Ramsay frowned at the surprise news.
Andrew liked the fact they now had a DNA profile of the mystery intruder. “Go on.”
Richardson’s tense posture eased. “However, we do know he is blue-eyed, has straight red hair dyed black, weighs 160 pounds or so, is six foot three inches tall, spoke with a Southwest accent according to agent Janet Van Groot who was visiting the SIOC, and is believed to be in his twenties. His DNA sample says he is Caucasian. Deeper genetic analysis indicates distant ancestors from Ireland or Scotland. We are working on trying to match this DNA profile to any DOD, NSA and Civil Service profiles of employees and contractors.” The agent looked aside to his boss. “Chief Ramsay, sorry for not sharing this news. I heard this just before we met up.”
The group boss shrugged. “Glad to hear we have something specific to the intruder. Tell him about the paraglider.”
Andrew sat back, wondering at how this investigation might develop. The terror guy was dead and his Minneapolis agents would compile a massive dossier on him that would be shared across the Department of Homeland Security. The intruder, though, was a puzzle. He’d left behind nothing except the paraglider, its rucksack and a few hair samples. Plus his recorded image and voice. “Well, Richardson?”
The man tapped his file folder. “It’s all in here and in the PDF we sent you. The paraglider, as Agent Mitchell noticed, was indeed an REI product, set for a new product launch later this month. The serial number on the fabric tracked back to the REI store on Platte Street in downtown Denver.” Richardson looked up and met Andrew’s direct gaze. “Our field office agents spoke with the store’s manager. She said the paraglider and its sack were stored in her warehouse. She seemed surprised it was missing. The company’s internal warehouse video did not show this guy, though the glider was stored at the back of the warehouse, where the security cameras could not reach. But the store warehouse manager did record the item’s presence as of Thursday last week, the last time they did a full inventory check.”
Andrew felt intense frustration. “So this unknown male intruder knew about the paraglider, acquired it after Thursday, then used it on Saturday to escape from the Empire State Building. Sounds to me like this intruder could be a current or former employee of REI Denver. Or another store in the Southwest. Any other data on the intruder?”
Richardson nodded quickly. “Yes. The intruder’s blue full zip hoodie is a brand carried by REI. It’s a prAna Barringer hoodie. The guy’s tennis shoes were Salomon XA Pro 3D brand, suitable for outdoor hiking and trail running. The shoes are also carried by REI.” The agent paused. “One last detail. The lab’s pollen analysis from a wash of the glider bag documented pollen common to the Rockies west of Denver, but also included chamisa pollen, a high desert plant. Also known as rubber rabbitbrush. While chamisa appears all across the western United States, the pollen we recovered belongs to the latisquamia variant of ericameria nauseosa.”
“Which means what?” Andrew pushed, growing tired of exotic details that meant little beyond what they already knew.
Richardson stiffened his shoulders. “That chamisa variant only grows in dry streambeds in Baja California, Sonora, Arizona and New Mexico. Not in Utah or Colorado. Our intruder probably lives in either Arizona or New Mexico. And he likes the outdoors. Sir.”
Andrew pondered the pollen news. While the physical items left by the intruder pointed to Denver as his point of origin, the pollen suggested he lived further south. Still, no need to limit investigative work based on partial data.
“Agent Richardson, you, SIOC and the lab team have done good work, considering how little this intruder left behind. Alert our field offices in Utah, Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico to search their files for social activist young men in their twenties who meet this man’s physical parameters. Have them review all current and former employees of REI in those states.” He paused and looked to the agent’s boss. “Chief Ramsay, see that your CIRG people make the tracking down of this intruder a high priority. And work with the Terrorist Screening Center of the National Security Branch on this al-Aziz character. I noticed that agents Van Groot and Chase had useful comments after the release of the hostages. Be open to input from any agent in any branch of our agency. Dismissed.”
Richardson and Ramsay stood. The SIOC agent turned to leave. His boss stood facing Andrew.
“Deputy Direct Steinbach, you have my assurance the Critical Incident Response Group and Special Agent Richardson will pursue the analysis of both al-Aziz and the intruder with the utmost seriousness,” Ramsay said, his expression intent. “I will personally advise you of any developments in the DNA tracking of this intruder.”
Andrew waved to the man. “You do that. The director expects me in his office within fifteen minutes with answers. You’ve given me some data. Get more. Dismissed.”
The two men left his office.
Andrew sat back, tapped his tablet, brought up the PDF of Richardson’s report, noted it was 33 pages long with four appendices, and wondered to himself just when his agency would have to deal with another home-grown terror incident. Real people’s lives hung in the balance during any hostage event, more so when it was terror related. The Islamic State had set a high priority on mounting a major attack within the continental United States. There was plenty of online chatter about their contacts with self-radicalized jihadists within the US. How soon would the next attack happen? And how many lives would be at risk?
CHAPTER SIX
“Damn, damn, damn!” muttered Bridget Hampstead as she walked past me, heading for the manager’s office at the back of the store. Dressed in a casual outdoor ensemble of lumberjack shirt, green pants and with her brunette hair pulled back into a ponytail, Bridget was looking down at her iPhone, reading something on it.
“Got a problem?” I asked, stopping my unpacking of new bedrolls.
She stopped in the aisle that ran through my outdoor camping section of the REI store. Looking my way, she frowned. “Corporate stuff. Gotta dig up files on past employees. Keep working.” She turned and walked away, her iPhone now stowed in her pants pocket.
It was late Wednesday, a good day since I’d talked to Valery about my rescue of the three women atop the Empire State Building, and I still felt good about that. I’d rescued three people in danger of losing their lives. While I’d failed to rescue my Dad, maybe doing more rescues of people at places I’d visited would be a good thing. Valery had supported that, along with doing volunteer stuff at church. Whatever Bridget’s issues might be, I still had five minutes to go in my shift. I turned back to the stack of bedroll cartons, sliced open the top carton with my box cutter and pulled out another Kelty Cosmic Down bedroll. I checked its price tag, confirmed it showed $149.95, had the store’s bar code on its tag, and put it up on the upper shelf of the aisle I usually worked in. Two more to go, then I could hit the break room and check out on the Kronos terminal. A second bedroll joined the first one.
“Hey Jeff,” called a familiar voice.
I looked up. It was Billy, coming my way from his alpine gear work section. He was whistling and looked happy. I guessed he was heading to the break room to check out for the day. “Hey Billy. What’s up?”
My buddy grinned big, coming to a stop in my aisle. “Got big plans for my day off tomorrow! Me and Sally are going camping up by Santa Fe Ski Hill.”
“Won’t it be too cold to camp out?” I asked, noticing how few customers were in the store this late in the day. Whatever. I put the last bedroll up on the shelf.
He nodded. “Well, yes. All the more reason for us to cuddle in our sleeping bags!”
Billy’s grin was not quite a leer. But it was clear he expected to have great sex with his new girlfriend Sally up by the ski lodge. Putting aside my own memories of the single time I’d made love with a woman, I grabbed the empty cartons and looked at him.
“Well, my shift is ending too. Lead the way out.”
“Sure.”
A thought hit me as I walked be
hind him. “Uh Billy, Bridget just passed me looking pissed. Said corporate wanted a list of our past employees. You heard anything about that, you being our IT person?”
My buddy shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, heard about it a few minutes ago. She came by my spot to get the access code for the personnel archives on the office computer. Said something about corporate wanting all the personnel info on past employees. Said it was because of some FBI request.”
I stopped suddenly. Then kept walking, not wanting to draw attention from my few coworkers who would be working until the store’s closing at 8 p.m. “The FBI? Weird. Why are they interested in REI employees?”
“Have no clue,” Billy said. “That’s just what Bridget told me when she demanded the access code. Said corporate had already given the feds the info on current employees in the four Southwest states. Why do you ask?” he said, glancing back.
“Oh, nothing,” I said quickly. “Just feeling puzzled. Makes me wonder if there’s a secret bank robber working at an REI store. That’s what the FBI focuses on, right? Bank robberies?”
Billy turned forward and pushed at the swinging door that gave access to the break room. “Yeah, they do that. They also do more. They track down terrorists, like that guy who held the women hostage at the Empire State Building. Wasn’t that pretty wild what that Green Mask guy did, showing up and disarming the terror guy?”
I followed him into the break room as he headed for the Kronos terminal. “Yup, pretty wild. Was real nice how the women escaped without any injury.”
Billy nodded, then typed on the Kronos terminal. “Was nice. But everyone in the news wants to know who this Green Mask guy is? Don’t you?”
My mouth went dry. “Who the heck came up with this Green Mask name for him anyway? The copter shots I saw showed him to be a street guy wearing a hoodie and dressed casual. Not like any of those New York bankers or stock brokers.”
Billy turned and watched as I typed my employee code into the Kronos. “Yeah, that’s how he looked. I think the name came from one of the women hostages, that redhead I think. She’s a jogger. She liked his looks, what she saw of him. Said he had blue eyes and straight black hair. Not much to go on, right?”
“Right,” I said, putting my store ID card in my pocket and moving toward the exit door. I had nothing in my locker that needed to go to my apartment. And my bicycle was locked to the rack outside.
“Hey!” yelled Billy. “Look at the TV! It’s showing the big steel arch in . . . uh, at St. Louis. I recognize it! Let’s hear what it’s saying.”
My buddy grabbed the TV control and flicked on the sound. A CNN reporter woman faced the camera, sitting before a desk. Behind her was a live image of the top of the Gateway Arch. The image jerked a bit, kinda like the helicopter image of the Empire State Building. Then the image fixed on the row of narrow windows that filled the top of the silvery stainless steel arch. Figures moved behind the windows. As the image closed in on one window, it could be seen that two bearded men dressed in black were holding combat-style rifles pointed at lots of people, who stood to either side of the men, their hands on the top of their heads.
“Breaking news!” called the woman on the screen, who was listed as CNN senior domestic reporter Leslee Howden. “Terrorists have taken captive at least twenty people on the Observation deck of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. In a YouTube video shared around the world, the two men said they have planted explosives at the top of the stairs that run up the north and south legs of the arch. They warn that if anyone shows up at either stairwell entry, or rides up on the tram elevator cars, they will detonate their explosives. Then they will shoot all hostages,” Howden said, sounding a bit breathless. “The YouTube video listed their demands as the freeing of all jihadists held in federal jails and the departure of all American military forces from Israel and the Middle East.”
“Crap,” muttered Billy. “Another one!”
My stomach tightened as the faces of some of the hostages became clearer as they pressed up against the long narrow windows of the arch. I knew from my visit just after my fourteenth birthday that the terrorist’s location was nearly impossible to reach except by the zig-zag stairs that went up the north and south legs, or by the round tramway cars that were cable-pulled up the inside of each leg. Maybe a helicopter could drop some cops onto the top of the arch. There were no bathrooms up top, nor any water fountains or food machines. The captives were going to have a hard time of it, leastwise while they were alive. The rifles held by the terrorists looked to be old AK-47 semiautomatic rifles. But how had they gotten the rifles and explosives up to the arch top? I recalled how there was airport like security at the entrance to the visitor center, which lay underground and between the two legs of the arch. That security included x-ray and magnetometer machines. Had some employee of the arch smuggled the stuff inside?
“We are joined now by CNN’s senior terrorism reporter Jack Wilshire. He is calling in from outside the FBI’s Hoover building in Washington D.C. Jack, what news do you have?”
A middle-aged man now appeared to one side of the TV screen even as the copter close-up of the arch windows showed the hostages walking slowly to either side of the observation deck, with the two terrorists standing in the middle of the narrow room, pointing their rifles at the hostages on either side.
“Hello Leslee,” said Wilshire. “My sources in the FBI say there are 22 people being held hostage. No children or babies among the captives. At least twenty other visitors escaped down the stairs of each leg, before the attackers fired warning shots and then wired explosives across each stairwell entry.” The TV image now filled with a file photo of the triangle shaped observation room, looking to one end of it. A booth with a control panel showed at one side of the start of the stairs. It was lighted and with no one in it. I recognized it as the north leg entry point, the place where people stepped out of the Ferris wheel like tram cars and walked up the stairs to the observation deck. Wilshire continued. “The St. Louis field office of the FBI is coordinating with St. Louis city police and the county sheriff’s office to evacuate people from the underground visitor center. There is official concern over the integrity of the arch if the explosives are detonated. A strong enough blast might sever the floor and walls at either or both ends of the observation deck. If that happens, the observation section could detach and fall to the ground, 630 feet below. Leslee, back to you.”
“Very disturbing,” the blond-haired woman said. “Jack, has there been any official response from the White House to the demands of these terrorists?”
The man nodded quickly. “A limited response. White House spokesman Wilbur Johanson said the president expects the hostages to be well treated and allowed access to food and water, neither of which are available on the observation deck. When asked if anyone was planning to bring up food and water, Johanson referred the reporter to the National Park Service, which runs the Gateway Arch. Back to you.”
Howden frowned. “Has there been any word on a rescue effort?”
“The FBI’s public affairs office has not responded to my inquiry or those of other news reporters,” Wilshire said. “Past history indicates that while local FBI agents will show up at the site of any domestic terrorism incident, the agents make no comment until after the situation is resolved. That was the case with the Empire State Building matter.” The reporter looked to one side as local police began setting up a yellow ribbon cordon in front of the entrance to the FBI building. Then he faced the camera. “The choice of these terrorists to take hostages at the top of a national landmark monument and to broadcast their demands over YouTube makes one wonder whether they have a connection with the Empire attacker, now identified as Mustafa al-Aziz, of Minneapolis.”
The blond gave a quick smile. “Thank you, Jack. Please keep us posted on any law enforcement developments.” She faced the camera. “CNN has dispatched reporters to St. Louis and they will shortly be reporting live from the base of the Gateway Arch. At 630 feet high, the arch i
s the tallest stainless steel monument in the world. It is a National Historic Landmark and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The arch was completed in June 1967. It was dedicated by Vice President Hubert Humphrey on May 25, 1968. Since then millions of people have visited the arch and ridden up its Ferris-wheel like cars to see the view. Located on the riverfront of the Mississippi River, visitors can look out the eastside windows at the river, or through the westside windows at the downtown area of St. Louis. We now go to our correspondent outside the office of Mayor Howard Weinstein. Melody, when will the mayor address the public?”
I turned away, having seen enough.
“Hey, aren’t you going to stay and watch?” called Billy. “I know this arch place. I visited it with my family. This is terrible.”
I pushed at the exit door. “It is terrible. And I also visited it with my parents, when they were still alive. I’m heading home. Bye.”
Superpowers 1: Superguy Page 8
