by Ponzo, Gary
The staff that crammed into the Oval Office clamored with outrage at the accusation. Merrick held a hand up to quiet the chatter.
“Do you see what monsters these people are?” the Turkish Ambassador declared.
Merrick took a moment to glare at the Ambassador. Without a word spoken, Ciller sank back in his chair.
Merrick returned his attention to the TV. Police sirens screamed while SWAT team, military, and local authorities cornered the man. His head swiveled from side to side, taking in the sheer number of law enforcement that he was up against. He dragged Isabel backward with the knife snug under her chin.
“Get him,” Merrick murmured.
As if the man could hear the President’s words, he took his knife and slashed it ruthlessly across Isabel’s throat, twisting her head to the left as he tore the knife to the right. The screen showed the disgusting image of a wide-open neck and blood gushing from the gash. Isabel dropped to the ground.
The screams inside the Oval Office drowned out the audio, but Merrick clearly heard the shots fired. The man’s exposed body jerked spastically from all of the incoming shots he’d received. At first he fell to his knees, but the barrage of bullets relentlessly sustained their assault on the man’s limp frame until he collapsed face down onto the asphalt.
An officer approached the corpse with his weapon pointed at the back of the man’s head. He bent over the man and blasted two more rounds from close range. A soldier in camouflage grabbed the officer around the waist and pulled him away from the dead man.
A rush of police and soldiers surrounded the bodies and shooed the cameraman away from the scene. As the camera retreated, an ambulance skidded to a stop next to the crowd of uniforms. From off-camera, a newscaster began a running commentary on the tragedy that America had just witnessed live on CNN.
Merrick’s hand closed into a fist. “Shut it off,” he ordered.
Himes clicked the remote. The crowded room fell into a vacuum of silence.
Merrick knew he needed to react quickly. He examined his staff thoughtfully. “Fredrick, schedule a 6 PM press conference.”
The Press Secretary looked at his watch. “Sir, that’s only forty minutes from now.”
The President looked up with weary eyes, dark circles like the rings inside of an old tree. “I know what time it is, Fred.”
“Should I announce the subject matter?”
Merrick shook his head. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
National Security Advisor Bob Rankin spoke up, “Mr. President, I recommend a cooling off period. I suggest you take a few hours to consider your thoughts. Under the circumstances, I’d hate to see you do or say anything rash.”
Merrick leaned over his desk. He knew what Rankin was afraid of. He’d recognized the anger brewing in his gut and it was hard to ignore its affect. He took a deep breath and said, “I appreciate your concern, Bob. You don’t have to worry about my temper.” He pointed to his secretary, “Hanna, find Marty. We’ve got a statement to compose.”
His staff lingered, waiting for direction. Merrick grimaced, “Folks,” he said, as serenely as possible, “I need some time alone here, please.”
The room emptied, but as Secretary of State Fisk reached the doorway, Merrick called, “Sam.”
Fisk stopped and allowed the remaining staffers to exit. Merrick motioned for him to close the door, and he did. He stood in front of Merrick’s desk with raised eyebrows.
President Merrick came to his feet and leaned over his desk, palms flat on the polished wood, every muscle in his face straining to maintain control. His voice was low and powerful. “All right, Sam, I want these guys eradicated. I don’t care how. I’m willing to sacrifice my eternal soul for this. Just make it happen.”
Fisk stood across from the President, studying Merrick’s face as if to determine his state of mind. Finally, after an uncomfortable moment of consideration, Fisk’s expression appeared to show satisfaction with his inquiry. He gave one nod and said, “Done.”
* * *
Julie Bracco tenderly wiped her husband’s forehead with a damp washcloth. He’d bumped his head when he hit the floor in the KSF safe house and it was throbbing. She was doting over him as always, picking away loose strands of hair from his face.
Nick had made it home in time for Julie to prepare dinner for him and Matt. Even though he appreciated her reticence, her silence concerned Nick. He didn’t want their conversations to grow so economical that it affected their marriage. Sure he needed to keep most of his work confidential, but at what cost?
They were both sitting on the couch now, while Matt leaned back in the recliner and drank a beer.
“I’ve gotta get me one of these things,” Matt said, playing with the handle that lifted the footrest.
“How can you be so glib after what just happened?” Julie asked. Her anger finally surfaced. Nick realized he’d done the right thing by bringing Matt home with him. Matt was the antidote to fear and trepidation. It was as if he’d become so acquainted with death that he could sit in its lap and ask it to tell him bedtime stories.
“We’re fine,” Matt shrugged. “I’ve had scarier moments on a first date.”
Nick was grateful for Matt’s euphemisms. Something he couldn’t imagine grappling with in his current state of mind.
“You’re not going to give me any details are you?” she asked. “Just that you were involved with a shooting.”
Nick took a moment to touch her face, unabated by Matt’s presence. “It was scary, Jule. It was very scary. But no one fired a shot in my direction. I promise.”
Nick could feel his left eye twitch with the word promise. He placed his finger across her lips, and she took the tip of it into her mouth and kissed it gently.
Matt conspicuously turned his attention to the muted television. He turned up the volume and said, “It looks like the President is finally about to speak.”
President Merrick stood behind a podium fronted with the Presidential Seal. He wore a dark blue suit and his makeup was so thick that even the bright television lights couldn’t penetrate its shell. Instead of shadowy eyes, he appeared whitewashed. His expression was somber as he stood hunched over the podium as if he needed the platform to remain upright.
“Good evening.” President Merrick began. “A short while ago, an innocent young woman was killed by a Kurdish terrorist. Any time terrorists murder an American citizen, I mourn their passing. In this case,” he paused for a breath, “I knew the woman personally.”
He stopped and sipped water from a crystal glass. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. It was apparent that he was attempting to compose himself before speaking further. He studied the glass as if it contained plutonium. After what seemed like hours, he replaced the glass and continued. “The Kurds are a very misunderstood and oppressed people. The average Kurd is a peace-loving and considerate citizen. Unfortunately, a minority belong to the KSF, a bunch of thugs who will stop at nothing to get their way. They are willing to kill women and children in cold blood as witnessed earlier today.
“So far the authorities have apprehended over thirty KSF terrorists and the overnight bombings have been thwarted in all but twenty-two states. This does not mean we are satisfied with the results, it simply means that we are gaining control of the situation.”
Merrick took another deep breath, then leaned over the podium, his hands clenching the sides of the wooden structure in a vice-like grip. He stared straight into the camera, “Folks, there has never been a time in U.S. history when a terrorist group has forced us to relinquish our freedom as a nation and we will not do so now. The young men and woman of our military were sent to Turkey because of the brutalities acted out by the KSF. They are there to protect the innocent citizens of Turkey and they will remain there until the KSF is dismantled. And be assured, they will be dismantled. Every last one of them will be brought to justice, including their ringleader, Kemel Kharrazi. Never before has a President guaranteed
the capture of a criminal. But today I am here to tell you that Kemel Kharrazi will be apprehended, and it will happen very soon.”
Nick and Matt looked at each other. If anyone knew how close Kharrazi was to being apprehended, it was them. The President was writing checks he couldn’t cash. This didn’t prevent Matt from grinning widely.
“I love that guy,” Matt beamed.
Julie examined her husband’s face. “Is that true?” she asked. “Are you close to getting Kharrazi?”
Nick winced. “Well,” he began. Then his eyes met hers and he saw the hope that lingered there.
Julie pointed a finger at him. “You remember your promise?”
“What promise?” Matt asked, watching the president leave the podium.
“Nick is going to quit being a field agent after the KSF is through terrorizing the country,” Julie said.
“Really?”
“Really,” Nick answered firmly.
“You mean I’m going to have to find a new partner?” Matt asked.
“It looks that way,” Nick said.
Matt crushed his empty beer can and frowned. “I’m not so sure I want to stick around without you.”
“What are you talking about?” Nick scoffed. “You love your job. You couldn’t do anything more gratifying.”
“That’s true, but the reason I love it so much is because we work so well together. I don’t want to have to go through that whole breaking in process again. I could find investigative work in the private sector and probably double my salary.”
“See?” Julie said. “Everybody wins.”
Nick decided to change the subject. “How’s Tommy?”
“When I left the hospital this afternoon, the doctors felt like he was out of the woods,” she said.
“Good.” Nick checked his watch. “We’d better get going.”
“Now where?” Julie said.
“We have a meeting downtown.”
“At the office?”
Nick glanced at Matt. “Not exactly.”
Julie tossed the washcloth playfully at her husband. “I swear Nick Bracco, living with you is like living with a—”
“A spy?” Nick finished for her.
“That’s right, a spy. I can’t wait until you get a regular job and come home and tell me every boring detail about your day.”
Matt went over and gave Julie a peck on the forehead. “Thanks for the chow, Jule.”
She smiled at Matt. “All I ask is that you take care of him. He hasn’t far to go.”
“Don’t worry,” Matt said heading for the door, “I can see his pot belly growing already.”
Chapter 19
Huseyn Yildiri was surrounded by thirty of the KSF’s most powerful soldiers. They stood around him sharpening their knives and cleaning the barrels of their rifles. A conference table was wedged into the corner of the room where a computer and three small televisions continuously displayed news and information. He was the only one seated at the folding table in the middle of the room. He sipped his cup of water with shaky hands while they all waited for Kemel Kharrazi to speak.
Kharrazi paced opposite the table with his hands behind his back. His face screwed up into a tight, pained expression.
Huseyn prayed for Kharrazi to say something, but his leader simply stalked the cellar where they assembled and listened to Huseyn explain his ordeal. Huseyn didn’t dare delve too deeply into the explanation of his exit from their safe house. It was one thing to run from bullets, yet another to leave a fellow KSF soldier behind, dead. He tried to paint his escape as necessary. “I knew that you must learn of this situation. That is why I came here immediately, Sarock.”
Huseyn wiped his brow and studied the smooth, cement floor. He thought about the look the FBI agent had given him. The man was walking to his death when he glanced over his shoulder and gave Huseyn a deliberate warning. It was as if the agent knew something and he was trying to caution Huseyn. He was trying to get Huseyn to run off. It had worked.
Kharrazi stopped in front of Huseyn and crouched down, so he was looking up at the man. He spoke to the young soldier as if he were speaking to one of his children, soft and calm. “He told you that his partner was in the refrigerator and somehow you were surprised when he turned up there?”
Huseyn’s body was shuddering so powerfully that he simply willed his torso to remain still and allowed his head to bobble itself into a nod. “Yes, Sarock. The door blinded me from viewing the inside of the machine, but I barely escaped when the shots were fired.”
Kharrazi looked skeptical as he stood and made another pass by the table. “So then, Mr. Bracco is still alive?”
Huseyn remained paralyzed with fear. He could think of nothing to say.
A roomful of muttering soldiers echoed off of the bare concrete walls. Kharrazi shook his head like a disappointed principal and knelt next to Huseyn. His fingers caressed the young boy’s face and sent icy streaks of panic down Huseyn’s neck. He knew that Kharrazi had the quickness of a leopard with hands capable of tearing his face apart before he could flinch.
“Tell me something,” Kharrazi whispered. The room became still. At first Huseyn thought that fear had caused him to become deaf. He couldn’t hear anything but Kharrazi’s voice. He suddenly realized that even the televisions had been turned down so that every soldier could eavesdrop on the proceedings. “How many rounds did you fire at the agents?”
Huseyn wasn’t prepared for such a refined interrogation. He hadn’t thought through all of the details. How many shots? Why did he want to know? Wasn’t it enough that he was shot at?
“Uh, I think two,” Huseyn hesitated. “It happened so fast, I can’t remember exactly.”
Kharrazi held out his hand. “May I have your gun?”
Crazy thoughts ran through Huseyn’s mind. He couldn’t possibly shoot his way out of the cellar. He considered turning the gun on himself. It would be quick and ease his tension. But a glimmer of hope lingered in his mind. The way Kharrazi was touching him, gently, and speaking so softly. Maybe the leader had pity for his soldier?
Huseyn removed the gun from his belt strap and with trembling fingers, he handed Kharrazi the fully loaded weapon.
Kharrazi didn’t examine the gun. He looked straight into Huseyn’s eyes and seemed to be measuring his reaction while his hands roamed over the exterior of the weapon, searching for any evidence of a recent firing.
A voice from behind them urgently said, “Sarock, the American President is speaking on television.”
Kharrazi didn’t turn right away. He lightly patted Huseyn’s cheek. A momentary reprieve.
The KSF soldiers fell in around their leader and watched as President Merrick announced the imminent capture of Kemel Kharrazi. The raucous crowd of soldiers hollered their disapproval at the TV screen, but Kharrazi gestured for them to stop. He listened as the president made false promises to the American people. When the president left the podium, Kharrazi switched off the TV and turned to address his followers.
“This is exactly what I had hoped for,” he said. His words stunned the group.
Nihad Tansu elbowed his way to the front and said, “Sarock, they must know something. Maybe we should change our location.”
Kharrazi stared out over the heads of his soldiers, deep in thought. “No, that is what he wants. He’s desperate. He is trying to force us into a mistake.”
“What about the White House?” Tansu asked. “Are we still going to follow the original plan?”
Kharrazi nodded slowly. “Yes, tomorrow night, as planned.”
He pointed to a short, bearded soldier to his right, “Jihite, send a fax to the President. Tell them about the bombing of the White House tomorrow night. Also send the same information to the Washington Post, the same reporter as last time. He will have credibility.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Tell them about our plan ahead of time? Is that wise, Sarock?”
Kharrazi seemed amused at his own idea, as if struck by h
ow brilliant it was. “Yes, it’s perfect. It will force the President to remain in the White House. If he leaves now, he will appear as a coward. Besides, it’s too late. They can’t stop the bombing. Especially with our detonator in a bunker three thousand miles away. It’s the perfect plan.”
Nihad Tansu stepped forward, directly into Kharrazi’s path. Kharrazi had to look up at the much taller man. “Yes, Nihad?”
Tansu stood firm, his muscular frame seemed anxious to flex its muscles. “Sarock, allow me to take the White House.”
Kharrazi regarded his soldier with a partial smile. He placed a hand on Tansu’s shoulder, “You make me proud, Nihad. However, I have another chore for you. A more important chore.”
“Sarock, what could be more important?”
Kharrazi folded his arms.
Tansu’s face fell.
“Good,” Kharrazi grinned. “Would you like to know what I have for you?”
Tansu nodded.
“You must kill the wife of this FBI agent. She is very important to him. I want him to lose something as important as our independence is to us. I want him to feel our pain as no one else could.”
Huseyn observed the conversation with eager eyes. He was grateful for the distraction and wondered if his mishap might be forgotten altogether. He watched as the KSF soldiers listened intently to their leader. It was apparent that Kharrazi’s objectives seemed to have become much more personal. He wondered if Kharrazi was simply losing perspective of their overall goals, or just blind with revenge. Either way Huseyn was going to stay quiet and pray for the continued lapse of attention.
Kharrazi met Tansu’s eyes. “This is no trivial task, I assure you. If you succeed, this will take one of the FBI’s finest brains out of commission. Bracco will never be the same man. Once again, one of our small targets will become a significant factor to our success.”
Kharrazi regarded his soldier with an air of wariness. “You will not fail me, will you, Nihad?”
