The Silent Killer
Chapter Three
Monday evening – July 20th - 9:30 PM (An undisclosed address in the Washington DC area)
They were all Russian, the men seated at the table. Excitement clearly showed on their faces as one man poured each of them a celebratory drink.
One man held up his glass and toasted.
"To Doneck!"
"To Miasnikov," another cheered.
The eldest man in the room, a thin and gray-haired man of about eighty some years nodded in agreement. Then he raised his glass and cleared his throat.
"It will be a wonderful performance," he said and the other nodded their agreement.
They continued to fill and empty their glasses, drinking heavily into the night. They each knew that their script had been successfully brought to the stage and that the play was now being enacted out, one scene after another.
They each knew that by the time the performance reached the final act, the scene would resemble a child's playtime activity with toy soldiers doing battle to save the world. And, in the end, there would be tiny American soldiers toppled from their silent blow, littering the ground.
Victims of their own patriotic duty.
July 20th - 9:30 PM (A private residence in Silver Spring, MD)
Federal agent Greg Meyers, a man who'd devoted most of his adult life either to his country or to his wife of fifteen years, wearily trudged up the steps of their Maryland home, knowing that he would find his bed lonely again tonight.
He should be used to it but it didn't make him feel any better. Despite being married all of these years; they had spent a considerable portion of matrimonial bliss separated, mostly due to his career but sometimes hers.
As he stripped out of his suit and tossed the clothing into the hamper, the reflection of the light from the overhead bedroom lamp glinted upon the glass of a framed picture on their bureau and he couldn't help but pick the photograph up.
He gazed at it with both love and thoughtfulness.
They hadn't been able to have children, the one thing that he thought would have completed their marriage even more fully than it already was. Lately, Shelby had been dropping hints of possibly adopting.
They could, they both had successful and very stable careers. He'd had a long and decorated military career before joining the intelligence game. Shelby's career, while tame by his standards, had been just as fulfilling and rewarding for her.
They had managed their finances quite well and both came from affluent Virginia families. They had what most people would consider the perfect marriage, a handsome husband and beautiful wife, stability, and happiness. They had everything but a child of their own.
With a finger, he traced the smile upon his wife's face and smiled at the look of love in her blue eyes that the camera had captured.
"Shelb, my love, when you get back we're gonna have to talk about that."
Greg went into the bathroom and washed his face.
"Man, I feel like a train ran over me," he murmured aloud, his voice sounding raw even to his own ears.
He had not felt well all day. It had been hard to stay focused at today's meeting when he had been alternating between chills and hot spells. It had started the day before, with what he thought might be summer allergies.
A slight case of sneezing that had come on during the afternoon, something that he had dismissed, at first. The last two weeks had been extremely dry and hot with not a raindrop in sight for the DC area. He had heard radio reports of pollen counts and heat index readings, but he hadn't paid them much attention.
Tonight, Greg came to the conclusion that he must be catching a summer cold and despite the fact that his former military training told him that he could tough it out; he went to the medicine cabinet.
He took down a box of cold tablets, and, after popping two of them into his mouth and swallowing them down with some water, he padded across the plush carpeting and crawled into bed.
What he needed was a good night's sleep. He had a meeting early in the day with Lee Stetson at the Agency. They were in preparations for the first annual review meeting of the Anti-Domestic Terrorism Action Coalition. It had been nearly a year since the President had issued a request for the intelligence community to join forces in fighting terrorism upon American soil.
It was an allegiance that Greg firmly believed in and one that, obviously, worked well. Addi Birol was proof enough of that. Now, if they could just convince the black suits to continue backing and support.
Greg pulled the covers up and tried to get comfortable in the big king-size bed. He missed his wife and her presence; he missed the physical contact of just holding her as they fell asleep together.
"I love you Shelby," he murmured as he closed his eyes.