Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [118]
Francois Monserrat nodded curtly. Even Monserrat seemed uneasy now. The terrorist picked up the plain black telephone on the table. Monserrat dialed a telephone company business office, gave a four-digit number, then spoke to what was clearly an overseas operator. Seconds later, the terrorist was speaking directly to someone obviously known at a bank in Geneva, Switzerland.
“My account is Number 411FA. Make the agreed-upon deposit into the account…” Less than four minutes later, Monserrat hung up.
Moments afterward, the phone rang and Hudson received a confirmation that the money had indeed been successfully transferred in Europe. Over two hundred million dollars had gone out of the Soviet accounts into special accounts opened by the Vets in London, Paris, Amsterdam, and Madrid. Vets 28, Thomas O’Neil, the Customs Chief of Shannon Airport, had come through again. The Green Band plan was perfect.
“Colonel, I believe our business is concluded. You seem to have won each round. This time, anyway.” Monserrat executed a deferential bow.
As Hudson stood up from the table, he felt that a terrible weight had finally been lifted. He was free of an obsession he’d carried for almost fifteen years.
At that exact moment, he was silently counting down to zero.
Green Band was almost at an end.
Almost, but not quite.
Just one more twist, one final surprise.
Deception at its best.
Chapter 90
LESS THAN FORTY SECONDS REMAINED. …Two pistols drawn in the room…
Concentrate.
Hudson eased himself toward a controlled calmness.
Talk to them. Keep talking to Monserrat.
“I have one question before I leave. May I? May I ask one question?”
Monserrat nodded.
“What harm? You may ask anything. Then perhaps I have a question.”
Colonel Hudson watched Monserrat’s eyes as he spoke. He saw nothing there—no affect, no emotion. The two of them were close in so many ways.
“How long have you been with the Russians? How long have you been one of their moles?”
“I was always with the Russians, Colonel. I am a Russian. My parents were stationed in America. They were among hundreds of agents who came here in the late 1940s.
“I was taught to be American. There are others like me. They’re all over the U.S. Waiting, Colonel. We want to destroy the United States financially, and in every other way.”
Fourteen seconds. Twelve seconds. Ten seconds.
Hudson kept counting in his head, kept talking in a monotone to Francois Monserrat.
“Harry Stemkowsky… Do you remember a man named Stemkowsky? Poor crippled sergeant? One of my men?”
“One of the casualties of war. Your war, Colonel, not ours. He wouldn’t betray you under any circumstances.”
As he reached three in his countdown, Hudson took two fast, unexpected steps to his left. Both Russian terrorists swung up their pistols to fire. Too late.
Hudson tucked his chin down hard against his chest. He dove head-first through a glass window pane, crashing into the factory section of the building.
At that moment, the entire building shook from the first round from the M-60s, which completely pulverized the tenement’s fourth floor.
Flash fires broke out in three separate areas of the factory. Bright orange and crimson flames danced, straining to reach the stained yellow ceiling. Huge panes of glass buckled, then leaped from their casements and crashed to the cement below. Everywhere, the old struts and supports of the building were beginning to sag, warped by the rising heat, the hungry reaches of the lapping flames.
M-16 rifles coughed and rattled everywhere.
The Vets attack was under way.
Hudson waited in a combat crouch behind heavy factory machines. The thick smoke from the fire was an advantage and his enemy at the same time. The billowing smoke and flames made it impossible for Monserrat and his people to locate Hudson, but it also made him vulnerable, exposed to attack from any side.
At that instant, Hudson heard the sound he’d been waiting for. The whirring