The Reluctant Assassin Box Set

by Lee Jackson

  32

  Atcho cleared security without difficulty at FBI headquarters in the Jacob Javits Federal Building on Lafayette Street in Manhattan. The largest federal building in the US, it was an imposing edifice with many small windows that made it look like an enormous, vacated beehive.

  Burly met Atcho in the lobby and escorted him to an upper floor. “We’re not getting a lot of takers on our story,” he said as they rode the elevator. “Most people in the intelligence community or the FBI have never heard of Al-Qaeda or Osama bin Laden, and the notion of Hamas and Hezbollah cooperating with each other seems outlandish to them. That goes back to the Shia–Sunni chasm. If they killed every last infidel on the planet, that still wouldn’t stop their jihad because they’d kill each other until one or the other of their belief systems reigns supreme.”

  “So, what are we doing here today?”

  “Klaus threatened you and your family. We have to make sure we get all the federal protection we can. The special agent in charge at the FBI office in Chicago, Tom O’Brian, is an evangelist for counterterror and spends a lot of time researching it. I spoke with him by phone when we got back from Israel. He’s proposing to his superiors to form a counterterror task force. He’s a bit of a dandy and he rubs his bosses the wrong way. Rumor has it that he was granted the Chicago assignment to sideline him—get him out of his boss’ hair.”

  Atcho’s agitation sparked. “I’m not understanding. Don’t they know that a ring of terror is closing around us, and if we don’t stop it, we’re going to be hit here at home, big time?” He took a deep breath and swung around to face Burly. “Three explosions. Three of them in the last year when Klaus was there, near the site, and they keep getting bigger. That doesn’t even count the failed attempt by my house last year. The terrorists are testing methods and probing weaknesses, and they’re getting better by the day. Do these smart intel guys think we’re invulnerable?”

  The elevator reached its destination, the doors slid open, and they stepped into a corridor. Burly led the way into a conference room. The view beyond the glass was dramatic, showing the vast cityscape that was New York City with its crown jewels, the twin towers of the World Trade Center, gleaming in the sunlight against a deep blue sky.

  “The man we’re meeting with is skeptical about the size of the threat,” Burly said, ignoring the vista. “He’ll be here in a few minutes to put us on speakerphone with O’Brian in Chicago.”

  “It’s not just Klaus,” Atcho said in exasperation, continuing their prior conversation. He glanced around the conference room and took note of the magnificent view, but he stayed on point. “Klaus is the tip of the spear, and an incredibly lethal one. Bad people are coming our way, and they intend to convert or kill us. In their view, we’re all combatants: women, children, mothers, fathers—it doesn’t matter. If we’re infidels, we should die. That’s the way these jihadists see things.”

  Burly gave him a sideways glance. “Do you think you might be getting a little paranoid?”

  “Paranoid?” Atcho whirled on him. “You were the case officer when that suitcase nuke got loose in Siberia. You were in Berlin when the guy we’re chasing right now, Klaus, escaped with one just like it. You came back out of retirement last year when he had ideas about using it in the Kuwaiti oilfields, and he had learned to make copies. And in each of my last three missions, including the attempt to capture Klaus in Sudan, you came to me.”

  Burly listened to him patiently. “Correct on all counts.” He sighed. “I’m your friend, Atcho. We’re on the same side. We have to stay objective, though.”

  “Meaning what?” Atcho fought to control his anger. Images crossed his mind of a dank cell in Siberia where he had been held captive in the dead of winter, of being aboard the near-crash of a huge cargo jet in Moscow, of crawling through dark tunnels under Berlin, and of flying through the black smoke clouds in a Black Hawk helicopter amid the flames of burning oil wells in Kuwait.

  He squinted. “I’ve put my life on the line at your request several times, and you call me paranoid. Even if I were, that doesn’t mean the danger isn’t real.”

  Chastened, Burly backtracked. “Poor choice of words,” he said. “But take another look. Siberia and Moscow were purely East-versus-West situations. Berlin was too, and only involved jihad because Klaus was part of that conspiracy.

  “We’re after one man with a bomb, not a whole movement. I’m not saying that there isn’t a group of bad people wanting to do bad things to us, but their resources are limited. They can’t pose a major threat to us.”

  Atcho’s eyes bulged. He slid both hands over his ears to massage the back of his head. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You thought the threat credible enough when Klaus put that suitcase nuke by my house last year—and activated the countdown.”

  Burly blew out a breath, his own patience waning. “Yes, I did, and the threat was real—from one man, with a weapon that still has never been proven.”

  Atcho contained his exasperation. “Are you serious? Do you recall that I nearly burned my hand off taking care of that bomb?”

  “Agreed,” Burly said, restraining himself, “and the device had plutonium, but we can’t say definitively that it or any of Klaus’ bombs were viable. They were never tested.”

  “What about the tremor in Afghanistan at Tora Bora? I recall you thought that might have been caused by a ‘poor man’s underground test.’ I think that’s what you called it.”

  Burly nodded. “We still think that might be the case, but we don’t have proof. Some radiation leaked into the atmosphere, but that could have been naturally generated, and our teams couldn’t go deep enough to find trace materials that would tell us the origin of any nuclear device, if that’s what caused the tremor in the first place.”

  Atcho shook his head, defiant. “Then what am I doing here?”

  “Klaus poses a real threat, particularly to your family. His device might actually work, in which case the danger extends far beyond you. As you said, you came to warn the authorities. I’m here for the same reason."

  Burly paused. “There’s one other thing I wanted to tell you when we got into a secure facility, like this one.” He looked around the room as if double-checking. “Eitan called last night. He passed along that their asset inside the camp overheard that Klaus plans to hit the New York financial district. Mind you, that information is not confirmed and it’s just above the level of chatter in terms of reliability.”

  Before Atcho could respond, the door opened, and a well-groomed man in a dark business suit walked in. “Gentlemen,” he greeted them. “Sorry to run late. We’re going to have to get right to the call. My name is Jim Dude.” He extended his hand.

  Atcho and Burly stared at him.

  Dude returned their gazes with a shrug. “I get that a lot. That’s my real last name. Will you please take your seats? My secretary has already placed the call and will put it through.” A green light on a speakerphone in the middle of the table blinked. “That should be our man.” He reached over and flipped a switch.

  “O’Brian here,” a disembodied voice intoned.

  Dude introduced Atcho and Burly.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Atcho,” O’Brian said. “I watched the night President Reagan introduced you at the State of the Union Address.”

  “Thank you, but that was long ago. Can we get to business?” Atcho felt the heat of his anger still simmering and forced himself to be civil. “A few weeks ago, I was in Israel, where I participated with the Mossad in a mission to snatch a Chechen terrorist from Sudan. The man has a suitcase nuclear bomb, maybe as many as five, and his stated aim is to harm the US and, more specifically, me and my family. And I just learned he’s planning an attack right here in New York City.”

  As Atcho spoke with passion, even fury, Burly leaned back in his chair and arched his eyebrows. Dude leaned forward in his seat, thunderstruck.

  “If he succeeds in harming my family,” Atcho went on, “he will si
multaneously kill many other Americans. Depending on where that happens, we could be talking millions of casualties. Sorry to be so blunt, but I learned on the way here that the FBI doubts the severity of the threat.”

  A stifling cloud seemed to have descended over the room.

  Dude cleared his throat. “Mr. Atcho,” he began, his reluctance to speak evident. “This mission you say you went on with Mossad”—he glanced at Burly—“are we supposed to know about that?”

  Burly shook his head slightly, looking dismayed. “Not necessarily,” he said, just loudly enough for O’Brian to hear over the speakerphone. “I filed a full report with the CIA. If it’s relevant to your efforts, you’ll get the details through channels.”

  Startled, Atcho looked back and forth between Dude and Burly. “I don’t understand. What do you mean you’re not ‘necessarily’ supposed to know? How are you supposed to protect—”

  “This is exactly what I’ve been talking about,” O’Brian cut in over the phone. “That silly practice of not sharing information between the CIA and the FBI is going to get people killed. Lots of American people.”

  Atcho rose to his feet and leaned on his fists over the table. “Will someone please explain to me what the hell we’re talking about?” He glared at Dude. “I came in to tell you about a man who has a nuclear device he intends to use inside the United States. The threat is taken seriously by the Mossad, and you talk to me about practices and whether you’re supposed to know about something that could be critical to protecting our people? What kind of crap is that?”

  “It’s complicated,” Dude responded in a low voice.

  “Try me,” Atcho snapped. “I’m just a dumb yokel from the general public, but I’ve been known to understand a thing or two.”

  “I’ll handle this,” O’Brian called, “and Atcho, I’m on your side. That’s why I’m consigned to the hinterland in Chicago instead of meeting with you in person there in New York.”

  “Now, Tom—”

  “I said I’d handle his question.” O’Brian’s voice assumed an icy quality. “I still outrank you, Jim, and I’m a participant in this meeting.”

  Dude started to protest.

  “I want to hear him,” Atcho said. He straightened to full height, crossed his arms, and cast a challenging glare at Dude. Burly said not a word.

  “You know the CIA and the FBI have different missions,” O’Brian said.

  “Yes.”

  “The CIA is restricted to intelligence gathering outside the US, and the FBI is responsible for investigating crimes inside our borders.”

  “Got it. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Because of the rise in terror worldwide,” O’Brian went on, “I started this counterterror unit, but it doesn’t have wide acceptance within the bureau.”

  “Now, Tom—” Dude interrupted.

  “I’m just giving him the lay of the land,” O’Brian said tersely. “I won’t air our dirty laundry.

  “Atcho, the hickey comes in when defining the dividing line between what is a threat to the US outside our borders and when it becomes a domestic concern. Your guy Klaus illustrates the problem clearly. He’s on foreign soil, but he threatens us here, and more specifically you and your family. As you pointed out, if he succeeds, many people will die. I understand he attacked your house with a device a few months ago—”

  “There’s no physical evidence that was Klaus,” Dude protested.

  Atcho’s head swung around, his anger palpable. “I fought with him. He killed one of your agents and beat a cop nearly to death.”

  “You say so,” Dude retorted, “but where’s the proof that Klaus did those things? You fought him at night, and no one else saw him.” He looked at Burly. “So far there is no physical evidence confirming that Klaus was involved at all. Is that correct?”

  Looking sheepish, Burly nodded and turned his attention to Atcho. “We found your fingerprints on the bomb last year. That was expected, because you fought with the assailant—”

  “The assailant,” Atcho glowered. “That’s all he is? You and I joined in a full manhunt for him in Germany and Kuwait.”

  “That was overseas,” Dude cut in. “Different ballpark, different game. Here, inside the country, we need evidence of a crime to investigate. As I understand, the assailant”—he emphasized the term—“got away, and there’s no physical evidence to say who the man was.” He turned to Burly. “There was no match for the other fingerprints on that case. Is that right?”

  Burly nodded. “Besides Atcho’s, there was only one other set of prints. They were smudged, and there was no match in the database for the partials that were lifted.”

  Atcho stared in disbelief. “Burly, you were there. You know it was Klaus. You just got a call from the Mossad about an intent to attack here in the city.”

  Burly caught Dude’s glance. “The call I got was unofficial,” he said, his reluctance clear. “I was there when Atcho fought whoever it was, and I think it was Klaus, but I didn’t see him, and we can’t prove it.”

  Atcho had never seen Burly look so uncomfortable, even awkward.

  “We think he’s overseas now,” Burly continued, “and involved with a terrorist organization that we know very little about. That makes it an intelligence matter, which is CIA.”

  Atcho’s exasperation was unbridled. “So, the FBI is going to sit on its hands and do nothing in the face of a known threat? The same set of people blew up the Israeli Embassy in Buenos Aires. They did the same thing to a TV station and then a major bank in Lima. Their bombs are getting bigger, and they’re hitting targets that are higher and have greater economic impact. To think they won’t come here is silly.”

  “That’s the battle I’m fighting,” O’Brian growled.

  Dude rolled his eyes. “It’s not that we’ll do nothing,” he said. “We’re a country of laws and we have a protocol. To protect our own people’s rights, the CIA is not allowed to operate inside the US—we don’t want the agency spying on citizens.” He warmed to his argument. “When they’ve developed intelligence of a threat they judge to be credible, severe, and imminent, they’ll let us know through proper channels.”

  “With all due respect,” Atcho replied in a tone that indicated his respect had dissipated to a breaking point, “terrorists are not operating on your timeline or observing your protocol. They train, they rehearse, they improve every day, and they are gaining funds, technology, and advanced methods. You’d better stop regarding them as third-world wannabes and start seeing them for what they are: an increasingly sophisticated fighting force that wants to kill us. And you’d better find a way to get information back and forth between you and the CIA or…” He paused as though considering the gravity of what he was about to say. Then he straightened, looked directly into Dude’s eyes, and pointed a finger at him. “Or you’ll have lots of American blood on your hands.”

  He turned to Burly. “I’m done here. If I want to waste my time, I can find better ways to do it.” He faced the speakerphone. “Mr. O’Brian, I wish you luck.”

  He looked Dude rapidly up and down. “Don’t worry about protecting me or my family. I can do a better job without you.”

  With that, Atcho walked out.

  33

  Burly barely made it to the elevator before the doors closed. Atcho was already inside, staring straight ahead. They rode in silence down to the first floor. There, Atcho exited without a word and strode toward the street. On clearing the door, he kept going without slowing down.

  Burly struggled to keep up. “Atcho, would you please stop? Let’s talk,” he called.

  “I’ve heard enough talk for one day,” Atcho retorted. “I have things to do. A thug is coming after me and my family, or hadn’t you heard?”

  “Atcho, don’t do this.” Burly stepped up his pace and turned in front of Atcho, stopping him. He lowered his head so his eyes were level with Atcho’s and placed a hand on Atcho’s shoulder, his lungs heaving. “I’m your frien
d,” he panted. “After all that we’ve been through together, I shouldn’t have to prove that.”

  Atcho looked away, his irritation still keen. “What do you want? I really have to go move my family. That’s not idle talk.”

  “I know.” Burly leaned back. “Let me catch my breath.” Pedestrians moved around them on the sidewalk while morning traffic whooshed by only feet away, filling the air with the heavy smell of exhaust.

  “I’m sorry about what happened up there,” he said when he had regained his composure. “I saw it coming. It was worse than I thought.”

  “You mean the pigheadedness? What’s wrong with those people? If they think that war we fought in Kuwait makes the world safe for democracy, they are incredibly naïve. Klaus and whoever sponsors him are breeding and training more goons like him every day.”

  Burly nodded. “Not exactly like him. There aren’t any more we know of with their own money, expertise, and fighting experience.”

  “Maybe. Burly, I watched the training in Lima. Hell, I gave classes in close-in combat, and the guys who attacked us in Sudan were good. Not as good as the Israelis, but they’ll get better. Their snipers took out three men with three shots. You can’t ask for better than that. I didn’t see inside the camp in Sudan, but they put together a quick reaction force in a matter of minutes.” He shook his head and looked around at the tall skyscrapers looming overhead before returning his gaze to Burly. “If we don’t recognize and identify the threat, we’re in trouble. And if we won’t share information with everyone who needs it, we’re lost.”

  They headed up the street toward the parking garage.

  “You surprised me up there,” Atcho said. “I hadn’t expected pushback from you.”

  “I didn’t say I agreed with the practices,” Burly replied. “I was trying to alert you to the facts of the world we live in.”

  “You called me paranoid.”