Uncivil liberties pc-2

by Gordon Ryan

  “Probably not active duty military forces. I don’t know the details, but my source seems to feel that some of your federal agencies are in danger of internal attack, most likely from the western militia units. It’s all tied into this growing secession mania out west. And they did attack federal agencies last year in California, didn’t they? He says the militia is also going to start cracking down on illegal aliens, not only Mexicans, but those who they think are of Middle Eastern origin. They feel the growing public support for the secession of western states gives them legitimacy. If they kill a few hundred Mexicans, it will make border crossings a bit more risky.”

  Pug thought about that for a moment, accepting the possibility. “You’re confident of your sources in this, Kevin?”

  Donahue shook his head. “No, it’s a secret world we deal in, lad, and information is always suspect. I’ve just admitted the fallacy of my prior information, but my source this time — an Irishman well-placed inside Washington, I might add-had no reason to exaggerate or mislead. He’s been accurate in the past. That’s the first story I’ve got for you this morning, my friend. Proving it’s up to you. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d misled you or put you on the wrong track. Wolff seems to have been a pawn to point in the wrong direction. They probably thought you’d kill him rather than take him prisoner. They wanted it to have the look of foreign origin. Al Qaida is your enemy and they probably are behind much of the turmoil, but someone else, someone here, in America, has taken it to new heights. Unless I read it wrong, Strategic Initiatives has simply tapped in to some of the netherworld of terrorist groups and used them to achieve their objectives, and SI’s objectives. Until I received this information, I had no reason to suspect that someone in America was working both sides of the street, so to speak.”

  “Nor did I,” Pug replied. “You said that was the first story you had for me?” he added, standing up.

  “The second story is shorter. I don’t know much. In fact, I know nothing of the details, but,” Donahue hesitated, again knocking his pipe on the heel of his shoe before standing up to face Pug. “Word is that someone from America has procured a nuclear device. A small, portable nuclear device, according to my source.”

  “ Has procured, or will procure?”

  “Sorry, lad, has already procured,” Donahue repeated.

  “Is it in America yet?” Pug asked.

  Donahue shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Thank you, Kevin. It’s certainly not good news, but thank you.”

  “When this is all over, General, if it’s ever over, come home and see the old sod the proper way. No business, no intrigue. I’ll personally take you down the Ring of Kerry, we’ll play a few rounds of golf, and you can see what your ancestors left when they ran away toward the American dream. God’s blessings on ya, lad. And sorry for the bad news. It seems that double dealing was not limited to Wolff. You’re damn lucky that Wolff is behind bars. You’ve got some ferrets under your own umbrella, it would seem. Given the furor over this new legislation, and what my inside source intimated, the links may go deeper than the security firm, even into the venerable halls of Congress or even the president’s cabinet. It would seem that all Americans are not… well, American.”

  Donahue watched the younger man for a few moments, then smiled broadly and his voice grew lighter. “You remember how things turned out between our two Irish compatriots, Michael Collins and Eamon de Valera. Politicians switching sides or looking out for number one is nothing new. Never assume the enemy is over the other side of the barbed wire. He might be on your side of the barricade. Oh, and give my regards to your young associate, Carlos. If he’s listening,” he nodded toward the white van parked in the restricted zone about a hundred yards distant, “top ‘o the morning to you, Carlos.” Donahue grinned and gave a gentle wave.

  Pug reached to shake Donahue’s hand. “Thank you, Kevin. I owe you another one. A big one, it would seem. Safe trip home.”

  Chapter 35

  Eisenhower Executive Office Building

  Trojan Headquarters

  July

  Pug reached to turn off the tape and the men in the room sat silent as they contemplated the information that had been provided in the audio and written transcript. Around the table were Pug Connor, Carlos Castro, George Granata, Director of the FBI, Paul Duffield, Deputy Director of the CIA, and President William Snow. The president spoke first.

  “When was this meeting, Pug?” the president asked.

  Pug glanced at his watch. “Seven hours ago, Mr. President.”

  “George, have you or Paul uncovered any corroborative evidence to support this information?”

  “No, sir,” Granata responded, “but we can’t afford to ignore it.”

  “Granted,” the president nodded. “I want this given top priority, gentlemen. Pug, how confident are you about Strategic Initiative’s connection to the domestic attacks?”

  “Mr. President, it’s all speculation at this point, but we can draw some valid assumptions. If only three cities were selected for the Domestic Tranquility pilot program, it seems coincidental that one of the ground attacks took place in one of those cities, San Antonio, and was thwarted, with no survivors among the terrorists. However, that’s pretty thin evidence to confirm their involvement. Mr. Castro has put two Trojan operatives on it and they’re checking with former military associates who now work for SI, supervising some of the troopers they have in the field. No information yet.”

  “Do we have any reason to believe, I mean any reason, that the transfer of a nuclear weapon into the U.S. has occurred?” the president pressed.

  The CIA director responded. “We’ve not had any intelligence to that effect, but again, we can’t afford not to take it seriously, Mr. President.”

  ‘Agreed. Take every measure you have to assure we cover every entry point. I know the difficulty. Thousands of containers arriving every day, tens of thousands of trucks on the road across the nation. Just find it, gentlemen. If it’s here, find it.”

  “It may take care of itself, Mr. President,” Pug said.

  The group went silent. Then the president nodded his understanding. “If SI is involved, they may find it like they uncovered the San Antonio attack to prove how well their program is working?”

  “Yes, sir. But I agree with Mr. Duffield-we can’t afford to make any mistakes.”

  “That will do it, gentlemen. I need to stay with Pug for a few moments.”

  The other department heads left the room and the president took his seat again at the head of the EEOB conference table.

  “Pug, I’ve had a heads up from DOJ about some court-ordered action that will transpire tomorrow. As you predicted, without any hard evidence of terrorist involvement, Jean Wolff is going to be released on Monday morning in Illinois.”

  “I thought that might happen. I’ll handle it, Mr. President.”

  “Do you need any further authorization?”

  “No, sir. The Troy designation you gave for the initial capture covered all contingencies. We just need to be a bit more careful here in America.”

  “Do you think he’ll leave the country immediately?”

  Pug hesitated for a moment before answering. “No, sir. If he knows he was betrayed by Strategic Initiatives, he’ll be looking for payback. He’s not a foolish man, but he just might feel obligated to take revenge.”

  “That’s in our favor, right?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. President. It’s always helpful if two of our enemies decide to kill each other, but it’s rare. I’ll discuss it with Mr. Castro and my staff. But rest assured, sir, we’ll watch it closely.”

  Chapter 36

  United States District Court

  Northern District of Illinois

  Western Division

  Rockford, Illinois

  July

  United States attorney Gail Masterton slid several manila folders into her briefcase, rose from her table in front of the judicial bench, and s
tepped through the waist-high swinging gate, departing the court room. Judge Marshall Alfred had just ordered the release of a federal prisoner, Jean Minards, AKA Jean Wolff, from his detention at Thomson Federal Correctional Facility, Thomson, Illinois.

  The hearing, held in the United States Courthouse on South Court Street in Rockford, had lasted less than twenty minutes. Despite the federal government’s case for retention of a man whom Ms. Masterton claimed was a direct threat to the United States of America, Judge Alfred rejected all arguments, citing lack of substantial evidence and accusing the government of having detained Mr. Minards illegally. Ms. Masterton was grateful the judge had declined to address the method of Wolff’s capture.

  Less than five minutes following the judge’s ruling, Wolff, dressed in a solid black suit, white shirt and red tie, had departed the courthouse, entered a black limousine, Illinois license plate VIP 6, and immediately disappeared.

  Almost disappeared.

  On the east side of the courthouse, Carlos Castro sat in the passenger seat of a black Suburban with Lieutenant Holcomb behind the wheel. Two other Trojan vehicles of different make and color, call sign Baker 2 and Baker 3, enveloped the courthouse, parked against the curb, one of them double-parked. As the limo pulled away from the front steps of the building, Castro’s vehicle fell in behind, radioing instructions to the two other pursuit vehicles who moved to parallel streets to enable switching of their chase vehicle as the limo proceeded.

  Six blocks west, VIP 6 pulled into a large parking facility, driving up the ramp to the fourth level. Only one switch had been made in the prior six blocks, placing Baker 3 in close pursuit while Baker 1 fell two blocks behind. Baker 3 entered the garage slightly behind the limo.

  At the next-to-top level, a parking attendant stood beside several orange cones, blocking further entrance. As VIP 6 approached, he removed two cones and the car swiftly entered the circular ramp, heading to the top level. The attendant waved off Baker 3, placing a No Entry sign in front of the up-ramp. Baker 3 immediately turned left, stopping in front of the stairwell where Lieutenant JG Gomez, a Navy Seal, exited the passenger side and raced up the stairs. As he arrived and opened the door leading out onto the uncovered parking area, he spotted seven limos parked side by side. VIP 6 pulled into an empty space, second from the end.

  Immediately a medium-height male in a plain dark suit, white shirt, and red tie exited each vehicle. They all wore a black balaclava over their heads, and in an orchestrated move, they clustered together, then swiftly jostled between vehicles, one man entering a separate limo, which then departed the top floor, entering the down ramp and heading for the street. Gomez noted that the license plates each read a non-sequential pattern consisting of VIP 3, 5, 6, 9, 12, 13, and 15. All of the vehicles were black with heavily tinted windows.

  Lieutenant Gomez raced back down one flight of stairs to Baker 3, entering the vehicle and transmitting to Baker 1 and 2.

  “Subject vehicle is exiting the parking facility accompanied by six other limos of identical appearance. Target has switched vehicles with six other men, similarly dressed. Impossible to ascertain which vehicle contains target. Baker 3 will continue to shadow VIP 6.”

  Carlos listened to the message from his vantage point in Baker 1, across the street. He watched as all seven limousines exited the parking facility, turning alternately left and right into the flow of traffic. “Baker 2, follow VIP 3 east, Baker 1 will take VIP 13 west. It’s the luck of the draw, guys. Report destination as determined.” Baker 2 and 3 acknowledged Castro’s direction and began pursuit.

  In VIP 9 with his balaclava removed, Jean Wolff lost sight of the remaining VIP vehicles as his driver merged onto the highway, heading south on I-39. Six hours later, with several switchbacks and detours, including retracing about twenty miles north on I-39, VIP 9 crossed through Springfield, Illinois. In Springfield’s White Oaks Mall parking lot, Wolff changed vehicles to a dark gray Ford Taurus. As he entered the passenger side of the vehicle, the man behind the wheel nodded to him, started the engine, and immediately left the parking area.

  “Welcome back to the world, Mr. Wolff. We’ve got about four hours ahead, including a few detours, then your flight from St. Louis to Spokane. Devlin Hegarty is my name. I’m SI’s field operations director. Mr. Harford sends his regards and said to tell you he arranged for your release. You’ll find ample funds, passport, ID documents and plane tickets in the briefcase in the back seat. Additional funds have been placed in your usual account. Mr. Harford also said to tell you that Bright Point is fully operational. Anything else you think you might need, I’m here to help.”

  Wolff was silent for several moments, glancing in the back seat at the briefcase. “What’s the status on the package from Holland?”

  Hegarty nodded. “All taken care of. I saw to the shipment myself in Amsterdam. It should cross the border into eastern Washington state in about thirty-six hours.”

  “Any problems?”

  “None. As I said, Bright Point is still on track. The full details are in your briefcase. They’ll come in from Canada on a routine agricultural run, switch trucks at a rural farm north of Spokane, transfer the case, and then leave the new truck in a prearranged location. There’s a Montana militia guy named Campbell who will make the pickup and keep the truck under wraps until either you or I contact him. Then he’ll leave the truck where we tell him and SI troopers will just happen to find it. They’ll become instant heroes, and SI, the flavor of the month. Contact phone numbers and a cell phone, plus your ID call sign, are also in the briefcase. And Harford wants you to contact him ASAP.” Hegarty went silent for a moment, content to drive as dusk turned into night. He glanced at Wolff before speaking again.

  “Personally, Wolff, I don’t like this deal. Bringing a nuclear weapon onto American soil is too damn risky. I haven’t liked it since Harford put me on to it when you went missing, and I told him so. I’ve got plenty of other things to do to keep these rovers scouring the country, so I’d just as soon that you take Bright Point back under your control. I’ve got two men who will meet you at the Spokane airport when you arrive about midnight.”

  “Weapons?” Wolff asked.

  “They’ll have them for you in Spokane. There’s a pistol in the glove box in case we run into trouble, but you’re going to be boarding your flight shortly, so there are no weapons in your briefcase.”

  Wolff stared at Hegarty for a moment, took the pistol out of the glove box, checked the magazine and load, replaced it, and then leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes and going silent.

  Chapter 37

  Lambert-St. Louis International Airport

  St. Louis, Missouri

  July

  At eight A.M. the following morning, presenting a Virginia driver’s license identifying him as Clark Westinghouse, Wolff cleared security at Lambert-St. Louis International airport after arriving in the Marriott shuttle from downtown St. Louis. His luggage consisted of a single wheeled carry-on bag procured from a twenty-four hour Walmart, complete with essential toiletries and a few items of cheap clothing.

  The gray Taurus Devlin Hegarty had driven in Springfield was parked on a side street in East St. Louis, Illinois, just across the Mississippi River from the city, with both front tires flat to discourage instant theft. Devlin Hegarty remained with the Taurus, folded double into the trunk, his brain two ounces heavier.

  Wolff responded to the call for American flight 581, non-stop for Los Angeles, connecting to Aero Mexicana for Cabo San Lucas. Just before boarding, he sent a short text message to John Harford.

  Bright point on horizon

  When he stepped off the plane in Los Angeles, he received an equally terse answer.

  Meet PSC conference August to select horizon

  Departing the American Airlines terminal, Wolff discarded the cell phone in a communal trash bin, shedding himself of all electronic ties to Harford or SI.

  Eisenhower Executive Office Building

  Off
ice of Information amp; Public Relations

  Department of Homeland Security

  Washington, D.C.

  July

  Carlos Castro sat to the right of the end seat as the rest of the Trojan team filed into the room, taking seats around the long, rectangular table. It was the same table where the full team had met the night the roving band of shooters had started their terrorist attack and they had listened to the recorded message from World Jihad. It was three days since Jean Wolff had given them the slip in Illinois. The entire team had a dejected appearance.

  General Pug Connor entered the room and took his seat at the end of the table. “The president’s not a happy man. And neither am I.” Everyone remained silent. “Where did he go, Carlos?”

  “St. Louis, as best we can tell. We’ve tracked all eight limo drivers, interviewed them and showed them pictures. Two drivers ID’d Wolff, so one of them is mistaken. Or both of them are. One says he took his passenger to just outside Chicago. The other took his to Springfield, Illinois. They both transferred to another vehicle. It was the same story for all eight limos. Drive for six or eight hours, then change vehicles. But we’ve narrowed it down. The police found a body in the trunk of a Ford Taurus in East St. Louis, Missouri, yesterday morning. They caught two local kids trying to steal accessories off the car and found the body in the search. They identified his prints as belonging to a naturalized citizen, Devlin Hegarty.”

  “Hegarty?” Pug repeated.

  “One and the same,” Carlos replied. “SI’s field man and the head of the pilot program for Domestic Tranquility. Two bullets to the head. I’d say Wolff was beginning to cover his tracks.”

  “Or starting his revenge on Harford and SI.”

  “That too,” Carlos said. “No further trace. I’d speculate he took a flight from St. Louis. No leads so far. Maybe we should go have a talk with Harford.”