The Krakow Klub (30 page)

Eleven stated, “Mr. Malone, my name is
Veronica Lee, no relation to Bruce. We talked on the phone earlier
today. I’m with the
New York
Daily,
and I’d like to visit with you about some of
the most
interesting denizens of Key West.
There are so many colorful characters and such a rich history that
you should be able to give me plenty of information for my series
of articles. I’m particularly interested in stories that are
obscure, you know, the hidden stuff, maybe a little mystery.”

He nodded and smiled, exposing surprisingly
white, even teeth. “Ms. Lee, you came to the right man. I’ve made
it my life’s work to know about all the dirt around here. Ask me
anything.”

She began with several rather innocuous
questions and gradually led him to the subject of interest.

“Mr. Malone, Key West has always had such a
unique reputation. It’s mysterious and fascinating and full
interesting and unique people. Has anything strange been going on
lately? For instance, an unusual shipment, any strange looking
equipment, maybe secretive people? My readers get into that stuff.”
She leaned forward and gave him her most dazzling smile.

He thought for a few moments and then began
to recall several incidents. “Last month, there was a huge yacht
with a crew of suspicious foreign types. Thought that they might be
drug runners, but that’s not unusual down here. Then, one of the
well-known bar/restaurants burned down under very suspicious
circumstances.”

He rambled on with Eleven barely listening,
and then suddenly she hit pay dirt.

Malone mentioned having some drinks with a
friend of his who was a charter helicopter pilot. The pilot had
flown
on several occasions for a foreigner who
was building a large home on an island not too far from Key West.
The
owner apparently lost
his
business,
and he never returned. Recently, rumor had it
that someone had bought the
property,
but no
one knew anything about the purchaser. The realtor wouldn’t
talk,
and that had only fueled the rumor
mills. A few days ago, this same pilot had been hired to take a
lady out to that very same island. The villa was now inhabited,
which didn’t particularly surprise him, but he swore that the
island was much larger than it had been before.

Number Eleven was immediately on high alert.
“Mr. Malone, that pilot sounds very interesting. I’d like to talk
to him about his charter business. A newspaper article might very
well get him some new clients. I might even be able to use his
picture.”

Naturally, Malone
obliged,
and Eleven contacted the pilot immediately for
the interview. He was, of
course,
delighted
about the prospects of free publicity, so he readily agreed to meet
her right away.

She met him at his hangar.

Jerry Nichols remembered the chartered flight
very well. He
was paid
in cash by a tall older
man who had walked into his company’s office downtown. The man had
done a thorough background check on Nichols and his company, South
Key Charters. He
instructed
Nichols that his
passenger would be a
British lady
and that he
should refrain from bothering her with small talk during the
flight. He was also instructed to lift off as soon as she exited
safely and
to return
to Key West immediately.
The pilot also mentioned his surprise that the island seemed much
larger than he remembered it and that there was even a golf course
now. He was certain that the golf course had not been there until
very recently.

After the meeting with the helicopter pilot,
Eleven reported immediately to Stoellar. She hadn’t found
Slater,
but she had located someone of
interest. The two might just be working together. In fact, Eleven
strongly believed that this was the case. One of her Washington,
DC, agents had reported that Slater had been seen in the company of
a tall older man on several occasions in recent
months,
and they appeared to be friends.

Stoellar instructed Eleven to stay in Key
West until further notice. On second thought, he decided that
Marathon would be better. He wanted no records of her staying close
to Ground Zero.

****

That night, Stoellar hardly slept. The
minutes crept by with excruciating slowness. Finally, he got up,
turned on the lights, and watched an old movie to pass the time.
Nevertheless, his mind never stopped whirling. He had planned so
carefully for so long. He’d recruited the best people and now,
there could be someone out there with the capability of stopping
him in his tracks. There was only one answer, that person, and
anyone associated with him, must be eliminated at once.

****

Back in Key West, Number Eleven devised a
plan of action and scheduled another meeting with Malone.

“Mr. Malone, you told me that you’d always
wanted to have your
own
charter fishing boat.
You’ve been very helpful to
me,
and I think
that I can get that boat for you. There’s a little job that I
need to be done
. But it must be done
immediately and discreetly. I am working on a publishing
deadline.”

She was a very creative liar. “That little
island intrigues me. I think that I could get a good story out
there,
but the man who lives there is very
reclusive. I want you to find a broken down looking boat somewhere
and get close to that island. You’re going to experience engine
failure and call for help. Make sure your boat
has no
visible
radio. I want you to look like you’ve been drifting
about aimlessly and that you’re dying of thirst and nearly dead
from exposure.

“Someone will surely have to come to your
assistance. When they do, act like you’re weak and exhausted. Tell
them you’ve been floating around for days. With your appearance,
they’ll believe you.

“Your job is to get a close look at the
island. Make mental notes of everything. I want to know how many
people are there.
And, if possible, who they
are.
What kinds of buildings there are, and most
importantly
if anything seems unusual or
suspicious.”

Malone extended his hand to accept the deal.
This time she reached out and shook it without hesitation. “As soon
as you finish your job, I’ll buy you the fishing boat of your
dreams. Now get on it; I need that information as soon as
possible.”

The meeting was
over,
and Malone sauntered out of the bar. Number Eleven went to the
restroom and washed her hands thoroughly. She noted the dirty
facility and swore that she would wash again as soon as she could
find a properly clean place.

****

In New York, at the same time, Stoellar was
checking in with all his players. Everything was going smoothly and
according to plan. He was vastly relieved and poured himself a cup
of coffee before turning
the television
on to
watch the morning news. He knew that there would be a lot of news
on TV this morning.

****

In the
second-floor
living quarters of the White House, the president rose after a
night of tossing and turning. Even though he had taken the sedative
as instructed, it didn’t seem to have much effect on his jangled
nerves. He had a quick breakfast, downed the first dose of his new
medication, and went straight to the Oval Office.

He sat down at his desk and began to review
his morning reports. After several minutes, he began to feel rather
dizzy and had his secretary buzz Dr. Newton.

The doctor arrived in seconds accompanied by
a nurse who pushed a crash cart in front of her.

Newton pulled the stethoscope from around his
neck and immediately listened to his patient’s heart. His face
became very serious. “Did you take that medication that I gave you
yesterday?”

The president nodded.

Newton turned to the nurse. “Ellen, get the
ambulance motorcade set up. I want him transported to Bethesda
immediately. Things do not look good.”

“Mr. President, roll up your sleeve.” He took
a pre-filled syringe from the crash cart and injected the clear
contents into the president’s vein.

“This should help your dizziness. Just be
calm. The team drills for emergencies constantly. You’re in good
hands.”

Almost instantly, the president gasped and
clutched his chest. His face became
ashen,
and
he collapsed. Newton grabbed the defibrillator from the cart,
charged it, and prepared to give the first jolt. Just as he called
out, “Clear
,”
to make sure that no one was
touching the president.

The shock seemed to
help,
and the president began to regain consciousness.
His pulse was faint but steady.

By this time, a second White House physician
had appeared on the scene. Newton instructed him to accompany the
president to the hospital and be in charge of his care during
transport. The new physician, Dr. Peter Allen, gave Newton a
quizzical look but complied immediately.

They raced down the hall to the designated
exit and rushed to the waiting ambulance and the already assembled
motorcade.

Just before they placed the president into
the ambulance, Dr. Newton deftly made a quick injection into his
already connected IV. He hoped that no one had noticed. But Dr.
Allen
noticed
and he asked Dr. Newton what he
had just given the president.

“Digitalis. Now, get this damn ambulance
moving; the president is in serious trouble!”

Dr. Newton closed the door to the ambulance
and ran to the SUV that would follow it.

With sirens blaring, the motorcade raced off
towards Bethesda.

Dr. Allen continued to monitor the
president’s heart rate and suddenly detected an alarming
arrhythmia. He grabbed the defibrillator and was preparing to use
it when it happened.

The ambulance was the center vehicle with two
heavily armed Secret Service vehicles in the front and two in the
back. Motorcycle policemen led the way and blocked off
intersections as they sped through any red lights on the way to
Bethesda.

Suddenly, the unthinkable happened. An
unmarked white van crashed into the motorcycle policeman blocking
an intersection. The policeman
was hurled
several feet and crashed to the concrete, bleeding and
unconscious.

The van
then sped
through
the opening created by the motorcycle
accident and crashed, broadside, into the ambulance carrying the
president. Metal crumpled. Tires screamed. The ambulance violently
overturned. Inside, the patient, his
attendants,
and medical equipment were
tossed about violently
. Gasoline began to pour from a
ruptured gas tank.

The four SUV drivers
braked as
hard as they could,
and Secret Service agents leaped out,
guns
drawn, even
before the vehicles could
come to a complete halt.

Before any agent could reach the doomed
ambulance, it exploded throwing several agents to the ground.
Another explosion from the van set the nearest SUV afire. Parts of
the van
were hurled
high into the air and
crashed to the ground. Giant plumes of black smoke billowed skyward
as flames engulfed both vehicles. The noise from the blast
temporarily deafened the Secret Service agents making their jobs
even more difficult.

Dr. Newton pulled out his cell phone and
calmly made a call.

The scene was utter chaos. It was obvious
that there was no hope of survival for anyone in the ambulance; it
was totally engulfed
in an intense inferno of
flames, some reaching more than fifty feet
into
the
air. Police cars,
helicopters, fire trucks, and all manner of emergency vehicles and
personnel flooded the scene within minutes.

The chief Secret Service agent was in
immediate contact with the White House. Soon, the entire area was
cordoned off and secured. The scene became eerily silent except for
the hissing sound coming from a punctured radiator in one of the
SUVs.

All traffic in the area was at a standstill
and would be for hours. Police held back curious onlookers who were
trying to photograph the carnage with their cell phones. The
streets
were all soon filled
with reporters
and media vans broadcasting live. Satellite TV trucks vied for
precious space. All television networks immediately interrupted
programming for
full-time
coverage of the
disaster.

The explosion had totally destroyed the
ambulance and everything in it. The pavement
was
severely scorched
from the intense heat of the ensuing fire.
Nothing was left except blackened, twisted wreckage, still
smoldering from the intense fire.

As expected, there were a few territorial
issues between the police, Secret Service, FBI, and even Homeland
Security. It was not
chaos
, but it was close
enough for government work.

****

In his penthouse, Stoellar, sipped on his
coffee and smiled. Several televisions were
on,
but each
was tuned
to a
different station. Although they were silent, Stoellar knew what
was happening. He smiled and toasted himself. Operation Plato had
begun most successfully. It was a good start to what would be a
great day!

Within minutes of the horrific crash and
confirmation that the president was dead, Carla Montrose was sworn
in as the president of the United States. The ceremony took place
in a secure bunker beneath the White House. The entire presidential
staff had been
herded
down there immediately
upon notification that the wreck could have been a terrorist
attack. Armed Secret Service agents and
Marines
secured all exits. The entire nation went on high
alert as authorities made desperate attempts to identify if foreign
terrorists had engineered the attack.