The mission had taken on an entirely new dimension with Johnson’s premise that the kidnapping of Melissa Mallory had been a clever ruse to use her as a carrier to infect—to assassinate—the president. The premise was so far-fetched as to be almost without credibility. Still, Peoples knew he had to pass up the chain of command any and every possibility, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. Problem was, he had only the word of a known terrorist who was consulting on McGrath’s operation.
Peoples found it unfathomable that a senior military officer from a neighboring ally would be hip-deep in the plot. And, for a high-level official in the US government to be complicit in such a plot—according to the intern Marcus Aurelio—was beyond incredible.
Peoples paused in his discussion with Palmer’s tactical team. He sat at the management workstation behind Monroe’s analyst station and read the two new alerts that just came in over the classified net.
He had reviewed TER agency protocol regarding who he was to report to. Technically, every TER commander reported directly to the TER director, and the director reported only to the president. McGrath was both event commander and TER director, and now he was incapacitated, as was the president.
It followed that Peoples, as acting mission commander, should report to an assistant director in the TER chain of command. However, Vice President Walter Breen disagreed in his phone call half an hour ago. The vice president’s logic was that Peoples, as a replacement commander in McGrath’s operation, should report directly to Breen in the absence of the president. Peoples was not comfortable with that conclusion without researching the protocol regulations, and that’s exactly what he told the vice president.
There were several levels of senior assistant directors in the TER chain of command, but what complicated his circumstance was that McGrath himself was personally involved in the operation. The man was, in fact, operating several levels below his own pay grade, but his Director stamp was all over this operation. Now Peoples had to figure out whether or not his new position included all the perceived director-level authorities McGrath had previously established in this particular terror event.
The TER regs were crystal clear about one thing. It was his prerogative as a TER mission commander to validate his reporting chain of command, and he could tell Vice President Breen knew it. So the man didn’t push the issue. He reluctantly gave Peoples time to research the proper procedure and advised him to keep the issue in-house—which meant to himself. Breen said there were extraordinarily sensitive classified details that Breen knew and which Peoples needed to know to continue his op.
Peoples was wary of the cloak-and-dagger claim of additional sensitive information. The TER had access to all classified intel from every source in the country, including the Department of Defense and the Central Intelligence Agency and all other federal, state, and local police departments. It was impossible to believe the vice president would have access to information not already available to Agent Peoples. The TER had access to everything. But, Peoples was senior enough to understand the mechanics of politics. Vice President Breen wanted control of the operation. He was making a power play. Peoples had no problem with that, as long as it didn’t require him to break any protocols. He knew he would yield to the vice president, but he still had an hour to call him back.
Upon hearing the news that McGrath’s condition had worsened, the vice president had ordered Peoples to call paramedics. Just now, the flash intel traffic indicated the CDC (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention), working with USAMRIID (United States Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases), verified the complete quarantine by National Guard personnel of the hospital in south-central New Mexico, where the president and her daughter were being treated. The town of Las Cruces had been isolated as well.
The next intel flash announced a similar quarantine order was instituted at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland, after the entire flight crew of Marine One had been stricken by bouts of nausea. Yet another quarantine order had been issued for Holloman Air Force Base near Las Cruces, where Air Force One was now parked. Several members of both flight crews had been hospitalized with seizures, and two had died within the hour as a result of what was being reported as a complete neurological collapse. In addition, an outbreak was being reported at a combat helicopter squadron on the army base in El Paso.
Even as Peoples read the reports, mentally preparing a quick summary for Agent Palmer, a chime echoed from his workstation and he pulled up the notification window. Two paramedics were at the front door with a gurney. He used his wireless mouse to approve access for the medics. The notification window showed the ceiling-mounted security camera view inside the front door and Peoples watched the TER guard open the door, then returned his attention to the report on the quarantines. He was just about to turn and toss his first question to Monroe when he heard the analyst gasp. He heard the familiar popping sound of a Taser gun being activated.
Peoples knew instantly the TER op station had been breached. The paramedics were not who they appeared to be, and he had let them in. Instinct and training took over immediately as he pivoted back toward his management station and reached for the emergency alert button wired into everyone’s desk. The alarm would sound back at the TER agency headquarters, and within minutes, a SWAT team would arrive to determine the extent of the incursion and, if necessary, use deadly force to retake the facility. More important, all computer and communication assets of the station would immediately be purged. That action would prevent the compromise of comm circuits and classified information by the invading force.
It took Peoples barely half a second to reach the button, but an instant before his plunging palm made contact, he felt an unbearable pain rip through his body. He crashed into the workstation, missing the button, and his body hit the floor. The fiery pain receded, but he was still aware of the spasms continuing to ripple through him as a result of his electrified nerves.
He heard the clap of a suppressed gunshot and knew his analyst was dead. He saw a pair of boots appear near his head. One of the boots shoved roughly at his shoulder, pushing him from his side onto his back. He looked up at the paramedic imposter, then focused on the gun the man held. It was pointed at his face.
The man said, “Your boy Marcus says hello.”
Agent Stephen Peoples focused on the black orifice of the weapon pointed at his head and actually saw the flash of white light that marked the end of his life.
Chapter 18
1742 hours EST Friday
Undisclosed TER Op Station, Virginia
The paramedic imposter spoke to the empty room. “Rainman, this is Spoke. The TER op station assigned to the Melissa Mallory event is secure.”
“Sterilize the station. With Johnson dead we no longer need that asset.”
Spoke sat at Agent Peoples’s management console and previewed the activity log as Rainman gave instructions. He worked the keyboard and mouse with latex gloved hands.
“Hmmm,” Agent Spoke said. “Now this is interesting.”
“Yes?”
“Sir, I’m looking through the last hour of log entries, and it appears Johnson is not dead.”
“We were told his plane crashed. Drake’s in-country Unit personnel reviewed the radar track. The plane went down.”
“The plane may have gone below radar coverage, but it did not crash. He and a small party just left the Reyes compound. They’re heading for Vicente Orizaga’s homestead.”
There was a long silence.
“Bastard is crafty, I’ll give him that.” Rainman paused. “Very well. Sever the satellite comm circuits into and out of central Mexico. But keep the secondary channel to Albuquerque open. I want you to keep Mr. Garcia on a tight leash. He may be able to provide us with intel on Johnson’s movements before we eliminate him later this evening.”
The second paramedic imposter entered the living room that served as the operations center of the safe house. That man had just returned from the back of the hous
e and his assignment to kill the other guard.
Rainman’s voice continued. “Attempt to back-trace Garcia’s location. Unit personnel in Albuquerque are standing by for his coordinates.”
“Understood.”
“When you have Garcia’s location, evacuate McGrath’s operations center and burn the house.”
“What about Aaron McGrath?”
“What’s his condition?”
Spoke skimmed a few entries on the monitor. “Still unconscious, according to the log.”
“He is likely in a coma from which he will not recover, but I don’t want to take the chance that he might regain consciousness, even temporarily. Have you touched him or anyone else?”
“Negative. Your orders were quite clear.”
There was a long pause on the channel and Spoke waited patiently.
Rainman said, “Fine. Leave McGrath in the house when you burn it.”
“There’s something else, sir.”
Rainman waited, then said, “Well, don’t make me beg.”
“Yes, sir. I was doing a keyword search of the logs and audio recordings.” He didn’t know any way to sugarcoat what he’d found, so he just said it. “You’re not going to like this, but several keywords regarding the chief of staff have had recent activity. It looks like Agent Peoples was coordinating with the TER main office at Bolling Air Force Base to log the current locations of all senior government personnel. No doubt, they’re looking for other officials with whereabouts unknown.”
“I will be on that list, along with my primary supporters. By moving everyone to the bunker, I may have moved too soon on that front.”
“Johnson also posited the theory that Melissa’s kidnapping was planned as a method to infect the president and assassinate her.”
“Fuck!”
There was a loud noise in the background and Spoke envisioned Rainman pounding a fist on a table. Rainman took a deep breath and cursed again. Spoke could never remember his handler losing his composure like that.
“Who the hell is this guy? Are we sure Carl Johnson was only a civilian? Could he possibly have been a deep-cover operator or military intelligence?”
Spoke shook his head, though he knew Rainman couldn’t see the gesture.
“Everything we know about him, everything the TER and the CIA knows, says he’s just a real estate broker. He’s a former Air Force officer and engineer. No combat training, no command experience, no covert operations.” Spoke paused. “He’s just crazy lucky, sir.”
“Lucky? He killed or injured thirty highly trained federal officers and field agents last week with only a couple mercenaries. He found someone to hack into the secure FBI system, and he stole and laundered five hundred million dollars into untraceable offshore accounts. Where the hell is he finding this kind of talent? How does a civilian even know what kind of talent to look for?”
Spoke remained silent.
“Hell, he single-handedly almost blew our entire operation by going down there to rescue the girl. He killed Reyes and made a deal with our man, El Patron, then convinced Aaron McGrath to order a decorated Air Force combat pilot to fire a missile across the border and kill our guy. Ten months of planning almost went up in smoke because of one man. One lousy fucking civilian.”
August Spoke said, “Actually, sir, Alfonso Reyes was not killed. My keyword search on his name shows that he was delivered by Johnson’s mercs to the in-country CIA station chief, who transported him last night to the TER facility in Virginia for interrogation.”
Rainman was silent for so long Spoke thought he had disconnected the channel. Finally, the man gave his instructions.
“August,” he said quietly. “This. Man. Must. Die. He is your top priority now. I don’t care how you do it or how much collateral damage is required. Carl Johnson is dangerous. Find him and kill him!”
“Understood.”
The comm channel beeped its disconnection tone and Spoke sat motionless at the terminal for a moment, then continued reviewing TER reports and files. When he finished, he knew exactly how and why Johnson had become so successful as the American Terrorist. The man created his own rules of war. He was unpredictable and hadn’t yet been successfully profiled by the best law enforcement people in the country.
So how do you kill a man who has nothing left to live for and doesn’t care if he lives or dies?
Chapter 19
1542 hours MST Friday
Hermosillo, Northern Mexico
“What the hell just happened?” Carl said.
All contact had instantly been lost with the TER op station, with Mr. Garcia in Albuquerque, and with the mercs at the Reyes mansion.
Palmer said, “I don’t know, but this is not good.”
Carl had spoken quietly in his surprise over the sudden disconnection. Still getting used to not having to shout like everyone did in helicopters in the movies, he was surprised again by the fact that she heard him. But, like everything else Reyes had owned, the Mercedes aircraft was top of the line. Eight million dollars’ worth of comfort in a helicopter included a nearly silent and very plush interior. The seat cushions were memory foam and covered in supple, beige leather. There were four rows of seats behind the pilot, two abreast. There was an empty row directly behind Carl and Palmer, and three of the new mercs occupied the last two rows while Merc Three sat in the co-pilot seat at the front right.
Merc Three turned in the co-pilot seat and said, “You got that right. You gave us a broke-ass satellite!”
Palmer shook her head. “Satellites don’t break. One of the reasons they’re so expensive is because they’re exhaustively tested and built from the highest quality components available. The government doesn’t go with the lowest bidder on these. They do it right. Even if our channel did fail, it would have been immediately switched to one of a dozen backup circuits. We wouldn’t even have lost a millisecond of comm.”
Carl said, “You’re implying someone repositioned the satellite or just turned off our channel?”
Merc Three said, “Who would do that?”
Palmer said, “A better question is who could do that. Very few people have the authority to preempt a TER operation or retask a classified satellite. That kind of authority comes from way up.”
Carl narrowed his eyes. “How high up?”
Palmer hesitated. “Higher than Aaron McGrath, and he answers directly to the president.”
“Well, shit,” Merc Three muttered. “Are you telling me we’re getting butt-fucked by the president after saving her girl?”
Carl shook his head. “Shirley Mallory is in a coma.”
Three said, “At least, that’s what they’re telling us.”
Carl added, “What about the chief of staff? He’s either missing or in hiding. Does he have that kind of authority?”
Three said, “I’m not really up to date on political hierarchy. How high up is the chief of staff?”
Carl said, “Right up next to the president. Literally.”
“Higher than the vice president!?”
“Negative,” Palmer said. “If something happens to the president, the vice president becomes president and the chief of staff becomes the new president’s chief, unless he is replaced. Basically, the chief of staff is the manager of the White House staff and is the president’s executive assistant. There are some that describe the typical chief of staff as being the co-president, or the gatekeeper to the president, because of the control and influence that person has.
“The chief of staff controls not only the president’s schedule, but also who is allowed to see the president. Some of the chiefs of staff of past administrations have even met with senior administration officials for the president. From the intelligence chiefs, to the heads of the military departments, to other lesser departments. From that perspective, the chief of staff has enormous influence.
“Martine Scallow’s influence is in the upper-middle range of that power regime. Certainly, all director-level department heads have to g
o through Scallow to see President Mallory, but he rarely meets with senior political officials in her place. Although, he has probably held some of her meetings during this crisis with her daughter.”
Carl digested her information. “It sounds like you’re saying Scallow is a very powerful person with a lot of influence, but maybe not with the authority to command the kinds of activities we’ve seen arrayed against us.”
Palmer nodded.
Three said, “Well, maybe he’s using his powerful influence to command people who do have authority to do these things.”
Palmer nodded again. “That means he could be the information leak behind Melissa’s kidnapping, or someone he controls could be.”
Carl nodded. “And he disappeared, either right before or right after his intern called Agent Peoples.”
Merc Three said, “Well, who’s in charge up there now? The VP? Can we warn him somehow? Maybe he’s next on Scallow’s hit list.”
“We’re just guessing about things and people that we really don’t know anything about,” Carl said. “Maybe whoever this is thought we’d interpret it as a signal to abandon the mission.” He looked at Agent Palmer and she shook her head.
“A mission cancellation would come through TER channels,” she said.
Carl said, “That means the satellite comms were shut down intentionally, by someone outside the Terror Event Response agency.”
Palmer said, “Or by a new authority in control of the TER.”
Merc Three said, “If they wanted to terminate the mission, all they had to do was give the order to Miss Government Agent here. She’d terminate the mission, and us.”
Carl glanced at Agent Palmer and she gave him a down-up head nod. He could see in her eyes she’d do it, too.
She wouldn’t like it. He saw that in her eyes too. But she’d follow orders. And she wouldn’t hesitate. With her, the mission always came first. Whatever the mission happened to be. No matter what the mission morphed into.
American Terrorist Trilogy Page 43
