by James Rosone
As they were talking, they heard helicopters approaching. They both looked up and saw two TV helicopters fly into their restricted zone, probably looking to capture some images of the farmhouse and the military vehicles. With one of the Stryker vehicles damaged and smoldering, and the farmhouse ablaze, it would have made for an amazing scene from the air.
“What do you want me to do about the news helicopters?” Major Kiln asked.
Agent Stone snickered for a second and then, completely deadpan, replied, “Shoot them down.” Then he laughed and said, “I’m just joking.” The others around him started to crack up at the idea of shooting the news choppers down. No one on either side of the political spectrum was particularly fond of the media. They were about on par with the Congress in terms of popularity.
“Tell the police to get their helicopter over there and shoo them away. They can wait their turn for us to release information on the raid when we’re ready,” Stone directed. He then turned and walked toward the FBI and DEA agents. He wanted to get an update on the investigation at the armory and see if they had found anything new.
The FBI agents brought Stone and his deputy Agent Leary up to speed on what they had discovered so far. After triangulating the cell phone calls with the local towers, they were able to determine that several text messages had been sent between the man known as Jamaal and the Chechens at the farmhouse. They had obtained a copy of the text messages and it was clear that they had been working together.
After further digging into the backgrounds of the two attackers, they discovered that they were both American born. They came from Muslim families, although nothing obvious stood out to indicate they had left the country or attended any formal training by any militant groups. The only thing they had found of interest was the YouTube and Twitter activity of Jamaal and Muthana. They had apparently been radicalized via those social media platforms and had sworn their allegiance to ISIS. The strange part was none of their online activity had been flagged by any federal agency.
Director Stone scratched his head at that knowledge. He was going to have to dig into that when he got back to D.C. and find out why these radicalized individuals had never been identified and placed on a watchlist.
*******
George Town, Grand Cayman
BAC International Bank
The Ghost was waiting in the lobby for the appropriate person to lead him back to his safety deposit box, when he noticed the news ticker at the bottom of the television read, “Nine suspected terrorists killed in raid on safe house in Elgin, IL. Men were believed to be responsible for the attacks on police stations and grocery stores in the Chicago area.”
His heart sank. His mind filled with a sea of troubled thoughts. Those men were supposed to help him attack the political rallies.
How did they get caught? What am I going to do now? he wondered.
Nihad Nassimi had told him that the NCTC was all over the other refuges that had been let in; it was only a matter of time before his remaining men were caught. He’d have to harvest all his old contacts, and if that didn’t work, then he’d have to go back to Mecca and see if he could get some more Americans on board…
“Sir…are you OK?” asked a woman standing near him, who had probably been trying to get his attention for a little while. She was ready to lead him into the back.
“I’m fine,” he said, brushing off her concern. However, it was the first time in a long time that the Ghost had felt mildly panicked.
Chapter 28
Bending the Rules
Alexandria, Virginia
Constance Pool’s Condominium
Mike knew that he couldn’t talk to Dawn King. He had already pushed the limits by speaking with Director Harper, although he was certain that as long as he didn’t continue to frequent the Georgetown Java, Mallory would never speak a word of their conversation to anyone. With the whole investigation classified at the SAP level, there really wasn’t much he could do without sounding alarm bells. However, there was one person who he could speak with that was not technically a part of the investigation into the Chicago terror attacks.
Acting Director Stone didn’t have to knock on Constance’s door; he found her outside with her dog, in a part of her condo community that must have become the de facto dog park. He caught her line of sight and nodded to her. Constance nodded back and slowly made her way over to him.
“So, I hear congratulations are in order, Mike,” she said with a leery smile.
“Oh, that. Well, I’m just acting director. Who knows who they’ll appoint to be the permanent director? How did you hear about that?” he asked jokingly.
“Well, I keep my ears to the ground. There’s not much else to do while I’m on administrative leave,” she responded. “So…why exactly are you here? Do I need my lawyer?” she asked defensively.
“I don’t think so. Do you think you need your lawyer?” he queried.
“That depends on where this conversation goes,” she answered cautiously.
“Here’s the deal, Constance. We didn’t know each other very well before you left. I hadn’t learned that much about the quality of your work. I’ve done some research since then. My current theory is that you are actually a star employee who is very loyal—so loyal, in fact, that you might have followed some orders from someone that got you in the current situation you are in. So, do you want your lawyer involved?” he asked slyly.
“I think we’re good for now.” She looked around, just to make sure that no one was watching them talk, and then she leaned in, lowering her voice as she continued. “I will go to jail before I state this publicly, but Mike, I was only following a directive from Mallory Harper.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to clear your own name?” he wondered aloud.
“The answer to that question is too long for me to explain in one sitting, but I’ve known Mallory for a long time, and we’ve been in the trenches together. I don’t believe that she would purposely tell me to let someone with terrorist ties into the country. There is a greater game afoot, and that is what I want you to uncover,” Constance explained.
They spoke a little longer and then parted ways. Mike wasn’t sure if he’d made a mistake by coming.
Every step I take confirms my suspicions, but I still don’t have any proof of anything, he thought. He wondered if he was just walking into a trap.
*******
Washington, D.C.
National Counterterrorism Center
It had taken a significant amount of work, but Julie Wells finally had something she felt was worth bringing forward to her boss. As she grabbed her folder and walked toward his office, she stood up tall and straight, full of confidence.
Mike waved her into the office. “What have you got for me, Julie?” he asked, indicating toward her folder with his hand.
She sat down and slid a spreadsheet in front of him. “They say you should always follow the money,” she began with a smirk.
“What am I looking at?” Mike asked mischievously.
“That is a listing of campaign donations to Alexander Bishop’s most recent congressional campaign—well, not all of them, just the ones that seem to pose a problem,” she announced, obviously satisfied with the work she had done.
His mouth dropped open as he read.
“Now, before you discipline me for disobeying orders, you need to know that I didn’t spend any of my actual work time doing this research. Also, although everything about the investigation into the terror attacks has been classified, no one said we couldn’t look into publicly available information about the National Security Advisor’s husband. And, yes, those are all CAGIR donations or CAGIR-affiliated organizations—I would definitely say there is something going on there.”
“OK, I should be mad at you for doing this, but I’m not,” Mike said. “You and I both know something fishy is happening. However, you can’t tell anyone else about this. I promise I will look into it, but there aren’t many people we can trust. Do y
ou understand?”
“You’ve got it, Boss,” she said half-jokingly.
“No, but really, watch your back,” Mike emphasized.
More somber now, Julie replied, “OK, I will.”
*******
McLean, Virginia
CIA Headquarters, Langley
Trevor smiled. “Mike, I’m kind of glad to see that you haven’t lost your ability to think around a situation, but I already know about this.”
“You do?” Stone asked incredulously.
“Yep. Did you guys find out about the house in the Hamptons yet?” he inquired.
“Wait—what house?” Mike shot back.
“Oh yeah, she bought an estate at a price that was so low, it clearly smelled of payoff,” Trevor replied.
“How are you so happy about all this? Why didn’t you come forward, if you already knew this?” Mike wondered in disbelief.
“Michael, what are we going to do? She outranks us. She has power that we can’t even put measures on right now. If you want to go forward, it’s going to have to be with an airtight case that can’t be refuted. What are we going to do, take her to a black site? You know we can’t do that,” Trevor explained.
“So what are we supposed to do?” asked Mike, feeling like the wind had just been taken out of his sails.
“Right now, you need to be patient. I know that isn’t your strong suit, but we need to continue to gather a case.”
Mike felt defeated. He left the meeting with a great sense of injustice. He would have to go back to the drawing board.
Chapter 29
Loose Ends
Arlington, Virginia
Mallory Harper’s House
Now that she was unemployed, Mallory found great comfort in her daily rituals. Mike was right, she was very much a creature of habit. Most mornings, she took a run and then sat in her cozy breakfast nook with her cat and a cup of coffee while she read through the entire newspaper, cover to cover. She knew it was old-school, and she didn’t care. She felt a lot was missed by listening to pundits on twenty-four-hour news cycles.
Mallory had never been married, although she’d come close a few times. She had a habit of being too dedicated to her work to continue any sort of meaningful long-term relationship of the non-feline kind. Being off work was driving her crazy, even if she knew it was only temporary. She was doing irrational things, like trying to learn Mandarin with Rosetta Stone, just to keep her mind sufficiently occupied.
The morning was going just like any other, until she hit about page twenty. Buried in the lower right-hand corner was a short story about the reported suicide of a government worker. Then the name jumped off the page—it was Dawn King. She read the article again. Yes, it was that Dawn King, her Dawn King. That was her neighborhood. The words on the page said that she had been found with a pistol in her hand, but that seemed entirely ludicrous to her.
This is all wrong…she would never kill herself. She didn’t even own a gun, she thought. Wild thoughts swirled through her head and then she wondered if she was next.
Suddenly, the guilt that she had been keeping herself from feeling overwhelmed her. She felt the weight of all those people who had lost their lives on her shoulders. Even though she hadn’t acted knowingly or with intent, those terrorist attacks were at least in part her fault. The heaviest weight though, was realizing that she’d played a part in the death of her friend. She collapsed on the floor, sobbing. She had never cried this hard in her life, and there was no stopping it.
When she had managed to collect herself, she called her friend that came to cat-sit when she was traveling. Once she had confirmed that her beloved Chester would be taken care of, she took the battery and SIM card out of her Galaxy 6, breaking the SIM card in two. Mallory shoved all the necessary items in a backpack for a week away from home, and then she headed out the door.
Just a block away was her local bank. There she pulled out a significant amount of cash. She didn’t want to use her credit or debit cards for anything else until she was truly sure she was safe. She managed to find a pay phone that hadn’t been torn down yet and called a taxi company. Once she got in the cab, Mallory kept looking back at the cars behind her to make sure she hadn’t been followed. She switched taxis twice more, and then eventually stopped about a mile away from her destination. Harper walked in a very indirect route, making stops in various stores and coffee shops to make sure that she wasn’t being tailed. Finally, she arrived at the one place where she felt truly safe.
*******
Rosland, Virginia
Michael Stone’s Studio Condominium
Mike had traveled a lot these past several years, so his condo was really more of a landing pad than anything else. He didn’t have any decorations or fancy possessions to speak of, minus a few small trinkets from his travels and a picture of his deceased daughter and his ex-wife. In case he ever needed to move, he could be packed up in less than a day. Even still, he enjoyed coming home to his little nest away from work, especially with the lovely view he enjoyed. The main window he had looked out over all of D.C., and he could see the top of the Capitol Building and the Jefferson Memorial along the Potomac.
Stone was juggling a small bag of groceries as he tried to get to his keys. Just then, he saw a courier ride up on a bicycle. The man slipped something into his mailbox and then turned and raced down the stairs toward his bike.
“Hey!” yelled Mike. “Who sent you?” But he was already long gone.
Michael put his groceries down and pulled out the key to his mailbox. Inside was a manila envelope. He cautiously opened the top. When he found there was a single paper inside, he put the envelope in the bag of groceries and headed upstairs to read it.
The groceries waited on the counter while he pulled out the letter. It read, “Mike, I’m ready to talk. Please come to St. Andrew Apostle Catholic Church in Silver Spring, MD, at 8 p.m. tonight. M.H. Oh, and this should go without saying given your background, but burn this letter, come alone, and don’t bring your cell phone. Make sure you aren’t followed.”
Stone looked at his watch. He didn’t have much time. He put away his ice cream and milk, made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, burned the letter, and he was out the door.
*******
Silver Spring, Maryland
St. Andrew Apostle Catholic Church
Mike looked around. At first, he didn’t see anyone, but then he saw Mallory lighting a candle. He quietly joined her, and whispered, “Is there a wedding here I didn’t know about?”
Harper smiled weakly. “No, and I don’t have a lawyer here, either.” They quietly made their way to the pews, him sitting one row behind her as if they were just there to pray.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t have you pegged as a church person,” said Mike as he eyed her suspiciously.
“I haven’t been for a long time, but I have a second cousin who’s a priest here. We don’t talk much, but I knew I would be safe here,” she replied.
“So, you said you’re ready to talk, right? What do you have to share?”
“Mike…they killed her,” she began, her voice betraying the fact that she was barely holding it together.
“Killed who?” he asked.
“Dawn King. I read it in the paper. The article said she committed suicide, but she would never do that,” she insisted, exasperated.
“How do you know?” he queried.
“They said that she shot herself. You don’t understand—Dawn didn’t own a firearm, and her politics would’ve kept her from ever getting one. There’s just no way. If it had been pills, I still wouldn’t have believed it, but it just doesn’t make any sense for her to have killed herself with a gun.” She lowered her voice to a low whisper. “I think they’re coming for me next.”
“Well, if you have some information to share, they can’t kill you for it if it’s already out there,” Mike asserted.
“I don’t know who I can trust anymore. If I talk
to the wrong person, I’m sure I’ll end up dead,” Mallory whimpered.
“You can trust me. You believe that, right? Isn’t that why I’m here?” Mike asked as he tried to reassure her.
Mallory nodded as she wiped a tear away.
“If you tell me what you know, I will find a way for you to come forward safely. I have connections. We can get you a new identity, get you out of the country, whatever it’s going to take,” he assured her.
Harper handed him a list of twenty-three names on a piece of paper that looked like it had been ripped out of a diary. As he glanced over it, two names immediately stuck out. “Is this what I think it is?” Mike inquired incredulously.
“That is a list of names that Leah Bishop asked me to clear through the refugee program,” she responded.
Stone couldn’t believe what he was holding in his hands. “I’ll find a way to keep you safe,” he asserted.
“Thailand is nice,” she said wistfully. “If I’m going to disappear, at least I think I could be happy there.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied. Then he quietly got up and left the church.
Chapter 30
Power of the Conscience
Working with Trevor, Michael did manage to arrange a way for Mallory to disappear, but only after she testified to some people that he knew could be trusted at the FBI. Her intel was condemning; she carefully laid out a case against Leah Bishop, explaining when and how they would meet. After her written and video-recorded depositions, Mallory flew away to a tropical beach hut on the other side of the world, never to be heard from again.
Each of the men on the list was obviously going to be investigated, and likely deported. However, this was far from over.
