The Seventh Message

by William Johnstone

  He went back through the fil again. "Nope."

  Ashley frowned. "Try Walter Kent."

  "Okay, I have one in that name." The clerk said, with a sly grin. She handed him her credit card. "The room's already paid. Government rate. Our tax dollars at work." He grinned and rolled his eyes.

  Ashley glared at him and replaced the card in her wallet. "Room number," she demanded.

  "Yes, ma'am–room 126. It's right down from the office–ground floor." He pointed over his shoulder. "Your Mr. Kent is waiting." He cracked a devilish grin. She took the electronic key, "Have a great night," she snarled and left.

  Ashley inserted the keycard in the door and stepped into room 126. She noticed the usual queen-sized beds separated by a small table with a double light fixture fastened to the wall. A round table and two chairs sat in front of the window. A red ice chest on the floor, with a briefcase next to it, seemed out of place. Walter Kent lay stretched out on the second bed watching the evening news on TV. He immediately snapped it off, and stood. She closed the door behind her and returned his gaze.

  A few seconds passed. "The blond hair is good, but I like the natural brunette better.”

  It took Ashley a second before she remembered the blond wig. She moved into the room and sat on the end of the first bed. "Guess I forgot about that." She pulled the wig off, tossed it behind her, shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair.

  Walter walked past her and stood next to the round table. With a sympathetic expression he said, "You seem tired, Ashley."

  She lifted her head and forced an alert expression. "It's been a long day." The lamp in the corner lit his silhouette, giving him a radiant glow. He was ruggedly handsome, and tonight seemed softer then she remember. Not the Special Agent in Charge, but more like a fellow human being.

  Kent inspected Ashley's exhausted face with dark circles under her eyes and her hair in disarray. "You have an uncanny ability to look great even when you shouldn't. Not many people can pull that off."

  A moment of silence, and then Ashley asked, "Did Dorothy tell you why I asked for this meeting?"

  "She told me you've been working on the Russell Smith case."

  "I haven't done anything wrong," she said, ready to defend herself. "I followed up on a couple of loose ends.

  "Tell me about those loose ends."

  Ashley expected a different reaction. She relaxed, then described the un-sub's visit to Smith Trading during the early part of the ill-fated surveillance. She said it seemed curious to her that he would be running a business. Today, when she discovered the shipping container behind the store, she became convinced of its importance and noted the serial number. "Now that I know the shipment came from Dubai, I’m sure he will show up, soon. I need to stakeout that location.” She paused and waited for Kent to ask how she found out about the origin of the shipping container, but his expression of interest held steady.

  Ashley described what she learned today–what she did in El Paso using the New Mexico DMV information, her interview with Bashir Hashim and his lie. “I think he’s involved in this case and needs to be watched,” She stopped and realized this all sounded speculative, but hoped Walter would get the idea. "I called Dorothy because I can't be in both places at the same time."

  Walter took a seat at the table, and pointed to the second chair. "Sit here, Ashley. It's important." Unsure of what was coming, she moved from the bed to the chair. The lamp above him highlighted his thick wavy hair. He reached down and pulled the ice chest over and opened it. He set two Champagne glasses on the table, a chilled bottle of Asti Spumante, a smaller bottle of Triple Sec, and a carafe of orange juice.

  Ashley marveled at the array of drinks displayed. "What are you doing?"

  He ignored the question. "Dorothy told me you preferred the Italian version of Champagne.” I find it a bit sweet, but with a delicate hint of brightness." Walter poured a scant ounce of Triple Sec in each glass. He then pulled the cork out of the wine, with the usual popping sound followed by a wispy spray of moisture. He partially filled the glasses with the sparkling wine, and then topped it off with orange juice. "The orange juice is domestic, I'm afraid." He tried to be serious while sliding a glass over to her.

  Confused, she asked, "What is this?"

  "It's a Mimosa."

  Her hand went to the glass stem without thinking. "Yes, I know. I mean why...I don't understand." She swirled the drink. "It's nice, but..."

  Walter lifted his glass. "A toast!"

  Ashley lifted her glass, still unsure. "To what?"

  The glasses clinked. "To your return to active duty!" He sipped his drink and made a huuuuum, sound.

  Her glass remained extended. Active duty? Her brain scrambled to understand. Bewilderment showed on her face. "No," she said out loud.

  "How can you say no, you haven't tasted it yet?"

  She lowered the drink and took a sip, and then another. She hadn't eaten all-day. "That's good. Damn good, but I mean, no. I can't be on active duty, I'm not in the agency anymore. I resigned."

  Walter chuckled. "You wrote a letter to that effect, but you forgot an important point. You can write a letter of resignation, but you can't process it. Only I can do that, and I didn't." He reached for the Asti Spumante. "Refill?"

  Ashley stared at him. His face held a pleasant expression, as if he had just complimented a student on getting straight "A's" She sputtered, "This isn't right. The Bureau is an important agency. It does great work, but I don't fit in. I've tried, but I can't deal with the culture."

  "The fact is, you can't deal without it." His manner turned serious. "You need a Bill Johnson to check out the origin of a shipping container once in a while, and you need Jerry Cebeck to conduct a surveillance on Mr. Hashim down south, on occasion." He leaned back and drained his glass and put it down on the table, gently.

  Ashley remained silent.

  "You should know about a few other loose ends that have advanced the Russell Smith case. The un-sub's computer download that Cebeck sent to Bill Johnson was forwarded to Washington. Turns out some of the download matched six encrypted messages the DC office and the NSA had deciphered a couple of days ago–messages that imply a terror operation is in the making. Washington didn't know the destination of the messages, but now they do. Director Delong feels they are important enough to trigger a Joint Terrorist Task Force. He praised you for your suspicion that a terror plot may be afoot."

  Ashley listened. Her thoughts surged in several directions. A terrorist threat, as she had suspected. Agency resources coming together. A commendation from the Director? She had to ask about that one. "Why would Director Delong praise me?'"

  "He asked for the name of the Lead Investigator on the case."

  Ashley grabbed the Champagne glass and downed it. "I'll have another." Walter began mixing two more Mimosas.

  Ashley’s brain shifted into high gear. Clearly, he wants me back, and deep down, when he's not on-the-job, he's an agreeable man. A man to be trusted and depended on. She wondered if she could work within the traditions of the Bureau, and not screw up again. Ashley lifted the second drink and savored the sweet mixture. Maybe a better question was could she do without the backing of the best law enforcement agency in the world?

  "You also have moral support a bit closer to home," he said, as he mixed a third drink. The day after you and I sorted things out, I experienced a near mutiny. Johnson came from downstairs with this in his hands." Walter leaned down and opened the briefcase and put out Ashley's gun and badge and placed them on the table between them. "Dorothy followed right behind him. These are two people I consider the best in the business, and my friends. I'm glad they shut my door, before unloading on me."

  When she saw her badge lying on the table she took a deep breath and reached out and touched it. Then looked at a man she held in total respect. "You were right, Walter. My actions caused the surveillance to fail."

  "Your actions also saved a life."

  "Did you get the hosp
ital recording I sent to Dorothy?" A mental picture of Rita Durant came to her mind.

  "Yes, I listened to it this morning, good work."

  Ashley felt a wave of sadness pass through her. "I feel bad about the way this turned out.” Her eyes fixed on her badge. “Walter, I need to be honest with you. I need the Bureau, but if I come back, I can contribute more if I work undercover." She reached out and touched his hand. "That's what I want to do. That's how I can contribute the most.”

  He placed his other hand on top of hers. "That's a dangerous arrangement, Ashley. I don't want you working alone. I don't want anything to happen to you."

  "Every step of the way the Bureau will be with me. I won't be alone. I know you'll see to that." Ashley studied Walter's face. He appeared conflicted. She didn't understand until he spoke.

  "I've been in this business a lifetime. I started as a street cop, like you, and worked my way up. It cost me a marriage. A mistake I haven't repeated. Then law school, public defender, prosecutor, and finally I found a home in the Bureau. I've met many people in law enforcement over the years. Most are sincere and dedicated, but at the end of their shift, they go home to a family and live an everyday life. You're different. You work 24/7 and 365." He squeezed her hand. "No husband, not even a dog. What keeps you going?" Their eyes met. "What drives you, Ashley? What gives you the relentless strength to push ahead?"

  She pulled her hand away from his, stood and turned her back to him. Maybe because this last week had been an emotional storm, and she was exhausted or because she sensed he cared like no one had ever cared before. She didn't know why, but she felt she needed to face the past and share it with him. That turning point in her life she hid from everyone. That terrible day.

  She faced him. "It was Tuesday and the weather was clear. Mom went to work like she always did. She worked in the financial district long hours to pay the bills and keep me in school. That day, at 9:03 a.m. American Airlines Flight 11, bound for Los Angeles, crashed into the 60th floor of the South Tower. The World Trade Center was under attack. The North Tower was already on fire. Mom worked on the 95th floor, above the impact zone. She called me at 9:10. I remember the time. I'll never forget it. She told me she loved me. I said I loved her. She said she would not be home tonight. She made me promise to be strong and remember everything she had taught me. She said there was a terrible accident and many people would not go home. Mom told me she had to try to save the good people around her and that I must save good people, too, and protect them from the bad people. I asked her why she won't be home. She said God had a reason. She told me to be strong. She wanted to be proud of me. I heard people screaming and I said I didn't want her to go. I wanted her to stay with me. She said, 'I love you, dear Ashley'. Those were the last words she said to me."

  Walter jumped to his feet. He went to her and held her shoulders to steady her. She looked at him, her eyes glistened with tears that began to flow. He cupped her face with gentle hands and brushed the tears away. She felt unsteady. His arms encircled her. Ashley felt his warmth and needed his support. They stood, holding each other in silence. Then, with his hand, he lifted her chin and gently kissed her. She tightened her grip on him. He kissed her again. This time she responded.

  FORTY

  SHORTLY AFTER THE WEEKLY meeting of the Terrorism Threat and Investigation Center broke up, Rashid and Mike Johansson drove back to their office via Connecticut Avenue. At the meeting they had explained the procedures used to crack the coconut encryptions. Leo Adornetto, Director of National Intelligence, and a regular member of the President's Council on National Security, had attended the meeting. Adornetto had a long and distinguished background in national security matters. He had served as chief investigator for the Chairman of the Armed Services Committee, CEO of the Cyber Security Institute, and most recently as a special adviser to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

  In the car, Mike asked Rashid's opinion. "What did you think of Adornetto's reaction to our combined efforts with the NSA?"

  Not wanting to dampen the Big Swede's enthusiasm Rashid hesitated. "He seemed interested, but a little distant."

  "Distant?"

  "When you oversee the entire intelligence community, and speak to the President daily, our achievement may not seem all that important."

  Mike pinched his eyebrows together. "Then he's missed the whole idea of our operation; interagency cooperation to heighten national security." As if to underline his point, when a taxi cut him off in traffic, he blew his horn, holding it down, "Damn taxies think they own the streets."

  Rashid wanted to lessen his old friend's agitation. "Working across agency lines to break the coconuts is an important accomplishment, but we don't know their plan and when it will go down. We only know something is brewing."

  Mike dodged another taxi, and said nothing.

  Rashid felt a vibration against his leg. He pulled out his phone and read Ike Gunner's number. "Hey Ike, what's up?"

  Ike talked fast. "We got it. We got number seven. Big Mamma just sent me the alert. She intercepted it. It's on hold, and it's somethin' big. Wait till you see what the turban-heads are up to now!"

  Rashid covered the phone and turned to Mike, "It's Gunner over at NSA." Turning back he asked Ike, "What's it say?"

  "You got a see this. These dudes are on the move."

  "Are you in Virginia?"

  "Yep, right here, Prof."

  "Hold on."

  Rashid turned to Mike again. "We have the seventh message now, and Ike says it's 'something big'."

  The Big Swede wet his lips, blinked his eyes and asked, "McLean, right?"

  "Right."

  Mike swerved the car and headed for the Georgetown Bridge that crossed into Virginia. "Those damn taxies better get out of my way."

  THE SECURITY GUARDS at the NSA building recognized Doctor Youris, did a quick check, and passed him through. Even though Rashid vouched for Mike Johansson, they did a pat-down of the assistant deputy director of the FBI. Once through security, they took the elevator to the fifth floor. Ike met them at the elevator in his electric scooter, and led them to his workstation in the Black Chamber.

  Rashid introduced both men. Mike extended his hand and Ike shook it. With his other hand Ike, waved a sheet of paper over his head. "It come through minutes ago and it's decrypted." All three settled around Ike's worktable. Ike passed a copy of the message to each man.

  Rashid read aloud:

  "In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, and Merciful.

  Oh, Sword of the Great One, vanguard of the jihad and holy warrior, be it known to you, final preparations are at hand. In accordance with our supplier's agreement, three members of the Team of Deliverance will travel from different nations. They will rendezvous at the house of Hashim in our southern portal to America.

  Know the team members and memorize their code names: Kassar Suri: (Khoon Baha), Alexander Kosloff: (Pasol), Danish Maloof: (Magister).

  In the name of The Granter of Security, at full moon they will assemble and await your instructions. Secure a safe location. Your meeting must be blind to all who would harm you. Guard against the great Satan. If it please Allah the Exalted, your training must be swift and complete for you have their expertise no more than 24 hours. Learn the skill needed to cause the culmination of our plans to force our enemies to their knees and free us of their interference. May the All Powerful One, reward you for your actions that will bring the Day of Resurrection and Sharia rule to the world. With the blessing of Allah the Divine,

  Your Mentor,

  AG"

  Mike Johansson rubbed his hands together. "Sounds like we finally have something to work with here." He held the paper. "They allude to a time and place. What the hell does 'southern portal' mean?"

  Rashid reviewed the message, savoring each word. "El Paso, Texas," he answered. "In the first message we cracked, the Sword describes how he entered our country over the bridge from Juarez to El Paso. So that's where these people will first asse
mble.

  Ike said, "The house of Hashim. Sounds like an international restaurant."

  Mike shook his head, "I doubt it, but that's something we can check out easy enough. I'll get my people on it right away." He made a note on the back of an envelope. "What else can we deduce from this writing?"

  Ike had a ready answer. "They will meet at 'full moon', that means they will meet this here Friday."

  Mike asked, "How did you determine Friday?"

  "I looked it up. There are 29.5 days in a lunar cycle, and eight phases of the moon in each cycle, which makes for about 3.68 days in each phase. Right now we is approaching the waning gibbous phase. The next full moon is Friday. That's five days countin’ today." Ike appeared pleased with himself.

  Mike quipped, "You computer guys never stop surprising me.”

  “Get use to it, Mike. Ike likes to show off.” Rashid turned his attention to the words on the paper. "It says here, these men will come from different nations. That means they live outside the U.S. Let's assume a reasonable scenario. They have to come from somewhere in the middle-east or about halfway around the globe. If you consider time for preparations and travel, that’s two of the five days, leaving us with about three days before this Team of Deliverance gets airborne. Not much time."

  Ike tapped his keyboard. "I can't change the day of the meeting, but I can shorten the Sword’s time to prepare for it by one day."

  Rashid's eyebrows went up. “How so?”

  "Simple. I programmed Big Mama to recognize their transmissions' signature, and programmed her to hold it in quarantine. I can hold it for 24 hours. I can't hold it longer because the risk of detection starts doubling after a day."

  Rashid placed his hand on Ike's shoulder. "A smart move."

  Mike appeared thoughtful. Standing, he stepped back. "We need a plan. A plan that will let us take control of this threat."

  Ike, rubbed his hands together. "Find out where the house of Hashim is and arrest the bunch of 'em."