by J. C. Fields
Kruger tilted his head to the side. “You’ve never told me what your real responsibilities are, Joseph. What responsibilities does the president want to expand?”
It was now Joseph’s turn to stare out the plate glass window. “I’ve been a talent scout for the government for years.”
Kruger nodded. “You’re the reason I joined the Bureau. I know that part, what else?”
Hesitating, Joseph took a sip of his now warm beer. “The problem the United States has fighting terrorism is the separate functions of each agency. The FBI is for domestic problems, the CIA is for foreign ones, and the NSA can only listen. It’s more complicated than that, but it summarizes the issue. The president asked me to take on a project last year after the Imam had his accident.”
Not taking the bait, Kruger remained silent.
“Here’s the part where you’re supposed to ask me what the project is.”
Kruger chuckled. “You’re dancing again, Joseph. What the hell are you trying to say?”
“The President of the United States wants an audience with you and me tomorrow at 4 p.m.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t go into detail. Roy Griffin will be there as well.”
“JR is getting married this weekend, I’m not going to miss it.”
Nodding, Joseph gave Kruger a slight grin.
“Trust me, we won’t. I’m the best man.”
Chapter 6
Washington, D.C.
It was two minutes before noon when Kruger, followed by Joseph, exited the plane at Reagan National Airport. It was the first time he had flown to Washington, D.C., in over a year. He was not sure what he felt, but knew it was not excitement. The summons to Washington was confirmed when the President’s Chief of Staff called with an itinerary and hotel accommodations. It was Tuesday, and he was scheduled to be here until Thursday.
Joseph caught up to him as they made their way to the passenger pick-up area of the airport. “We have a ride waiting.”
Kruger remained quiet.
“I’m glad you decided to attend.”
Kruger shot Joseph an angry glare. “Just make sure we’re out of here Thursday.”
“We will be.”
Staring ahead as they walked, Kruger nodded.
Joseph gave Kruger a grin. “You were bored and restless. Stephanie saw it, I saw it, even JR saw it. You’ve got to admit, JR doesn’t normally notice those types of subtleties.”
Kruger remained silent.
As they walked out of the terminal, Joseph spotted their ride, a black GMC Yukon Denali with dark tinted windows. He pointed toward it, and Kruger followed. Both put their overnight bags in the back, and Joseph slipped into the front passenger seat. Kruger got in the back. The vehicle started moving just as Kruger shut the door.
Joseph turned to the driver, a large man with bulging biceps, blond hair cut short, a deep tan from too much time outdoors, and mirrored Ray-Ban sunglasses. He was dressed in a dark gray business suit and when Joseph sat down, a small grin appeared on his face.
“Good to see you, Major. Thanks for the lift.”
Major Benedict “Sandy” Knoll nodded. “My pleasure sir. It’s always good to see you.” He looked in the rearview mirror at Kruger. “Welcome back, Agent, glad to hear you’re joining our little party.”
Smiling from the back, Kruger ignored the implications of the last statement. “I haven’t seen you since you left the hospital. How are you doing?”
“Wouldn’t even know I got shot, except when it gets cold out, damn thing aches like a mother.” Joseph brought Knoll in four years earlier, along with several other experts, to protect JR and his then-girlfriend Mia. During an altercation with one of the individuals searching for JR, Knoll was shot twice, and another man was killed. “I understand JR and Mia are getting married.”
“This weekend.”
“Good. Great couple. Glad we kept them out of the shit.”
Smiling, Kruger nodded and stared out the window as they exited Reagan National Airport. Ignoring the conversation in the front seat of the Denali, his thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Stephanie just before leaving for the airport.
“Are you two going to be okay?”
“Sean, stop worrying. It’s only for two nights. Kristin and I will be fine. Besides, I’m already seeing a change in your demeanor.”
Kruger stopped packing his overnight bag, turned and stared at her. “What do you mean?”
She chuckled. “After you decided to attend this meeting, you’ve had a spring in your step. Your old self is starting to come back out, don’t you see it?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, you are acting different. Last night you slept all night for the first time in months. You walk just a little straighter and faster, like you have somewhere to go now. You’re the guy with the PhD in psychology, and you don’t see it. Amazing.” Her smile lit up the room. He had not seen her smile that way for a long time. Or was it, like she told him, his perception was sharper, not dulled by the lack of anything mentally challenging?
His attention was drawn back to the present when Joseph spoke, “There’s been a change in meeting locations.”
“Where now?”
Joseph turned in his seat so he could look at Kruger as he answered, “First floor conference room at the White House, not the Oval Office.”
“Thought there was only going to be the four of us.”
“I know, but I just got a text from Senator Griffin. Apparently the President feels this is an important meeting, so he’s called more advisors.”
“Wonderful,” Kruger’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “How many people know we’re meeting with the President?”
Joseph shrugged. “You know as much as I do.”
***
For the second time in his life, Kruger walked into the White House for a meeting. After being dropped off by Sandy, he and Joseph were escorted to a conference room. Standing around the table were Senator Roy Griffin, FBI Director Paul Stumpf, CIA Director Dwight King, Director of the NSA Admiral Leland Berry, Secretary of Homeland Security Joanne Black, and the President’s Chief of Staff, Bob Short. Pointing to two chairs next to Stumpf, Short said, “He’s running about five minutes late. Not bad for a Tuesday.”
Kruger stood next to Stumpf and shook his hand. Stumpf leaned close to Kruger’s ear and whispered, “The President was glad you agreed to attend.”
Before he could respond, Bob Short started introducing Kruger to everyone. Joseph was not introduced and called everyone by their first name as they shook hands. Another interesting factoid about Joseph, the man seemed to know everyone. With introductions out of the way, a door opened on the other side of the room and President of the United States Lawrence Osborne entered the room. Everyone remained standing.
With a disarming smile, the President sat down. “Thank you for coming everyone; please be seated.”
The sound of scooting chairs and paper rustling permeated the room. While Kruger knew he should be nervous sitting in the halls of power, he was surprisingly relaxed. He sat back, anxious to see how the President handled all the egos gathered in the room.
The President looked over his glasses. “It’s good to see you again, Joseph.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
The President cleared his throat. “I’ve asked all of you here to discuss a particularly troubling problem that has just recently been exposed. As we all know, Agent Kruger helped prevent an attack last year that could have been more devastating than 9/11. Your nation is grateful, Sean.” The President nodded in Kruger’s direction. “Since then, Director Stumpf and his agency, along with the help of Admiral Berry’s group, have uncovered numerous plots by groups who seem determined to continue this mission. Most of these groups claim affiliation with overseas terrorists. ISIS has been mentioned, as has the various cells of Al Qaeda.
“With the assistance of Director King’s CIA and Secretary Black’s H
omeland Security, we have prevented several smaller attacks from occurring. You are all to be congratulated.”
Kruger smiled. Egos had been stroked. Well done, Mr. President.
The President continued, “However, I did not call you all together to break our arms patting each other on the back. We need to do more. It’s the lone wolf, so to speak, that keeps me awake at night. The individuals who continue to defy detection. The man who showed up at a church prayer meeting and gunned down nine innocent citizens, and the five police officers killed in Dallas a while back come to mind. Not one of these individuals were affiliated with any known group. How do we stop them?”
The following discussion lasted more than forty minutes. The President listened, made notes, nodded his head occasionally, but remained quiet. Paul Stumpf spoke first. “Mr. President, it is my personal opinion we, as a collective group, need to step back and divorce ourselves from this task.”
Everyone looked at Stumpf with a quizzical stare, but the President smiled slightly. Paul continued, “By no means do I mean abandon the task, but to put fresh eyes on it. We all know that if one agency is assigned this duty, it will become encumbered with our normal bureaucratic mentality. We can’t afford that. The mission is too critical. Each of our respective agencies struggle to work together, even though we say we do. Assigning a joint task force won’t solve anything either.”
Everyone in the room shot fugitive glances at their counterparts and then nodded slightly. The President nodded. “I agree, go on.”
“Therefore, I would propose the following: Assign this task to a new entity created specifically for the purpose of seeking out and monitoring individuals contemplating atrocities within our borders.”
The President smiled. “Who do you propose this group answer to?”
“You, sir.”
Silence permeated the room, all eyes turned to the President as he doodled on the notes in front of him. Finally after several minutes of quiet, the President looked up and surveyed the room. “The idea has merit. However, the mechanics and funding would need to be ironed out before I give my consent. Do you have it figured out, Paul?”
Stumpf opened a tan nine-by-thirteen envelope and extracted a manila folder. He slid it across the table toward the President.
“This document outlines our proposal. Details on structure and funding are included. Each of the groups in this room will have a support role, but the new group will need total autonomy to function properly.”
Osborne opened the file, scanned the documents briefly and nodded. “I like this. Work out the details and present them to Bob.” He rose from the chair and everyone stood. “Would Senator Griffin, Joseph, and Agent Kruger follow me?”
Kruger frowned as he looked at Joseph and Griffin. Both shrugged. They followed the President out of the room through a door leading to the Oval Office. As soon as the door was shut, Osborne said, “Gentlemen, please have a seat.”
Everyone found seats, and the President sat behind his desk. He placed his elbows on the surface and made a steeple with his hands and fingers. He pressed them against his lips and took a deep breath. “As you probably guessed, this meeting was more for show than anything else. Paul and I worked the plan out months ago. We just need the others on board.” He paused for several seconds. “Which we do. Now comes the hard part. Senator, I need you to sponsor a bill that funds this group. It needs to be properly funded, but hidden. We can’t have questions being asked at this time.”
Griffin nodded.
The President looked at Joseph. “My old friend, Joseph, has had a team of rapid response professionals assembled for several years. Not too many people are aware of it, but they have been dispatched to several hot spots around the globe over the years and have been quite successful. They will be the arms and legs of this new group.”
He turned his attention to Kruger. “Agent Kruger.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I keep referring to you as an agent.”
“The thought crossed my mind several times.”
Chuckling, Osborne continued, “Because you were never classified as retired. A slight of hand on my part and Director Stumpf. You were classified as taking a leave of absence. Your tenure is still in place, as are your benefits. I appreciate your assistance over the past year on the various projects I’ve sent your way. You’ve been most helpful.”
“It was my pleasure, sir.”
“You will be the head of this new group. Joseph has told me he would prefer to assist.”
Joseph nodded.
Kruger stared at the President. “With all due respect, sir, I haven’t agreed to come back at this point.”
President Osborne nodded slightly, but retained his friendly demeanor. “True, but don’t turn it down until you learn the details. I have a feeling you will find the position irresistible.” The president changed the subject abruptly. “I understand you have a very competent asset in place that can assist with research.”
Kruger shot a concerned look at Joseph.
“Relax, Sean,” the President grinned. “Who do you think signed a pardon for his old identity? We’ll start small and see how it goes.” As he stood, everyone followed suit. “If you will excuse me, the ambassador from Spain has requested a meeting.” He walked toward the door of the room and opened it. Before stepping out, he turned. “Make this work, gentlemen. I just hope we’re not too late.”
With this remark, he walked out of the room.
Chapter 7
West of Atlanta, GA
The home invasion occurred on the sixth day. Over the course of the first three days, the intruder tracked the comings and goings of the rural mansion intently, making note of who arrived and when. The structure was located in an upscale community on five wooded acres. Security was both electronic and structural. Cameras were spaced every hundred feet of the eight-foot wrought iron fence topped with electrified razor wire. The fence surrounded the property. A locked gate controlled by a keypad kept unwanted vehicles from entering the compound. The owner never left, and there were few visitors. A housekeeper arrived at exactly 7:30 in the morning and left before 5 each evening. UPS and FedEx trucks made regular stops, but they were required to wait at the gate for the housekeeper.
The only other activity was a contract landscaping crew that arrived on the fourth day of the intruder’s observation. They arrived, punched in a code, and did their work. Afterward they left with no interaction with the occupants of the house.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, Bishop observed the reclusive Stephen Blair walking in his back yard. Using a digital camera with a long telephoto lens, he snapped several pictures of the self-imposed hermit. The pictures allowed Bishop to make his final preparations for the next part of his plan.
The housekeeper was a middle-aged woman of Hispanic descent. She gained access each morning by touching the key pad at the gate and driving through after it opened. A five-car garage was attached to the west side of the mansion. As she drove up, the space next to the house would open, and once she parked inside, the door immediately closed.
Gaining access to the property from the surrounding land would be difficult, with the security cameras providing forewarning. The housekeeper seemed the best possibility for gaining entrance. On the evening of the fifth day, Randolph Bishop followed her home.
***
Stephen Blair was brilliant. His parents knew this, but also knew he had challenges. As a teenager and college student, the challenges were controlled with medication. During those years, the meds actually worked for Stephen. They allowed him to graduate with a master’s degree before his twenty-first birthday and start a highly successful e-commerce company by his twenty-third. However, the pressures of running a multimillion-dollar corporation and the publicity of being a successful entrepreneur drove him back into seclusion. The meds could not overcome Stephen’s new level of fear. He quietly turned the company over to his father and disappeared behind the
walls of a newly purchased estate. Fifteen years later, he was still there.
Stephen was in the kitchen making coffee when Camila burst clumsily into the room. Not quite five feet tall and weighing less than a hundred pounds, she was no match for the six-foot tall Bishop, who shoved her roughly through the doorway. Her head snapped back as his hand pulled her braided ponytail, stopping her forward motion. Stephen saw terror in her dark brown eyes, but she remained quiet.
His gaze turned toward the tall man behind her. Stephen did not know much about handguns, but he knew one when he saw it. A large black pistol was pointed straight at the back of Camila’s head.
With his fear of being seen temporarily overcome by his concern for Camila, he said, “What the hell’s the meaning of this?” Looking at the man as he spoke, there was a sudden sense of familiarity. The man was several inches taller than Stephen. But, the hair was the same dark brown and cut exactly the same. The man’s green eyes were the same as the ones Stephen saw every morning in the mirror.
The man kept the pistol pointed at Camila. “Shut up and do what I tell you, or the woman dies.”
“There’s no money in the house, if that’s what you’re after.”
The man shook his head and chuckled. “No, that’s not what I’m after.”
Camila stared at Stephen. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stephen, he followed me home…”
“Shut up,” the intruder yelled. “Don’t say another word.”
As the gun pressed harder against the petite woman’s head, she grimaced, her eyes shut tight.
Stephen wasn’t crazy, but his disabling fear of anyone looking or staring at him caused people to think he was. To overcome this fear, he ran the company from the seclusion of his five acre estate in rural Georgia, just outside the western edge of Atlanta. Meetings with the management team were held via a secure video link, with Stephen’s image blurred for everyone in the meeting. This system worked remarkably well, considering the challenges of dealing with a CEO no one ever saw. It worked well until the day Randolph Bishop pushed Stephen’s housekeeper through the door connecting the laundry room and the kitchen.
