Term Limits

by Vince Flynn

As they drove down the street, McMahon filled Roach in on the specifics of Fitzgerald’s death. The director had already been briefed via phone on the murders of Koslowski and Downs. The drive from Georgetown to the White House took less than ten minutes. As they pulled into the White House compound, Roach asked, “What are the chances we’ll catch these guys before they get away?”

  “We have checkpoints set up on all the roads heading out of town, every airport within three hundred miles is being watched, and the Navy and the Coast Guard are tracking every vessel that’s headed out to sea.”

  “So, what are our chances?”

  McMahon frowned and said, “My gut tells me we’re wasting our time. Whoever did this was good . . . really good. They either left the country immediately or they’re holing up somewhere waiting until things cool down.”

  “You’re probably right. But we have to be really careful on this one. Otherwise, I’ll be sitting in front of a joint committee next year getting secondguessed by a bunch of old men who want to show their voters back home that they know more than the director of the FBI.” Roach paused for a moment. “Besides, don’t forget those pros that set off the bomb in the World Trade Center. Who would have thought they would have been dumb enough to try and get the deposit back on that van? These criminals aren’t always as smart as we think they are.”

  “Brian, it doesn’t take a great criminal mind to park a van loaded with explosives in the underground parking garage of the World Trade Center. But there aren’t many organizations out there who can kill three different people, in three different locations, in one evening, and leave no traces. It’s not like blowing up a pipe bomb at the Olympics. Any idiot can leave a bomb in a park. It’s far more complicated to get up close and personal when killing someone.”

  Roach pondered McMahon’s comments as the limousine came to a stop. The director’s bodyguards opened the doors, and Roach said, “Before we go in, let me warn you about a couple of things. Everyone will understand that you haven’t had a lot of time to prepare for this briefing, so keep it simple and try not to editorialize too much. The president won’t say a lot, but watch out for Garret.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you . . . at least not intentionally.” McMahon smiled.

  “One other thing. Don’t stick your neck out too far. If they ask you for an opinion, and they will, just tell them it’s too early to tell.”

  McMahon gave his boss another nod. “Brian, I have done this before.”

  “I know, Skip, but you haven’t dealt with this administration before.” Roach lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just trust me, and watch what you say.”

  The director stepped out of the car first. Roach’s bodyguards walked them to the door and into a small foyer. A Secret Service agent approached and escorted them to the Cabinet Room. It was not the first time McMahon had been to the White House, but it was the first time he’d been in the Cabinet Room. His other meetings had taken place in either the Oval Office or the Situation Room in the basement.

  As McMahon and Director Roach were getting ready to settle into their chairs, the president, Garret, and National Security Adviser Mike Nance entered the room with Garret in the lead. Garret clapped his hands together loudly. “Come on, gentlemen, let’s get this meeting started.”

  The president took his seat in the middle of the long table. Garret sat immediately to his right and Nance to his left. Sitting across from the president were Skip McMahon, FBI director Roach, CIA director Thomas Stansfield, and the CIA’s top terrorism expert, Dr. Irene Kennedy.

  Roach and Stansfield introduced their subordinates, and then Garret started the meeting. “Well, Director Roach, I sure hope you have some answers for us.”

  Roach looked to the president and said, “Mr. President, with the help of the congressional switchboard and several local police departments, we’ve secured the whereabouts of the remaining five hundred and thirty-two senators and congressmen. All of the Supreme Court justices, cabinet members, and Joint Chiefs of Staff have also been accounted for. Right now it looks like the only individuals they were after were Senator Fitzgerald, Senator Downs, and Congressman Koslowski.

  “I have a meeting scheduled for one P.M. with Director Tracy of the Secret Service to discuss the resources we have available to provide protection for the remaining members of the House and Senate. I have already dispatched agents to protect the most senior members of both parties. Until we know more about what is going on, I think we should play it safe.” Roach turned to Nance. “Mike, before I leave, I would like a minute of your time to discuss what resources we may be able to borrow from the military, such as MPs or Marines that are trained for embassy duty.” Nance nodded and Roach continued, “I’m going to have Special Agent McMahon take over from here and fill you in on the specifics of what happened late yesterday evening and early this morning. When he’s finished, I will bring you up to speed on the interdiction measures we’re taking. Special Agent McMahon has been to all three crime scenes this morning.” Roach turned to McMahon and nodded.

  McMahon cleared his throat and said, “Let me start by saying that this investigation is only a few hours old, so we don’t have a lot of specifics.” McMahon looked from one end of the table to the other as he spoke. “The first of the three to be killed, and the last to be found, was Senator Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald’s limousine driver—”

  Garret interrupted, “Don’t you have a brief prepared, so we can follow?”

  McMahon looked at Roach, giving him a chance to respond, knowing his boss’s reply would be more diplomatic than his own. Roach turned to the president, intentionally bypassing Garret. “Sir, we haven’t had time to prepare a report. We will have one on your desk by two this afternoon.”

  “That’s fine. Please continue,” the president responded.

  Garret shook his head sideways and wrote something down on his yellow notepad.

  McMahon started again. “As I was saying, Fitzgerald’s limousine driver reports dropping the senator off at his house in Kalorama Heights just after midnight. Our preliminary guess on Fitzgerald’s time of death is sometime between midnight and one-thirty A.M. The cause of death appears to be a broken neck. We’ll know more after the autopsy is completed.” McMahon paused for a second. “The back door of Fitzgerald’s house shows signs of being picked, and his security system was defeated on-site. Fitzgerald’s body was found shoved into a closet in the basement. Our best guess right now is that the perpetrator, or perpetrators, were waiting inside the house when Fitzgerald got home, killed him, and then moved the body to the basement.” In a bland tone McMahon added, “We are questioning the neighbors to see if they saw anything last night, and a forensics team is going over the house checking for evidence.”

  “Agent McMahon, you sound as if you don’t expect to find anything,” interrupted Garret again.

  McMahon looked at Garret hard. “Whoever killed these men is very good. It is highly unlikely that they left any useful evidence behind.” He continued to stare at Garret without saying anything until the president’s chief of staff looked away.

  “Congressman Koslowski was the next one to die. From what we know so far, Koslowski got out of bed around six A.M. and was shot in the back of the head twice. The shots were fired from a high-powered rifle and were taken from the house across the street. The house belongs to Harold Burmiester, a wealthy, retired banker. When we entered the house this morning, we found that the phone line had been cut and the back door was missing a pane of glass. Burmiester’s German shepherd was unconscious and, we presume, drugged. Burmiester was found tied up in a bedroom on the second floor. The screen had been removed on the window directly across from Koslowski’s bedroom, and there were powder burns found on the windowsill.

  “After talking to Burmiester, we’ve pieced together the following details: Just before eleven P.M. last night, Burmiester let his dog out. At this point, we think the dog was probably drugged. Burmiester went to bed around midnight in the bedroom whe
re the shots were fired from. Sometime between twelve-thirty A.M. and five-thirty A.M. the perpetrator or perpetrators broke into the house, rendered Burmiester unconscious, and moved him to a different bedroom. They waited, and when Koslowski opened the doors, they took their shot. We’re having some blood tests done on Burmiester and his dog, and we should know whether or not they were drugged by early afternoon. The crime boys are going over both houses and the neighbors are being questioned.”

  “Where was Koslowski’s wife during all of this?” asked Garret sarcastically.

  “Mrs. Koslowski sleeps in another room.” McMahon again attempted to ignore Garret’s irritating manner.

  The coolly detached Mike Nance was observing McMahon. Nance, a graduate of West Point and a former director of the National Security Agency, usually stayed quiet in meetings. He preferred to sit back and take everything in. Unlike Garret, he believed a person could learn more by watching and listening than by asking questions.

  With his eyes still focused on his notepad, Garret shouted out another question. “Has anyone reported hearing shots?”

  “No, the distance of the shot was only about one hundred feet. Short enough that a silencer could be used without affecting the accuracy of the shot.” McMahon continued to speak without giving Garret a chance to ask more questions. “As I’m sure everyone has heard by now, Robert Downs was killed in a park by his house, over in McLean. Two nine-millimeter rounds were fired into the back of his head at point-blank range. We have a description of a possible suspect from a woman who walks in the park every morning. She says that she passed Downs on the walking path this morning at approximately the spot where his body was found. She, along with several other people, have reported seeing a black man dressed in sweats, standing by a tree about twenty yards from where Downs was killed. None of these people say they’ve seen the person in the park before. Their guess is that he was around thirty years old. Our agents are still interviewing these people, trying to get as much information as possible. I apologize, gentlemen, for the lack of details, but, as I said earlier, this investigation is only a few hours old.”

  “Thank you, Mr. McMahon,” said the president. “I fully understand that we are still in the early stages of this investigation, but nonetheless, I would like to hear some opinions. Does anyone have any idea why these three men were killed, and by whom?”

  As usual, Garret was the first, and in this situation the least qualified, to respond. “Until we know more, I think it’s a pretty safe bet that it’s a terrorist group. One that’s probably not so happy about the peace that’s spreading in the Middle East, or one of those wacky militia groups from out West.”

  The president turned to the director of the FBI. “Brian, what are your thoughts?”

  “Sir, it’s too early to give an informed answer. There just isn’t enough data to make an intelligent assumption. Almost anything could be possible. It could be anyone.”

  The president looked to McMahon and asked, “Mr. McMahon, I know we don’t have all the facts, but please speak your mind.” The president stared at McMahon and waited for a response.

  “Well, sir, we have three important politicians murdered at three different locations within a fivehour period. Whoever pulled off this operation had to have been planning it for a long time. They took the time to study their targets and carefully picked when and how to kill each one. They were probably well financed and had access to some very talented killers. Those killers could be terrorists, ex-military commandos, or hired assassins. Given the information we have right now, your guess is as good as mine.”

  The president nodded and looked at his chief of staff.

  Garret took the cue and said, “Gentlemen, the president needs to address the nation and try to explain what’s going on. Now is not the time to be shy with your opinions.” There was a long silence, and then Garret looked to the head of the CIA. “Director Stansfield, what’s your take on what happened?”

  “I would caution against drawing any conclusions until Special Agent McMahon and his people have had time to investigate.” Stansfield’s response was again followed by an uncomfortable silence. Both Director Stansfield and Director Roach had seen how Garret and President Stevens liked to operate, and neither felt the need to commit to anything with so many questions still unanswered. Roach and Stansfield had both started at the very bottom of their respective agencies, and over the years, they’d seen presidents come and go, and with them, their political appointees who ran the CIA and FBI. Some of these directors were more loyal to the man who had appointed them than to the agency they were supposed to be running. Not Roach and Stansfield: to them the FBI and CIA came first. Political expediency and posturing were things they liked to avoid at all costs. Political solutions were often good for the short term, and for the people making them, but they were more often than not disastrous in the long run.

  The president sat back in his chair and quietly cursed himself for not replacing Roach and Stansfield when he had taken over the White House. Garret had wanted both men replaced, and Stevens was sure he would be reminded of this as soon as the meeting was over. If we hadn’t had such a hard time getting cabinet members confirmed, Stevens thought to himself, none of this would be a problem.

  During the first six months of the Stevens administration, four consecutive cabinet nominees had been shot down. Three had had to bow out after intense scrutiny by the press revealed some minor misdoings in their past, and the fourth made it to an actual committee vote but was embarrassingly rejected. By the time the cabinet was filled, the administration had expended so much political clout and had received such a grilling from the press that they decided rather than risking another potentially embarrassing confirmation hearing, they would be better off leaving Stansfield in charge of the CIA until a more opportune time arose. The president was coming to the realization that he had waited too long.

  Stevens looked at Kennedy, the CIA’s terrorism expert. “Dr. Kennedy, what is your opinion?”

  Kennedy had the highest IQ in the room by a significant margin. The thirty-eight-year-old mother of one had a Ph.D. in Arabic studies and a master’s degree in military history. The doctor leaned forward and took her glasses off. Her sandy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing one of her trademark pantsuits. She placed her arms on the table and started to speak in a confident tone. “I would have to concur with Special Agent McMahon. The men who conducted this operation are either terrorists, hired assassins, or military commandos. My assumption is that it was the latter of the three.”

  Garret blurted out, “What makes you so sure about that?”

  “I think they were military commandos because Mr. Burmiester is still alive.”

  Garret’s face squeezed into an irritated frown. “Mr. Who?”

  “Mr. Burmiester, the man who lives across the street from Congressman Koslowski. If the people who ran this operation were terrorists, Mr. Burmiester would be dead. Terrorists do not go to the effort to anesthetize people who are in their way. They kill them. If terrorists did this, Mr. Burmiester would be dead as well as the woman who was walking in the park. These murders were committed by military-trained commandos.

  “Terrorist and military commandos go through very complex training, and on the surface most of it is similar, such as hand-to-hand combat, demolition training, firearms training, et cetera. However, they are trained very differently in objective and operational planning. Terrorists do not care about human life. They operate by a different set of rules. Terrorists are trained to take out their target in a way that is usually very violent. The more violent the better. When they kill, they try to strike terror into the minds of the public. Hence the label terrorist. They use car bombs or they machine-gun people down with absolutely no concern for innocent lives.

  “Commandos and assassins, who are almost always ex-commandos, are trained to kill only whom they need to, and to do it as quietly and quickly as possible. Commandos operate within certain mor
al parameters. There have been occasions, during times of war or national emergency, when those parameters were bent, and military commandos have killed an innocent bystander. This, however, is the exception to the rule, whereas with terrorists, killing innocent bystanders is the operational norm.

  “When we look at conducting an operation like this, we choose our targets and then decide what is the best way to kill the least amount of people and get our assets out safely.”

  Garret was irritated by Kennedy’s confident tone. “You seem awfully sure of yourself, Dr. Kennedy. Are you ruling out the possibility that these murders were committed by a terrorist group?”

  “I do not think they were committed by a fundamentalist terrorist group. A group that, as you said earlier, would be unhappy with the peace that is being made in the Middle East. As far as the murders being committed by a group of domestic terrorists, such as one of your antigovernment, Aryan Nation types . . . I highly doubt they would have the trained personnel it would take to pull something like this off. Besides, why would they kill someone like Senator Downs? He’s pro-NRA and pro-military. He’s one of the few politicians those militia members like.”

  Garret gestured toward Kennedy. “Well, I’m glad to know that after hearing a ten-minute briefing, you’ve solved the case for us.” Garret chuckled mockingly at Kennedy. “How can you say that so emphatically, with such little information?”