Threat Zero

by Nicholas Irving

  Then ordering the hit on Maximus Anon, whoever that might be.

  She swung her legs over the bed and padded on the granite floors to her purse, grabbed the iPhone charger, and popped a 1 mg yellow clonazepam pill, which should start smoothing her out in about fifteen minutes. She walked back to the bed, realized she had never showered after sex with Bronson and shrugged.

  Whatever.

  She sat on the bed and plugged her charger into the wall, causing the light on the iPhone to brighten. Because she had all messages turned off for her lock screen, she had to open the phone to see if anyone had tried to contact her.

  Her green-and-white text bubble had a red icon with the number “2” in the top right-hand corner. She pressed on it. The first text was from Ravenswood. Simple: OTW, which meant on the way and was stupid for him to send. She didn’t care if he was or not. The text placed him in a certain spot at a specific time. If the chaos going down in Southeast had anything to do with him, that was a piece of evidence he didn’t need to manufacture. An unforced error, as they called it in tennis.

  The second text was from Jessup, her strategic advisor, as she liked to think of him.

  REALLY NEED TO TALK

  The time stamp was at 1:48 A.M., just a few hours ago. He was up late, possibly all night. Almost 4 A.M. now, she decided to take a shower and change clothes. She kept a few items at Ravenswood’s place, which she used as an occasional hideout when she wasn’t staying in her Capitol Hill brownstone, which she used routinely when she was in the Senate. The media had grown accustomed to staking her out there and it was convenient to be able to be anonymous, or so she wished to believe.

  She showered, gaining some momentum, though still concerned about the sirens. She dressed, repacked her small travel bag, and checked her phone. Another message from Jessup.

  URGENT

  Whatever good the clonazepam had done eroded quickly. Jessup had only texted her a few times since they had known each other and even though his phone was a burner, it was starting to freak her out. She needed to fly back to her estate, get in her boat, and meet him. It was always face-to-face with the television and fans blowing, white noise in the background.

  She stepped into the living room, found Ravenswood seated on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table as he stared out the window. He turned his head as her heels clicked on the granite.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Is that us?” she asked. “The sirens?”

  “Most definitely. I just received a call from my contact. The cops took six men in, four of which were killed by a black man and a good-looking woman with brown hair, as they put it.”

  “Two alive, four dead?” she asked. “Gangs? MS-13?”

  “Yes. Yes. And yes.”

  “The Reaper,” she said. Not a question.

  “Most definitely. He’s back and he’s alive and he’s pissed off. That’s not a good combination for us.”

  “The woman? Hinojosa?”

  “Most likely. Fits her description. She was, after all, the handler for Team Valid.”

  “Where are Stone and Weathers?”

  “Wounded relatively badly, but back on U.S. soil and equally pissed off. I’ll put my two pissed-off mercenaries against a do-gooder like Harwood anytime. That Reaper bullshit is all make-believe for the media. Navy SEALs getting rich selling books. Army Rangers want to do the same thing. All marketing bullshit. That guy is no tougher than the next,” Ravenswood said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, slugger, then why don’t you just take him out. I mean, he survived Crimea, Iran, Baku, and now apparently six of your thugs.”

  “Not ‘my’ thugs, but yes, okay, he’s a survivor, but he’s probably used up all of his nine lives.”

  “Huh, I see it a little different. He’s a winner and he keeps winning. I never underestimate my enemy, and since you work for me, I’d recommend you drop that cocky ass attitude and focus on how to beat this guy.”

  He nodded, continued to stare at the darkness. The city was waking. The 14th Street bridge was already flowing with bright lights coming at him and red lights trailing away.

  “Now that I know where he is, here in the city, I think I’ll do just that. Between me, my friends who are supremely pissed off, Stone and Weathers, the FBI, and even the D.C. police, I think we’ve got a decent shot at wrapping him up shortly.”

  “Okay, then just get it done and quit talking about it. And don’t fucking send me stupid texts that you don’t need to send.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Was a bit unnerving and just thought you might be worried about me,” Ravenswood muttered.

  “I’ll worry about the world before I worry about you. You’re an employee. Do your job,” she said.

  He nodded and said, “Roger that.”

  She took the elevator down from his apartment to the lobby. Texted her crew to fire up the chopper, and paid cash for a cab to the private terminal at Reagan National. The helicopter flight was smooth and thirty minutes long before they settled on the helipad a hundred yards from her home. She walked inside, changed into boating clothes as the chopper repositioned to the county airfield ten miles away. Fired up the boat and sped to Tangier Island. The stars were swirling brilliantly as she entered the complete darkness of the Chesapeake Bay. There was no ambient light to mute the stark beauty of the firmament. Still, the anxiety ate at her until she palmed another clonazepam and dulled her senses. She docked the boat and walked up the pier to Jessup’s home.

  He met her outside again, ushered her inside, and they sat on the porch. The sounds of nature coming to life were like a symphony. Fish smacking at the surface in ritual morning feeding. Birds waking and diving into the clear water, unfettered by the wind, which would pick up later in the morning.

  They sat in the wicker chairs with oversized cushions. The music played through the speakers. The ceiling fan whirred and an ancient floor fan blew across the screened porch. Jessup placed two water bottles on the table next to the two computer terminals.

  “First, the good news. I shut down Maximus Anon. His Twitter account is indefinitely suspended and I’ve recovered about three hundred screen captures from different users. There are probably more, but I started with those with the highest number of followers and worked backwards. You’re not paying me enough, by the way.”

  “I’ll determine that.”

  He nodded and continued.

  “The rest isn’t looking so hot. We’re moving from staying ahead of this to falling behind. If we fall behind, everything unravels. Harwood was never supposed to return. He knows too much about Samuelson and whether he’s figured it out or not yet, he will. And when he does, it’s not good.”

  “I agree. So, what’s the plan? Where is he?”

  “Here,” he said, pointing at his MacBook. The grainy video images showed Harwood and Hinojosa running from a run-down project building in Southeast, across the freeway, and into a construction site. Jessup switched to another video that was part of the I-395 traffic monitoring system, which had enough downward angle to show Harwood and Hinojosa picking their way through a fence gap and into a construction site.

  “Still there?”

  “As far as I know. I’m inside the IC command and control system, which gives me every camera in the area. The highways, the marina, the Coast Guard, the airport. There are cameras and sensors everywhere. If they move, we will see them. He’s a combat guy, not used to being in today’s modern city. He’s trapped himself in the location. The urgency of this situation is I wanted to discuss with you how we deal with this. He’s back up against the river and two freeways. Really has one way to go, which is due west toward the Navy Yard, which has cameras everywhere, also, in addition to being a bitch to get into.” The IC, or intelligence community, maintained a continuously growing and networked community of cameras.

  “Options?” But she was thinking already. She could let Ravenswood and his heathens handle the situation. They could tip off the police. They
could steer Stone and Weathers in his direction. Or they could get the FBI involved.

  “All of what you’re thinking,” he said. “I see your mind working.”

  “I guess part of the decision rests on what’s happening with Maximus Anon,” she said.

  Jessup typed some commands and brought up a series of cameras focused on the brownstone row house that had no less than ten police cars parked in front. Two ambulances were on location, both open at the back. Emergency personnel were pushing gurneys with dead bodies covered by bloodstained white sheets into the back of both ambulances.

  “I’m reading the SIGACTS of the D.C. police department,” Jessup said. He pointed at another monitor, which showed a scrolling matrix of significant activities, including information such as location, time, activity, response, and status. “If you look here, there were four killed. Several photos were taken and there are two videos showing Harwood and Hinojosa entering the home of Maximus Anon.”

  “Who are the dead people?”

  “The reports are it was gang violence. MS-13. Five dead,” he said.

  Brookes whistled and shook her head. What had Ravenswood gotten himself into? No wonder he was staring out the window like a zombie. He figured himself a dead man. He ran a group of MS-13 into the meat grinder thinking it was going to be an easy job. Find some fat computer guy and loop a belt around his neck and let him dangle from a two-by-four in the basement. That was all she’d wanted to have happen. Now this.

  “Okay. Well, you know everything, so I’ll talk it out with you. Ravenswood doesn’t know about you, but you know about him.”

  “Let’s keep it that way, Senator,” Jessup said.

  “No worries there. He’ll be lucky to live another day if that truly was MS-13 on the ground. What I’m seeing is that we need the Reaper dead to cover the Samuelson side of the story. If he’s gone, he can’t uncover anything else or tell his side of the Team Valid story. The Sultans and Perzas are dead and that’s what we needed.”

  “Yes. I’ve confirmed that they’re dead and I’ve been able to hack into their networks and delete anything that might be … uncomfortable. Before, they had someone monitoring their system twenty-four-seven. With the chaos, they had a break where I was able to get into each system and do what I needed.”

  “Okay, so that problem is cleared up, but the Reaper is the new problem. If he even goes public about Team Valid we’re screwed.”

  “I doubt he’ll go public. Hinojosa is there and she’ll convince him, rightfully, that his best options are to stay off the radar.”

  “Which brings up a good point. What do I do about Hinojosa? Is she collateral damage here?”

  “That’s your call,” Jessup said.

  She pulled at her lip, thinking. “You’re right. Let me work it over.”

  “I don’t need to know,” Jessup said. “I already know more than I want to.”

  “Well, you’re all in, so you’re going to hear it. What I’m thinking is that we give Stone and Weathers the mission to kill the Reaper, however they determine is the best way. Then we tip Ravenswood as to the location so that MS-13 can power up and do their thing, also. I think we keep D.C. police and the FBI as hole cards for now. They’ll be following these clues, also, so I doubt they’ll need much from us.”

  Jessup nodded. “I like it. It needs to happen fast. The Reaper could call any newspaper or TV station and blow this thing up. I’m not sure he realizes what he’s got, but he’s going to figure it out, sooner or later. And when he does, he’s doing two things: coming after us and going public.”

  She nodded, took a sip of ice water. “He wants justice,” she said. “But so do I.”

  Jessup clicked some keys and said, “I’ve got a message ready to send to Stone.”

  “Content?”

  “It’s the lat/long of the Reaper and Hinojosa’s location with a screenshot of the building they’re in. I include the instructions: Leave no trace.”

  “Leave no trace. I like it. What about the gang? As backup.”

  “Your wish, my command,” Jessup said. “Your pal used a burner to contact them in East Falls Church. They’re in a brick rambler.” He pulled up a Google Earth image and zoomed onto the house that looked like a post-WWII baby boom house. Every house on the street looked the same. Red bricks, black, decaying shingles on the rooftops, and chain-link fences with circular tracks in the backyard, most likely from pit bulls or Dobermans.

  “Okay. Get them moving. They’re pissed off, too. Best to get everyone going while Reaper and Hinojosa are tired and everyone else is mad.”

  Jessup typed in some commands and said, “Okay, done.”

  “It’s really that easy? Send a text from Ravenswood’s phone to some gangbanger?”

  “Yes. I can even do it from your phone,” he said. “But I never would.”

  She stared at him a second, catching his eyes, pulling them up to hers.

  “I swear,” he reiterated.

  “Okay,” she said.

  After a few minutes, Jessup turned his monitors toward her.

  “Here we go. Camera in East Falls Church shows activity at the gang house. Piling into two cars. Carrying weapons. Camera on this screen showing Stone and Weathers rolling in a Land Rover from their safe house in Alexandria.”

  Brookes nodded. “And the girl. In Georgia? Where are we on that?”

  “I’ve got someone from the original team moving on her. She’s staying with the parents of the Ranger command sergeant major. I imagine that we’re only getting one shot, so to speak, at her. I wouldn’t want the wrath of any Ranger coming back on me.”

  “Then do it right. Kill him, too.”

  Jessup stared at her. “I know what needs to be done. You see the irony in you ordering all of this to happen while trying to preserve the image of your integrity to maintain your presidential viability, right?”

  “I see clear purpose. How is this any different than fighting to maintain national security? The resistance is too important. I’m their leader. I have an obligation. And while I don’t necessarily identify with them, they support me, see me as the path to reclaiming their progressive agenda. Whatever we need to do to stop this madman, Smart, well, a few bodies are worth the price.”

  Jessup swallowed. “Including a kid?”

  Brookes nodded.

  “I’ve never seen it put so starkly, but it’s your plan.”

  “You’ve got that right,” she said.

  CHAPTER 18

  Hinojosa answered the phone. Harwood listened, catching only one side of the conversation.

  “Yes, Special Agent … roger … he’s with me … I’ll tell him … I’m not sure about that … I’ll ask him … okay, I’ll call.…”

  She hung up and looked at Harwood.

  “He wanted me to tell you that he wants to meet with you to discuss something,” she said. “It’s about Samuelson.”

  “Your brother,” he said, looking her in the eyes.

  “Yes, my brother.”

  “Not Sammie?”

  “You’re questioning me? He’s my brother, okay? He’s dead. I’m dealing with it the best I can. Did you ever think it might help me cope to use our last name? What everyone else calls him?”

  Harwood nodded. Not convinced, but it was a somewhat persuasive argument. Unable to grieve her brother’s death, perhaps she called him by an emotionally detached moniker—their last name—that allowed her to compartmentalize. Sure. He’d done it in combat. There was no reason to believe it wasn’t the same for her. But still. There was something ringing hollow.

  “So when do we meet?”

  “He said he would send somebody and to hang tight.”

  “Hang tight?”

  “He said that you would know what that means.”

  Harwood thought about it for a second. Bronson had been a marine in Fallujah. He’d served in Force Recon and knew all the tricks for inserting and exfiltrating an area of operations. They were in a tough position. Bronson k
new exactly where they were. If he didn’t before, he did now because he most likely geolocated her phone. He studied the half-constructed building. Open to the south with the river, which was an easily intercepted escape route. He turned and studied the freeways to the north. Simple to block, unless of course you had an FBI escort with lights flashing. That wasn’t Bronson’s style. He looked up.

  Open sky, save a few I-beams the crew had put in place.

  “Okay, I think I understand.” He reached into his rucksack and retrieved two twelve-foot lengths of rope and two snap links. He showed Hinojosa how to tie off the Swiss rappelling seat and properly insert the snap hook.

  “Not sure what this does.”

  “I’m not sure it’s what he’s talking about, but we’ll need to be ready if the time comes.”

  “In the meantime?”

  “We’ve got good high ground here,” Harwood said. “But the workers will show up in about two hours, sunrise, and that’s if we don’t get pinged before then. Cameras are everywhere. We’re vulnerable.”

  “He said he would take care of it. Two hours. Can we hold for two hours?”

  “You’re the one with all the inside information. You tell me.” He looked at his SR-25 splayed out on the concrete.

  “I’m no strategic genius, but I’d say when the sun comes up, we’re toast.”

  “If this is where Bronson says he’s getting us, we need to give him that opportunity.”

  “Okay.”

  Harwood kept a furrowed brow aimed at Hinojosa.

  “Jesus. You still don’t believe me.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe. Only the truth.”

  Hinojosa removed her backpack and set it next to her as she laid with her back against the wall, hugging the pack like a pillow as if she were spooning with it. Her eyes closed as Harwood continued to scan for anything coming their way.

  After thirty minutes, mist and fog clouded the Potomac River to the east. He held his night-vision goggle to his right eye, his tie-down keeping it secure around his neck. The moonlight was weak, fading into the west. Low clouds blocked the starlight. Still, he could see well enough and Harwood had seen this before. The truism that it was darkest before the dawn coupled with the natural ebb of the human circadian rhythm made this the most dangerous time for warriors. Sleep was the enemy’s prostitute, seducing even the most alert and awake sentries. Worse, what was to come was even more precarious, the transition from full black with night-vision equipment to the temporary and changing hues of sunrise. The eyes had to adjust from full dilation as more light became available for the irises to process. Things that were not seen during darkness became visible; likewise, items that had been noticed would be different and starker. Harwood scanned his sector to the north. The concrete block piles were still covered in darkness, but he saw that there were more than just the one they had passed. Construction cranes loomed over top of the building. His fields of fire were decent, but close in. There was dead space at the base of the building and if Stone and Weathers were coming after him, they had plenty of good sniper hides from which to shoot. He walked to the far side of the building, looking south. The lights of Anacostia winked at him. Directly across the river was a park and beyond that was Ward 8, the poorest section of Washington, D.C. Every other house was probably abandoned or a full-up drug and gun laundering operation. But he determined his biggest threat to be from the front, the way they had entered. The water was at least a barrier to keep pursuers from easily closing on them.