Credible Threat

by Ken Fite

  Maybe they think the same of me, she thought.

  Claudia stood and watched her husband walk back into the makeshift command center he had set up. He took a seat in front of one of the monitors and started typing on the computer. She turned and looked around the room.

  She tried to hide it from her husband the best she could, but at that moment she realized that she and Aasaal weren’t running the show. And she realized that Aasaal’s loyalty was with someone else.

  A man she had met on several occasions under the blanket of night.

  A man she didn’t trust.

  Claudia stepped toward her husband. “What do you need me to do now?” she asked.

  “Now we wait,” he replied and continued to type.

  But Claudia didn’t want to wait. She wanted to leave. She just had to wait for the right time.

  THIRTY-NINE

  I WAS AT the corner of Beach and Park trying to decide where to go when Morgan finally called me.

  “Okay Blake, turn left on Park.”

  “You’re tracking me?” I asked as the light turned green and I started driving up the hilly Park Road.

  “Listen Blake, I’m not sure how much time I have. Shapiro is on the phone and keeps looking my way.”

  As I drove, I looked to my left and saw the spot where Jami and I had climbed up the incline to walk through the woods to get to Donovan’s home. Red and blue lights flickered through the woods. I thought about Chris and wondered how he was doing. I needed to get the hell out of here before MPD found me.

  “Blake, you’re going to head south on Park for another minute or so. When it curves to the left, you’re going to want to keep going straight and head south on Walbridge, okay? That becomes Adams Mill. When you get to Calvert, take that to 18th Street. Park when you get to Q Street. We’ll take it from there.”

  “Care to tell me where you’re taking me, Morgan?”

  “Dupont Circle.”

  “What’s at Dupont Circle?”

  “Claudia Nazir,” replied Morgan.

  “Are you sure? How did you manage to find her?”

  “After you left Jami, I started trying to think of how I could track the woman. I remembered another assignment from years ago where I needed to locate a stolen rental car a suspected terrorist had taken. They used a company called AirIQ for fleet management. It’s a way for these rental companies to be able to know where all of their vehicles are at any given time. The company Claudia rented from didn’t use AirIQ but does use a similar service called Teletrac. I’ve been spending the last several minutes in the Teletrac system looking at all of their rental cars that left Chicago in the last day. Thirty-two were headed to the east coast. Of those, only one is in the DC area right now. Right before I called you, I verified that the vehicle was at that rest area earlier. I’m positive that it’s her.”

  “When did she arrive at Dupont Circle?” I asked as I got onto Walbridge and continued to head south.

  “Give me a sec.” I heard Morgan typing on the other end of the line. “Okay, it looks like she arrived in Dupont Circle approximately thirty minutes ago. The vehicle hasn’t moved since then.”

  “Is she inside the vehicle?”

  “There’s no way of knowing that, Blake.”

  A flood of thoughts rushed over me as I drove, trying to understand what Claudia was doing in Chicago and, more importantly, where her husband was. “What’s at Dupont Circle? Why would she go there?”

  There was a brief pause on the other line. “There’s nothing there, Blake. Listen, you’re going to need to pick up speed, I really don’t know how much longer I have before Shapiro figures out I’m helping you.”

  I floored it once I got onto 18th Street but didn’t want to get pulled over by the MPD. “Alright, I’m approaching Q Street.”

  “Okay, turn right and park before you get to 19th Street, Blake. I’m going to bring you in from a block north of where her vehicle is parked in case she’s still inside the car for some reason.”

  I parked and grabbed the Bluetooth earpiece that I had used earlier.

  “Morgan, do you copy?” I asked after activating it and pairing it to my phone again.

  “Copy.”

  I grabbed my Glock, Maglite, and another magazine before I got out. “Okay Morgan, where am I going?” I asked and looked down both sides of Q Street. The road was empty. A traffic light half a block away flashed a yellow light, signaling to proceed with caution.

  I thought the message was fitting.

  “Go to 19th Street and head south. Her car is parked at the end of the block, right before the traffic circle.”

  “Make and model?”

  “Silver BMW 5 Series Sedan.”

  “A car like that won’t last long parked on the street in DC,” I said as I moved. “Okay, I see it, Morgan.”

  I approached the vehicle from behind. It was parked on the right side of the road, facing south, so I decided to get on the left side of the street so I could take cover behind some of the vehicles parked facing north. I jogged in a crouch stance and when I got to the end of the street, I ducked behind a car.

  Claudia’s sedan was parked directly in front of a Starbucks. The coffee shop was closed, but two employees were inside. “I don’t see anyone in the vehicle,” I told Morgan as I looked up and down both sides of the street before my eyes returned to the coffee shop with most of the lights turned off. The employees were hard at work getting ready for opening at five o’clock. Was it really almost five?

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Blake.”

  I tucked the Glock behind my back, walked across the street, and looked inside the vehicle. I tried opening the doors, but they were locked. I stepped onto the sidewalk. Claudia’s car was parked next to a parking meter. It said it had thirty minutes left. I stood between the parking meter and a couple of bikes that were tied to a set of three bike racks. “This doesn’t make sense,” I said as I continued to look around.

  Then I noticed something to the right of me.

  It was a large grate, about eight feet wide, sixteen feet long. Street lights were affixed to one side of it. Green, rusty railing outlined the perimeter. It looked like some kind of ventilation airshaft. Maybe.

  But what caught my eye was that the lid to the airshaft was partly open half an inch.

  “Morgan, I’m standing next to what looks like an airshaft at the corner of 19th and Dupont. What is it?”

  FORTY

  THE POUNDING GREW louder as Jami pushed more boxes against the two doors at the entrance.

  She ran into the lawn and garden bay and found heavy lawn equipment, which she also placed against the doors to keep them shut.

  She knew that wouldn’t hold the Secret Service agents off for long. But, it might buy her a little more time.

  Jami frantically searched through the last remaining boxes containing James and Margaret Keller’s belongings. She hadn’t found anything, so far, but she was determined to keep looking until she did.

  It just didn’t add up. Carson Fleming had shown up at Max Donovan’s home. Blake almost got him to talk. Fleming was pulling a double and, between the second and third shifts, he had driven to northwest Washington to meet with Max Donovan. He told the guard outside he’d be back in time to load the second van with Keller’s belongings. Jami couldn’t figure out why he went to meet with Donovan.

  Was it possible that Fleming hadn’t actually done anything yet?

  Was he going to pick something up from Donovan, bring it back to the facility, and get it past the guard?

  Jami stopped working and sat down on the concrete. She was out of breath. And out of boxes. There was nothing in any of them. She tried to figure out what else might be going on. What was she not seeing?

  After a few seconds had passed, Jami noticed that the pounding and shouts outside the door had stopped.

  That worried Jami. There would be no reason for the agents outside to stop trying to enter. She had already walked to the other sid
e of the facility and confirmed that there was no other way to get inside.

  When she thought she heard someone doing something to the door, she decided to get closer and listen. On the other side of the reinforced doors, she heard an agent speaking softly. “On my count. Three. Two–”

  Jami turned and ran. A second later, the stripped breaching charge that was placed in the middle of the two doors exploded and Jami got to her knees and raised her hands as agents ran inside after her. Two men pushed the boxes and other equipment out of the way as another two trained their guns on Jami.

  “Let me see your hands,” one of the men yelled. Jami lifted her hands even higher into the air.

  One of the men tackled her, pinning her to the floor. “If you’re looking for Blake Jordan, he’s not here.”

  “We’re not looking for Jordan, Agent Davis. We’re here for you.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Jami as the agent turned her around. He was wearing a heavy black coat over a black sweater with USSS/UD embossed on the collar – United States Secret Service, Uniformed Division. On his left side, the agent wore a Secret Service badge. To the right, Jami saw the name of the agent – M. HASTINGS.

  “Agent Davis,” Hastings began. “I realize you’re an agent with the Department of Domestic Counterterrorism. But we have orders from the top to bring you in.”

  “From the top? Meaning Keller? President Rouse? What does that mean?”

  “Come with me, ma’am,” said Hastings, as he lifted Jami to her feet and began to walk her outside.

  “Agent Hastings, you need to understand that these are the belongings of president-elect James Keller. They were secured by a man named Carson Fleming who has been arrested by MPD and is being questioned right now for his involvement in a possible terror plot planned for this morning,” said Jami.

  Hastings stopped walking and turned to Jami. “Agent Davis, I’m aware of the situation with Fleming.”

  “The men who transported his belongings were murdered at a rest area a short time ago,” Jami added.

  Hastings didn’t seem to care. “Agent Davis, I was responsible for overseeing the transport of James Keller’s personal effects from Chicago. We left the home early yesterday. I’ve had a very long day and I can assure you, the vehicle was inspected properly and the drop-off was supervised. Nothing happened here.”

  “Something’s not adding up. I need your help to figure out what’s going on. We’re running out of time.”

  “And what have you found here, Davis? Anything?”

  Jami shook her head.

  As Hastings walked her outside into the frigid air, Jami looked beyond the vehicles and saw another van slowly creeping its way up to the facility. That triggered a thought for Jami as she was forced into the SUV.

  She thought back to a conversation that she and Blake had with the man from the guardhouse. He said that a truck had just left. “You may have passed it on your way in,” he had told them. “It had all of the audio equipment that’s needed in a few hours.”

  Whatever Carson Fleming was working on, it wasn’t at the facility anymore – it was on the other truck.

  “Agent Hastings,” said Jami when the man finally climbed into his SUV along with his partner. “There was another truck that the man in the guardhouse said had left this facility right before Jordan and I arrived. I’m not sure what Fleming was up to – but whatever it was – it’s on that truck. We need to find it now.”

  The agent put his SUV in reverse and turned around as Jami looked to her right and saw men in uniform talking with each other, walking into the facility, and pushing Keller’s boxes back into the nearby bay. “Davis, I told you before – nothing happened here. I’m aware of the other truck that left, what was on that truck, and where it was headed.”

  Hastings pulled the vehicle through the brush and turned left onto the road. Jami wondered where the agent was taking her and who he was taking her to see.

  She spent the rest of the drive trying to reason with the agent. But he shut down and wouldn’t engage in any further conversation with Jami. She tried to get his partner to talk. He ignored her, too.

  The agents drove south and Jami knew they were going back to DC.

  Jami thought about Blake. Why hadn’t they realized what the man in the guardhouse was saying earlier? Why didn’t they see that maybe what they were looking for wasn’t even at the facility anymore?

  Jami was exhausted and mentally fatigued. She and Blake had been awake for over twenty-four hours since their early morning flight from Chicago. Jami looked out the window toward the left and saw that the sky was getting lighter. It would be daybreak soon. Her thoughts drifted back to Blake. He needed to know about the van that left, so they could get to it before it was too late. But how could she let him know?

  FORTY-ONE

  “I’M NOT SURE what you’re looking at, Blake,” said Morgan. “Why do you ask?”

  “The ventilation shaft, or whatever it is – it’s right next to Claudia’s rental and it’s open.”

  I heard Morgan typing. “Okay, mate. I’m going to layer in city schematics over my maps to see if I can figure out what exactly you’re looking at. Hold on for me.”

  As Morgan researched, I crouched to take a closer look at the structure. The large, metal grate had been carelessly closed, leaving the gap big enough for me to get my fingers through. What the hell was in there?

  While I waited on Morgan to get back to me, I started to feel like I was being watched. I looked over my shoulder and saw one of the coffee shop employees staring at me. “Morgan, I need you to hurry.”

  “Almost got it.”

  Looking to my left, I saw headlights. It was an MPD cruiser turning south on 19th Street and heading my way. I stood and started to move, turning west on Dupont Circle. “I’ve got MPD on my trail,” I said as I started to run and moved north when I got to the corner of Massachusetts Avenue. I passed a bank on the corner and walked through a gate on the north side of the building and hid behind a dumpster.

  “Hang on, I think I have something,” said Morgan as I watched the cruiser pass me and turn right on 20th Street, picking up speed before disappearing.

  “Okay, he’s gone,” I said and walked to the side of the bank.

  “Alright, Blake. When I layered in the city schematics, I saw something that didn’t seem right.”

  “Morgan, I really don’t have time for this,” I said with my back against the cold outer wall of the bank. “Just tell me what you found.”

  “That’s not a ventilation shaft that you saw. That’s an entrance to an abandoned street trolley station.”

  “Underneath Dupont Circle?”

  “Yes, Blake. It hasn’t been used for over fifty years. And it’s quite large, too.”

  “How big?”

  “Over seventy-five thousand square feet.”

  “Can you tell me what’s underground? Can we do a thermal scan to see what we’re dealing with?”

  “Not possible, mate. The trolley station was made of solid concrete. There’s absolutely no way of knowing.”

  I turned to my right, then my left to confirm the cruiser wasn’t rounding the corner again. “Morgan, I don’t think I can get back to the entrance to the underground without being seen again.”

  “Don’t think you need to. I see nine entrances into the underground scattered all around Dupont Circle.”

  I stood and looked around the corner of the bank again. “Where are they?”

  “The one at the coffee shop, another on the northeast side of the circle, two southeast, and another two on the south side. The last three are west of the circle, between P Street and Massachusetts Avenue.”

  “I’m standing at Massachusetts right now.”

  “Then there should be an entrance right next to you.”

  Stepping onto the sidewalk from behind the bank, I moved east and saw it. “Based on the schematics, what does it look like down there? Is it a circle or does the underground jet of
f in any direction?”

  “Both, there’s a large loop directly underneath the traffic circle, but then it jets off underground in two directions; southeast about three blocks and northwest right from where you are about twice as far.”

  I looked at the entrance and tried to pull it open. It wouldn’t budge. Then I realized that maybe I didn’t want to enter through this one, anyway. “Morgan, if I enter through the opening at Massachusetts, where does that put me underground?”

  “About fifteen, maybe twenty yards from the 19th Street entrance.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work, if they have someone posted at 19th Street, they’ll hear me enter here.”

  Morgan started typing again. “Okay, we don’t know if they’re set up in the southeast or northwest wing. Hell Blake, if someone’s down there, they may be operating from the loop underneath the traffic circle.”

  “What about the southwest entrance?”

  “That might be your best bet. That would put you inside between both wings.”

  “Fine, where do I need to go?” I asked as I started running south around Dupont Circle.

  “New Hampshire Avenue,” he replied.

  I ran past the entrance between Massachusetts and P Street, passing two buildings, and looked around the corner of the second building before running across the street to get to the entrance at New Hampshire. “Okay, I’m here.” I tried to pull the grate open but it wouldn’t move. I tried again with no luck.

  Becoming frustrated, I looked all around to see if there was anything I could use to get the grate open.

  A bike was chained up to a NO PARKING sign. I tried to think if there was anything on the bike I could use to pry the grate open. The seat wouldn’t come off, but the metal rod inside it would be too large, anyway. I considered the spokes on the wheel, but they would likely break if I tried to bend them.

  I kept searching. On the sidewalk, there was a small sewer cover with narrow slots covering it to allow rainwater to drain through. I walked over to it, stuck my fingers inside, and pulled.