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Richmond, Virginia was under lockdown. The governor had mobilized the National Guard and a curfew remained in place. No one cared. The Old Dominion was in a state of shock over the deaths of seven hundred of its citizens out for a day of family fun at an art festival. Business and commerce had ceased to exist until the FBI and RPD completed their joint investigation. Downtown was a ghost town and the financial district was devoid of human life. The crackling energy of historic Shockoe Slip barely sparked. Michaela had reopened Biddy McPherson’s bar, aware that people needed a place to decompress and put events into perspective. It was important to remember life as it had been a week before. More importantly, Richmond needed to move ahead and plan for the future. A long summer faced the city and Mic knew the spirit, zest and vitality of the Southern city would emerge again.
Mic remained at Dottie’s Monument Avenue fortress. Her home, still a designated crime scene by the Richmond police, was scheduled for cleanup at the end of the week. She was happy to stay at Dottie’s because she wanted to be close to Cookie and Henry to be sure they were coping with Dottie’s illness and the changes in their lives. Also, with Angel finally home from the animal hospital, it was wonderful to know Cookie was available to check on him if she had to leave.
Michaela curled her legs up in an easy chair, cup of coffee in hand and looked onto Dottie’s manicured terrace. It was a beautiful sunny day, a perfect day to be alive. The roses and lilacs were in full bloom. Everything was calm and peaceful. Dottie’s XM radio was turned to a soft classical station. The scent of wisteria permeated the room and the glass panes in the French doors glistened in the sun. Mic closed her eyes for the first time in five days and didn’t see death or feel terror. She breathed deeply, reached down and stroked Angel’s ears. She was lucky, and she knew it. The people she loved were alive and getting well. Lots of others couldn’t say that.
Her thoughts returned to the weekend. How could it be that only five days ago two maniacs had murdered over seven hundred men, women and children? They had changed lives and the image of Richmond forever. She shook her head as terror returned to the pit of her stomach. She looked down at Angel. He was resting comfortably. The vet had given him pain medicine and antibiotics and he was a little better each day. The dog had made a remarkable comeback, his leg was healing well and his kidneys seemed to be on the mend. Mic prayed his kidney function would return to normal. Angel was on a diet with limited protein so Cookie couldn’t feed him prime rib for every meal like she wanted. Nevertheless, she’d managed to find him some incredible bones. Mic hoped he’d feel more like eating tomorrow.
Dottie’s door chimes sounded in the center hall, the sound pure and celestial in the quiet home. Someone was at the door. She heard Henry's chair scrape the floor in the kitchen as he rose to check the security monitor in the butler’s pantry.
He walked to the door and said, "Michaela, it’s General Rothrock. You want me to get it?"
"No, Henry. I'll run and answer it. I'm sure he's checking on Dottie." Michaela rose from her seat and walked down the hall to the front door. General Stuart Rothrock stood on Dottie's front porch in full dress uniform.
"Good morning, Michaela. How are you?" the general asked.
Mic smiled at Stuart Rothrock. "Come in, General. This is a pleasant surprise. I was sitting in the garden room. I just returned from Angel’s vet visit so he's back there with me having a short nap."
General Rothrock smiled. "Oh, that's wonderful, Michaela. I know how worried you were about him. He's a pretty incredible dog."
Mic smiled happily in said, "Incredible is only one word of dozens I can think of. How about some coffee? Cookie has fresh coffee in the kitchen and she just baked cinnamon buns."
The general smiled and said, “Aw, to be truthful, I can smell them. I wouldn't miss any food at the countess’s home ever. Cookie is the best cook I know."
Mic nodded and ten minutes later, Michaela and the general were seated in Dottie’s garden room overlooking the terrace. Angel remained on his pillow but dutifully thumped his tail to acknowledge the general’s attention.
Mic and General Rothrock sipped their coffee in silence for a few moments. "How are you doing with this, Mic, all of the terror stuff?" he asked. "It has to be hard."
Mic nodded her head and said, "All right, I guess. It's still so vivid in my mind. Every time I close my eyes, I see people dying all around me and I hear their screams. I feel the chaos and the pandemonium of that day. I’m suffocated when I remember the crowd in the tent.” She paused and met his eyes directly. “I'm sure it'll go away at some point."
The general nodded slowly. "It’ll fade, but it will never go away. But it’ll take some time. You need to take good care of yourself in the meantime. If you need something to help you sleep, you should check with your physician."
Mic nodded and said, "Yeah, I thought of that. Honestly, General, it's the worst thing I've experienced in my twenty years of law enforcement. I've never felt so useless and helpless in my entire life as I did a few days ago."
The general nodded again. "You've experienced a terror attack, firsthand. You’ll get better, but you must take care of yourself and by that, I mean exercise, sleep, eat, have fun and realize the answers aren’t at the bottom of a wine or whiskey bottle. Find something to believe in. That's exactly what we tell our soldiers. This isn't any different, trust me. It’s the same." He paused and added, “PTSD can be experienced by anyone. The military doesn’t have a monopoly on post-traumatic stress.”
Michaela nodded. “Yeah. I know. Had you ever heard of the guy that took the suicide pill? Slade told me the FBI had determined he was the mastermind of the attack.”
The general nodded. "Yeah. We've known about him for years. He was recruited to make poison for the Soviets before the fall of Communism. He worked for them as a young man fresh out of medical school. His name was Boris Koliensky and his nickname was ‘The Dart’ because he always made poison darts. He ran the Russians’ chemical and biological warfare lab for years. He specialized in the development of chemical and biological weapons, primarily stealth poisons. A very competent and efficient killer.”
“He was a doctor? I’m stunned,” Mic said.
“Yeah. His dossier suggests he was quite brilliant. He also had a PhD in chemistry. Of course, all of his patients were the ones he killed injecting poison. He was reportedly a genius, but he was crazy, a diagnosed psychopath in fact.”
Michaela nodded. “No question, General. He was insane. How’re you coping?”
General Rothrock smiled. “I’m well, Michaela. I’ve about got my mother’s estate settled, and as soon as her house is on the market, I’m heading back to Florida.”
“That’s good. I know you’ll be glad to get back to your life.” Mic munched a cinnamon bun and said, “It’s only been a week since Camilla passed away. This last week seemed like forever.”
“That it did,” the general agreed. “Fortunately, like in most things, my mother made things easy for me.” He paused and added, “She always did, you know.”
Michaela smiled and touched his hand. “I’ll tell you one thing, Dottie is gonna miss her. They were tight. They walked together, went to the gym, out to lunch. It’ll be hard for Dottie, but we’ll help her.”
General Rothrock nodded. “I know. I was out at Wyndley Farm with the congressman and Kathryn yesterday afternoon. Kathryn promised to keep her eye on Dottie as well and will come to town more often to see her.”
Michaela nodded. “That’s great. Dottie will love that. She loves to spar with Congressman Lee and she adores Kathryn.” She paused for a moment and continued, “What’s Adam think about the terror attack here?”
Rothrock held his eyes with hers. “He’s incensed, as you can imagine. Adam Patrick Lee has been the one consistent voice in Congress who has warned about Russia’s duplicity and escalating power. He wasn’t surprised at all. Angry, as you can well imagine.”
Mic pondered this for a moment and asked, “Do you think your mother was simply caught up in the events at the Madison at random, or do you think she was targeted? You seem to have a history with the Russians.”
General Rothrock laughed and contemplated his response. “I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’m fairly certain the attack on my mother was random. She happened to be at the wrong place... purely coincidental,” he said as he locked eyes with her. “But the attack on Richmond, I’m not sure.”
Mic looked at him steadily, “But... I know there’s a ‘but’. Are you giving me the official version? I can see it in your face, General.”
The general picked up his coffee cup and took a sip as he contemplated his answer. “There’s a ‘but’ Mic. There’s always a ‘but’ you know.”
Michaela nodded. “I know.”
“I don’t know why the Russians attacked Richmond, and we don’t know why they sent as valuable an asset as Boris to Richmond to kill a few hundred people. There are dozens of other Russian killers who are younger and stronger who could have done that – assets who didn’t have the value and skill sets of Boris. That’s what puzzles and concerns us.”
“Are there theories?”
“Yeah. Of course. There’s always theories, lots of them. I’ll present a couple this afternoon at the debriefing at the FBI building. You’re coming, correct?”
Michaela nodded. “Yeah, Slade’s picking me up. You do know, don’t you, that the other guy was involved with a human trafficking case in Richmond earlier this year?”
Rothrock nodded. “Yeah, I know. The guy’s a mercenary, a ‘heavy for hire’ as they say. We know who he is. He’s a Russian national who’s been living off and on in the US for years. He’s a thug, an international assassin. But he’s skilled, tough and evil. He always works for the highest bidder. He goes by ‘Snake’, last name is uncertain. He has dozens of aliases.”
Mic smiled, “Not surprised to hear that. He has a snake tattoo on his hand. That’s how I recognized him.”
The general gave her a grave look and said, “I’m worried about you, Michaela, because he came for you and this is the second time you’ve beaten him, or at least bested him. It’s personal for him. He’ll come after you again and again. I want you to know that and be prepared. He’s in the wind now, but he’ll be back. It may be six months or longer, but he’ll be back. Get another dog, upgrade your burglar alarm system. Increase your weapons. Hire a security consultant. Get married. Do whatever it takes, promise?”
Michaela gave him a tight smile. “I’ll be as prepared as I always am. I already have the best residential security system available and the guy dismantled it like it was a child’s toy. He’s tough, but I promise you, General, I’ll be on my toes and I will get a security consultant. I’ll have the guy down at the RPD, Big Dawg McGraw - the officer that runs the surveillance — check on stuff for me. He’s the best.”
“That’s all I can ask, Mic,” General Rothrock said as he stood to leave. “Also check with Adam Lee. They’ve got state-of-the-art security at his farm now since the attack against him.”
“Good idea, General. I’ll do that,” Mic promised.
“We’re looking for him, there’s an international manhunt and we’ll find him. When he surfaces, we’ll let you know.”
Mic nodded and said sweetly, “Why, General Rothrock, I thought you were retired?”
The general flashed her a smile and said, “People like me never really retire. We simply fade away and resurface from time to time.”
Michaela smiled as she walked the general to the door. She noticed the two men in suits waiting outside Dottie’s mansion for him. “I’ll see you later,” she said as she pecked him on the cheek. He’s a good man. And he’s nowhere close to retired. I’d bet Biddy McPherson’s on that.