The 13: Fall

by ROBBIE CHEUVRONT

“You think your president is a Bible thumper?”

  “Look,” Keene said, “the president is my commander in chief. What he does on his own personal time is his business. It’s just a joke. Lighten up.”

  “Jon—you mind if I call you Jon?”

  Keene shrugged. “Whatever you like. Mind if I call you chapy?”

  “Not at all,” Boz said. “I’m not here to watch over your every move. I’m here because your commander in chief asked me to help out. Regardless of what you think, I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. And the two of you if need be, for that matter.”

  Keene let that hang there for a moment. The guy was a former Ranger. He was Special Ops. And so it wasn’t a matter of whether or not the guy could handle himself. It was a matter of why he was here in the first place.

  “Let me ask you something,” Keene said.

  Boz nodded.

  “Why are you here? I mean, what do I need you for?”

  Boz smiled. “I’d like to think that I’m here for several reasons. The first of which is probably you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Not what you think. We can talk about that later. Right now, you need to know that I, and the president, think that this is not as black and white as you think it is. And I know you’re probably going to think I’m crazy, or he’s crazy, but I’m not convinced this guy is a terrorist.”

  “Then what is he?” Keene asked.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see,” Boz said. “But right now, I have insight into how this guy thinks. And if you’re going to track him effectively, you need me.”

  “And why do you have insight into this nut job? You a nut job, too?”

  “You married?”

  “Was. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Yeah, I know about your first wife. I meant now. Married? Anyone special in your life?”

  Keene sat up straight. He didn’t like where this conversation was going. He didn’t bring up the past. “No. Not married.”

  “It’s hard, isn’t it?” Boz asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Losing a wife like that. I’m sorry.”

  Keene was now starting to get agitated. “Nothing to be sorry about. She was killed by a terrorist.”

  “Uh-huh,” Boz said.

  “And now I hunt down terrorists and kill them back,” Keene said. “It’s that simple.”

  “Is that why you joined the CIA after you left your unit?”

  Okay, Keene thought, now this guy is really starting to make me mad. “You trying to shrink me, chapy?”

  “Shrink you?” Boz laughed.

  “Yeah, you know. Like a psychiatrist, a shrink?”

  “Oh.” Boz chuckled. “No, I’m not trying to shrink you. Just trying to get to know you.”

  “Well, don’t,” Keene snapped. “I don’t live in the past.”

  “Fair enough. You and I actually have a lot in common. I don’t live in the past either. Doesn’t do you any good.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You know I lost a wife, too?”

  Keene raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah. And my daughter. Car accident.”

  “I’m sorry.” Keene had a moment of remorse.

  “Thanks.” Boz finally spoke. “It was an accident. Rainy night, wet roads, bad brakes.”

  “Yes, it’s hard,” Keene said.

  “I used to be just like you. A hard, angry man.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  Boz leaned forward, his eyes icy, his face expressionless. He pointed his finger.

  “Let me tell you something,” Boz said in a tone completely changed. “You think you’re a bad man. You think you’re tough. But I’ve got news for you, kid. Your Bosnia mission, I prepped that. That six-month stint you did in Tehran, you were there because I laid the groundwork ten years before. You think that just because you lost four men in Karbala—because you should’ve seen it coming—makes you some kind of special, horrible person? Those men you lost … they knew the risk. And yeah, I know you think you messed up. You could’ve pulled back earlier. But the job wasn’t done. And you don’t leave the job undone! But you’re not the only team leader to ever lose men. We’ve all lost men. So don’t sit there and dishonor their sacrifice by acting like their deaths were meaningless. You think you’ve got the market cornered on vengeance and anger? I traveled that road for a long time, kid. And I can tell you that the only place it’s going to lead you is down a deep, dark hole.”

  Keene’s eyes widened.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I know you. I know all about you, because I was you. I was you before you even knew who you were. I wasted a good part of my life trying to fix things that I had no control over. So don’t sit there with that sanctimonious smirk on your face thinking some middle-aged chapy is cramping your style by being here. Neither one of us knows for sure what we’re walking into. And if there’s anything we can do to stop it, then I can promise you I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. But if I’m right and we can’t, then we need to find this Prophet and get some serious information out of him.”

  Keene hadn’t been put in his place like that since Basic Underwater Demolition school. And he didn’t much like it, but this chapy was no joke. He’d seen that look before. You don’t mess with that look. That look can get you killed. He knew. ‘Cause he’d given that same look to many unfortunate souls in his time with the unit.

  “So if there’s nothing we can do to stop this coming attack, as you say, then why bother to find him?”

  “I know this will sound like lunacy to you,” Boz said, appearing to return to his normal state of calm, “but I believe that this Prophet may actually be real.”

  Keene didn’t know what to say. Everything in him wanted to call his boss and the president and tell them that this chapy guy was a quack. But then there was the respect he had for the man’s military record. He couldn’t just dismiss it. And as bad as he hated to admit it, there was something niggling at the back of his brain telling him there was more to this than met the eye.

  “And if he’s real,” Boz continued, “then it won’t be an isolated event.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because. When God allowed something like this to happen to a nation in the Bible, namely, Israel, it wasn’t just a single attack.”

  “How do you mean?” Keene asked.

  “I mean, God would give the entire nation over to another nation. We need to find him, assure him we’re not going to kill him, and then find out what he knows. Before we completely lose our country.”

  PART 2: CONDEMNATION

  CHAPTER 18

  The woman, dressed in a casual, stylish business suit, got out of the car and walked silently into the deserted warehouse. As with any meeting, she was fifteen minutes early—which, in her opinion, was on time. Punctuality was something she held in high regard. To be late to a meeting, she thought, was a slap in the face to your counterpart. Being late was as good as saying, My time is more valuable than yours.

  The first of the visiting limos—fifteen minutes late—arrived, two armed guards stepping out and surveying the area. Once they were satisfied they were alone, one of the men spoke into a radio and watched as the remaining vehicles approached.

  Three more limos lined the curb, and several armed guards stepped out, all checking the area. Finally, a small, elderly man exited the next-to-last vehicle. He wore a finely tailored Italian suit, accented with a red Hermès tie. A gold Rolex rested securely on his left wrist. Fine, hand-tooled leather Italian shoes completed the ensemble.

  After a short pause to check out the surroundings, the elderly man walked inside the warehouse. The woman was waiting impatiently for him at a small table, set with two chairs. He nodded to the other man and sat down.

  “Mr. Chin.” She nodded.

  “Ms. Smith.”

  Ms. Smith leaned back in her chair. “I must say your people’s lack of punctual
ity is disappointing. I thought that with business and money being your god, you would respect its nuances.”

  The man smiled a perfunctory smile. “Madam, I apologize for our tardiness. One can’t be too careful when meeting like this.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Then let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  The woman nodded as Chin took his seat.

  “Is everything in order?” Chin asked.

  “Everything is as I said it would be. Do you have my money?”

  The diminutive man turned in his chair and took the laptop from one of his men. He set it on the table and opened the lid. After a few seconds, a screen appeared that had a box in the middle with a waiting cursor.

  “Just type in the account number and the funds will be transferred,” Mr. Chin said.

  The woman carefully took her hands out of her coat pocket and produced a set of latex gloves. She pulled them on and brought the laptop closer.

  “Can’t be too careful.” She raised an eyebrow.

  Chin smiled and nodded.

  She typed on the keyboard, hit ENTER, and scooted it back to the man. “So I guess our business here is done.”

  Chin stood up and took the laptop. “For now, Ms. Smith. Good day.”

  He gave a slight bow and walked back to the waiting car.

  The woman watched as the small caravan of cars pulled away. She waited a few more minutes and then pulled out the disposable phone she’d purchased a month ago. She punched the numbers in and waited until it was answered.

  “It’s done,” she said.

  CHAPTER 19

  Taylor returned from the lavatory to the front of the plane, where she’d left Keene and Boz. More than anything, she’d wanted to give the men time alone to do whatever it was that macho former military men did when they obviously didn’t like each other and were thrust into working together. She’d been sure fireworks were coming and just didn’t have the energy to listen to it. So she’d excused herself.

  What she found was a surprise. She had heard about these Gulf Stream jets before but had never been on one. The bathroom was ridiculous! It was nicer than her first apartment.

  She sat back down and looked at the two men she’d left a few minutes earlier. They were both still alive, and there wasn’t any blood, so she thought that was good.

  “You two have a nice chat?”

  “We’re fine,” Boz said. “Aren’t we, Jon?”

  Keene nodded. “All good.”

  Boz undid his belt and stood up. “I’m gonna grab some shut-eye on the couch. Rule number one.”

  “What’s that?” Taylor asked.

  “Always eat and sleep when you can,” Keene said. “Never know when you’re going to get the chance to do either again.”

  Boz smiled. “That’s right.” He stepped out from the seats and moved around to the back. “Wake me up if you need me.”

  Taylor sat there for a few minutes, looking out the small window at the vast openness. She wondered how it was possible that this Prophet had been able to pull off what he did. The enormity of it was mind-boggling.

  She really didn’t want to accept that this video was somehow untraceable.

  And though she was a woman of faith, she shuddered at the thought that this Prophet could actually be what he said he was.

  She snapped back from her thoughts and turned to Keene.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was coming.”

  Keene looked at her with that blank expression he’d had earlier.

  “Look, man …” she began.

  “It’s all right,” Keene interrupted. “Boz is okay. I just don’t like finding things out like that.”

  Taylor was taken aback. First time Keene had acted like a normal human being since she met him. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout my attitude, too.”

  Keene sat up in his chair. “For better or worse, we’re stuck together. We have to work this, all three of us. I don’t know what we’re up against, but I don’t know that I can just buy into what he says either.”

  “And what’s he say?”

  “That this guy may be some messenger from God.”

  “And why’s that so hard for you to believe?”

  “Really? You, too?”

  “Well, I mean, God has spoken to people throughout history. Why not this guy?”

  “Seriously?”

  “What? I’m a Christian. Why wouldn’t I believe that this could be happening?”

  “Listen, Taylor. This guy’s either a terrorist or he works for terrorists. Probably HAMAS or something. We just have to figure out who. It’s that simple. And if he has information about an attack on our soil, I’m going to find him. And when I do, he’d better hope he’s close with God.”

  Taylor leaned down and took the bag out from under her seat. She grabbed her laptop and opened it.

  “What are you doing?” Keene asked. “Can’t get Internet up here.”

  “You can’t get Internet up here,” she corrected him. “I, on the other hand …”

  “Isn’t that, like, dangerous to the plane?”

  “You can already get Internet on most commercial flights. If you pay enough. So no, it’s not dangerous to the plane, unless their navigation and controls are using encrypted satellites—which is what I’m about to tap into.”

  Keene looked at her.

  “They’re not using encrypted satellites. We’re fine.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m going to pull up satellite imaging of the area where Artie said the warehouse is. See what’s there.”

  “All right. Well, I’m going to rack out for a few until we land. Wake me up when we get there.”

  Taylor watched as Keene tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Within seconds, the man looked like he was asleep. Must be a military thing, she thought. And then she was jealous. It took her forever to fall asleep at night. She wished she could just turn it all off, like a light switch, and fall off to sleep.

  She logged on to the secure satellite server and pulled up a handful of maps for the Chicago area. She had, in front of her, a detailed Public Transit map, one for street names, and then a satellite imagery map. She studied all three, trying to decide what would be the best way to approach. She also looked at the surrounding areas to see if perhaps she could pinpoint a couple places that the guy might use frequently. Maybe a Laundromat, some restaurants, local markets, and so on.

  After forty minutes or so of staring at more than ten different maps, her eyes were burning. She was mapped out. She had some thoughts, but that’s all they were. Thoughts and hunches. She would share what she’d found with Keene and Boz after they woke up. She looked at the clock and realized they didn’t have much time left in the air, so she decided to shut it down and try to at least rest for a few minutes, even if she couldn’t fall asleep. But before she closed the lid, she decided to check her e-mail, since her phone was dead up here.

  She opened the server and waited for the little blue line to move across the screen as her mailbox chimed. Three new messages. The first two weren’t anything. Just an online coupon and an invite from someone at the office to a coworker’s birthday party. The last one, though, caught her attention immediately.

  It had a little red flag next to it, indicating that it was a secure e-mail, sent from an unknown sender. Always aware of viruses, she did a reverse check on the IP address and saw that it came from an Internet café in Chicago. Her pulse quickened as she clicked the heading to open the contents. Immediately the screen filled with the message.

  She read it and then read it again. She quickly opened another secure e-mail. She typed her message with several exclamation points at the end and hit SEND.

  She took a deep breath and looked over at Keene. Definitely asleep. Well, not for long. She nudged his arm and said, “Hey, wake up. You need to see this.”

  Keene smacked his lips and stretched his arms and said, “What?”

  “This,” she s
aid, turning the screen around so he could see.

  Keene stared at the screen and read the first line of the e-mail.

  Ms. Taylor, this is the Prophet. I understand you are looking for me.

  CHAPTER 20

  Ms. Smith pulled her Mercedes into the parking garage, showed her ID, nodded and smiled to the guard, and then proceeded to her assigned parking space. She repeated the ID process as she entered the building, made her way to the elevator, and pushed the button for the top floor.

  When the doors opened, she was greeted by one of the secretaries, who told her she was expected and to go right in. She walked past the desk and stopped to look out the huge, floor-to-ceiling window; the city landscape spread before her. The tip of the Washington Monument could be seen reaching up to the sky over the other buildings. Such a picturesque icon of the American spirit. Oh well, she thought, all good things must come to an end.

  She continued on past the other desks and computers to the end of the hall. She knocked quietly on the door and turned the knob. Inside, another woman, sitting behind the big desk and talking on the phone, motioned for her to come in. She closed the door behind her and sat down. The other woman ended her phone call and turned to see her.

  “Any problems?” the woman behind the desk asked.

  “None,” Ms. Smith answered.

  “Good. Then everything is scheduled as planned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Okay, then,” Ms. Smith repeated.

  The woman behind the desk folded her hands under her chin and looked at her with great concern. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Go on.”

  “Let’s say I have a special need for an operative for a top secret assignment. Who would you ask?”

  Ms. Smith looked at the woman and said, “Me, of course.” Then, “Let me ask you something. May I?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Ms. Smith folded her arms and said, “Why, all of a sudden, are you interested in another operative?”

  “I’m not. But apparently the president is.”