Stolen Identity

by Michael W. Sherer

  “Hold on there, young fella,” the guard said. “You can’t just go to the front of the line. Where’s your parents? Or your school group?”

  Joe backpedaled and stepped in front of the guard who had no choice but to give his attention to Joe. “It’s okay, officer. He’s with me. This is one of the youngsters who won the White House essay contest.”

  The man looked at Preston in surprise. “Is that right?”

  “White House staff asked me to escort him personally since he’s by himself,” Joe said.

  “He still needs a ticket,” the guard said. “Has he got a ticket?”

  “Oh, right,” Joe said. “They gave me this VIP pass…”

  He patted his pockets and finally pulling out some papers, an envelope and a card on a loop of ribbon. He handed the papers to the guard, and while the guard scanned them, Joe fished a ticket from the envelope and handed it to Preston, then hung the ID card around Preston’s neck.

  The guard handed back the papers. “Guess he’s got a ticket. Take him through security over there.” He motioned to one side of the narrow hallway where the line of people divided in two and snaked through a couple of metal detectors and an x-ray machine.

  Joe shepherded Preston over to the x-ray machine. “Put your backpack on the belt, Preston.”

  Preston grabbed the straps against his chest tightly and shook his head.

  “Come on, son, put your bag up there. You’re holding up the line.”

  “No, you can’t take it!”

  Preston began to panic, and didn’t know whether to hit Joe, or run. His whole body quivered as he stood there trying to decide. People were staring at him, and Joe’s face was getting redder.

  “Preston, no one’s trying to take your bag away.” Joe’s voice stayed calm. Preston didn’t like angry voices. “They just want to check it to make sure it doesn’t have anything you’re not supposed to have.”

  That didn’t sound too bad. Preston’s grip relaxed. “You’re sure?”

  “Look at the other end of the machine,” Joe said gently. “See? Everyone’s purses and bags are coming out the other end, and there’s nothing wrong with them.”

  Another guard came out from behind the x-ray machine and approached them with a wrinkled brow and a frown. More people stared. The hallway started to feel closed in. Preston swayed back and forward, a bad feeling making his stomach hurt.

  “Problem here, sergeant?” the guard said.

  Joe glanced up at him. “Not at all. This young man just wanted to know what will happen to his backpack when it goes through the machine.” He leaned toward the guard and cupped a hand around his mouth. “Special-needs kid. ‘Won’ a White House essay contest.”

  The man’s face smoothed out, and Preston stopped rocking. He looked at Joe and wondered what Joe meant when he said “special needs.” He’d heard Miss Williams say it once, but she’d explained it away quickly, saying that everyone had special needs sometimes. Preston could understand that. Sometimes he needed his Legos so badly that it made his head ache. And sometimes he needed to rock. He supposed those could be called special needs. Or the list he’d made for Mr. Samara; those were special needs.

  “White House contest, eh?” the guard said. “Have you ever seen an x-ray, son?”

  “No, sir,” Preston said.

  “If you put your bag up on the belt, once you go through the metal detector, I’ll show you how the machine can see right through it. How’s that sound?”

  Preston wasn’t sure he wanted the machine to look through his backpack, but he did want to see what an x-ray picture looked like. He gave a single nod, and lifted his backpack onto the conveyor. Joe led him over to the metal detector, and told him to walk through the arch. As soon as he was inside it, buzzers, bells and lights went off like a pinball machine at the arcade.

  79

  Janice went looking for Doug as soon as she got to the office, but couldn’t find him anywhere. She asked a couple of people if they’d seen him; one said no, the other said she’d seen him earlier. So, he was around somewhere. She checked with Connie, his administrative assistant, but she just gave Janice a blank look and said he had nothing on his calendar except opening statements in court that afternoon. Worried and frustrated, she gave up, got some coffee and went back to her office. She had tons of work, but she couldn’t concentrate on any of it. After nearly half an hour of torture trying to do what she normally found both interesting and fulfilling, she pushed away from her desk and put her hands on the arms of her chair to rise. Changing her mind, she wheeled the chair back to the desk, picked up the phone and dialed her friend at the FBI offices down the street.

  “Carol Lerner.”

  “Carol, it’s Janice. Do you have any idea what’s happening? I can’t find Douglas.”

  “Oh, my God. All I can tell you is that report lit a fire under someone’s butt. The office is in an uproar. I don’t know for sure, but I think Scanlon convinced the JTTF that something big is happening today. I’m sorry, that’s all I know.”

  “Well, at least they took us seriously. Things here seem normal, but then practically all the senior people are out somewhere.”

  “Probably in meetings with our people and the rest of the task force. It looks like you were right, Janice. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “I doubted me, too, at first. It’s just too incredible to imagine. Well, thanks, Carol.”

  “Oh, my goodness, it’s me who should be thanking you.” Carol laughed nervously. “I’ll probably get a promotion out of this.”

  “I hope you do. Anyway, I think I’ll go look for Douglas again.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  Janice hung up feeling somewhat reassured, but she still wanted to know more. Information was her stock in trade, after all. And she wondered where Douglas had gone off to, worried that his state of mind had gotten worse. She pushed away from the desk in earnest this time and walked briskly to the elevators and took the next car to Doug’s floor.

  As she approached his office a few minutes later, his closed door surprised her. He almost always kept it open. She knocked gently and waited. No answer. But she was certain she heard voices coming from the other side of the door. She put her ear to it. At first she heard nothing, and wondered if she’d been imagining it, but then she heard someone speak, someone else respond, and another pause. The voices were faint, the words indistinct.

  She straightened and knocked again, louder this time. “Douglas, I know you’re in there. It’s Janice. Please open the door.”

  Again she got no response, and now she grew both worried and angry. Determined to find out what was going on, she tried opening the door, but the handle wouldn’t turn. She stared at the door, flabbergasted. Some of the staff locked their doors at night just to prevent sensitive documents from disappearing. But she’d never confronted one during the day. She marched down the hall to the admin pool and up to Connie’s desk. Connie glanced up from her typing.

  “You have a key to Douglas’s office, correct?” Janice said.

  “Yes,” Connie said slowly. “That’s right.”

  Janice put her hand out. “Give it to me, please. Something’s wrong.”

  Connie hesitated, but Janice’s voice and expression brooked no dissent. She complied.

  Key in hand, Janice stalked back to Douglas’s office and jammed it in the lock. She opened the door and stepped inside before Douglas could even voice an objection. He looked up, startled, as if he’d been concentrating on something, and his expression quickly turned to horror. He waved at Janice frantically, trying to push her out of his office with the force of his gestures. She opened her mouth to raise holy heck, and his eyes widened even further. His gestures grew more frantic and he put a finger to his lips, warning her not to speak.

  Only then did Janice take in the rest of the scene in front of her. A walkie-talkie and Douglas’s cell phone sat on his desk. She looked from one to the other, frowning. Then a voice emanated from the walkie-t
alkie.

  “Bravo, you collect the subject. Charlie, take the rear. We’ll take point when we see you exit the gate.”

  “Bravo here. Roger that, Alpha.”

  “Charlie. Got it.”

  The radio went silent again. Doug touched a finger to the screen of his cell phone, and expelled a held breath. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and his complexion was wan.

  “Jesus, Janice! What the hell are you doing? The door was locked for a reason.”

  “What am I doing?” Janice said, feeling heat rising to her face. “I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out why you would go against everything you stand for, all that is good and noble, to help people who place no value on human life. Who’s on the phone, Douglas?”

  He looked miserable and helpless. “I don’t know. Truly, I don’t know.”

  Janice was shaking with anger. Fear, too. “What did they promise you?”

  “They said they wouldn’t hurt Preston if I do what they tell me.”

  “And you believe them? Are you out of your mind, Douglas? They will kill him as sure as you’re breathing. You know this.”

  “Janice, shut up. Please, just shut up. The phone’s been on mute too long. They’ll suspect something. I have to let them hear what the marshals are saying.”

  Tears rolled down his cheeks, and the pain etched on his face rent her heart in two. But she couldn’t let him betray his job, his country, everything he stood for. There had to be a way out. The analytical side of her brain kicked into overdrive.

  She nodded at the phone. “Fine. Do this. But you’re going to do it for the right reasons. I’ll be back.”

  As he reached for it, she spun on her heel, stepped into the hallway and quietly shut the door. The office next door was empty. She hurried to the desk and snatched up the phone. First, she called Carol again.

  “Carol, don’t talk, just listen,” she said when Carol answered. “Go find your TIA—Davis? The one who was here the other day. Have him trace a call from this number.” She rattled off Doug’s cell phone number, one she knew by heart from all the times they’d had to talk about the Masoud case. “If he locks on, have him call the marshals office immediately. I’m calling them now to alert them. Gotta go.”

  She disconnected and dialed another call to the US Marshals office a block away. She knew the best way to get things done was to go as high on the food chain as possible, so she asked for Ross Perkins’s office. As she expected, she was connected to his assistant, the next best thing.

  “Ross Perkins’s office. This is Layla Johnson. How can I help you?”

  “Layla, this is Janice Foster over at Justice. One of our AUSAs was approached by a terrorist cell and asked to help break Hassan Masoud out of your transport group today. He has them on the line now and is relaying radio transmissions from your deputy marshals on scene. They need to know what’s going on, and I need someone from your office here pronto to monitor the situation. We have to catch these people. Do you understand what I’ve said?”

  “That’s one amazing story, Janice. If it’s true.”

  “Every word. And if you trust your gut on this instead of treating me like a nut case, Layla, then we’ll all end up heroes. If you brush me off, some of your people are going to end up dead. You can take the time to check out my credentials or you can act. You already know I’m calling from an inside extension at Justice. You’re in charge of Perkins’s office for a reason, Layla. Make up your mind.”

  “Got it, Janice.” Layla’s voice indicated she was all business now. “I’ll handle it on this end. Better go see what secrets your AUSA is spilling. Keep me posted.”

  “I will.”

  “And Janice? Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Janice barely heard the comment as she clicked off and dialed one last number—Langley. After what seemed like an interminable time on hold, she was finally put through to the deputy director’s office, where she was promptly told that he wasn’t in and would she like his voicemail.

  “No, I do not want his voicemail,” she told the efficient assistant. “I don’t care where he is, I know you have a way of finding him and getting a message to him. Tell him that Janice Foster called, and it’s urgent.”

  “Can I tell him what company you’re with?”

  “Do you understand the word urgent? I’m from Justice. He knows me. Just tell him.”

  “Please hold a moment, Miz Foster.”

  Janice heard a click and thought she’d been disconnected, further fueling her anger. But she heard another series of clicks and the ringing of a phone.

  “Richard,” a voice answered.

  Relief flooded through her, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. Finally, she loosened her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

  “Thank God it’s you! Richard, it’s Janice Foster. Douglas Keator was threatened, told to forward the transfer team’s radio broadcasts to an unknown phone number.”

  “That’s not good. When is the transfer?”

  “That’s the thing. It’s happening now. I walked in on him, and he’s on the phone with them now. Can you tell me anything that will help me stop him?”

  “Tell him our old friend will get his son out alive. You know I can’t guarantee it, Janice, but if anyone can do it, he can.”

  “Thank you.”

  She headed for the door without waiting to hear his response. Quickly, she let herself back into Doug’s office and gestured for him to put the phone back on mute. He frowned, but did as she asked. He looked even worse, if that was possible, shirt damp with perspiration, face even paler.

  “I just got off the phone with the Marshals Service. They’re sending someone to monitor the calls and relay information back to the team.”

  Doug shook his head vehemently and jumped up, grabbing the radio and the phone. “I can’t let you do that Janice. I’ll just go somewhere else.”

  “Douglas, listen to me!” She said it calmly, but firmly enough that he stopped in mid-stride and looked her in the eye. “I also called my contact at Langley. The deputy director, Doug. Your father is going to get Preston out.”

  “My father…?” Surprise gave way to anger darkening his face. “My father couldn’t get Preston out of… Oh, for shit’s sake, Janice. He’s an old man! What’s he going to do?”

  “Your father was a Vietnam War hero, and don’t you forget it!”

  “Where is he? In Washington? Christ, Janice, he’s got half the law enforcement officers in three or four states out looking for him. He’ll never get near Preston! I’m leaving.”

  Janice straight-armed him in the chest as he tried to get past her, and stared at him fiercely. “Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in jail, where you’ll never see Preston, this is your only option. Zane will find him, and he’ll get him out safely. Have a little faith. Your father will do the right thing, Douglas. Forget the past. What happens now is what counts. Now go sit down, and let’s put these bastards in jail where they belong.”

  80

  Preston shrieked like a banshee, adding to the cacophony of the alarm. Darzi had counted on setting off the metal detector. But he hadn’t foreseen the kid losing it and going nuts inside the device. The guard on the other side of the magnetometer was trying to coax Preston out of the machine, but the kid had his hands over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth open wide. Darzi shouldered his way past the people in line and took two strides to the metal detector. He crouched and tapped Preston on the shoulder. Startled, the boy turned to see who it was and stopped shrieking as soon as he saw Joe’s face. Silence fell like a weighted curtain when a staff member finally shut off the alarm. Darzi beckoned to the boy, and Preston shuffled out.

  “Sorry about that, everyone,” Darzi said as he stood.

  The buzz of conversation slowly returned as people lost interest. Darzi pulled Preston aside and let the line resume moving again. The boy was trying his patience, but Darzi pasted a smile on his face. Getting the boy through the metal detect
or was paramount. He remembered both Hassan and Amir going through the same sort of phase at that age, one of the few times while they were growing up that he’d been able to spend any amount of time with Safiya and his small family. Preston, though, was different. While his own boys had been precocious and full of nervous energy, Preston showed signs of some mild form of autism.

  “You’ve never been through one of these before, have you?” he said. Preston shook his head. “It generates a magnetic field, which can sense metal. That sets off the alarm. There are wires in your vest. That’s what set it off. Do you understand?”

  Preston nodded. “Yes.”

  “Okay, so I want you to try again. The alarm will go off, but don’t worry. They’ll shut it off right away and ask you to walk through. The guard on the other side will tell you to wait while he uses a wand to find out where the metal is. In the meantime, I’m going to walk around the machine and explain your vest, and you can show them how it works. Okay?”

  Preston solemnly nodded again, and turned to face the metal detector. Darzi flagged the guard on the other side.

  “I’m coming through,” Darzi said. “He’ll try again, and you can wand him.”

  The guard signaled he understood. Darzi walked through, momentarily setting off the alarm.

  “It’s a heated vest,” Darzi told the guard. “I gave it to him this morning.”

  The guard peered at him. “You gave it to him?”

  “Sure. Why not? It’s chilly outside. Look, the White House wanted him to have it. He’s here because he won a White House essay contest. So, a White House staffer gives it to me and says it’s a gift, and I should give it to the kid. What do you think I’m going to do?”

  “Why the heck would you let him wear it through the metal detector?”

  “Because he doesn’t want to take it off,” Darzi snapped. “That’s why.”

  “Okay, Sergeant. I was just asking.” The guard looked at Preston. “You’re good to go, son.”