"This is huge," Davies said, his journalistic instincts overriding his fear. "This could stop the war before it starts. The world needs to know.
The Kremlin Cipher: Chapter Six
Georgetown, Washington D.C., October 1962
The call to Thorne’s contact at the State Department, a man named Sterling, was quick and tense. Sterling, nervous about helping a disgraced former agent and a current low-level analyst, eventually agreed to provide the technical assistance needed for triangulation.
"The signal is weak, Elias," Evelyn said, staring at the radio set as Sterling fed coordinates over the phone line. "They're being smart. They only broadcast for seconds at a time."
"They're coordinating the transfer of that 'package'," Thorne noted, making notes on a large, old map of the DMV area. "They must be moving their physical proof—or whatever they’re using to finalize this escalation."
Sterling’s voice came through the speakerphone again, clipped and urgent. "Okay, I got three reliable pings. It’s tight. The signal origin points to the edge of Prince George's County, Maryland. There’s an old military testing ground there, decommissioned in the 50s. Fort Moxley."
"Fort Moxley," Evelyn repeated, a spark of recognition flashing in her eyes. "I know that place. It's remote, forgotten. Perfect for an off-the-books meeting."
"They are meeting tonight," Thorne said, pointing to the timestamps on his notes. "The 'Ignite' confirmation is scheduled for 02:00 hours."
It was already past midnight. They had less than two hours.
"We can't call the FBI or local police," Evelyn said, stating the obvious. "They'd ask questions, the conspiracy would scatter, and we’d be discredited."
"We go ourselves," Thorne said, a glint in his eye that Evelyn hadn't expected. The old spy was back.
He retrieved a lockbox from a safe behind a bookshelf and pulled out a pair of large, heavy .45 caliber pistols, relics from the Second World War. He checked the clips methodically.
"Can you shoot?" he asked Evelyn, handing one to her.
Evelyn stared at the weapon. Her entire career had been built on analysis, on words and context and history, not violence. "I can try."
She took the heavy pistol, the cold steel grounding her. The abstract threat of nuclear war suddenly had a very real, very physical presence in her hand. "Then I won't hesitate either."
They slipped out of the Georgetown house, an unlikely pair of amateur field agents, driving Elias’s battered Ford toward the abandoned military base, toward a confrontation that would decide the fate of the world.
The Baltic Sea, October 1962
The fishing trawler was making slow progress toward Swedish territorial waters. Mikhail and Davies spent the time meticulously photographing every document in the briefcase using Davies's camera.
"We need a safe harbor," Mikhail said, shivering. "If we can reach Sweden, they are neutral. We can present the evidence to the UN representatives there."
"They're going to want the originals," Davies said, the camera flash intermittently lighting up the dark hold. "These photos might not be enough to convince a skeptical UN council that two superpowers are plotting against each other."
"Then we protect these documents with our lives," Mikhail vowed.
Suddenly, the engine above them sputtered and died. The boat went silent save for the sloshing of the waves.
Mikhail scrambled up the ladder and onto the deck. The old Finnish captain was wrestling with the engine in the small wheelhouse.
"What is wrong?" Mikhail demanded.
"Engine trouble," the captain said in broken English. "Maybe hit a net. Maybe sabotage." He pointed to the open sea. "And we have company."
A sleek, fast Soviet patrol boat was cutting through the water, lights off, a dark shark on the horizon, heading straight for them.
"They found us," Mikhail whispered. They must have tracked the trawler's limited range or anticipated his move toward Sweden.
"What do we do?" Davies asked, appearing on the deck, the camera strapped around his neck.
Mikhail looked at the dark water, the approaching patrol boat, and the heavy briefcase containing the only proof the world had. He made a snap decision.
"We can't let them take this," he told the journalist. "They capture us, the documents disappear, and the world burns."
He grabbed a heavy coil of rope and the briefcase. "We have to abandon ship. Tie the case to the largest life buoy we have. We swim for it and hope they prioritize stopping the boat over finding two men in the dark."
The Soviet patrol boat was closer now, a powerful searchlight cutting across the waves, heading their way. The chase was on again, moving from the docks to the unforgiving open sea.
No comments:
Post a Comment