Spy Thriller: The Fourteenth Protocol: A Story of Espionage and Counter-terrorism (The Special Agent Jana Baker Book Series 1)

by Nathan Goodman

  “That’s all right. Transfer the data we have and keep working on it. They need those locations now.”

  Bill was on the phone again. “Stevie? Bill, the data is coming your way. We’ve isolated the last known IP address and physical location each terrorist used to access their e‑mail accounts. Most look to be Internet cafés, a few Starbucks, and a public library or two. You’ll want to pull surveillance footage from each location to ID your targets.”

  “That’s great work, Bill. Are you listening to this? We’ve got reports of seven different incidents that have already occurred. It’s hard to know that each is one of our bomb chuckers, but confidence is high. They’re in full swing.”

  “Steve, these locations are everywhere. From downtown Chicago to Hahira, Georgia. How are you going to . . .”

  “I’m ready. We’ve got every badge in the country suited up and ready for a raid, local and federal. I’m talking everybody. I’ve even got six military teams that have gone hot—four Navy SEAL teams and two from Army Delta Force. Those, along with my HRT teams, are airborne right now. If I could recall the rest of the military special ops teams from Af-fucking-ghanistan, I would. Airspace over the US is shut down. I’ve got fighter jets cruising from Florida to Washington State. We’re going to descend on them like flies on shit. I’ve got to go. Oh, and Bill?”

  “Yeah, Stevie.”

  “No one’s going to forget what you did here. You put your life on the line, and nearly lost it. Thank you.”

  74

  “. . . and that was Press Secretary Erik Childs, live from the White House press room; he’s just leaving the podium now. To recap, Mr. Childs indicated the president had temporarily, in his words, stepped down from office. Vice President Palmer has been sworn in and is the acting commander in chief. It’s unclear at this point whether the president stepped down of his own accord, or whether he was ordered to surrender his powers under federal indictment by the US Supreme Court. The Supreme Court met in closed session today, wrapping up within the last hour. The contents of that session are sealed, but it appears highly coincidental that the president’s announcement comes so soon after the Supreme Court broke session. The president is under enormous pressure in the wake of the latest series of terrorist incidents. Those incidents appear to have been funded with taxpayer dollars—something that was allegedly conducted with the president’s knowledge. As his last act of office the president ordered the FAA to clear the skies over the United States, a response designed to protect the country from hijackings. For now, I’m John Carden, reporting live from the White House, WBS News.”

  Alyssa passed through the little town of Pineville. It was more of a hamlet really—lots of box-style houses, long single-wide trailers, and abandoned shacks hovelled under rusted tin roofs. Still, the views of the approaching hills were pretty, though not quite idyllic. Little stone walls lined some of the yards cut into the hillside. Not the kind of stone walls you might see in the New England states, but flat, gray, lifeless stones stacked on top of one another. Houses on the left side of the road sunk down deep, well below the level of the road, and appeared to lean downhill towards a rambling streambed. There was a distinct absence of horses, but one thing in plentiful supply were pickup trucks that anchored each home or country store.

  As the road’s elevation lifted, Alyssa felt her own weight press back against the driver’s seat. The road bed cut itself into the adjacent hillside, and craggily rocks reached out with tiny fingers towards her. Curving up the low mountain pass, Alyssa gunned the engine of the little yellow VW Beetle into the twists and turns; a peace flower bobbled on the dashboard. This part of Kentucky was sparsely populated, and today, there was hardly anyone on the roads. She rounded the curves hard and felt alive.

  Back home in Atlanta, Alyssa loved the color of autumn. But the springtime here decried colors that were lucid and turbulent. Sunlight shattered into dozens of beams, free-falling through the amber and popsicle-yellow canopy, creating a soft glow that sprinkled across the greens painting the forest floor.

  As she climbed Pine Mountain, she noticed that the stone along the roadside was thicker and almost blocky as compared to below. And the trees seemed to creep ever closer toward the road. When she drove under a banner that read “Tammy Lynn’s Bluegrass Pickin’ Party and Hog Roast,” she gawked at the number of cars parked on the shoulder ahead. No wonder I haven’t seen many cars, she thought. They’re all here. A deputy stood in the roadway ahead directing traffic. Alyssa pulled closer and leaned out.

  “We can park anywhere along in here?” she asked.

  The deputy, whose grin was as wide as his waistline, said, “Oh, yes, ma’am. Your first time with us at the festival? Well, you’re gonna love it. We’re real glad you came. We want ya to have a good time, but don’t eat too much, you hear?” he said, slapping his hands on the spare tire around his waist and adjusting his baseball-style deputy cap.

  “This place is packed!” said Alyssa. “I had no idea how big it would be. How many people do you think are here?”

  “Oh well, let’s see. Last year the pickin’ had about 12,000. Well, that’s what the sheriff said anyway. This year, well, don’ know rightly. Looks bigger to me. Must be 15,000 or more. Hey, just listen to that. Kin you hear it? They got Pearly Jenkins and his bluegrass band. Man, they’s gonna be a crowd fer him. Hey, my name’s Skeeter.”

  “I’m Alyssa,” she said, reaching her hand out the window.

  “Proud to meet cha. Well, jes let us know if there’s anythin’ we kin do for ya, Miss Alyssa. Have a good time, now.”

  Alyssa drove ahead and parked at the first space she found. As she got out, the soft smell of hickory smoke ushered in on a breeze. The sun was warm on her face, and a light harmony of bluegrass music emanated through the trees. It made her feel . . . something. She couldn’t quite place it. The feeling was a bit familiar and settled deep in her chest and lined her heart. She was relaxed. She felt welcomed, like she belonged somehow. It was like having a guardian angel push the last vestiges of stress from her system, in the same way you might pick up a dandelion and blow the seeds out into the wind.

  It was then she realized that in her day-to-day life, she carried a small blanket of stress with her everywhere she went. Maybe it was the city life, the traffic, the job, the fear, or the pollution that did it. Or maybe it was the sudden loss of her mother and the feeling of having to face the world without her. The stress laid upon her for so long it felt normal. But now, it was time to blow the dandelion seeds far and wide. Let them settle where they may.

  She headed into the trees and towards the sounds of laughter, a picking guitar, a few fiddles, and perhaps a mandolin, and a lot of people stomping their feet to the rhythm and laughing. It sounded like . . . life.

  75

  “John Carden, WBS News. The video you’re watching now was recorded six hours ago as we accompanied federal agents on a raid. We weren’t allowed to broadcast the footage until now.” The video began to roll.

  “‘We’re on the scene here just outside of Boulder, Colorado, where federal authorities are raiding an apartment complex. We can’t see much beyond the first building, but moments ago we could hear muffled gunfire and yelling. Just before the raid, we saw several residents being quietly evacuated from nearby apartment units. This is a scene, according to authorities, that is repeating itself in thirty or more places across the country as arrest warrants are being served in the largest terrorism case in US history.’”

  The New York City field office at 26 Federal Plaza sat near the base of Manhattan, not far from Battery Park. Its main working area consisted of a single, wide open office space. It was a cube farm of biblical proportions. On a normal day, the space was bustling with agents working on hundreds of open cases. Today, the cavernous room went quiet. In the center standing high on a desk was FBI Director Stephen Latent, a tiny clip-on microphone attached to the loosened tie around his neck. Double the normal numbers of agents were present, each agent sha
ring a cubicle built for one.

  “All right, people, listen up,” began Latent. “You’ve been working tirelessly, and your country will thank you for it, but not yet. Bear in mind, there is nothing more important to the sovereignty of the United States than this case. Here’s the sitrep. Of the thirty-seven known bomb chuckers, we’ve executed warrants on twenty, all of which are in federal custody. Of the remaining seventeen, sixteen have already executed their final objective. You’ve seen the news. Most of these have been smaller events with a low body count. There have been multiple mass shootings in New Mexico, Arkansas, a sailing regatta in Delaware, Washington state, and Ohio. Small bombs were used in Rhode Island, Montana, Oklahoma, and at a small airport near Atlanta. Most of those terrorists are dead. Either killed by authorities or by suicide. The three survivors are in custody.

  “Even before this terror cell started carrying out their final objectives, a wave of fear has paralyzed the country. People are afraid. Except in a few rural pockets of the country where people seem determined to go about their daily lives, they don’t go to work, they don’t go to the grocery, they’re not on the roads, they don’t go out to eat, nothing. I’m proud of the work you’ve done so far. But understand one thing. I am sick of this shit. And make no mistake, people, even though these last seventeen events are considered minor, a small loss of life is not acceptable under my watch.”

  Jana leaned against the side of a cube, about twenty feet from Latent. She was exhausted and wondered if the deep circles under her eyes would become tattooed on her face. Latent looked down at her for just a moment. “And that’s the good news,” he said. “Now time for the bad news. As most of you know, as a result of the raid on the Thoughtstorm building in Atlanta, eleven of our brothers fell. But during the infiltration we obtained information that led us to the locations of all the thirty-seven terror members. While we all feel an overwhelming sense of loss, we cannot stop to address that loss.”

  His last words trailed off, like they’d fallen into a deep dark lake.

  “I’ve just finished a conference with the National Security Agency who has been invaluable in decrypting the data we obtained.”

  The room was frozen as everyone awaited the bad news. No one uttered a sound.

  Latent continued. “We have a thirty-eighth terrorist.” Those words “thirty-eight” hung in an abyss as chatter erupted across the room. It sounded like a covey of quail had exploded off the forest floor and into flight.

  “Quiet down, people, quiet down,” he said, holding his hands in the air. “We have a lead.” A hush fell over the room once again. “It’s not much, but it’s all we have, and we’re going to milk it for everything it’s worth. About ten miles from here, in Queens, the police walked into a house that contained two dead bodies. Both bodies were of Middle Eastern descent and were on terror watch lists. And . . .”—agents began leaning in, hanging for the next words to roll off his lips—“there are strong indications of radioactive material present at the site.”

  A few seconds of silence separated the time it took for agents to connect the dots between a thirty-eighth terrorist and nuclear material. The room erupted again as agents’ hands found homes on their mouths and in their hair. The exhaustion and pressure had taken its toll.

  “Now, that’s not known to the public,” said Latent. “But the presence of radioactivity is so strong, the EPA and Nuclear Regulatory Commission have evacuated a two-block radius. People are being told there were toxic chemicals found in the house. We can’t let on that what we’ve discovered is likely the workshop of a nuclear weapons manufacturing site. If the public gets word of this, we’ll have outright bedlam in the streets. People will panic. Our scenarios predict rioting, looting, mayhem, and God knows what else.

  “Keep your mouths shut. Am I understood? If I find anyone has leaked this info, I’m going to tear out their Adam’s apple and hand it back to them. I’ve also just been told that the emergency alert system is about to be activated advising people to stay in their homes. But we’re predicting people in smaller towns are going to ignore the warnings. I don’t know, maybe they’re more resolved to live their lives than the rest of us. Before we hand you your immediate assignments, are there questions?”

  From the back, a tall agent with long wavy hair that probably served him well during undercover work yelled, “Just tell us what to do, sir! We’ll get the son of a bitch.” Everyone laughed.

  “All right, people, let’s settle down. At this time, you are to report to your section chief for your assignments. We’ve already checked and there have been no thefts or misplacements of any nuclear material in North America. We’ll be checking other parts of the world as well. We’ve got teams to investigate the background of each of the deceased bomb makers, teams to canvas the hell out of that neighborhood in Queens, and teams to pull video surveillance from every camera in the area. Oh, and let me make one thing perfectly clear. We have a nuclear threat to the continental United States. It will not happen on my watch. I am authorizing you to use any means necessary. I don’t care if it’s legal. I don’t care if you have to kick in doors with no warrant. Wiretap, hack, forced entry, whatever. I don’t care. Do not wait for permission. These are my direct orders. If I find you pussy’d out to wait for a warrant, I’ll kill you myself. You let me deal with the rash of legal crap those maggot lawyers in Washington will throw at me afterwards—after the nuclear threat is contained. All right, people, move. That means right now!”

  Jana pushed towards Latent against the throng of people as the room erupted into chaos. “Sir! Director! Sir,” she said, bulling her way through.

  “Baker. Yes, what is it? Jesus, you look like shit. Sorry, no offense. How are you holding up?”

  “Sir, you’ve got everything up here in Queens covered.”

  “And?”

  “And have we thought about the . . . well, I mean I know we’ve already checked for any lost or stolen nuclear material, but what if the loss wasn’t reported?”

  “Baker, they’ve got to report any known loss or theft of nuclear material immediately,” he said.

  “Exactly. Any known loss or theft. What if they don’t know it’s missing? The facility wouldn’t know to report it.”

  Latent reflected on that a moment.

  “Highly unlikely. But I see where you’re heading. What did you have in mind?”

  “I know it’s a long shot, but I’d like to go up to that facility in Connecticut. The one that was right next to the bridge where the commuter train bridge was bombed, and the train fell into the river. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.”

  “I don’t know, Baker, sounds like a goose chase to me. And right now, I need every swinging dick in the field . . . oh, sorry. I need every agent in the field working these more direct leads.”

  “Sir, you’ve got four hundred agents working every other angle. They’re on the house, neighborhood, surveillance cameras, backgrounds, bank accounts, they’re checking overseas for missing nuclear material, everything. They’re all over this. Sir, I don’t need a team. It’s just another stone I think we should turn over.”

  “All right, Baker. All right. Tell your section chief I’ve assigned you to this and check out a bureau car downstairs.”

  He started to walk away but stopped.

  “Baker? Baker. You’ve got guts, and guts is enough. Just watch yourself out there. No one is going to forget what you and Kyle have done here, especially me. Be careful.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Jana said, choking down the lump in her throat.

  “This is the emergency alert system. In cooperation with federal authorities, this station is conducting a broadcast of the emergency alert system. This is an actual emergency. People are urged to remain in their homes. A terrorist threat alert has been issued. The threat level is high and terrorist attacks are expected to occur at any time. This alert is for the continental United States excluding Alaska, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and all US outlying islands. Plea
se remain in your homes. For more information on this actual emergency, tune to your local news station. This has been a broadcast of the emergency alert system.”

  76

  ASlyssa made her way through the trees towards the glorious smell of roasted pork and the sound of pure bluegrass music. A grin as wide as the Kentucky sky molded onto her face and revealed pearly white teeth. There were people everywhere, yet it was not at all like the mob scenes she was familiar with at big events like Music Midtown in Atlanta. There, she’d keep her distance from the mosh pits and throngs of people glued together and banging into each other like stalks of wheat in a wind storm. Looking into a sea of people like that was frightening. It was too confining, and you never knew what might happen. Here, people were more spaced apart. Lots of them held hands and many ate at picnic tables. People smiled and said hello everywhere she turned. She had that feeling inside that was like greeting an old friend you hadn’t seen in years, then sitting down together and telling stories.

  Alyssa wandered past the craft fair booths and over towards the amphitheatre where most people were gathered. The amphitheatre was carved into the edge of the mountain and was dotted with row after row of people seated on wooden boards, each supported on either end by rock quarried from the mountain. The whole space formed a sort of bowl that pushed its way right up to the stage. There wasn’t a bad seat in the place. Deputy Skeeter was right, the people loved their bluegrass. Couples danced in front of the stage under a sky that was as blue as it was radiant.

  And surely, Alyssa thought, mom is watching, and she’s proud of me for going on this odyssey, and for finding my soul.

  77

  Jana shook Cade by the shoulder. He stirred, then startled awake and jumped to his feet. “What! What is it . . . ?”