by James Rosone
Chapter 22
Phase Two
Paris, France
Sheikh Maktoum folded his newspaper and placed it on the chair next to him in the presidential suite of the Grand Hyatt Hotel. Prince Nawaf had notified him that they should meet personally with his agent to discuss the next phase of their operation; it was too important to discuss via any electronic means.
The man he wanted him to meet was known only as “the Ghost.” Frankly, Maktoum didn’t care what he was called, so long as he continued to accomplish his mission.
As the Ghost walked into the presidential suite, two of Maktoum’s security guards moved forward and motioned for him to raise his arms. As he complied, they quickly patted him down and began to run a wand across his body.
The man voluntarily turned over his sidearm to the security guards, along with his cell phone, tablet and other electronic devices. The sheikh’s men even examined his eyes to ensure the Ghost wasn’t wearing any fancy spy contact lenses. Maktoum was paranoid about security. When he traveled outside the country, which was often, he always traveled with a highly trained security detail. Most of them had previously worked for various intelligence services or presidential protective details of various world leaders. They were expensive men to have on staff, but very good at what they did and above all else, loyal to him personally.
Maktoum signaled for the Ghost to sit down in the chair opposite him. “It’s an honor to meet you. I have heard nothing but good things about you and your work,” he said with admiration. Maktoum poured himself a brandy and then poured a second for the Ghost, who leaned forward, reaching for the glass with his left hand. As he sat back in the chair, he placed the glass of brandy on the table next to his chair. He pulled out a cigarette from the breast pocket of his jacket and proceeded to light it. Then he took a long pull from it, holding the smoke in his lungs for a second before exhaling.
“I am told you would like to discuss the next phase of the operation,” he said, not giving away any particular emotion.
He would have to wait just a moment for a response since Maktoum had just lit a cigarette of his own. Once he’d taken a drag, Maktoum casually took a sip of his brandy before he asked, “Where do we stand with regard to phase two? Do you believe phase one has been a success thus far?” As he spoke, he observed every mannerism and facial expression of the man sitting before him.
“Phase one was a success,” the Ghost replied matter-of-factly. “As outlined in the mission plan, we launched an attack against the Chicago Metra station. We carried out a secondary mass-casualty attack against the Willis Tower that caught first responders and hundreds of civilians out in the open, especially as the nearby buildings began to be evacuated. Then, just as they thought the attacks were done, we collapsed the Trump Tower and the Langham Hotel two hours later, several miles away, ensuring no one in the city would feel safe. As requested, we achieved a higher kill and casualty rate than that of the 9/11 attackers.”
The Ghost paused for a second as he uncapped his bottle of water and took a sip. “Our message of ISIS seizing control of the city of Chicago was successfully uploaded, and all of the major news agencies in the United States covered it, thus adding to the emotional impact of the attacks. When we then fulfilled the shootings at various police stations and grocery stores, we had the Americans resigned to a feeling of complete helplessness. Attendance at concerts, sporting events and other public outings is down dramatically. Some companies are even offering their workers temporary work-from-home options until ‘things become safer.’ They are crawling on their knees in fear.”
As the Ghost finished, he placed a report on the table, outlining the specifics of everything he had just spoken about. He sat back and observed Maktoum’s expressions, seeming very satisfied with himself.
When the Ghost had been selected to run this operation four years ago, he’d been given a very specific outline of mission requirements he needed to meet. He had also been given a very large expense account to make it happen, and numerous points of contact to help him along the way. Maktoum had to admit, the Ghost had performed his job marvelously. It had been a nearly impossible mission when they briefed him on it, but he had proven everyone wrong and achieved mission success. The bigger question was, could he replicate that success with phase two?
Sheikh Maktoum handed a folder to the Ghost. “So far, you have proven yourself to be as adept and clever as everyone has said you are. Now it is time for some real work to begin,” he said with a grin.
The Ghost thumbed through the papers in front of him, a devious smile slowly spreading across his face. “I like how you think,” he began. “I just want to be clear, though—do you want us to kill the presidential candidates, or not? Obviously, with all the Secret Service, that would be a bit more difficult to achieve, but we can rise to the challenge if those are the orders.”
Maktoum laughed. “No, that will not be necessary, although I appreciate your enthusiasm. The goal is not an assassination attempt, but to make it so that people are afraid to attend political rallies, because they never know if they’re going to be attacked. We can also bog down the process by forcing them to set their perimeters much wider outside the events. That’s why we want you to use a variety of methods to complete these attacks. This way, no screening method would be truly useful. By the time we are finished, the people will lack all confidence in the government and their ability to protect them.”
The Ghost asserted, “I do have some contacts that can fulfill your vision of cyber-attacks on the voting machines that have been linked with internet access. When they finish, there will be more votes in those precincts than registered voters. However, I do caution that the majority of the machines are not linked to a network. In those cases, we would have to manually switch out or tamper with the chips, and that is definitely more difficult to achieve.”
“Completing a switch of a memory device would not be absolutely necessary. Instead, you can find a way to attack the electronic transmission of the sealed voting tally where possible. Between that and the attacks on the network-enabled voting devices, the people won’t be able to trust the outcome of the election. There will be protests and riots. Mass chaos will surely ensue.”
“Yes, I imagine they would try to redo the election with old-fashioned paper balloting, but of course, that would be costly, counting all those votes would take time, and in the end, people would likely not trust the results as reported anyway…I like how you think.”
The two men sat there for a moment, enjoying their brandy and cigarettes while the fate of the free world hung in their hands.
The Ghost chuckled. “I imagine you will be buying a lot of defense stocks very soon.” He knew there was a lot of money to be made for the Knights of Islam.
Sheikh Maktoum nodded. “Yes, timing the market prior to each major event has enriched a lot of people. Don’t worry, our cause will have plenty of money to continue further missions after all your work is complete.”
Chapter 23
Coffee and Conversation
Washington, D.C.
Georgetown Java
As Mallory Harper picked up her order from the counter, she turned around and almost walked directly into Acting Director Michael Stone.
“Mike—whoa, how did you find me?” she asked, startled.
“You do remember where I started my career, right? It’s Friday. I’ve never seen you go a Friday morning without your large latte with two extra shots of espresso and a chocolate-filled croissant. You are kind of a creature of habit,” he replied, face lit with a playful smile.
“Well…what are you doing here?” Mallory probed. She looked around to see if anyone was watching them.
He gently ushered her over to a less-crowded area of the shop. In a quiet voice, he almost whispered, “Harper, things are getting weird. I know that they made you the public sacrifice and everything, but in my heart of hearts, I just don’t think that you were the mastermind behind bringing terrorists into t
he country. I have my suspicions, but I don’t want to act on anything without confirmation. I—”
“—Mike, let me stop you right there,” interrupted Mallory. “I can’t talk to you about this. You’d have to know that I can’t talk to you about this.”
“Look, I do know that. People are telling me to let it all go, but something is terribly wrong. I just want to protect other innocent people from getting hurt. Don’t you want that, too?” he asked.
She put her coffee down and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mike, as much as I like you as a human being, if I see you again, other than for a coworker’s wedding, I’m going to get a lawyer involved. Is that clear enough?”
“Understood,” he answered, and then he nonchalantly walked to the back of the line for ordering drinks.
“Aren’t you leaving?” she quipped.
“Not before I order a coffee and a doughnut. I quit smoking,” he said, lifting up his sleeve to show a nicotine patch, “and a man’s got to find a way to cope.”
“Well, OK then. Have a nice life,” replied Mallory as she walked out the door.
Trevor would kill me for coming here, thought Mike. However, he had learned so much just by the way she had acted in that short interaction. Everything in him was telling him that she was just a patsy. Whether it was Leah Bishop or someone else she was trying to cover for, there was definitely someone else at the top of all this.
Now I just have to figure out a way to keep looking without getting caught.
Chapter 24
Digging Deeper
Washington, D.C.
Press Briefing Room
The Press Secretary had just finished cueing up Leah Bishop, and she took center stage at the podium. She pulled out the paper that she needed with her statement on it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, what we have just experienced as a nation has rocked us to our core. My heart goes out to each and every one of the victims of these awful terrorist attacks, and my prayers are with you and your families.”
She paused briefly, as if giving respect to those who had fallen. “While these horrific events sadden my heart and greatly weigh on all of us, we cannot allow such isolated incidents to create another tragedy. There are still thousands of refugees, fleeing war-torn countries, victims themselves, who need to find a place of refuge. I believe that America needs to remain that shining beacon of hope, especially in these dark times.”
Leah put up her hand. “Now, I know that some of you are going to say that the refugee program is just not safe, but as the National Security Advisor, I have reviewed the situation, and I am convinced that we have the proper procedures in place to prevent such a tragedy from occurring in the future. After a thorough review, two government employees at the National Counterterrorism Center, including the director of the refugee program, have been fired. New policies and procedures are being developed and implemented immediately to ensure that this never happens again.
“We cannot allow a few bad actors who were bent on attacking us destroy the chance these asylum seekers and refugees are seeking. We’re better than that, and while I know what happened to us is a terrible tragedy, the perpetrators are not indicative of everyone who seeks a better life in our country.
“In conclusion, our refugee program is now safe once again. Please be assured that we have put every available resource into the program to ensure that it stays that way.”
She stepped back from the podium, and the Press Secretary announced, “Thank you for your time. There will be no questions.”
*******
Julie Wells had been grabbing a cup of coffee when she heard Leah Bishop make her statement on the TV in the break room, which was always set to CNN. Her jaw almost hit the floor.
How on God’s green earth could she possibly think that the program is safe after everything that happened? Leah wondered, gobsmacked. Something didn’t smell right about this.
She took her coffee with her over to Acting Director Stone’s office and knocked on his door. He smiled and waved her in.
“Mike, you’re not going to believe what was just on the news. Leah Bishop just made a statement trying to exonerate the refugee program. She claims that those responsible have been fired, and it’s completely safe. I’m sorry, but do you buy that?” she asked with an incredulous look on her face.
Stone shook his head. “No, I still think there are problems.”
“I know you have me on reprocessing all the refugees that were already let into the country, but can’t I dig into this for you?”
Mike’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, please don’t. I can’t even look into this right now—none of us can. The investigation into how this all happened has been classified at SAP level. If you want to keep your job, you shouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole.”
Julie retorted, “Are you serious?”
“Deadly,” he replied. “Believe me, I’m not happy about it either.”
“Ugh, this is so frustrating. If we don’t look at this, how are we going to stop all of this from happening again?” she exclaimed, exasperated.
“I’m still working on that.” Mike sighed. “If you come up with something, please let me know.”
Julie left the office, angry and confused. However, as she sat at her desk, drinking her cup of coffee, an idea came to her.
Leah Bishop should have known that the program is not safe, she realized. She might not be able to look into the program, but there was nothing stopping her from checking out Leah herself. She had to be tied to this somehow.
She got back to work, researching the refugees in the country like she was supposed to do, but for the next several days, she would work through every lunch and break, seeking answers to her questions.
Chapter 25
We the People
Washington, D.C.
The Mall
As far as the eye could see, there were demonstrators crowding into the lawn on the strip of park that sits between all the museums and monuments in the capital. Most of them were peaceful, holding up signs calling for greater national security, or opposing the President’s stance on the refugee program. Those who were closer to the reflecting pool in front of the Capitol Building could hear some of the Republican Senators and members of Congress making speeches, calling for the President to shut down the refugee program and for greater scrutiny into the student visa procedures.
Policemen and women nervously lined the edge of the Mall, dressed in riot gear, just in case. The atmosphere around the country was tense. Similar demonstrations were popping up all across the nation, and while most them had been civil, a few had erupted in violence.
After a few hours, the main speaker for the event, the Republican nominee for President, David Garcia, took the podium. To a casual spectator, it might have looked like he was out in the open, in danger of being attacked by someone in such a large crowd, but a more astute observer would have seen the bulletproof glass surrounding the stage, and Secret Service agents on the roofs of every building.
A hush came over this enormous crowd, and people much farther back could suddenly hear what had just been a mumbling like Charlie Brown’s teacher only a moment ago. “My fellow Americans, we stand here today in the wake of a horrible tragedy. More than four thousand innocent people were lost, and thousands more were injured, some in ways that will affect them for the rest of their lives. Some of these people—mothers, fathers, grandmothers, children—were gunned down while performing the simple act of buying groceries. Now, I ask you, do you feel safe?”
“No!” roared the crowd.
“The current President of the United States wants you to believe that everything is fine. He says that the refugee program is safe, that there were just a few people who were vetting the refugees that were incompetent, and that they have been fired. Do you believe him?”
“No!” the people shouted.
“We cannot allow this to happen again! I have talked to people working in the camps to vet the refugees, and the
y say that they are overrun. They work insane hours with no days off to interview as many people as they can, in as short a time as possible. Now, does that sound like a way to be thorough?”
“No!” the crowd jeered.
“If I become your President, I will not allow this unsafe program to continue in its current disastrous state.”
The people burst into applause.
“I want each and every one of you to call your senators and congressmen and women. I want you to tell them that you will not stand for a policy that has forced thousands of people into our country without properly clearing them. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes!” came the refrain.
“Thank you for protecting our fellow Americans. God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.”
The crowd erupted in thunderous applause.
Along the borders of the park, a few people started shouting at the demonstrators. “Racists! Fascists!” they called. There was a little pushing and shoving, but fortunately the police intervened before anything truly horrible happened.
*******
New York, New York
CNN Recording Studio
Congressman Azim Rahal from Virginia sat in the television station, getting prepared for his interview. He was getting some butterflies in his stomach for sure, and part of him wanted to bolt from the room, but he knew that his message needed to be heard.
“We’re on in two,” said one of the producers, as the makeup artist finished a last-minute touch-up and whisked away. There was a scurry as people moved out of the way and everyone quit talking. “On in five, four, three…”
No one said, “two, one.” Those were implied. Then the anchor of the program, Sarah Bridger, began her introduction. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m here tonight with Congressman Azim Rahal from Virginia. Congressman, thank you for coming. I am very interested to hear your opinion on the recent events. As many already know, you are one of only a few members of Congress who is a follower of the Muslim faith. How does that shift your perspective on our nation’s recent tragedies?”
