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8:00 A.M. The men in the safe house assembled in the living room which had been converted into a bustling operations room. A large map of Harborview dominated one wall, with the county name "Condado County" emblazoned at the top. Another map, more detailed, showed the layout of Silverton, Dragov's staging area, marked with key landmarks and routes. On a sturdy wooden table in the center of the room sat a meticulously crafted model of the Pacific Coast Highway. It was made of intricately carved wood, with tiny details like miniature cars and trees lining the route. Each curve and intersection was accurately represented, providing a three-dimensional perspective for planning the operation.
"Where's Zoltan?"
"He's coming in now," Etienne replied.
"Zoltan gets a room of his own," Dragov ordered. "He's used to it being that way. Etienne is sleeping at home, the rest of you take the big room at the end and mess in together."
Fernand was muttering something.
"What's he saying?" Michael said to the other companion.
"He doesn't like having to work with Zoltan," Colin replied. "He says that Zoltan is so crazy it increases the risk."
Zoltan wandered shyly through the door and nodded a greeting to the assembled men. He didn't apologize for being late and Dragov didn't expect it.
"Before I start," Dragov said, "the old rules apply. Each man's responsible for his weapons and we keep a dry house while we're here, no liquor. Is that clear?"
"Wait a minute," Flynn broke in. "I've got something to say. I'm not sharing a room with these frogs," he pointed to Fernand and Colin.
"Why not?"
"I got no use for the Frenchies, that's why," he glowered.
"Hey man, who are you?" Zoltan asked good-naturedly.
"Flynn. Seamus Flynn," the squat Irishman said.
"Don't offend these good people, man, you can move in with me if you like."
The others were watching him, afraid of Zoltan.
"Alright," Flynn agreed grudgingly.
"I have a Franco-Russian heritage," Zoltan admitted cheerfully. "But I was born in the same country as Dragov. Do you have a problem with Russians?"
"I don't have a problem with Russians. We're all here for the same cause, right?" Flynn answered.
Zoltan looked around. He had been popping tabs and was so laid back that he appeared only semi-conscious. "Please, this short man means no offense," he said fondly of Flynn.
Dragov was not going to let himself be drawn by Flynn. He turned impatiently to the wall map behind him.
"Our theater of operations spans the whole of Candado County, with Harborview as our starting point," he said. "You all know the lay of the land, but for clarity, let's review. Silverton, our ghost town staging area, is nestled in the hills about twenty miles northeast of Harborview. The cemetery we'll utilize lies due east of Silverton, a desolate but strategic locale. Our key point, if you like," he pointed to the cemetery marked in red. "The convoy we're targeting will be transporting Mischa Barton to Cedars Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles. They'll be rounding a bend just outside Silverton on the 5-lane Pacific Coast Highway," he pointed to a mark on the map. "Our object in being here, gentlemen, is to intercept and extract Ms. Barton from that convoy," he moved across to the scale model. "We can expect Ms. Barton to travel inconspicuously, likely with tight security. Our interception will be swift and precise, with Etienne orchestrating a controlled accident to isolate our target vehicle. Our team, disguised as California State Policemen, will move in for the extraction. I must caution you about the graveyard, our rendezvous point. It's rugged terrain, with dense foliage and uneven ground. We'll need to navigate carefully to avoid detection while ensuring a swift exit after the operation is completed."
Etienne carefully nudged the Matchbox cars forward with his index finger, mimicking the slow progression of the convoy along the model Pacific Coast Highway. With precision, he adjusted their positions to reflect the planned movements, ensuring they followed Dragov's directives accurately. As he moved each vehicle, he glanced up at Dragov, awaiting further instructions, his focus unwavering and his movements deliberate. "The convoy comprises a mix of nondescript vehicles—a couple of Ford sedans, a Chevrolet van, and a Dodge van," Dragov said. "They'll be heading north along the Pacific Coast Highway from Pescadero to Cedars Sinai. Etienne's truck, a vintage Chevrolet pickup, will make its move from the west, cutting across their path at the designated bend." As he spoke, Dragov gestured toward the model cars on the table, pointing out each vehicle with precision. His voice was steady, betraying none of the tension that brewed beneath the surface.
Etienne leaned over the table, his movements deliberate as he reached for the Matchbox car that symbolized his truck. With a steady hand, he lifted it off the model highway, his fingers curling around the miniature vehicle's body. As he held it aloft, the overhead light caught the glint of metal, casting a shadow over the table's surface. Etienne's expression was focused, his gaze fixed on the tiny representation of his impending role in the operation. "Well," Etienne began, his voice low and serious, "the general idea is to make it look like an honest-to-God accident. The truck goes out of control, I start to spin, and I correct about here, which is the only hope I have of keeping in line with the vehicle I want to hit. The CHiP officers will think it's just another case of reckless driving, maybe a mechanical failure. I hold the wheel too hard over, and the truck spins again and again, three times, which will bring me to....here."
Etienne carefully maneuvered the Matchbox cars on the scale model, his movements deliberate and precise. With deft fingers, he nudged each vehicle into its new position, aligning them to mimic the scenario he had envisioned. As he adjusted the placement, his brows furrowed in concentration, ensuring that every detail was accounted for in their plan. "My truck will come up from the south, right here," he explained, pointing to a specific spot on the map. "It'll hit the Dodge van on its left side, just enough to send it tipping over." With a flick of his finger, he simulated the motion of the van toppling onto its side. "It'll end up right here," he continued, indicating the intended final position of the van. "Blocking the road, but not completely."
"Can you do all that?" Michael asked in disbelief.
Etienne looked up and smiled. "In theory, yes, Dragov and I have gone over this many times. It should be possible to control a spin--- or spins, with enough precision to strike the vehicle I'm aiming for, but in practice, it depends on the weather and the conditions of the road at the time we attempt this---if conditions are against us there could be as little as a 50/50 chance."
"Etienne will keep practicing," Dragov said, "until he makes the odds better than that. Meanwhile, for insurance, we'll have Zoltan positioned here," he marked a spot on the bank to the side road. "If Etienne misses, he will shoot out the tires of the Dodge van. We can still make it look like the accident has taken place and nobody's going to go looking for bullet holes in the tires after they've seen a car spin across four lanes at them.
"That's a hell of a long shot to make in bad light, at a moving vehicle," Colin commented dubiously, gauging the distance.
"Man," Zoltan said simply, "I don't miss."
"What're the rest of us going to be doing?" Flynn asked.
"We will be here." Dragov pointed to a Ford Crown Victoria placed in some trees a little way from the entrance to the side road. "We impersonate a California State Police patrol. As soon as the accident occurs we move forward and take charge of the scene. We'll have only a few seconds with the van to ourselves while the rest of the convoy is regrouping and coming back for it. At that time we'll have to make the accident look as bad as possible: light fires, create confusion, while the real Mischa Barton is removed from the back of the van and another body is substituted."
"Surely there will be policemen in the back with her?" Fernand queried.
"No, we think there will only be one, a psychiatric orderly who'll be attending to the patient. The orderly will be rendered unconscious if need be and drugged. The main force of policemen will be in the unmarked Crown Victoria at the back and the front of the convoy. Before they can reach the scene of the accident the real Mischa Barton must have been moved out of sight, and we will be seen rescuing the substitute on a stretcher from the back. We believe that the CHiPs responsible for Ms. Barton's safety will be glad to leave us to take charge of the traffic around the accident, while they rush with what they suppose to be Ms. Barton to the hospital."
"What happens to Barton after that?"
"Once Ms. Barton is rescued," Dragov's gaze lingered on Michael for a moment, "she becomes no further concern of ours. We'll go into fuller detail later but are there any questions at this stage?" he asked.
"You can't be serious," Flynn said scornfully to Dragov. "With some good I.R.A. boys to back me, I might just be able to carry out a plan like that, but with a bunch of bloody frogs you're just begging for disaster. For a start, how do you propose to impersonate the California State Police? Have you ever been to America before, Dragov? You know how cops are here, right? They're not like the gendarmes I'm used to. They're a different breed altogether." He paused, his expression darkening as he continued. "And let's not forget, Dragov, the animosity between my kind and theirs. It's not Yanks who pull the triggers, but coppers all the same. How do you expect a scruffy frog like him," he pointed jeeringly to Colin, "to pass as an American cop, let alone act like one? It's impossible."
"Like you, Mr. Flynn, none of us here have received a formal law-enforcement education," Dragov told him coldly. "I accept that we have a problem in disguising our identity. We intend to use a retired member of the CHiP to turn us into a body of men smart enough to pass muster for one of their units. He'll be reporting tomorrow. Also, for your protection, I would advise you not to keep referring to Colin as a frog. He is a patient man and I can control him up to a point, but if you keep up your jibes then I have to warn you that I cannot guarantee your safety. Do we understand each other?"
Flynn was grudgingly ready to recognize Dragov's authority. There was something very dangerous about him: a ruthless, deadly quality that made it wiser not to cross him.
"Very good," Dragov said. "We have three weeks left to prepare ourselves for this operation. Over the next few days, each man will be given his role to play and we'll practice it over and over again until we have it right. I have one word of advice to you all: think about this operation the whole time, live, eat, and sleep your particular role, and as we train, what that the others carry out their parts correctly. Remember that we are foreign nationals with different customs in a strange country----no detail is too small to be overlooked. You have the rest of today to attend to your personal affairs. Tomorrow we start training in earnest and from that time on nobody leaves this house."
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Michael jolted awake shortly after midnight, startled by the violent shaking of the house. The walls rattled and groaned, reminiscent of a freight train rumbling through a tunnel. The shaking seemed to last an eternity, though it lasted only a few minutes in reality. Across the room from him the companions, Ferdnand and Colin, slept on unperturbed. Across his camp bed, laid out on the floor in such a way as to make his own private space, were the toilet articles and a few clothes that Michael had bought to replace the ones he'd left behind when he'd flown out here from Paris. He had not yet grown used to living off the floor of a bare room and he missed his privacy bitterly. He got up and made his way down the hall to the living room. He fumbled for the light switch, relieved to find that the power still worked despite the disturbance. Dragov had been sitting there alone in the darkness.
"What the hell was that?" Michael asked.
"Just a little earthquake, nothing major. Harborview is about thirty miles from the San Andreas Fault line. These things happen from time to time in California, but they're usually not too much trouble."
The earth tremor unnerved Michael. "Do earthquakes like that happen often around here?"
"Fairly often, but nothing to worry about usually. Still, one day there'll be a big one, a real catastrophic quake. I've been through one in Tashkent, and let me tell you, they're nothing to take lightly. They can level entire cities if they're strong enough."
Michael sat down. He was worried about his sister, and still badly scared after being hunted by Kazakov's men in Los Angeles. He was floundering out of his league amongst these violent men in this middle-of-nowhere safe house, but worst of all he wasn't sure how to handle Dragov. He could never tell what the man was thinking, and that made him nervous. Knowing he had to be firm, he summoned up his courage and said, "This is about the first chance I've had to talk to you alone since I got here, Dragov, and I want to make this clear. Since I'm paying you I want to know and approve all your plans from now on before you pass them on to the others, but most of all I want to know what the hell you're doing about my sister. You've told me hardly anything about the meeting with Kazakov."
Dragov sat silent for a moment or two before he spoke. "I have a contract to deliver Mischa Barton to you; beyond that, you don't approve plans and you don't give orders." Dragov's cold dark eyes seemed to pierce right into Michael and he saw again the cruel, ruthless side of the man. "You have a choice," Dragov told him. "If you remain in Harborview, then for your protection you will have to obey me at all times without question. If you feel you can't do that then tomorrow you must return to Los Angeles, or safer still, France."
"What about Kathy?" Michael asked.
"You'll have to trust me to do the best I can for her."
Michael thought for a moment, then he took off his glasses and rubbed at the weariness in his eyes. "I'm too involved to leave now, you know that, but is there any way that I could call off this contract? I don't mind losing the money but I've got in too deep, Kathy, too, and rescuing Ms. Barton doesn't seem so important anymore."
"We've left it too late for that. Don't you see?" Dragov said. "We're no different from any of the others who tried to rescue their loved ones from Pescadero. We never stood a chance of rescuing Ms. Barton before the CIA stepped in and made it possible. Now we're caught in the middle. Whatever we offer, Kazakov will go on using Kathy to blackmail me to get Barton, and, knowing as much we do, no law enforcement agency will let us leave California. We can be manipulated like pawns in a game of chess, and now there's no way of dropping out until the game is over."
"So, it's that bad?" Michael said. "No wonder you were sitting here alone in the dark."
Dragov understood Michael better than he realized. "You were lying when you said Ms. Barton wasn't important anymore," he challenged.
Michael nodded. In a way, he realized he could be as ruthless as Dragov. "Kathy and I have put too much of ourselves into winning Ms. Barton's freedom to give it up now, but if calling it off meant Kathy was safe, I was ready to give it a try." He looked up at Dragov. "Is there any way we can get Kathy back and keep Ms. Barton at the same time?"
Dragov seemed to relax. He smiled at Michael and suddenly Michael understood why men followed him. He was used to giving orders and almost impossible to get to know, yet he possessed a magnetism, an extraordinary power of leadership."
"I want Kathy," Dragov said. "With your brain and my skills maybe we can bring them both to freedom. Shall we work as a team?"
Michael nodded. "What do I have to do?" he asked.
"What you're trained for," Dragov answered. "Study the men we're up against, look for their weaknesses and their motives, and, more mundane but equally important, study the social calendar for California for February. I want to know about every public occasion, from visiting dignitaries to football matches and religious processions. I'll brief you as to what I'm looking for nearer the time."404Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGDvm9i5Pbw
