t you glad I’m back in the States?”

She smiled.

“Of course I am, but you’d better keep your eyes on the road.”

He had drifted over the line. He guided the car back into his lane and lowered his voice.

“Look, I wanted to see you. It’s been a long time.”

She smiled and waited. Bill kept on.

“We need time together. Forget the fire-equipment plant. There’s an IHOP in Warrenton. We can catch a quick breakfast there before I check out the plant. How about it?”

Jeannine smiled and touched his arm.

“That sounds great. I’d like that. Don’t worry. I’ll eat fast.”

Bill pressed down on the accelerator.

Erik Holub, who ran the Warrenton plant, had seen to it, that none of his workers knew the purpose of the tanks they were modifying. All the fixes and alterations were easily explainable as improved devices for fire control systems. Their job was primarily to machine parts and assemble them, mostly by welding.

As a manager, Erik knew people. He had seen instantly that Josef Hrubec, in spite of his short stature, was danger itself. And their superior, Karel, was far away across the ocean. There was no time to launch an appeal to him. Besides, evidently, Hrubec was not afraid of Karel.

Erik made his decision. He had to convince the workers that the increased workload was essential to achieve a deadline that he could not adequately explain. He calculated that double shifts (16 hours on, 8 off) were needed for all workers for the two days to convert the sprinkler tanks on time. He drew up the new schedule and called everyone together.

The meeting started badly with angry shouts and gestures.

But Erik understood his men.

He explained to the workers that their hourly rate would be
doubled
, which would result in
quadrupled
earnings because there would be 16, not 8, hours each day. And afterwards there would be no layoffs. After completion, their normal hours and pay would resume.

The assembly quieted. Many nodded their heads in assent. while others appeared thoughtful, adding up their earnings.

Erik climbed onto a stack of wooden loading pallets. From this height he spoke to their higher nature.

“Guys, I have had many different projects.”

He scanned the group. engaging each man’s eyes in turn.

“And worked with different groups, but you guys are the only ones I would ask to make this sacrifice!”

He paused. Positive murmurs rose above the whir of the ventilator fans. Erik’s voice rose in turn to surmount the noise.

“Anyone else would quit, saying that what I ask is impossible, but not you. For you, the ‘impossible’ is a challenge, difficult, but nothing more.”

The murmur of affirmation became widespread. Erik drew strength from it.

“You inspire me. You give me confidence. Together we
will
succeed.”

A pause.

“
You
will succeed!”

Another pause, then a shout.

“Now let’s get to work!”

Erik watched the workers quit the assembly. The exit was orderly.

He discerned no hostility in anyone’s manner. Some, in small groups, talked with excited gestures. Others smiled at their neighbors with assurance.

He stepped down from the pallets. His knees buckled and he staggered.

His hand shook. The quivering would not stop.

Back in the corner office in the warehouse, he swallowed and gulped short breaths.

He thought of his meeting at the IHOP. Fear and relief mixed to flow through him.

Thank God for my workers. They saved my butt.

He wiped the perspiration from his brow onto his sleeve and let out a deep sigh.

That Hrubec would have killed me.

Josef Hrubec sat in the booth at the IHOP in Warrenton, Virginia. He lifted his cup to his lips.
Damned weak American coffee. Just like the flabby Americans themselves.

He thought of the “masses,” he had “rehabilitated” at Bartolomejska Street. They had seen (after some persuasion) the truth that they had been duped en masse by greedy Capitalist overlords who sucked all life out of a society.

But the ignorant American masses wallowed in their system. They were bought and paid for by television sets or large cars, at the cost of losing all ability to think!

In the midst of these thoughts a young family - a mother, father, two girls, and a boy - took the table near his booth.

Hrubec studied their faces. The children appeared happy, and their eyes reflected (he had to admit) intelligence and curiosity.

The youngest was handed a kid’s menu. She applied herself immediately to some sort of puzzle for which her father offered advice and comments. The mother was engaged in a serious conversation with the older girl.

The boy, a teenager, was trim and physically fit, obviously into sports. When his order arrived, he attacked his eggs and pancakes with gusto. He only looked up when another teen ager, a girl, passed near his table.

Hrubec snorted. Even the U. S. society, bad as it was, could admit a few exceptions. He ignored the family and returned to his coffee.

A waitress refilled his carafe and went on her way.

So the damned coffee is weak, at least I can have all I want.
Immediately, Hrubec pushed that sentimental thought out and repeated,
It’s too damned weak!
Any affirmation of this culture was a sign of decay in his thinking.

In the midst of his socialist reverie, a woman with red hair entered the restaurant. She was dressed in jeans and a loose sweatshirt. The hostess guided her to a booth in a another section.

Hrubec liked her bearing. She definitely was what the Americans would call “Sexy.” He returned to his coffee, but something about the woman’s face disturbed him.

What?

All came clear moments later when her partner came and sat across from her.

Of course, Hrubec knew the woman from the photo in his wallet. The redhead was “Dr. Ryan.”

As for the man, he was the last person Hrubec wanted to see anywhere near Warrenton.

His enemy, Bill Hamm!

Back at his clinic in Chicago, Dr. Peter Zeleny, doubled his normal office hours. His absence had taken a toll on his practice. His colleagues had covered well for him, but Peter felt personally responsible for his patients.

Peter worked hard through the morning. Now it was lunch hour. He sat at his desk and studied the chart of his next patient while chewing on a ham sandwich. His phone buzzed.

“Dr. Zeleny, a Miss Simek is on line two.”

Peter punched the button, and spoke.

“Anne, are we still on for tonight?”

“Of course, but we might have a problem with my father.”

“Have you told him about me? ... About us?”

“Not really, I mean he doesn’t know about you, but I told him about your father dying.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. I mean he said ‘Jan’ several times. Then he sat in his Lazy Boy and stared. Not a word, just sat and rocked back and forth. He didn’t seem to know I was there. And I worry about his heart.”

“Anne, you must tell him about us. He loves you. He’ll understand.”

Anne recalled her father’s bulging eyes and ash-purple face when she had shown him Peter’s picture in the Chicago newspaper. She was not sure that her father
would
understand.

“I’ll talk to him, tomorrow.”

The possible rejection by Anne’s father darkened Peter’s mood. He did not want to lose her to the past or her father. Moreover, the longer they waited to tell him, the more likely that any rift between Peter and Havel would devastate her.

“No Anne. We shouldn’t wait. We can tell him tonight. I’ll pick you up at the house. I’ll talk to him and we’ll go out to eat afterwards. Will you agree to that?”

“I guess so. If you think that’s right.”

“It is and I love you.”

Anne’s voice was a whisper.

“And I love you Peter. I do.”

“Good. I’ll see you up at the house.”

Anne put down the phone. She was not sure about this.

At the IHOP in Warrenton, Virginia, Josef Hrubec sat in his booth. A copy of the Washington Post afforded him ample cover from behind which he watched Bill Hamm and his attractive partner.

They had finished their pancakes and eggs. Now the two were engaged in animated conversation, one filled with smiles and punctuated by laughter from both sides.

Hrubec knew that Hamm had just arrived from Europe. He surmised that the couple had been apart for some time. He saw the joy that arose in each of them, as anxieties and imagined fears were replaced by confirmed affection, and yes, even Hrubec could admit it, love.

Hrubec was pleased. He would use the woman to strike Hamm a lethal blow!

And his reinforcements from North Carolina were less than an hour away.

When Hamm’s back was fully turned, Hrubec rose from his booth and slipped out of the restaurant. He muttered.

“All right Hamm, so you know about the fire equipment plant. This time I’m ready.”

Back at the plant, Hrubec entered the warehouse and strode to Erik Holub’s corner office. Hrubec studied the revised schedule and tossed it on the desk. He frowned.

“Hamm is in Warrenton. He must suspect you and this plant.”

Erik blanched.

“Then there’s no time to finish the containers. I’ll tell the men to stop and move another project on the floor. We’ll delay the shipment.”

Hrubec gripped Erik’s arm.

“You will not. You must finish. Hamm cannot act yet. All he has is suspicions. If he had proof, the FBI would be here now. First, Hamm will check you out, sometime today. He’ll need probable cause for a search and then he’ll have to notify the FBI, so that they can organize it. And they’ll have to get a warrant. The Americans are slow about such things.

He released Erik’s arm.

“Control yourself. You have, maybe, two days. Push your men harder. Leave the rest to me.”

Erik stared in disbelief. Hrubec continued.

“Hamm won’t live to tell the FBI what he finds.”

The office phone rang. Erik listened and turned to Hrubec.

“Your security men are here from North Carolina. There’s a construction trailer to the right as you leave the loading dock. They’re waiting for you there.”

“Good.”

Hrubec had one last instruction.

“Hamm’s driving a blue Accord. This is the license plate. This is a photo of the woman with him. Her name is Ryan. Don’t be fooled by her looks. She’s sharp. Stay alert.”

He went on.

“They won’t get by me, but if they get by one of my men, you know how to signal me. Just push the button.

Hrubec held out a small device that featured a single red button. His dark eyes read the fear in Erik’s.

“Stand up. Be a man. Now go make sure everyone is busy.”

Erik turned and left Hrubec in the office.

The farther away he was from Hrubec, the better.

At the Warrenton IHOP, Bill Hamm was filled with coffee, pancakes and joy. This time with Jeannine had revived him.

He and Jeannine were back on track.

He stood to leave, but Jeannine’s face grew serious. Bill paused.
What did I do now?

“Sit down a minute, Bill.”

He sat.

“Do you see that booth over there?

Bill turned to look. It was in the far corner of the restaurant.

“There was a man there. He was watching you from behind his newspaper.”

Bill smiled.

“Maybe he was watching you? Guys like to look at you.”

“Get serious, Bill. This guy waited until he knew you were occupied. Then he left.”

She smiled and touched his hand.

“Maybe you didn’t notice him because you were looking at me, thanks. But he left in a hurry by that aisle furthest from us. He did not want you to spot him. When he was outside, he looked at our car. I think he memorized the license plate.”

“Are you sure you’re not imagining things?”

“I snapped a picture of him through the window.”

Jeannine handed him her cell phone.

Bill studied the image, but the face was obscured. He reached into his wallet and put a clean photo on the table.

“Is this the man you saw, short but stocky?”

Jeannine nodded.

“That’s him. Where did you get that picture?

“From the files in the Vienna office. Damn. I should have spotted him. His name is Josef Hrubec. He’s bad news. Now that he knows I’m here he’ll be waiting for me. This confirms your suspicions about this fire equipment plant.”

He frowned.

“We have to leave now, but you need to be safe. You need to go back to Maryland while I check out the plant.”

He helped her out the booth.

They left.

The W&C Fire Equipment Company of Warrenton, Virginia, was accessible by two roads.

The first was a paved two-lane road that left Lee Highway and dead-ended at a gated entrance to the plant and warehouse area. A high wire fence, topped with coils of razor wire, surrounded all buildings of the complex. Eighteen wheelers and smaller trucks used this road to carry supplies and remove finished goods.

The second had not been used recently. It was an unpaved overgrown and rutted “ATV trail” that wound south through abandoned farmland to a narrow road off of Highway 17.

Along that trail, old fields with dense clusters of junipers alternated with wooded tracts of thin Virginia Pines surrounded by vigorous hardwoods that crowded out the dying evergreens.

It was late afternoon when Jeannine Ryan and Bill Hamm drove south on Highway 17 past Warrenton. An old billboard marked their turn. A short distance away a red F250 pickup had parked. Its tailgate was down and heavy planks provided a ramp to the ground. At the foot of the makeshift ramp, Jim Harrigan stood next to a mud-splattered All Terrain Vehicle.

Bill got out of the Accord. Jeannine turned the car about, waved to Jim, and drove off.

Bill spoke.

“Jim, you got the ATV, good.”

“Here it is. It’s full of gas, and there’s an extra tank strapped to the side. The rental guys wanted to hose it down, but I said not to worry. Where is Jeannine going?”

“She’s going to Hertz in Gainesville. Josef Hrubec has the Accord’s license number. She’ll swap it for another rental, and head back to Maryland.”

“Will she be safe?”

“She should be OK in Rockville at the Best Western with Aileen. No one has found them there yet.”

“Why not send her to the safe house?”

“The damned CIA won’t let me. No clearance.”

“What’s next, Bill. You said Hrubec is expecting you, I’d better come with you.”

“No, but thanks. Hrubec will never see me. I don’t need to get inside the plant. I have night-vision glasses. Besides, you’re my exit strategy. There’s a shack one mile down the road. Park your truck there. Wait for me there, ready to load this thing.”

He patted the fender of the ATV and continued.

“Coming back it will be dark. I’ll leave the trail and cut through the old fields to that shack. The ATV can weave through the junipers. Anyone chasing me, even with 4-wheel drive, won’t make it through them. We’ll load her up and go.”

“But you still need backup.”

“You’re it, Jim. Don’t worry.”

Without further words, Bill mounted the ATV and drove onto the overgrown trail towards the plant. A moment later, he was lost in the twilight.

Jim loaded the planks into the pickup and drove to the old shack.

Jeannine knew that Hrubec had the license plate of the Accord, so she returned it to a Hertz office in Gainesville, Virginia. There she picked up a blue Ford Fiesta.

But she did not head for Maryland. She would spend the night in Gainesville, closer to Bill. The nearby Hampton Inn was inviting.

She took a comfortable room and settled in to await a call from Bill.