The Shield

by Ken Fite

  “You hit the wrong one,” the kidnapper yelled when it happened, but the young man said nothing back.

  The kidnapper had kept the cell to his ear the whole time as he waited on confirmation from his contact about the status of the president. Someone on the other end of the line had not only relayed information on which of the three helicopters was carrying James Keller, he’d been the kidnapper’s eyes and ears on the ground. Hayes knew the young man had hit the wrong one. Frasier’s body language had said it all. Now his kidnapper just needed confirmation of it. After several minutes passed, the response came. The kidnapper said something into his phone in some kind of foreign language, one Hayes didn’t recognize. The kidnapper disconnected the call and put his cell phone away and approached the young man slowly.

  “They confirmed it,” he said. “You hit the wrong one. The president is safe.”

  The kid made no reply.

  The man reached behind his back for his weapon. Started to pace at the front of the room, beneath the screens. “You failed,” he continued. “I told you to hit the helicopter on the left; instead you hit the middle one.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Frasier. “I just got confused.”

  The man shook his head. “I don’t think you were confused at all,” he said. “I think you did it on purpose.”

  “It’s the truth,” the young man said. Hayes was breathing hard as he sat in silence, watching.

  The kidnapper slammed his free hand on the table. Gripped the weapon in his other hand and brought it forward as he moved closer. “You had the perfect opportunity to take the president out, and you failed.”

  Frasier said nothing. Just looked away as the kidnapper pressed his weapon against his temple. The man forced a smile and nodded to himself. Then he lowered his weapon and turned back. Frasier looked relieved. The kidnapper stepped back around the front of the room. Kept a tight grip on his weapon. Walked beneath the large screens and approached Hayes. The man stopped when he got in front of him. Positioned himself between Hayes and the kid and glanced back at the young man for a brief moment.

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Frasier, his voice shaking.

  The kidnapper shook his head again. “There’s nothing more you can do now.”

  “I can try again,” he called from the front of the room. “Just need another drone is all.”

  The man turned back and stared down at Hayes. “It’s too late for that,” he said. “The president is safe. He’s aboard Air Force One . They confirmed it. He’ll be airborne shortly. Your drones won’t work now.”

  Hayes felt a drop of sweat that had been forming on his brow collect and stream down his face. Didn’t have a free hand to use to wipe it away. The kidnapper remained in front of him, staring down at him. “Mr. Hayes,” the man said and paused briefly, “do you know why he hit a decoy instead of Marine One ?”

  Hayes shook his head slowly. “He made a mistake,” he said. “Stressful situation. Hard to see at nighttime. The helicopters scrambled and got into a new formation. Easy to get confused and hit the wrong one.”

  The kidnapper held a hand up. “Stop,” he said. “It was not a mistake in any way. It was intentional.” Hayes said nothing back. Just stared up at the man. “The right answer is the kid just wasn’t motivated.”

  Hayes said nothing.

  “Do you understand motivation, Mr. Hayes?” asked the kidnapper as he moved toward the young man. “When you’re motivated, you’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done. You won’t make mistakes, either.”

  “Please,” said the kid in a low voice, still shaking slightly. “Give me another chance. I won’t let you down.”

  “The truth is,” said the kidnapper, “Mr. Hayes is my second chance. In the event that you failed.”

  The kidnapper stood in between both men and stared at Hayes. “Are you motivated?”

  Hayes said nothing. Just stared back at the guy. Felt another stream of sweat trickle down his brow and face.

  “Do you know why you’re here? In this place? Do you understand the significance of it?”

  Hayes nodded.

  “Then you understand what I will need you to do now that Air Force One is airborne?”

  Hayes shook his head. “It won’t work,” he said. “Not like you think, at least. You need an override device.”

  He watched as his kidnapper dug into a pocket and came out with a small object. He stepped forward and held it in front of Hayes’s face so he could see what it was. Then he lowered his hand and stared down at him.

  “Mr. Hayes, you know that I have your wife and daughter. So I will ask you again—are you motivated?”

  He said nothing back. Just shifted his eyes between the man and the kid who was cowering in his chair. Hayes watched as the man raised his hand and rested the barrel of his weapon on the back of the young man’s head. Then he pulled the trigger. No hesitation. No explanation. Just did it in one quick motion.

  Hayes flinched and closed his eyes. The sound was loud and echoed throughout the room. He turned his face away. Felt his heart pounding in his chest and thought about Patricia and little Maddie. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the kid slumped over in his chair. His head was resting on top of the laptop.

  The kidnapper stepped closer. Hayes was trembling. “Mr. Hayes, I thought taking your wife and daughter would be enough. But obviously, you required convincing.” The man got quiet. Ten seconds passed. He held the device out in front of Hayes’s face again. Brought the weapon up and rested it on his forehead. The muzzle felt warm. “Are you motivated?”

  Hayes closed his eyes and looked away. Kept them shut tight. Felt his body trembling as he nodded slowly.

  “Good.”

  Hayes opened his eyes and watched as the man stuffed the device into a pocket. Then the kidnapper called out to his men and said they needed to leave.

  Hayes was confused by the order. He asked why they were leaving. He thought they were in his client’s new office so they could use their drone simulation machine. But the kidnapper said he got word they needed to leave the building. The man explained that with the override device, they didn’t need the machines. Hayes felt pressure on his wrists, and the zip ties were cut and fell to the floor. He glanced over his shoulder. Watched the man reach for his weapon again. He kept it ready in his hand. “Stand up,” the man said. Hayes obeyed. His legs felt weak. Like he’d just ran a marathon.

  “Where’d you get the override device?” Hayes asked as he was ushered to the front of the building to leave.

  The man exited with him. “You need to make it work,” he said. “No mistakes, no excuses. Understand?”

  Hayes shifted his gaze forward as he was forced into a Suburban parked at the curb. “I understand.”

  NINETEEN

  CHRIS REED STOOD on the other side of the security desk, waiting for us. The guards made us check our weapons. A woman in uniform motioned for Willis to step through a turnstile. She ran a black wand up and down his body as he entered. She followed the same process with me. Then she handed temporary visitor’s badges to both of us.

  “This is Curt Willis,” I said to Chris as we headed toward a row of elevators along a far wall.

  My longtime friend extended his hand as we moved. “Chris Reed,” he said to Willis with a small nod. “Recognize the name. Aren’t you with the Bureau, too? You run the New York City field office, right?”

  Willis shook his head. He showed Reed his DHS credentials as he moved. Told him he was with Homeland now. Chris glanced at me. Saw identical credentials. “I didn’t know you were DHS, Blake.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  We got to the elevator and Chris pressed the button and we entered. He hit another button for the third floor. The doors closed and the elevator car moved upward. I grabbed a metal railing to steady myself.

  “Mulvaney’s in a meeting, so he sent me down to get you,” said Chris.

  Willis shot me a knowing
look. Didn’t work , he said with his expression. I looked away, thinking about it. Change the situation somehow. Turn it on its head. Try to throw them off . Mulvaney was good.

  The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors chimed open. Reed stepped out first, followed by Willis. We walked down a dark hallway. The building was quiet. Too quiet for what had happened just a few miles from here. But it was late and I figured with the shutdown, the Bureau was operating with a skeleton crew. Essential personnel until the money started flowing again. I figured Chris was working without pay. He looked tired. I guessed Willis and I did, too. It was going to be a long night. We were just getting started.

  Reed found an empty conference room and gestured for us to enter. Willis went for a chair on the far end of the table. I sat down opposite him, and Chris Reed stood at the head of the table and stared across at us. “Coffee?” he asked.

  Willis said nothing. I nodded.

  Chris walked over to the coffeemaker. Checked the decanter and confirmed it felt heavy and was still hot. I watched as he grabbed some cups and poured. Brought them to the table and set one down in front of me, then turned back and sat down and took a sip.

  I held the cup tight in my hand. “We want to see Mulvaney.”

  Reed shook his head. “I told you, he’s in a meeting.”

  “We want to see the drones,” said Willis as I took a sip of coffee.

  Chris Reed looked at him and shrugged. “If that’s why you’re here, you’ll be waiting a long time.”

  I stared at Chris. “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugged again. “They’re taking whatever was recovered from the White House and outside the Treasury Building down to TEDAC,” he said, referring to the Terrorist Explosive Device Analytical Center. “Mulvaney’s got some guys taking pictures and documenting whatever they’ve found at the crash sites; then he’ll have them load up whatever they’ve got and take the wreckage down to Huntsville for analysis.”

  “Then you need to stop them,” said Willis.

  Reed eyed Willis for a long moment, then turned back to face me. “Blake, I think you’re focused on the wrong thing here,” he said, then glanced down at his cup. He had two hands on it and turned it slowly. Looked up at me and stared for a moment. “What are you trying to do here? What’s your end game?”

  “Find the people who tried to kill the president, Chris. Find whoever’s piloting these drones.”

  “Well, you’re not going to get that from any of the wreckage they’re recovering tonight. Mulvaney’s going to have his best people down at TEDAC figure that stuff out. Could take them days. Maybe even weeks.”

  “We don’t have weeks,” I said.

  “Didn’t we already give DHS one of the drones that crashed on the White House lawn last week?”

  I said nothing.

  “Use that. The thing’s perfectly intact.” He shook his head. “You’re on the wrong path here.”

  “We tried that,” said Willis. “Couldn’t find anything. No visible serial numbers. They’d been filed off.”

  “Chris, the president won’t be safe unless we can find the people responsible for the attack,” I said. “They won’t stop until he’s dead. Please. We need your help.”

  Reed took in a breath and let it out as he looked away briefly. “Mulvaney’s not giving you the runaround.”

  “Well, it sure as hell feels like it,” I said.

  “Trust me, Blake, he’s not.” He paused again. Then he stared at me, like he was deciding what to say. “Blake, Mulvaney’s on a conference call with the NSA regarding a new situation we just became aware of.”

  “What situation?” asked Willis.

  Reed stared across at him. “Not sure Mulvaney would appreciate me discussing it outside of the Bureau.” Willis narrowed his eyes and stared at my friend. Reed pushed out of his chair and stood. Left the coffee on the table. He went to the window and used two fingers to separate the blinds, and looked outside.

  “Chris,” I said, “we want the same thing here. You’ve known me for a long time. You can trust me.”

  He took a deep breath again and let it out and walked back to his seat, but remained standing. Rested two hands on the back of the chair and stared down at me. Glanced at Willis for a brief moment then said, “Mulvaney was contacted by the NSA a few minutes ago. Told him their system had been compromised.”

  “Compromised how?” I asked.

  He shrugged and looked away again. “They said someone hacked into one of the interagency drives to get into one of the schematics folders shared between the NSA and the FBI. They said they discovered it today, but the intrusion happened a few weeks ago. They just didn’t notice it.”

  “What did they take?” I pressed.

  “Schematics for different things,” he said. “What’s concerning them more right now isn’t what but who .”

  Silence in the room. Willis and I exchanged a look across the table, waiting for my friend to continue.

  Chris paused again. Longer this time. “They told Mulvaney that someone with a lot of privileged access may have helped them. It’ll take some time to figure it out. They believe it was someone inside the NSA.”

  TWENTY

  SIMON HARRIS WAITED as Morgan sent an email from his DDC laptop. It seemed to take forever for emails to be received, even between agencies like DDC, where Morgan worked, and DHS. There was encryption and firewalls and antivirus programs to make sure their government systems wouldn’t be infected from an external or even an internal communication. That kind of thing had happened before. Finally, a new mail notification flashed on Simon’s screen. He opened the email and clicked on the link.

  “Okay, I got it,” he said. “WebEx is coming up now.”

  “Good,” said Morgan. “I’m already in, just waiting for you to join. Share your screen when it lets you.”

  Thirty seconds passed. Simon thought about the irony of working for Homeland Security and the difficulties experienced with slow and sometimes uncooperative technology. It had been the same way when he’d worked at the Department of Domestic Counterterrorism. Morgan was at the Chicago field office, and Simon had been at the new field office in DC, prior to leaving to join Tom Parker at Homeland.

  Parker had approached Simon a few months earlier. He’d said that Simon came recommended by Lennox. Something that surprised Simon, since he was more of a junior analyst to someone like Morgan. But Parker had said he was trying to put together a new team within Homeland to work on off-the-books operations for the president. Simon thought the job would help him grow in his skills and his experience.

  “Simon?”

  “Coming up now,” he said as his eyes refocused and he leaned forward. “Okay, I’m sharing my screen.”

  “I see it,” said Morgan. “My boss just gave us the approval we needed, so do you see that prompt? Go ahead and type in the following approval code: RSDJX53.”

  Simon typed it in and hit enter and waited. An hourglass appeared in the middle of the screen, like the one he’d seen earlier before Morgan had called. Virtual sand dropped from the top to the bottom, then it spun again and the image repeated the motion.

  Then the screen flashed and a listing of all available satellites displayed. Simon reached for his notebook.

  “Morgan, from the notes I took when I met with you a while back, I think I should choose—this one,” he said as he moved the cursor to one of the satellite names displayed and clicked on it, highlighting the one he wanted as it hovered a hundred and eleven miles above the Earth’s surface, directly over Washington.

  “That’s the one, mate,” said Morgan.

  Simon double-clicked and the hourglass came up again, but only for a moment. It disappeared and a screen displayed showing them the details of the satellite. Simon stared at it blankly. “Now what do I do?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “We never got that far.”

  There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. “Simon, I’m going to take
control of your screen, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He watched as the screensharing program flashed, and then his mouse started to move on its own.

  Morgan first checked some of the stats of the satellite, verifying that it was the satellite with the infrared technology they needed. Simon watched as Morgan confirmed that it was. Then he checked the video recording capabilities and made sure everything was working as it should. “Looks good,” said Morgan.

  “So now what?”

  “Now we go back in time and find these people.”

  The technology amazed Simon. The fact that a large swath of land, the entire Washington metro in fact, could be under surveillance from such a far-off vantage point, yet still offer the ability to zoom in close enough on a surveillance recording to read a license plate in broad daylight, was incredible to him. They wouldn’t have that clarity from the infrared, but it might still help them find the drone’s launch site.

  “The attacks happened when?” asked Morgan. “Two hours ago, right, mate?”

  “Yes, about seven o’clock,” he said.

  Morgan centered the screen over the East Wing of the White House; then he moved the cursor to another area on the screen and clicked on a checkbox. A line appeared at the bottom, representing a timeline. Simon glanced to the top right of the screen and saw the time: nine o’clock. It was displaying live footage. Morgan clicked on an icon and dragged it to the left, representing his pulling the timeline backward. It stopped at seven thirty. Morgan pulled the timeline to the left a little more and stopped it at six fifty-five.

  “Now what?” asked Simon as Morgan clicked on the play button and the video started.

  “Now we watch.” There was silence on the line as both men stared at their screens. Three minutes passed. At six fifty-eight, a small object came into view. It moved across and disappeared after a bright flash on the screen. “First one,” said Morgan. Less than a minute passed before the screen flashed again. “Second one.”