Traitors Within

by James Rosone

  Mike knew something was wrong when Trevor showed up at his office. “What happened?” he exclaimed.

  “I wanted to tell you this in person, Michael. The Attorney General has decided not to prosecute Leah Bishop,” Trevor explained.

  “What!” Mike questioned, practically shouting. He stood up and began pacing.

  Trevor put his hand up as if to say, “Calm down.” He understood the reaction, but it wasn’t going to help solve the problem. “I know. I’m almost certain this is political. A scandal like this would really hurt Karen Philmore’s chances at the ballot box, and it’s already September. We can hope that the AG would move forward after the election.”

  “And what if he doesn’t?” Stone bellowed.

  “The investigation won’t die. The FBI still has all the information needed to successfully prosecute Leah Bishop. We just have to wait. Another Attorney General will come along, and she will have her justice,” Trevor reassured.

  Mike stopped pacing. He sat down and put his hands in his head for a moment as he thought. He just couldn’t believe that Leah might get away with this.

  Trevor gave him a moment to be upset. Then he cleared his throat. “Twenty-one potential terrorists are going to be removed from the country—Mike, that’s a win. And Leah isn’t going to convince you to clear any names for her, so the extremists just lost their steady conduit into the United States. You just helped save potentially thousands of innocent American lives.”

  Stone picked his head up and straightened himself out. “So…what do we do now?” he asked.

  “We wait.”

  *******

  Allison O’Brien tossed and turned in her bed until she sat straight up, screaming.

  “Allie, what’s wrong?” called her husband, still half-asleep.

  “Babe, I’m sorry. It was just another nightmare,” she said. She lay back down, hoping to get some rest.

  “You’ve been having a lot of those lately,” he asserted.

  “I know. It’s just some things at work,” she explained.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “I really can’t, Honey, but thank you. It’ll be OK,” she responded.

  Except, she wondered to herself, will it?

  Allison had been plagued for a week by dreams about the terrorist attacks in Chicago. In each one, she ended up being the one that pulled the trigger on the guns, or detonated the bomb, or drove the explosive truck near Trump Tower. She watched the victims die, over and over.

  This isn’t my fault, she tried to convince herself. Technically, she was right—she hadn’t participated directly in any of the attacks. However, as Deputy Assistant Attorney General, she was a part of this horrible plan to allow Leah Bishop to get away with her role in all of this.

  She tossed and turned for a few more hours, until finally, at 4 a.m., she’d had enough. She made herself a pot of coffee, slammed two cups, and got ready as if she were headed directly to the office. Allie left her husband a note, explaining that something had come up for work and that she was going to have to go in early.

  She walked down the street to a local coffee shop that she knew had computers and free Wi-Fi and logged in to a website where she could send text messages through the internet from an unknown number. She looked through the contacts in her phone until she found what she was looking for—the number of the one reporter who she felt was trustworthy.

  “Angela, it’s Allie C. at the Capital Café. URGENT. Please meet me here as soon as possible.” She hoped Angela would get the message and show up. She didn’t want to be late for work and draw suspicion.

  Fifteen minutes later, Allison watched Angela Lapin roll out of an Uber, dressed in brightly colored athletic wear from head to toe. She quickly made eye contact with Allison and joined her in the corner.

  Allison was on her third cup of coffee since entering the coffee shop, and she was starting to sweat. Angela must have noticed. “Wow, you don’t look that great. Are you OK?” Angela asked, genuinely concerned.

  “I haven’t been sleeping that well,” admitted Allie.

  “Ahh. Well, I hope this is good, because I did interrupt my run for you this morning. I’m training for a half,” said Angela, looking at her Fitbit.

  Allison looked around, then leaned in and whispered, “We have open-and-shut evidence to put away a person who was passing suspicious names through the refugee program at the NCTC, including two of the Chicago attackers…and my boss is just sitting on it.”

  Angela’s eyes opened wide as saucers. “Who was it?” she asked.

  “The National Security Advisor, Leah Bishop,” whispered Allie.

  A moment of stunned silence followed. Finally, Angela managed to say, “I’m going to need some of the information to corroborate your story. When we go live with it, I want to make sure that there are a lot of the facts and supporting evidence to back this all up.”

  Allison nodded. The two of them chatted for a little longer, filling in the details of the story and working out a way to pass documentation back and forth without being tracked, and then they parted ways.

  *******

  At work, it was business as usual. As far as anyone else could tell, she was just fulfilling her role as Deputy Assistant Attorney General. Casually though, she was getting Angela the information she needed.

  She went home that evening, unsure if she would have a job when she woke up. Ms. Lapin wasn’t going to name her as the source within the DOJ, but it would be pretty obvious to her boss where the information had come from. Then she decided that she didn’t care. Her conscience was clear. She slept soundly that night, whisked away in a world of peaceful dreams.

  Chapter 31

  The Reset Button

  The next day, headlines splashed over the front page of the Washington Post, and soon every reputable news outlet was covering the story nonstop. The White House, in order to try and cut off the cancer of this scandal, announced that the Attorney General was being asked to step down immediately and would himself be investigated for improper conduct. The new Acting Attorney General, Allison O’Brien, immediately arranged for Leah Bishop to be arrested.

  Although the race had been pretty close up to that point, Karen Philmore’s poll numbers summarily tanked. Even though she wasn’t the one who had appointed a corrupt National Security Advisor, or an Attorney General who was willing to overlook justice on behalf of politics, the people felt that she now had a stench of dishonesty just by association with the President and those people surrounding him.

  *******

  When the Ghost heard the news, he completely lost his temper for the first time in more than a decade. He threw expensive vases and other fragile items against a wall, causing a ruckus that made even his gardener leave for the day. Every single person that had been brought into the United States through the refugee program had now been compromised, and a friendly Attorney General had been removed from power. He was so angry that everything in his vision appeared red for hours.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have to be the one to share this news with his employers. There really was no avoiding it, since every reporter worth a grain of salt came running toward the word “scandal” like a dog salivating at the prospect of red meat. When Al Shabah had finally calmed himself enough, he logged in to the dark web and found the discussion board were players discussed exploits and cheats for a popular massively multiplayer online (MMO) game, which was how he and Sheikh Maktoum communicated.

  Skimming through the different threads, he finally found the specific one he was looking for. There it was—a message from Maktoum. “Things are too hot now. Abort phase two. Reassess at a later date.”

  The Ghost breathed an enormous sigh of relief. At least he still had his life, and he wouldn’t have to try and piece together a new plan under such challenging circumstances. “Acknowledged,” he wrote back.

  *******

  A few months later, David Garcia won the presidential election. The results weren�
�t even close. Karen Philmore had tried to backpedal and explain that she wasn’t a part of the salacious stories that were out there, but the more statements she made, the more people just grew to distrust her. Something about her constant clarifications and overly-metered speech made the voters feel that she wasn’t genuine and that she had something to hide.

  Although Mr. Garcia was incredibly busy selecting his cabinet and other key positions, he didn’t completely exit campaign mode. He made several speeches after the election on his intended path after taking office. Given the atmosphere of fear that was permeating the very fabric of American life, the President-elect decided that one of his most important roles was to reassure everyone that there was a path for the nation to be more secure.

  “My fellow Americans, I am honored and humbled that you have chosen me to be your next leader at this pivotal time in our nation’s history. As you watch this tonight, many of you are sitting around your kitchen table, afraid to leave your homes. I want to work to restore the faith and trust that you once had in the government to fulfill its first and most important duty, to protect its citizens.

  “When I take office, one of my first actions is going to be to propose a new agency within our government, a counterterrorism unit designed specifically to combat this problem. Now, I am not generally a fan of adding anything new to the government, but there is a hole that needs to be plugged. Right now, if a person of interest is being monitored by the CIA and then comes in our country, they become lost in the shuffle. Why? Because once they hit our soil, the CIA is no longer authorized to monitor them on American soil; they have no charter to spy in our country. And the FBI is only supposed to investigate actual crimes, so they are not going to continue to monitor a person without probable cause sufficient enough to lead to an immediate arrest. The NSA is only allowed to monitor foreigners on US soil with a court order. As you can see, we have a problem.

  “The new counterterrorism unit will be independent of the CIA, the FBI, and the NSA, but will cooperate with those entities. They will work directly for the National Security Council and report to the National Security Advisor and the President. What they will be able to do that no one else is allowed to do at this time is to follow cases from start to finish, across jurisdictions. They will be able to operate both internationally and domestically. Also, I plan to have several Treasury Department agents attached to this group, because I believe that if we can track the money, we can stop the terrorists.

  “I ask you all to call your Senators and Congress members and tell them that you want to support my proposal of a counterterrorism unit. As they begin to hear your voice, I am sure that they will be moved in the right direction. Thank you, and God bless America.”

  Chapter 32

  Hunted

  Ever since the news about Leah Bishop’s arrest had been made public, Yasser Najjar had been in hiding. He was so paranoid about being caught that he hadn’t even returned to his apartment to get any clothes or supplies. Unsure of where to go, he had wandered in the doors of a homeless shelter.

  “Please, I just need a safe place to stay tonight,” Yasser begged.

  “Are you alone or with family?” the social worker at the door asked.

  “I’m by myself,” he answered.

  “Well, then, you’re in luck,” she responded. “We just had a few more vacancies open up for the single male shelter. I just need a copy of your ID, I’ll help you fill out a couple of forms, and then you can have a nice warm spot for the night.”

  “You need an ID?” Yasser asked in despair.

  “Yes, it’s a state requirement,” she explained. “If you don’t have one, that’s OK. It’s still early in the day, and we have a program where we can help you get one for free. What’s your name?”

  “I’m sorry—uh, I’ve got to go,” he said, and then he turned and walked out the door.

  *******

  The social worker wasn’t shocked. She’d had the same conversation before. As she picked up the phone to alert the police to a possible criminal in the neighborhood, she wondered why this one was on the run.

  He looks too clean for there to be a warrant related to drug charges. Maybe he stole something? she pondered.

  She gave the police a basic description, and they thanked her for the tip. Then, five minutes later, someone came in completely drunk and threw up all over the floor, and she forgot all about it.

  *******

  Mr. Najjar had gotten lucky that day. The police were too busy handling active cases to follow this tip from a social worker at a homeless shelter. That night, he drove his car to a church parking lot and slept in his vehicle. He knew it wasn’t a permanent solution, but he would have to come up with a better plan the next day.

  In the morning, Yasser found a spot near a hardware store where men congregated to find day labor. He needed a way to get money, and he was too paranoid to try and draw anything out of his checking account with his ATM card. He got picked up by a man who needed help digging irrigation ditches at a corporate farm conglomerate nearby. It was brutal hard labor in the cold, but at least he had on his winter coat and gloves. The man fed him a sandwich at lunchtime and provided him with water throughout the day, and when it was time to leave, he was rewarded with cold hard cash. It wasn’t the worst day of his life.

  Yasser found a cluster of people who were living in an abandoned building that evening. After bringing some cigarettes and cash, he was allowed safe passage to stay there.

  Mr. Najjar might have gone on living that way indefinitely, but one day, ICE decided to do a raid on the place where he stood to wait for day labor.

  As the immigration officials rolled up, one of the men yelled, “La migra viene!”

  Yasser didn’t understand Spanish, but he understood the panicked running that followed that announcement and took off as fast as his legs would carry him. Unfortunately, around the corner was another group of ICE agents, waiting to catch everyone who had dashed off.

  They were all handcuffed and placed in the back of a bus. As they were driving off to a detention facility to be interviewed, the thoughts swirled inside his head.

  Why didn’t I get rid of my wallet? he thought with regret. They were going to know who he was right away. Maybe part of him had just wanted his family to know what happened to him if he died.

  Is there any way out of this for me? he wondered in despair.

  The more Yasser thought about it, the more hopeless he felt. He envisioned himself being tortured in a dark hole somewhere. Eventually, he knew what he needed to do. There was only one choice to make.

  If only I had completed my mission, he thought in regret. Then he bit down on his cyanide tooth.

  “Allahu Akbar,” he managed to say before he began foaming at the mouth and convulsing.

  The other men inside the bus began yelling and trying to get the attention of the driver, but the man wouldn’t stop until he got to the station. He’d heard people make a fuss in the back before, and it was usually just a trap to try and escape or attack him. This time, when the driver opened the door to the back, there was a dead man waiting for him.

  *******

  Acting Director Stone just got off the phone with ICE, and he was livid. He had barely managed to contain his response enough to keep from cussing the agent out, but he knew there was nothing that could be done now. Yasser Najjar was gone, and all his information and intelligence had died with him. They were still no closer to figuring out who was pulling the strings behind this giant puppet show.

  When he had taken a moment to calm down, he drafted some memos to all the interagency partners. Mike wanted to make sure that the FBI, ICE, and any of his other partners would be aware that any of the remaining refugees that still needed to be detained might be outfitted with a cyanide tooth or other suicide technology. Maybe through cooperation, he could keep this from happening again.

  *******

  Baltimore, Maryland

  McElderry Park Neighborhood

>   Daoud Khalil still had nightmares about his time fighting in Syria with ISIS. The atrocities they had committed, that he had committed, haunted him in his dreams. He could still hear the screams of the Christian woman as he’d pounded the nails between her wrist bones to the wooden cross they had built. They had crucified 104 Christians in the small village of Tal Erphan, Syria, near the Turkish-Iraqi border, and it was one of the things that disturbed his thoughts every day.

  Daoud was different than most of the fighters he had been surrounded by. He was educated at the University of Aleppo in electrical engineering and had worked for a power company in the city. When the Syrian civil war had erupted, he’d found himself caught between a rock and a hard place. He’d tried his best to stay on the sidelines, away from the fighting, and then one day, his portion of the city had been captured by ISIS. Once it was discovered that he knew how to operate and run a power plant, he became a man that they needed.

  ISIS wanted people who could get the oil fields up and running and return power to the areas they controlled. They put Daoud to work doing just that. They also made sure he was well compensated and paid him in gold and US dollars. Daoud was not an ideologue. He didn’t believe in their radical version of Islam but kept his mouth shut out of fear.

  Then, one day while he was fixing an electrical problem at one of the substations near the city of Al-Hasakah, one of his bodyguards received a phone call telling him they needed to head over to the village of Erphan. Daoud and his two other companions went with their bodyguards to the city, only to see a dozen fighters standing guard over a large crowd of civilians.

  When they approached the ISIS commander, he told Daoud, “We rounded up all the Christians in the village. We plan to crucify them if they don’t renounce their faith and convert to Islam. I know that you three engineers are not fighters, but we will need help to crucify this many people.”