Credible Threat

by Ken Fite

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know,” said Billings as the agent approached when their voices grew louder.

  Keller stepped closer, forcing Billings against the wall. Keller pointed a finger at his friend’s chest and pushed. “I’ve known you for a long time, Mike. A very long time. You know better than anyone that I will not have people in my administration who aren’t straight with me, regardless of their position or seniority. If you know something, if you’ve seen anything that I need to know about, tell me. I will not–”

  Keller saw something that caught his eye and turned to his right to see who had approached the door.

  Margaret Keller was in the dark hallway, sitting in her wheelchair with a blanket draped over her body. She stared at her husband with a disapproving glare. “Come to bed, Jim.”

  Keller realized that he had let himself lose control. He stared at his wife, then turned to Mike Billings and took his finger off his friend’s chest. The VP-elect straightened his tie and adjusted his blazer.

  “It’s late,” said Billings. “We’re both exhausted and need some rest. I’ll see you in a few hours.” He walked past Keller and the agent. “Excuse me, Margaret,” he said as he left the room and disappeared.

  Margaret turned her wheelchair around, glanced at her husband, and headed back to their bedroom.

  The agent left the room as well and Keller walked to the window and pulled back the drapes. He thought about Blake and found it hard to believe that he had assaulted an officer. That wasn’t the kind of thing he thought Blake would do. “What the hell is going on?” he whispered to himself.

  THIRTY-THREE

  I SPOTTED JAMI as soon as I entered the ER. She was sitting to the right alongside the wall.

  “Jami,” I said and she looked up and stood as I approached. “How is Chris? Is he okay?”

  “They took him back as soon as we arrived. That was half an hour ago. Haven’t heard anything yet.”

  I nodded and looked around the room. For the middle of the night, there were a lot of people in the ER’s waiting room. We walked to the nurse’s desk to ask for an update on Chris and the woman said the doctor would be out to see us as soon as Reed was out of surgery. Jami and I walked away and I leaned in to talk to her.

  “Jami, Chris is in good hands. I’m sorry, but we need to leave right now.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain in the car. Where did you park the truck?”

  Jami led me outside. The automatic sliding glass doors opened and the cold wind hit our faces. Jami tossed the keys to me. She crossed her arms and held them tight against her body, trying to stay warm.

  When we entered the car and got settled, Jami reached for her bag and opened her laptop. “Tell me what’s going on, Blake.”

  “After you left, I secured the residence,” I began after I started the truck and turned the heat on while Jami put her hands up to the air vents to try to get warm. “There was a knock at the door.”

  Jami turned to me. “Who was it?”

  “A man named Carson. He wore brown coveralls, looked like maybe he worked as a mechanic but his hands weren’t greasy and his clothes weren’t dirty. Maybe he worked in a warehouse somewhere. I don’t know, but he was there at the home to meet somebody.”

  “Who?”

  “Not sure. He knew Donovan’s name so he must have known that it was his home.”

  “Carson – first or last name?”

  “I don’t know that, either. It was on his uniform. Can you help me figure out who he is?”

  Jami shook her head. “How exactly do you want me to do that? We don’t have a picture of the guy. We don’t even have a full name. I need more than that if I’m going to be able to figure out who he is.”

  “I know. Look at the Metropolitan Police Department logs. He should show as being arrested twenty, maybe thirty minutes ago. And if you’re not seeing anything, then I need you to try to access their system.”

  “The police showed up?” I nodded. Jami began typing and accessed the logs. “Blake – you’re on their logs. It’s saying that you assaulted a police officer.”

  “I had no choice. I was questioning Carson when they showed up. He was just about to tell me who he worked for and why he was there. I just needed another minute and I think he would have talked.”

  “If they have the man under arrest, then we just need to go down to MPD and talk to him,” said Jami as she continued to type. “And now they have an all-points out to bring you in. What did you do?”

  “They took Carson separately. They were going to take me downtown to question me, too. I told them I was working with the FBI, trying to stop a planned terrorist attack and to call Bill Landry to verify. They called and Landry wouldn’t back me up. They were going to take me in. I couldn’t let them do that.”

  “So you jumped a cop and took his cruiser?” she asked as she read the details of the all-points bulletin.

  “Jami, we’re running out of time. The inauguration is in just a few hours. Chris has been taken out. I would have been detained for hours and we would have missed our opportunity to stop this attack.”

  Jami stared at me and then sighed before her eyes returned to her screen. “His name is Carson Fleming.”

  “Where does he work?”

  Jami shook her head as she continued to type. “I’ve got a home address, but don’t see where he works. If that’s what we need, then I can ping Morgan to see if he can help me find it.”

  Morgan started looking and a few minutes later, he instant messaged Jami, saying that he needed to talk with us ASAP.

  “This is Lennox,” he said, answering his phone.

  “Morgan, I have you on speaker. We need the work address for Carson Fleming.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that, Blake. I was really scratching my head with this one. I had to cross reference several databases and I did find where he works, but I can’t give you the address.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there is no address. It doesn’t officially exist. It’s a government storage facility in Bethesda.”

  I punched Bethesda into the GPS and started driving. It let me know that I needed to head north about six miles. With close to no traffic on the roads, I thought I’d get there in a little over twenty minutes.

  “We’re heading over now. Do you think you could navigate us to the building once we’re in the area?”

  “I don’t know, Blake. I’ll need some time to try to figure out exactly where it’s located.”

  “We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I replied. “Call us as soon as you get the location.”

  I headed north on 22nd Street and took Massachusetts to Wisconsin Ave, thinking it would be best to stay off the highways. I figured it would only be a matter of time before Landry found out that Chris Reed was in the hospital for a gunshot wound and started looking for his vehicle, knowing that I likely had it.

  “What’s in that facility?” Jami asked.

  I shook my head. “Something they don’t want anyone to be able to find.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  WHEN WE PASSED a sign welcoming us to Bethesda, I told Jami we needed to talk to Morgan.

  She looked for him on instant messenger to ping him. “He’s been away from his desk for a while,” she explained. “Let’s give him another minute or two and–”

  Jami’s phone rang, it was Morgan. “Sorry love, Shapiro needed me. Blake, did you know MPD is looking–”

  “I know, Morgan. We just arrived in Bethesda, can you navigate us into the facility?”

  “Fine, Jami share your location with me so I can direct you in.”

  Jami started sharing her phone’s current location with Morgan who said he located us and compared our current position to a map he had of where the government facility was supposed to be located.

  “Okay Blake, I see you guys on 355 headed north. Go east on Jones Bridge Road, just before Walter Reed. That dead ends at Jone
s Mill Road. You’ll want to turn left and head north. When you get there, I’ll walk you through the next steps.”

  “Got it,” I replied.

  “I need to bring you two up to speed on something.”

  “Go ahead Morgan,” replied Jami.

  “Chicago PD got a call a little while ago from a woman in Oak Park, she was on the phone with her husband when she heard gunshots.”

  “That’s an everyday thing in Chicago, Morgan,” I said.

  “Blake, just listen,” he continued as I turned right on Jones Bridge Road and headed east. “CPD sent an officer to the home to talk with her. She said she was on the phone with her husband, Paul Hartmann, when she heard the shots being fired. She continued to listen and heard another man talking with a woman followed by another gunshot. Police located the men at a rest area in Myersville, Maryland.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Morgan?” I asked.

  “Because Myersville isn’t that far from you. I looked into Paul Hartmann. He owned a moving company.”

  “Owned?” Jami asked to clarify.

  “Yes, owned. Hartmann and another gentleman were found dead at the rest area.”

  “I’m still not following,” I said. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “The police worked with the FBI to track the vehicle and I took it one step further and used the same system to go back an hour earlier to see where Hartmann had come from before going to the rest area.” Morgan paused for a moment. “He had left the facility that you and Jami are going to now, Blake. I was trying to figure out why he would have been there when Shapiro summoned me to his office. But knowing that he came from Chicago, all I can think of is that maybe he was delivering James Keller’s belongings.”

  “Why would somebody want him dead?” Jami asked as I turned left on Jones Mill Road.

  “Not sure,” I replied. “But we need to get to this facility before the FBI does. Morgan, I’m on Jones Mill.”

  “Okay, Blake. You’re going to be looking for an entrance into the woods somewhere on your right.”

  “Not seeing anything.”

  “There has to be something marking the spot, keep looking.”

  Jami rolled down her window and pointed to a stake in the ground. “Is that it?” she asked. “Is that the mark?” I stopped the vehicle, grabbed my Maglite, and got out. I noticed tracks in the dirt just to the left of the stake. I pushed through and walked into the woods about ten or fifteen feet and saw the facility.

  “This is it,” I said after climbing back into the truck. “Morgan, can you tell me about the building?”

  “The facility is rather large, Blake. As far as getting to it, when you enter inside, you’ll follow what looks like a fairly long dirt road. That takes you to a small guardhouse where I’m assuming you’ll have some explaining to do. Beyond that point, it looks like there’s a fence around the perimeter of the building. That’s all I can see.”

  “We’re going in now,” I said and pulled the truck into the woods, entering to the left of the stake.

  “Morgan, can you look into the rest area? See if there’s any surveillance of the parking lot?” asked Jami.

  “I’ll do my best, love.”

  Branches scratched both sides of the truck as I eased the vehicle into the woods. I had to accelerate quickly to get the SUV over what felt like a ditch separating the woods from the main road. Once inside, I followed the path as Jami checked her Glock and got ready to talk to whoever kept watch over this place.

  As we approached the small guardhouse, we saw a man emerge with a flashlight in his left hand and his right resting on a gun. As he approached, I stopped the car, put it in park, and lowered the window.

  Jami exited and presented her identification. “Jami Davis, Department of Domestic Counterterrorism.”

  The man shined his flashlight on Jami and while he looked her over, I stuffed my Glock inside my belt. The man moved the light back to me, where he kept it. “Get out of the vehicle now,” he ordered.

  I stepped outside the truck and closed the door. The man looked me over then turned back to Jami.

  “This area is restricted, so unless you have clearance, I’m going to need you to leave the premises now.”

  “We have reason to believe that a terrorist plot is in play in Washington DC and this facility may have played a key role in that plot.” Jami explained.

  “This area is secure, ma’am, I guarantee that. Been here twenty years and it’s the same thing every day. Trust me, there isn’t a place more secure than here. Nobody enters, nobody leaves, unless you work here.”

  “Like Carson Fleming?” I asked.

  The man turned back to me. “What do you know about Fleming?”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  I STEPPED CLOSER to the guard. “Carson Fleming has been arrested,” I said. “MPD took him into custody and is questioning him downtown right now. Have you seen him in the last few hours?”

  “He just got off work a little while ago, said he’d be right back, though. He’s working a double tonight.”

  “A short while ago, Fleming drove to the home of a man who was involved in an attempt to kidnap and kill Agent Davis and me. We need to enter your facility and figure out what he was working on before he left.”

  “And you are?”

  “Blake Jordan. Please, you have to let us inside.”

  The guard looked at Jami then back to me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

  “If I place a call to James Keller and he confirms what I’m telling you, will you let us inside?”

  The man nodded. I stepped away and placed the call. Keller didn’t answer so I reached into my pocket and found the card for Defense Secretary Ron Gibson. “This is Blake Jordan,” I said when he answered. “I’m standing outside a government facility in Bethesda. We went to Donovan’s home. He wasn’t there, but a man named Carson Fleming showed up. He’s been taken into custody, but we found out that he works in this facility. We need to get inside to understand what he was doing before leaving to go see Donovan.”

  There was a silence on the other end of the line. “Let me talk to them, Blake.”

  “Here,” I said and handed the phone to the guard who listened to Gibson.

  “Very well,” the man said and handed the phone back to me. I thanked Gibson and hung up.

  The guard walked back inside the guardhouse and a moment later, the gate began to move. Jami and I followed him inside and watched as the gate closed behind us. “Follow me,” he said as we continued walking up the long driveway and entered a set of double doors.

  Inside the building, I saw a series of bays along both sides of the wall. Each one was different in size but seemed large enough to house the different gear and equipment that they contained. They looked customizable, like they could be expanded if they needed to be. One bay to my left had riding lawnmowers and other lawn equipment. Another contained stacks of crowd control barriers and traffic cones.

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  “White House storage facility,” the man replied. “It’s a little out of the way, but you can only store so much on the premises. They like to keep whatever they feel is essential onsite. Everything else they keep here.”

  Jami turned around, taking in all of the nooks and crannies that we were seeing all over the large building. “What does Carson Fleming do here?” she asked.

  “Fleming is what we call a handler. When the trucks arrive, they drop what they return right here,” he said, pointing to the entrance doors we walked through. “The handlers sort what gets returned by category and then move whatever gets delivered back to their spots within the facility. The trucks can come at any hour of the day. Sometimes multiple times a day. It all depends on what’s going on at the White House.”

  “Who’s the handler for the third shift? Who usually relieves Carson Fleming?” I asked.

  “A guy named Tom. Fleming said that Tom called him yesterday not feeling well. Before he lef
t, Fleming said he was going to pull a double to cover the shift. Said he needed to step out but would be back shortly.”

  “I’m assuming that pickups are the same process?”

  “Kind of,” he responded. “There’s just a little more involved. The Secret Service oversees both pickups and drop-offs, but when a truck arrives to take equipment and supplies, there’s a checklist that’s reviewed. A manifest. It comes from the people at the White House and gets okayed by the warehouse manager.”

  “And you don’t have that for drop-offs?” Jami asked.

  “Not really. Supplies get used up. A truck may leave with ten bags of fertilizer and won’t return with any. That’s just the nature of the process. We do inventory and keep track of items that we have to order. Why are you asking all of these questions? What does any of this have to do with Carson Fleming?”

  I looked at Jami and then turned to the guard. “Do you recognize the name Paul Hartmann?” I asked.

  “Hartmann and Sullivan – they were here earlier and Fleming helped unload the van they drove in.”

  “And what exactly did they drop off?” I pressed.

  “That was more of an unconventional delivery. Hartmann was dropping off the personal effects of James and Margaret Keller. Their stuff is in that bay right over there,” he said and pointed to the corner.

  Jami stepped closer to us. “Do you have any trucks coming or leaving in the next few hours?”

  “One just left. You may have passed it on your way in. That one that had all of the audio equipment that’s needed in a few hours. I have another one on its way to pick up Keller’s belongings that Fleming was in charge of. It should be here within the hour.”

  “About Keller’s stuff,” I said, looking in the direction of the first bay. “I noticed that none of it is organized. It’s all just piled in there. All other bays look organized. Why would Fleming leave this one a mess?”

  “We keep items that come in and out very quickly close to the front here. If it’s going right back out, which doesn’t happen too often, we just put it here close to the front and load it on the next truck as-is.”