by Spell, David
“Omer was a good agent but nothing special,” O’Reilly continued. “He didn’t have any prior military, wasn’t on a tactical team. He did shoot more than the average agent, at least once a week at our indoor firing range. Omer was always pleasant and seemed like a team player. We were stunned, I was stunned when he went MIA.”
“Any indication that he had access to the zombie virus?” Trang asked. His southern drawl always surprised those who didn’t know him.
“Not that we know of,” O’Reilly answered. “But if he and Turani were tight, Deniz could’ve gotten ahold of some.”
“Is it possible they could’ve left those maps as a ruse, a red herring?” Colonel Clark queried, looking over at Burns.
“I suppose that’s possible,” he acknowledged. “At this point, though, we don’t have any better leads.”
“No, I think they just screwed up,” Chuck commented. “We all heard the audio from the trooper’s body cam. The bad guys knew more cops were coming so they grabbed what they could out of the stolen car and hit the road.”
Burns nodded. “That’s what we think.”
“Does the Iowa State Patrol have any other leads?” McCain queried.
O’Reilly pointed at the sheaf of papers. “The last page in your packet is a picture of another vehicle that showed up on the bodycam footage. It was only in a few frames and you really don’t even notice it watching at normal speed. It was parked several spaces up from the stolen CRV.
“We don’t know if it’s related or not, but at the moment, its all we have. Our video experts worked on it, enhancing the image. It looks like a mid 2000’s Ford Crown Vic or a Mercury Marquis, maroon in color. We’ve sent that enhanced photo back to the state police over there but I’d be surprised if that car is still in the area. Hell, I’d be surprised if they haven’t dumped it and stolen something else. For the moment, anyway, they’ve disappeared.”
After a few more questions about Omer Deniz, the admiral asked Chuck to brief everyone on the cartel’s attacks against him, the Flemings, and Scotty and Emily. McCain saw the fury in the eyes of Clark and Trang, who had fought with him against the Tijuana Cartel in Buckhead.
“But why were you guys singled out?” Clark asked. “That was a big operation with over forty shooters involved.”
Thomas Burns raised a hand. “This is the first I’ve heard about the cartel in Atlanta. Can you give the rest of us some background?”
Admiral Williams spoke up. “Agent Burns, nine months ago, during the time when you were still recovering from your gunshot wound, the Tijuana Cartel sent close to two hundred soldiers into Atlanta. They murdered countless numbers of people and had a large group of women imprisoned. This gang also managed to acquire a quantity of the zombie virus.
“Six months ago, Mr. McCain led an operation to free the hostages, recover the virus, and eliminate the cartel’s presence on US soil. For now, Agent Burns, we’ll hold off on talking about any more of the specifics of that operation.”
Burns sat back, stunned by what he had just heard. A Mexican Cartel trying to take over an American city? And, of course, Chuck McCain was right in the thick of it. Thomas’ respect for the big man just kept growing. Five hit men smashed their way into Chuck’s house and he ambushed them, killing three outright with two other bodies being found in the van later.
McCain nodded at Colonel Clark. “I don’t know why they singled us out. There could be other teams enroute to try and kill everyone, but I don’t think so. That cartel has lost at least seven guys dead between me, Tyler, and Amy. Another two were wounded. My guess is that they were trying to get some payback but it didn’t work out so well for them.”
The only woman in the room cleared her throat. She glanced at Williams, receiving a barely perceptible nod. Sandra Dunning opened her manila folder and pulled out several eight by ten color photographs, sliding them across the table to Chuck.
McCain picked up the photos, immediately recognizing the front of the Peachtree Summit Luxury Condominiums in Buckhead, right after the scene had been secured in their fight against the gangsters. This was the building that the cartel had captured for their headquarters. The photos showed Chuck, Andy, Scotty, and an Army Ranger standing in front of the building from different angles.
He remembered the moment captured by the camera. The fighting had ended and a Ranger unit accompanied by a handful of FBI agents had just arrived to take over the scene as Chuck and his team prepared to withdraw. McCain, Fleming, and Smith were giving the Ranger captain a rundown on where all the action had taken place. The soldiers and feds were to photograph the bodies and secure the many weapons scattered around the area.
Chuck passed the pictures to Tu Trang who viewed and then slid them to Kevin Clark.
“Where did you get these, ma’am?” the big man queried.
“Agent McCain,” Dunning answered, “I’m Admiral Williams’ liaison with other government agencies. As soon as he alerted me to the attacks on you and your men, I went to work. Those photos were sent via email to the head of the Tijuana Cartel, Jose Corona, months ago. One of my contacts at the NSA had flagged them because of who they were sent to. Unfortunately, no further action was taken because of the ongoing bio-terror crisis.”
“Do we know who sent them?”
Sandra glanced over at the FBI agents. “We do. I don’t think our friends from the Bureau are going to like this but it’s one of their agents. This is another reason we were hoping the Director of the Counter-Terrorism Division would have come to this meeting. She needs to be in the loop on this.”
Burns and O’Reilly’s eyes got wide as Dunning pulled another photo out, this one of an attractive Hispanic woman.
“This is Special Agent Maria Sanchez, currently assigned to the Organized Crime Division.”
O’Reilly gasped. “She worked in CT for a while. She was assigned to another supervisor but I remember her.”
“That’s right,” Sandra confirmed. “She was part of the group of agents sent into the crime scene after that operation in Buckhead. A couple of agents were given the job of photographing every body, along with the rest of the scene. Obviously, she managed to get a few shots of Agents McCain, Fleming, and Smith.”
“How’d you figure out who she was?” Burns asked.
“I have some very good people working for me. One of my computer wizards found that she had sent the photos, names, and the current addresses for the three agents from a computer at a public library in Silver Spring, Maryland. To access the computers, you have to enter the number on your library card. Sanchez had used a false name to obtain her card, but they also put your picture on it. We hacked into the library’s data base, pulled her photo, and then we ran her through our facial recognition software.”
O’Reilly looked uncomfortable. “Isn’t that illegal? Did you guys have a warrant to do that?”
Everyone in the room glared at the FBI agent.
“Look, if she’s dirty,” he continued, holding his hands out, “I’m all for taking her down. I’d just hate to lose the case in court because we didn’t follow due procedure.”
“Agent O’Reilly,” Williams smiled across the table, “our two agencies have different ways of solving problems. I understand your concern with following the law, however, with people’s lives on the line, we felt that there were exigent circumstances. We’ll worry about the legal implications later.”
Joe shrugged and sat back in his seat. “How do you want us to handle it, sir? Have you contacted our Internal Affairs?”
“We have,” Dunning answered for the admiral, passing around several additional documents. “They’re aware of the situation but for the moment, we have asked them not to move in. I’m passing around some background information on Corona and the cartel. This is a large, extremely dangerous criminal organization. The intelligence in here was obtained through a variety of sources.
“We’ve set up surveillance on Sanchez and we’ll see what we can learn. This is very sensitiv
e information, gentleman,” she said, looking at the two FBI agents. “Please keep this to yourselves.”
The admiral spoke up again, directing his comments to Burns. “Back to the matter of Omer Deniz. Another one of the reasons I requested one of your directors or assistant directors here is because we need to move fast. We’re about to send some people out to the west coast, but we need the Bureau to be on board with this.
“I know the current chain-of-command of the CIA overseeing most of the FBI’s big operations is unpleasant, to say the least. The President never intended this to be the permanent arrangement. Frankly, the leaks and moles caused him to lose confidence in your fine organization. My goal is to help rebuild the President’s trust in the FBI and have you operating autonomously as soon as possible. This situation might just serve to do that.
“We cannot have a repeat of what happened in New York, DC, and Atlanta. I know you have field offices in all three of those California cities, but I want the counter-terrorism division here mobilized. Agent O’Reilly, you know Omer Deniz better than all of us. I’d like you to get out to the west coast ASAP and set up a task force immediately.”
Joe’s eyes widened in surprise. He still felt a sense of responsibility for not picking up on Deniz’s traitorous intents but now he was being given a chance at personal redemption. He would love nothing better than to bring the terrorist to justice.
This was O’Reilly’s first meeting with the CIA and he was not used to receiving orders from another agency. He knew that the President had, for the moment at least, designated the Central Intelligence Agency with overseeing everything related to cleaning up the zombie virus terror attacks. O’Reilly didn’t know if a turncoat FBI agent fell under that umbrella but he wasn’t going to argue with the old man at the other end of the table.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity to go after Deniz. I’ll speak with the deputy director when I get back and start putting that task force together right away. I know the OIC of the LA FBI office. Would it be OK to coordinate with him?”
Williams nodded. “That sounds like a great start. Get your people working like I know the FBI is capable of. Use your vast resources and coordinate with the locals. Agent McCain will be in overall command and joining you in California, but I’m sure you’ll all work well together.”
Chuck’s ears perked up. Had the admiral just put him in charge of this operation?
The admiral continued. “Ms. Dunning will be sending out a flash bulletin to all the local and federal law enforcement agencies on the west coast later today, giving them the information that we have. This is not a time to keep secrets.” The elderly man paused making eye contact with the two FBI agents. “We all need to do anything and everything we can to prevent additional terror attacks.”
Williams looked back at Thomas. “Agent Burns, would you be willing to work with Agent McCain as his number two? I understand that you probably outrank him by the general schedule ranking, but this task force needs to be up and running within twenty-four hours and I expect to see everyone pulling together to find and arrest or eliminate these terrorists as quickly as possible. You’ll be able to provide Mr. McCain with a better idea of how to utilize your people and can be his liaison with the Bureau brass.”
Burns nodded at the admiral, stunned by how fast things were moving. “Yes, sir, I’ll be happy to work with Agent McCain.”
At the FBI, things were analyzed, discussed, run by the lawyers, discussed some more, modified, and then eventually acted on. Here, the admiral was making decisions with little or no discussion. The craziest part for Burns and O’Reilly was that FBI agents were being put under the command of a former SWAT police officer-turned-CDC-Agent-turned-Homeland Security Agent. At least as McCain’s second-in-command, Burns thought, he would have some input on how things were handled. He hoped.
As the meeting adjourned, the admiral motioned for McCain and Clark to stay behind. After everyone had left, Williams led Dunning, Taylor, Clark, and McCain to his office. As soon as the door was closed, the elderly man withdrew a bottle of Glenlivet eighteen-year old scotch from the cabinet behind his desk. He poured a healthy portion into three tumblers.
“Mr. McCain, Colonel Clark, please join me in a drink.” The elderly man nodded towards Shaun and Sandra and said, rolling his eyes, “They’re both tee-totalers so I often find myself drinking alone.”
Williams motioned for everyone to take a seat in the leather chairs that had been arranged in front of his desk. The admiral held his tumbler up.
“To long life,” he said, with a wry smile, lifting the glass to his lips.
Chuck and Kevin both sipped the whiskey, enjoying the mellow fire as it went down their throats. They all sat in silence for a minute before the admiral spoke, looking at McCain.
“Chuck, I know you want to strike back at the Tijuana Cartel. For the moment, though, I need you to focus on finding that FBI agent-turned-terrorist and his friends.”
“I understand, sir. You’re right. They have to be stopped.”
“Will you be able to work with that Agent Burns? I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to discuss it with you before. Things have been moving pretty quickly the last couple of days.”
“No problem, Admiral. He’s one of the good ones and it’ll be great having his input.”
Williams nodded and downed the rest of his scotch, pouring himself another drink. After taking another sip, the elderly man looked over his desk at McCain and Clark.
“There’s something else you both need to know. I’m dying.”
Kevin and Chuck glanced at each other, the surprise etched on their faces.
“The doctors tell me I have stage four colon cancer. That means it’s spread beyond my ass, sorry Sandra, to some of my other organs. They’re giving me a couple of weeks to a couple of months,” he added, nonchalantly.
“But, sir, what about treatment?” Clark asked.
The older man waved his hand dismissively, staring into the tumbler of whiskey.
“If they’d caught it early on, I might’ve had a chance. It was just my bad luck that there was a zombie apocalypse when the cancer struck. Anyway, that’s that. As two of my assistant directors, I need to bring you up to speed on some administrative matters.
“I’ve added Sandra as a third Assistant Director of Operations. She has been with the agency for almost thirty years and has done a little bit of everything.”
McCain looked over at the woman who was probably in her late fifties or early sixties. She was a little on the heavy side with her brown hair pulled up in a bun but her eyes were alert and intelligent.
“Ms. Dunning was a field agent during the latter stages of the Cold War, serving in Russia, East Germany, and Poland. As she moved up the ladder, she managed both agents and foreign assets. After her children were born, though, she shifted gears, becoming an intelligence analyst specializing in the former Soviet Union and its satellite nations.
“After 9/11 Sandra reinvented herself again, learning everything she could about Islamic terrorism. She’s a brilliant analyst and will be a tremendous asset to our team. Right after I convinced her to come join us in operations, I found out that the Grim Reaper was coming for me.
“Gentleman,” the admiral said, making eye contact with Chuck and Kevin, “Sandra will very likely be the next Director of Operations. I’ve already spoken to the Director of the Agency and he concurs that she should be the one. Neither of you two understand the politics of this organization due to the fact that you’ve only been here for a short time. Ms. Dunning has the political savvy and the experience necessary to lead this division forward when I’m gone.”
“Yes, sir,” the two men said, in unison. They were used to taking orders but were still stunned by the news of their boss’s sickness and potential replacement.
The elderly man gave a slight nod to Dunning.
“Agent McCain, Colonel Clark,” she addressed them, “I’m looking forward to working with you and if I do e
nd up taking the admiral’s position, I’ll do everything I can to make it a seamless transition. Right now, I have two teams of analysts working. One is focused solely on locating Deniz and his team. I have a smaller team dedicated to the Tijuana Cartel.”
“Chuck,” the admiral interjected, “when I briefed the President about the attacks on you and your team, he was furious. The cartels have already been identified as terror organizations because of the support they have provided to the Islamic terrorists who launched the zombie virus in the US and because of their own barbaric practices. These criminal gangs use fear and violence to control elections, news outlets, and entire cities.
“The President considers these new attacks to be acts of terrorism and he has authorized us to strike back, even inside of Mexico. You two,” he nodded at McCain and Clark, “get your people out to the west coast and locate this rogue FBI agent and his terrorist cell. Sandra will monitor the gangsters in Tijuana. When the time is right, we’ll unleash hell on them.”
As Chuck and Kevin were leaving the admiral’s office, McCain heard their boss say, “Shaun, would you call the White House for me? I need to speak to the President or one of his people about replacing the Counter-Terrorism Director at the FBI.”
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, Monday, 1700 hours
One of the benefits of having worked in the FBI’s Counter-Terrorism Division was that Omer Deniz had built up a dossier of radical imams and mosques from all over the country. In a few cases, he had even been able to alter the files to keep the heat off Muslim groups with terrorist leanings. The OK Islamic Community Center was a location where the four men could seek refuge without having to book a hotel along the interstate.
After killing the police officer, Deniz had directed Marquette Walters to drive. Omer sat in the passenger seat, while Samer Ali and Kimani Davis occupied the rear. While he was internally furious at the two black men, the former FBI agent knew that he could not afford to alienate them. He needed them to be committed to the cause.
