“And they are ignorant that the purpose of the sword is to save every man from slavery.”
Zach Turner’s cell phone rang as he was driving his jacked-up pickup truck down an asphalt-paved farm road near the Bunker. When he glanced at caller ID, he noticed it was Pops. “Turner,” he answered.
“Pops here,” came the voice over the phone.
“Any news, sir?” asked Zach.
“We’ve got security video from the state aviation hangar,” Pops told him. “We have a figure on tape that nobody who works at the state aviation hangar can positively identify.”
“What’s he look like?” asked Zach.
“This character is wearing a ball cap. There’s not much to distinguish him except that nobody had ever seen him there before, and it’s the only tape we have of him. He was there the day of the crash.”
“Whoa, that’s interesting. How can I help?” asked Zach.
“Need you to look at the tape right away,” Pops told him.
“You think I may be able to help identify this guy?” asked Zach, a little confused why Pops would think he might be able to help by looking at the tape.
“That morning, this turkey talked to a fellow mechanic and borrowed a tool.”
“What kind of tool?” Zach asked.
“A rivet gun.”
“Hmm… okay, that’s interesting.” Zach thought for a minute. “You have a guy that doesn’t belong there. Pardon me for asking, Pops, but how is it you think I might be able to help you in the identification of this mechanic?”
“His co-worker, who had never met him or seen him before, said he spoke with a Russian accent.”
It took a few seconds for Pops’ last statement to sink in with Zach. “Russian? He’s sure it was Russian?”
“Well, he ain’t no linguistics expert, but he said he sounded Russian. He also said he guessed this turkey was bald under his ball cap.”
“Damn! Really?” Now Zach was really excited.
“When can you high-tail it on over here?” Pops asked him.
“I’ll come now. I’ve got someone who may be able to help us,” Zach told Pops. “The problem is, he’s in D.C. on assignment for me but, if we can video conference him in, we can have him look at the tape.”
“Sounds like a plan, son. Appreciate your help.”
“No worries, Pops. Come to your ranch?” Zach asked.
“No, sir, we will meet you at Austin Police Department headquarters.” Pops went on to give Zach further details about the location of the meeting.
Three hours later, Pops, several Texas Rangers, Turner, Beard and Turnbow were in an interrogation room in downtown Austin police headquarters.
“Shut them blinds,” Pops instructed one of his Rangers. He didn’t want anyone seeing the video they were about to put up on the big screen in the conference room. “And lock the door, too, but wait till this young man leaves to do something more important than show an old fart how to hook this technology up.”
“Sir, I’ve got the video conference all linked up and ready. Just call me back in if you need further assistance,” said the young IT administrator employed by the city of Austin.
Within a few minutes, a link appeared on the big screen. Everyone was expecting to see an image from Washington, D.C. of the mystery man who was joining the live video conference. Everyone could see that he was online, but he blocked the web camera on his laptop.
“My operative in D.C. will be incognito for this meeting, gentlemen. I hope you understand,” stated Zach.
Pops looked at him, a crooked grin on his face. “I love all this cloak-and-dagger crap y’all bring to the table. Never can be too careful when you got the feds staring right down your unmentionables.” Everyone chuckled at Pops’ humor.
Zach introduced everyone in the room before mentioning the D.C. operative. “Gentlemen, I would introduce this fine gentlemen in D.C. by name if I could. All I can tell you is he’s highly placed in international and national security operations. He is here to tell us if he can identify this unknown actor in the aviation hangar video. I can vouch for him personally, as can these other men.” Zach nodded toward Beard and Will.
“Okay, we have less than four minutes of total footage of this unknown mechanic,” said Texas Ranger Commander Dyson, who was leading the walk-through of the security tapes. “Here he is walking from the locker room to the hangar floor. Notice he has on the contractor overalls and a cap.”
“Wait, can you back it up for about ten seconds?” came the voice from D.C. “Can it zoom?” There was a slight pause. “Okay, okay, that’s good, I got it. What else do you have?” asked the D.C. operative.
“I’ve got two more clips,” Dyson noted. “Here he is underneath the governor’s King Air.”
Again, the operative asked, “Wait, can you pause that scene about five seconds back?”
“There you go. Is this what you needed?” asked Dyson, fiddling with the controls of the web meeting application.
“We can’t see exactly what he is doing under that right wing of the aircraft and I’m no mechanic, but I am a pilot and I can reasonably tell you that he is likely accessing the fuel tanks or fuel lines in that general area of the wing,” noted the operative.
Pops and Zach glanced at each other, and Pops nodded affirmatively.
“Can you identify him?” pressed Dyson.
“No, not yet. That’s a fairly lousy security camera system in that hangar,” said the operative.
“Geez, I would agree,” chimed in Beard, who was a technology expert. “These are state-owned aircraft and the security cameras look like they were installed in 1995.”
“Here’s the last clip,” said Dyson. “It’s only about twenty seconds, but it’s him leaving the hangar. It’s about an hour before the governor arrived.”
“Wait! Wait! Back it up!” yelled the operative.
Pops tilted his cowboy hat back slightly on his head as he stepped closer to the screen. Everyone remained silent as Dyson ran the last segment back and forth in slow motion.
“There’s that son of a bitch, Zach. That’s him. No doubt in my mind.”
“Are you sure?” asked Zach, who had a good idea who they were looking at, based on the Russian accent alone.
“That’s him. There’s that son of a bitch. I guarantee it.”
“King Street Pub?” asked Zach.
“Yeah, that and Crimea, Chechnya and Georgia. It’s him.”
“Okay, gentlemen, can you enlighten us please?” asked Pops patiently.
“Go ahead,” Zach told his operative. “Pops won’t be surprised.”
“Gentlemen, that man is Vasily Volkov. He is the most dangerous Russian operative in history. He is a cold-blooded, extremely intelligent and ruthless former KGB operative. The Russians lost control of him years ago after awarding him their highest military honors. He is bad news; always leaves havoc behind. Interpol, the CIA, and almost every Western security apparatus has him as their number one target for apprehension or elimination. He works for the highest bidder. Strictly mercenary stuff now.” The operative finished his report.
“What the hell is he doing here?” asked Dyson.
“I think we know, based on his location under the wing of that aircraft,” commented Will.
“But why? How the hell does someone simply walk into the Department of Public Safety’s aviation hangar, put on a pair of contractor overalls, and mess with the governor’s aircraft no less, without anyone asking him any questions? Unbelievable!” exclaimed Dyson.
“This man is a master. I can guarantee he had his bases already covered. Volkov has killed women and children if it meant completion of his mission or to cover his trail,” said the operative. “He typically leaves no witnesses, so anyone who met or saw him in that hangar that is still alive is extremely lucky, but no less in immediate danger.”
“How do we find this bastard?” asked Dyson.
“We’ve had operatives all over the world looking for him for years. He doesn’t make mistakes.”
“You’ve seen this man, yes?” Pops asked the voice on the phone.
“Yes, sir, I have.”
“How long ago?” Pops persisted.
“Very recently. Weeks,” said the operative.
“Here in Texas?”
“No, sir, in the U.S.,” the operative responded.
“Did you not have the opportunity to take this turd out then?” asked Dyson.
“Yes, possibly. However, there was a larger mission at stake and to do so at the time would have jeopardized the larger mission.”
Pops looked at Zach with a raised eyebrow. Was there something Zach wasn’t telling him?
“Sir, there is a larger mission, and I’ll ask you to hold on that question until we are done here. However, that mission is part of the files we shared with you,” answered Zach quickly, realizing he could lose Pops’ trust.
“Damn it, Pops, at some point you are going to have to bring us into the know here. This is frustrating as hell, doing these investigations, being blocked by the feds on one hand and by these militia guys, who aren’t associated with any law enforcement, on the other hand!” ranted Dyson, who had no qualms about expressing his displeasure with Turner’s group.
“We’re getting close; just hang with me,” Pops said. Dyson nodded reluctantly.
“Who could be paying this guy to tamper with the governor of Texas’ aircraft?” asked another Ranger.
Pops and Turner looked at each other. Zach didn’t want to answer, and he surely didn’t want Beard or Will to answer.
“We have some leads on that. We are still working them,” noted Pops. “Is there anything else you can tell us at this time?” Pops asked the operative.
“Yes, but it’s highly sensitive,” he answered.
“Gentlemen, let’s take a short break. I’d like to meet with Mr. Turner alone right now, with his friend here on the phone,” commanded Pops. Everyone else got up to leave the room.
As soon as the room cleared, Pops sat down directly across from Zach at the conference table. He looked concerned.
“At some point, son, we will need your testimony. Hell, we may need it to get warrants at some point,” Pops told the operative.
“That could be a problem, sir. I am literally entrenched in the Deep State in D.C. and Langley. I would have to agree with it. It will blow my cover, not to mention that Zach will lose an extremely valuable inside source. It would also put me and my family in very real jeopardy,” answered the operative.
“I understand. We will cross that bridge when we git there.” Pops stood up, took his hat off, and scratched his head.
“I’ve got one more thing to bring up,” said the operative. “I’m sure the NTSB will run a chemical fuel analysis from the crash site if they can get any molecular data from the ground or aircraft remains. Ask them to provide you a copy, then re-contact me.”
“Roger that,” said Zach.
“Hang on here a second. What is it you think that report could turn up?” asked Pops.
“Could be many things. But if I was going to take a plane down, tainting the fuel mixture could be the easiest and least detectable way to do it,” answered the operative. “Volkov is resourceful and inventive. If he is responsible, and there’s no reason for me to think otherwise now that I know he was in the hangar and around this aircraft an hour before take-off, I would be looking at the fuel analysis.”
“Okay. What are we looking for exactly?” pressed Pops.
“Look for unusual amounts of diethylene glycol monomethyl ether,” answered the operative.
“What the hell is that?” asked Pops.
“Isn’t that essentially a de-icer?” asked Zach.
“It is. It will typically suppress the freezing point of any water at high altitudes that might be in the aviation fuel but, used in the wrong quantities or introducing product that has been expired or mixed with a variety of other fuel additives, will produce microbes that actually do the opposite; it coagulates the fuel. Essentially, the aircraft engines have a heart attack. They fail.”
“We don’t see him loading any fuel in the video footage,” mentioned Pops.
“Are there security cameras at the jet fuel loading area on the tarmac? You might want to look at those,” suggested the operative.
“We will find out,” answered Pops.
“If all he had to do was to introduce this additive into the jet fuel, why would he be under the aircraft wings?” asked Zach.
“Not sure. My guess would be to work on the fuel lines,” the operative told them. “He could adjust them to run leaner. The combination of a leaner fuel burn plus a coagulant could cause stalls in the engines that would be hard or nearly impossible to restart while airborne, and that King Air, on a short flight like that, probably wasn’t more than fifteen thousand feet.”
“This is valuable information. How long would it take the lab reports to come back from NTSB?” asked Zach.
“Weeks, if not months. You may want to talk to the NTSB and get them pointed in that direction to get it done sooner,” the operative suggested.
Pops pulled a cigar from his pearl snap shirt pocket, bit the end off of it, and spit the tobacco end of the cigar into the metal trash can from five feet away.
“Mute that damn thing for a second.” Pops motioned to Beard, who shut off the mic to the web application.
“This is also the hombre that killed that state senator…” Pops thought out loud. “We have to ask why a former KGB agent is murdering a Texas state senator and why he would want to take down the governor. This guy is involved in the murder of Chief Justice Noyner of the United States Supreme Court! Jesus, what the hell is going on here?” Pops looked squarely at Zach as if he knew Turner wasn’t telling him something.
“Sir, you and I both know this goes to the highest levels of government.”
“Son, right now there ain’t nobody I can trust as far as I can throw them. Hell, this information we are sitting on today wouldn’t make a good dime store novel ’cuz nobody would believe it’s this rotten through and through,” lamented Pops.
“It sometimes makes you wish you weren’t in the know,” Zach said wryly. “Most people are worried about their upcoming Labor Day weekend and how their favorite football team is going to fare. Who ever said ignorance is bliss is probably right.”
“I’m about to circle the wagons and put every Texas Ranger I’ve got on finding this bad-ass Russian dude. If he’s in Texas, they’ll find him,” Pops assured Zach.
“The CIA has been looking for him for years,” replied Zach before he realized how stupid that sounded.
“Turn it back on.” Pops motioned Beard to bring the operative back on live.
“Anything else we should know?” asked Pops.
“I would strongly caution everyone regarding Volkov,” the operative warned. “This guy is a criminal at the highest level. He’s motivated by money, but I will tell you his motivation to make money is not nearly as intense as his hate for the West, especially the United States, and his effectiveness is well documented with bodies strewn across the globe directly at his hands. He is most dangerous when cornered.”
“Like every snake, he’ll come out of his hole sooner or later,” answered Pops.
“Volkov doesn’t make mistakes, sir,” shot back the operative.
“He already did,” Pops responded.
“How so?” asked the operative.
“He plied his trade in Texas,” said Pops matter-of-factly.