High Treason

by Sean McFate

  Lin heard stealthy footsteps coming from the living room. Two pairs. He’s distracting me while his buddies flank me, she realized. I can play at that too. “Who are you? Spetnatz?”

  The man laughed. “No, little lady. We eat Spetnatz for happy hour.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “OK, I will tell you since you ask nicely. We are Wagner Group.”

  “Russian mercenaries?!” exclaimed Lin, knowing he would only admit this if he intended to kill her.

  “Da, little lady. Now come out, and I won’t hurt you. I promise. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding, and no more people need to die tonight.”

  The two men in the living room were closing in and would soon block her exit to the front door. But she needed more information. “Wagner only works for the GRU. You’re nothing but Spetznatz little green men,” she said.

  The man laughed. “Is that what they think here? No, we do not always work for Moscow and, no, we are not all Russian or Spetznatz. We are what Spetznatz should be.” Then his tone got sterner. “We work for ourselves.”

  Lin heard the footsteps sneaking around the atrium’s far corner, near the front door. It was down the hall about twenty feet, and they would annihilate her in a cross fire if she tried to escape.

  All of this truly scared Lin. The Wagner Group did the Kremlin’s nasty work around the globe: Ukraine, Syria, Venezuela, central Africa, and now the United States. They were potent and almost wiped out Delta force and Rangers in eastern Syria in 2018. When Russia wanted to fight a shadow war, they deployed the Wagner Group. When the Kremlin wanted to assassinate a leader, like the president, they used the Wagner Group because it offered maximum effectiveness and plausible deniability. Mercenaries operated without constraint, even compared to Spetznatz. Lin’s pulse raced.

  I must warn the FBI, she thought. But first I need to get out of here. She breathed deeply to focus her spirit, as her father taught her at Golden Gate Park while they practiced tai chi. Trust your training, he would counsel, and let the Tao flow through you like water going downhill. You will survive. A lifetime of training came down to moments like this. Focuuuuus, she thought and exhaled.

  “Little lady, are you OK? Please come out.”

  She heard the men around the corner. “How do I know I can trust you?” she asked in a high-pitched whine, feigning panic.

  “Please, I won’t harm you. Just lay down your weapon and slide it forward, so I can see it.”

  Lin shoved the Saiga in front of her, but still within reach.

  “Good,” said the voice. “Now, come on out slowly.”

  “Is it only you?” she whimpered while she pulled out two grenades.

  “Yes, it’s just me. You killed my friends, but I promise I won’t hurt you. I know you are scared. Come out.”

  “OK, OK. I think I’m ready to come out, if you put your gun down too,” she said, pulling the grenades’ pins but keeping their spring levers depressed.

  “Here’s my gun,” said the man, sliding an MP5 into the hallway. She still couldn’t see him, which meant he couldn’t see her, either.

  “Just give me a few seconds. I’m scared,” she said with frailty as she let fly the two grenades’ spring levers. One-one thousand, she counted.

  “Take your time,” he said.

  Two-one thousand.

  “I’m scared,” she pleaded.

  Three-one thousand. She shot the first grenade like a pool ball across the wooden atrium floor, banking it off a wall and into the living room.

  Four-one thousand. Lin tossed the second grenade toward the voice, bouncing it off the back wall and into the voice. Then she ducked, plugging her ears.

  The explosions concussed the room, shattering windows. Men screamed. Lin picked up the Saiga and moved toward the voice’s corner. There wasn’t much left of the man, and the hallway was blown out and on fire. Without stopping, she moved around the corner through the living room’s back entry and saw two bodies at the far end, near the front door. As she approached, muzzle first, it was clear they were actually dead and not faking it. The living room was on fire, too.

  Lin heard sirens in the distance. I can’t be caught here, she realized. There would be too many questions, and it would end badly. She needed to find whoever was behind this, and she couldn’t do it locked inside an FBI holding cell.

  One more thing! Lin thought, and sprinted back into the burning house. Minutes later, she emerged with a laptop. When the fire trucks arrived, she was gone. The firefighters found two survivors in flex-cuffs, six bodies, and a secret room full of Russian spy gear and heavy weapons. First responders scattered as live ammunition popped off in the fire, which consumed the house and most of the useful intelligence. Then the news trucks showed up.

  Chapter 36

  Six black Suburbans snaked through the sparse night traffic, only feet from one another’s bumpers despite their high speed. They shuffled their order as they passed through tunnels, and aggressively blocked other vehicles that got too close. Above them flew the four black Sikorsky S-97 helicopters, escorting them in stealth mode. The roads were generally clear at this hour, and the air-land convoy drove in a wide circling pattern, as Winters awaited a phone call. They stuck to the Virginia side of the river, where the roads were wider, allowing them more freedom to maneuver should a problem occur. Still, Winters didn’t like traveling in the open. It wasn’t the govvies he worried about; it was Apollo Outcomes. He was at war with them, and they both stalked the night. Operating in the open made him a target.

  “Give me a secure line to the national security advisor,” commanded Winters from the backseat of one of the armored Suburbans.

  “Yes sir,” said the aide. Moments later he handed Winters a handset. “It’s secure.”

  “It’s me. I have Locke, tied and trussed,” said Winters.

  “Excellent. I knew you would come through for me,” said Jackson on the other end. “I think we can solve many problems with this guy.”

  “Wait, I’m not done, Jackson. If you want to use Locke as your fall guy, you must do something for me first.”

  “What?” answered Jackson, angry.

  “Kill the president.”

  Silence. Then, “Say again?”

  “Kill the president, Jackson.”

  “Are you mad?! Have you lost all sanity, Winters? What did they do to you in that prison cell?”

  Winters did not react to the swipe but checked his watch, then interrupted Jackson’s tirade. “Kill the president, per our original agreement.”

  “We’re well beyond that, Winters.”

  “You know it’s the only way. He will eventually find out that you had a hand in everything. When he does, he will come for you. It’s cleaner this way, George. You know it is, and it will solve my problems too.”

  More silence. Winters could feel Jackson thinking it over. Both men knew they were in a standoff: Jackson could link all the terrorist events to Winters, and Winters could help enlighten the president to Jackson’s treason. Both men also knew the standoff served no one’s interests, and they needed a way forward. Winters was offering a path.

  “Jackson, this is a onetime offer. I give you Locke right now, and your men kill the president. You can blame Locke for everything. We will both achieve our goals. Take the deal.”

  Jackson said nothing, still mulling it over, so Winters continued the assault. “When it’s over, you can ‘catch’ Locke, link him to the Russians, and take full credit. I will even help you, if you wish. Think about it, George. The country is galvanized once more and hardened. Isn’t that want you wanted? To do a little evil in order to achieve a greater good? To inoculate America against national security threats and unite the country? To awaken the sleepwalkers, as you put it?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then make a choice,” interrupted Winters. “We don’t have much time. It’s a onetime offer, and the best you will get. You must finish what you started, and that means POTUS. If you refuse, then
I will find a new partner. Remember our last conversation; you’re expendable.”

  Winters could hear Jackson breathing into the phone, no doubt furious, but the man had to learn his place. There were authorities greater than the White House, and they weren’t divine.

  “OK, fine,” whispered Jackson.

  “Speak up. I didn’t hear that.”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll make the arrangements for POTUS. But we have to use your men.”

  “Done. We will stage another terrorist attack, but you need to line him up. No mistakes this time, and it will be harder now,” said Winters. President Anderson had disappeared since the first terrorist attack and attempt on his life. The Secret Service kept the man essentially under house arrest for his own safety, and few knew where. Not even Winters.

  “President Anderson is at Camp David,” said Jackson quietly. “The place has been turned into a fortress. You’re going to have trouble getting in there.”

  “No, I won’t,” assured Winters. “Just tell me where he is, exactly, and I will take care of the rest.” Jackson didn’t respond, perhaps regretting his decision. “I knew you would come through for me, George. This is the right thing to do, and you know it.”

  “Brad, there must be another way. Killing the president of the United States. Well, it’s—”

  “Don’t soften on me now, Jackson!” interrupted Winters, angry. “There is only one way this ends. You know it; I know it. As long as POTUS is alive, we’re both at risk.”

  Jackson knew it was true but didn’t want to admit it to himself. The plan seemed simple enough but killing the president—regardless of who sat in the chair—was twisting his soul in unexpected ways. It would harm the country and embolden enemies. Ultimately, all he could muster was: “I’m a patriot, Brad.”

  “Then uphold your end of the bargain, George,” said Winters, detecting Jackson’s wavering resolve. “I’ll be watching your moves closely, and if I sense you might double-cross me . . . don’t. I have three nukes in three American cities. Call my bluff, and watch one incinerate.”

  “No need to get nasty, Winters,” said Jackson, steel back in his voice. “I said I would take care of it, and I will. Deliver Locke to me directly. Meet me in the same garage as before. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  “Don’t be late,” said Winters, and Jackson hung up.

  Chapter 37

  Lin’s hands were still shaking as she drove down the George Washington Memorial Parkway. Adrenaline still raged through her veins, and she was driving to calm down. Now she was driving to calm down. She didn’t know where she was going nor cared; she just needed to drive. In the front seat sat her Saiga automatic shotgun, next to a bag of grenades and ammo. It would be impossible to explain if she got pulled over, but her mind wasn’t there.

  Should I have stayed at the scene? she kept asking herself, but there was no right answer. If she stayed, she would have been arrested, and who knew if the FBI would have believed her. Probably not. But running made her look guilty. Running always does.

  The FBI will think I’m a criminal now, she thought, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then her nose. But I’m a good agent! I know I am.

  “Crap, crap, crap!” she yelled at the windshield, pounding the steering wheel. She pulled over into one of the scenic overlooks on the Potomac River, and got out of the car. Then screamed. No one was around, so she screamed again. Cars whizzed by and took no notice. She slumped on the hood, gazing at the lights of Georgetown across the river. In the distance were the bell towers of the National Cathedral, with a blinking red warning light on one for aircraft. The only sound was the occasional passing car and airliners on approach to the airport.

  Lin fetched the Russian hacker’s laptop from the car and sat down at a picnic table. Maybe it would reveal a clue. She opened it and tried several random passwords, in Russian, but it was no use. The thing was locked. She had contemplated kidnapping the hacker but had no time. Fire trucks were pulling into the burning house’s driveway when she was still downstairs in the hidden armory, stuffing grenades into a rucksack. She had to leave immediately.

  Another dead end, she thought, holding her head in her hands. She wanted to talk to someone but didn’t know whom to call. All her friends were in the FBI, and she wasn’t on speaking terms with her dad, even though she wanted to talk to him most. He would know what to do, but she couldn’t face his judgment. She took out her phone and called the only person she could.

  “Hello, Lin? Is that you?” asked Jason, waking up from sleep.

  “Jason,” she said, her voice breaking.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I can’t . . .” She stopped and resisted the urge to sob, especially to Jason.

  “Just slow down. Breathe,” he said, and Lin took multiple deep breaths. “I’m guessing you went out to the safe house and found something?”

  “Yeah,” she said, getting control of herself. It was all she could say.

  “Well, what?”

  Lin put a hand over her eyes and looked down at the ground to help focus. Get it together, girl, she kept telling herself. Don’t let Jason hear you like this.

  “Lin? Are you there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you find?” asked Jason, and Lin told him. “Holy shit,” was all he could say when she finished. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

  Neither spoke for several minutes.

  “What’s the Wagner Group doing running around Washington, DC?” asked Jason at last.

  “I think they’re the ones who are behind the bridge attack,” said Lin. “But the guy said they weren’t working for Moscow.”

  “Then who hired them?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if he’s even telling a half truth.”

  “Well, it makes more sense than any other theory I’ve heard so far at headquarters,” said Jason. They sat in silence, mulling over the implications. No one would believe them. Finally, he asked the only question that mattered: “What are you going to do now?”

  “I need to find out what’s going on. I need to finish my investigation. If not me, then who?” She paused, waiting for an encouraging response, but Jason said nothing. “Also, it’s the only way to clear my name.” His silence confirmed her suspicions that it was too late for that. I don’t care, she thought and then spoke with fire. “What do I have to lose at this point?”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” said Jason, and Lin balled up a fist. It was exactly the kind of irritating thing her father would say.

  “Are you going to help me or not, Jason?”

  “Yes,” he said, voice wavering. He would hang now, too. “Although I don’t know why, Jen.”

  “Because you want to do the right thing.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” he said unconvincingly.

  “Because you like me?”

  “Yes, that too.”

  “You’re the only friend I have right now, Jason,” said Lin, her vulnerable tone surprising them both.

  After another pause, Jason changed the subject. “I talked to Dan in counterintelligence again. We went out for drinks and he got a little tipsy. He’s super stressed. It turns out that safe house was under some sort of surveillance embargo.”

  “Surveillance embargo? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Neither had his boss, who ignored it. Seems like you’re not the only rebel in the Bureau.”

  Lin chuckled, her mood lifting.

  “It turns out the men in the safe house would frequently make late-evening runs.”

  “Yeah, they came home late tonight too. Did Dan say what they were doing?”

  “This is when drunk Dan got all weird on me. He said the Russians would meet up with another party. At first, they thought it was CIA Ground Division because they were all huge dudes that dressed like Secret Service agents, drove black SUVs, and met with scumbags late at night in strange locations.”

  “But that’s i
llegal. The CIA is not allowed to operate domestically.”

  “Yeah, agreed, which is why his boss ran it by some friends at Langley, totally deep background, but they told him it wasn’t their guys. It’s not us either.”

  “Then who was it? DIA? DOD? DHS? Who?”

  “None of the above. You’ll never guess, Jen. They were meeting with a company.”

  “A company?” asked Lin incredulously. “Like Booz Allen?”

  Jason laughed. “Nope. Ever heard of Apollo Outcomes?”

  “Who are they?”

  “Heavy hitters. They run paramilitary ops for the government, strictly off the books. It’s like the CIA and JSOC combined, but Apollo Outcomes can do things those guys can’t. That’s why they’re hired.”

  “American mercenaries? Like Wagner Group, but working for us?” said Lin, not believing it, but cognitive dissonance had become the theme of her evening.

  “Yeah, but even more hardcore.”

  “Let me guess. When you say Apollo Outcomes can do things the CIA and DOD can’t, you’re talking about domestic missions,” she said. The CIA and DOD were absolutely forbidden from working inside the United States. From the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878 to the Church Committee of 1976, the one thing every intelligence, military, and law enforcement officer learns is no domestic spying or military operations. Not only was it illegal, it was considered a threat to democracy. However, outsourcing it to a private company would neatly circumnavigate the issue.

  “Exactly. Dan’s boss feared these guys were running some sort of modern COINTELPRO operation, so he started watching them too.”

  Lin stiffened when she heard COINTELPRO, the Bureau’s low point. Starting in the late ’50s, FBI director J. Edgar Hoover ran a covert and illegal program aimed at surveilling, infiltrating, discrediting, and disrupting left-wing political organizations. He thought the USSR was behind the antiwar riots and cultural war that seized America, and he took Machiavellian steps to stem the imagined threat. Some even blamed COINTELPRO for the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. The CIA launched its own domestic espionage project in 1967 called Operation CHAOS. All recruits at the FBI Academy were made to learn it so they would know what sin looked like.