by Frank Perry
Peter’s cellphone. Hale was waiting at the bottom of the first-floor ramp. They shook hands, which would have been a hug in a more social environment. After selecting salads from the deli counter, she led the way to an outer table in some shade, away from everyone. The Atrium would have been crowded earlier, but it was late by military standards.
After seating she said, “Well, you’ve really got me intrigued with this clandestine meeting stuff. What gives?”
“Rachael, I don’t have a complete set of facts yet, but there’s some serious questions about our national security.” He took a mouthful of chicken Caesar salad.
“Tell me what you mean, Hale?”
“Okay, we’ve pieced together enough SIGINT to know there were several phone calls involving at least three individuals that could have alerted the terrorists in Boston that they were being tracked from the air. The diction was rushed, probably because whoever started the chain of calls learned of the mission after it was underway. Bam, Bam, Bam, phone calls were blasting together quickly for a few minutes, and then ended. We used the time-stamped video from the drones and watched the reaction of the truck.”
She exhaled, “So they were warned?”
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“Who made the first call? Who’s on the inside with this crap?”
“Honestly, Rachael, we don’t know yet. It could be anyone who knew what we were doing, when we were doing it -- except you and me of course.”
They finished their lunch and went back to work. Rachael thanked Hale and knew he was concerned for her. She had asked a question that could make someone very nervous. Maybe it already had.
Payoff
Majiid and his three remaining followers were watching the television awaiting news that a plane was shot down at Kennedy Airport. The doors and windows of the house were opened so they could hear the crash and watch the billowing smoke. If they were lucky, the crash would cause further damage on the ground. By seven thirty, they were concerned that nothing had happened yet. There were no calls indicating a problem, so there should have been breaking news. He was perplexed when his phone vibrated. Fearful of failure, he answered hurriedly. It was a brief call from his handler, telling him that he had information from a secret source that his men had been captured. He told Majiid to vacate the house immediately, and move to the second location, known only to Majiid and his leader. They hurried to collect their belongings and rendezvous at the shopping center as before. It took several minutes to leave the house with staggered departures. Minutes later, Steven Sayar received instructions for wiring the ransom to the King Cobra.
Managed by the Secretary of the Treasury, a billion dollars were transferred to the First Bank of Venezuela as instructed. Diplomatically, Venezuela never cooperated, but pressure about boycotting oil had been applied through the embassy hours earlier. The government had reluctantly agreed to cooperate if funds were channeled through their banks. The Secret Service advised the diplomatic corps that the funds would likely be separated into smaller “packets” to further complicate and frustrate their attempts to isolate the ending account. Both State and Treasury personnel had worked through the night to secure cooperation with as many countries as possible, sometimes using outrageous commitments or threats of retribution. By separating funds into smaller parcels, the chances of following one or more to the final account improved.
Known only to the NSA within the intelligence community, they were watching for any signs of intervention by U.S. personnel. There was growing concern by Hale Warner that the terrorist known as King Cobra was either a U.S. official or had the cooperation of someone in government. In the trail to Cobra, they might net a traitor, but contrary to popular belief, electronic bank transfers can be slow. Some international banks insist on “holding funds” for up to 48 working hours before transferring to another bank. This “float” allows the bank to accumulate interest on the funds, which would amount to almost $100,000 per day, depending on their rates. Weeks could pass before the money arrived at the final account.
Shortly after the process began, Steven Sayar sent a message to “King Cobra” notifying him of the transfer information and asking for the location of the missiles and terrorists as promised. The response was received quickly.
Dear Mr. Sayar,
Thank you for information regarding the money to my account. For my part, here is the answer. Now some men and the missiles are traveling to a new location farther from the New York City. It is a house in the city called East Moriches at address, 1407 Briana Ct. They will be there today awaiting my orders. You can capture them, but they are well armed and will fight to death.
Allah be praised,
King Cobra
Capture Team
At NSA, Hale Warner had a team of people and technology sorting through recorded phone discussions to create a clear picture of events in Boston. With hundreds of thousands of calls happening during the chase period, it would take several days of interpretation and story-boarding. Using super-computer technology and automated analysis in several languages, they were making good progress. Privately, he was worried that there might be some connection between Rachael’s request and the attempt on her life the night before. If so, he might nullify the threat by announcing across security channels that he was pursuing it, but this could compromise the ability to capture the individuals. He decided to keep his search secret within the Security Council for a few days.
At five o’clock in the afternoon, Peter returned to Rachael’s office. “Hi babe, ready to go home?
She was, but nervous. “Yeah, I guess I can’t hide here forever.” She would be dead today if Peter had not been in the house.
On the way home, the radio news was saturated with reports about the capture of a small group of terrorists with a missile near Kennedy Airport. Rachael turned it off. “Peter. The guys in my house...they weren’t professionals, were they?
“Not a chance, Rachael.”
“I just don’t get it. Why would someone hire street punks?”
He had been thinking about it all day. “I can think of a couple reasons. Whoever hired these guys isn’t a professional criminal, or someone just panicked and wanted you out of the way fast. Maybe both.”
“Hale thinks it’s probably someone in Government. When I asked a couple friends to check about warning the guys in Boston, he thinks is spooked someone.”
“Could be. I’ll keep my gun out for a while at night.”
“Should I go away?”
“I’d feel better if you stayed by me.”
“Yeah. Me too. I feel safe with you.”
He didn’t respond, thinking about how much she meant to him. He worried that he couldn’t be with her all the time. He said, “Look, what you’re saying makes sense. The men hired to attack you had specific directions. It wasn’t planned too far in advance because he didn’t know about me. I can’t protect you all the time. How would you feel about going away for a long vacation until this is solved?”
“Peter, I’m over being scared, now I’m mad. Not so mad that I can’t think straight, but mad enough to want to help find the creep. He’s helped kill all those airline passengers. I don’t want to go away. I want to fight!”
“I had a feeling you’d say that, but you need to be extra careful. You may still be in danger.”
“I don’t think so. At this point, others are investigating my supposition. There are lots of people looking for him now. Killing me accomplishes nothing.”
“Okay, but he could be vindictive. He may try again just because he’s mad at you for starting a witch hunt.”
“Fine, but I’m just going to try even harder to catch him.”
They had a better night than he had expected and slept for several hours. In the morning, he dropped her at the Pentagon, before driving to the National Guard Bureau in Arlington. Rachael was back in fighting form, dressed smart and focused on finding a traitor.
When Peter got to his cubical at the NGB buildin
g, there was a message telling him to see Major General White, NGB-J3, Deputy Chief of the National Guard for all domestic operations. This office handles every mission assigned to the ARNG for domestic aide and to help law enforcement. Peter reported down the hall.
There was a civilian whom he didn’t recognize inside the General’s office,. General White said, “Major Shields, meet Deputy Director Lutz of the FBI. Any moment now we’ll be joined by the National Security Advisor.” The General offered Peter a cup of coffee, which he accepted, black.
A few minutes later Steven Sayar joined them. Peter recognized the President’s Security Advisor from television coverage. Sayar said, “Thank you, General for organizing this meeting on short notice. I think you’ll all appreciate the urgency as I explain things.”
White said, “Let me introduce Director James Lutz, whom I think you know, and Major Peter Shields, our Special Operations Director (not an accurate title).”
Hands were shaken, and then Sayar got right to work. “Gentlemen, what I’m about to tell you has to do with the group calling itself the ‘Apostles of Islam’. They are responsible for the attacks on our civilian aircraft. We have been given the exact location of the remaining SAM missiles and the terrorists on Long Island, and we need to catch them quickly before they move again.”
“I called General White because we don’t have time to sort
