Edge of Apocalypse

by Tim LaHaye

  "All right, I understand. My husband, humble as ever. But my point is about the president's motives. Politics are all over this letter..."

  "Well, after all, he is a politician. Funny thing about politicians--you can always count on them to be political."

  "But Josh, not like this," she argued, tapping a manicured nail on the letter that was now sitting on the top of his file. "Come on...'I am extending my appreciation for the assistance you rendered...'? And what about the way they 'honored' you? A private little reception in the West Wing. Not the Oval Office. No press invited. Just the White House photographer. The president, the chief of staff, and, what, one or two reps from the Pentagon? That was it. They sent a little press release to the media late on a Friday afternoon. That's what they do in Washington when they want to bury a story. Which is exactly what happened. Josh, honey, you deserved better."

  "I agree, Dad. You deserved much better."

  Deborah was seated in the row behind them, listening.

  "Wow, it seems I have a cheering section here," Joshua quipped.

  His daughter reached over the seat and hugged his neck. "Forget the politicians, Dad. All the cadets at Point think you're great."

  "Have them call Congress and tell them that, will you?" her father suggested with a half-smile.

  "Deb, we're so happy you could come with us. I'm glad you had a break at the academy. Perfect timing. I bet you can't wait to ride your horse again," Abigail added.

  "Yeah, it's been awhile. How is Sergeant Pepper?"

  "Frank says he's doing fine," Abigail reassured. "So are the others. He just did the farrier work on their hooves. But I told him not to groom any of them. I knew you'd probably want to do that."

  "Great. Hey, why don't we all go riding? All three of us?"

  Joshua immediately gave Abigail "the look." She knew what it meant. He never liked being torn between family and professional commitments. But Joshua was a driven man, especially when he was at Hawk's Nest for one of his secret Roundtable meetings. Single-purposed. Focused like a laser beam on the agenda. This particular meeting was critical.

  "We'll see," Joshua replied.

  "Oh, I know that voice," Deborah responded, staring up at the ceiling of the jet. "It means 'Request denied. Stand down.'" Abigail reached over and squeezed his arm. "Oh, Josh, let's try. It'd be wonderful. The three of us on the trail together again."

  Joshua always found his two girls hard to resist. And they knew it. A smile beamed all over Abby's face as she stared at him. Joshua tried to keep it serious, but after a few seconds of absorbing his wife's radiance, he couldn't continue. And a smile started to form in the corner of his own mouth.

  "All right. I'll make the time to do some trail riding with you. I promise."

  "Great!" Deborah sat back in her seat and hooked her iPod to her ear but then stopped.

  "Hey...I heard the two of you talking about something in the airplane hangar before we took off...something about security issues at Hawk's Nest?"

  Joshua and Abigail gave each other a quick glance. Her father decided to address it.

  "My lawyer, Harry Smythe, suggested we beef up security a little around the complex."

  "Is there a problem?"

  "Not really, Deb," Abigail cut in. "Just a precaution."

  "A precaution about what?"

  "Because of the leaked story about my testimony in Congress," Joshua added, "and all of the media coverage since then, most of it negative. He just thought it might be prudent. You know, just because there may be a few zanies out there that might want their fifteen minutes by showing up at our front door. That sort of thing."

  "Hey, I've already taken combat fundamentals," Deborah exclaimed. "And I'll be studying security intelligence this semester. So as long as I'm around, you got no worries!"

  There were chuckles all around. But then Deborah stopped laughing and got serious. "Dad, you didn't really say what you're going to do about security."

  "Well, we've got Bill Lawrence," Joshua assured. "He's familiar with Hawk's Nest. Been there a couple years now."

  Deborah wasn't impressed. "Yeah, but he's, well, he's getting pretty old. Isn't he retired?"

  "Retired detective from the Denver police force," her Dad pointed out. "He's in great shape. Still got the steadiest hand on the rifle range I've ever seen. He puts me to shame."

  "But, Dad, one guy?"

  "And we've got our electronic surveillance. It's state-of-the-art. So, Deb, dear, I'm not worried about it. I think Harry Smythe was overreacting. Lawyers are paid to be like that."

  With that, Joshua looked over with a smirk at his wife. She smiled back and just shook her head.

  Deborah gave up and went back to her music.

  Joshua went back to his papers.

  But a minute later, Abigail brought it up again. "Okay," she whispered, bending over toward her husband. "Just between us. What would be so terrible about increasing the security detail on the property?"

  "Because it's not necessary."

  "It's never necessary, until it's too late."

  "You don't think between Bill and myself that we couldn't take care of things if a situation came up?"

  "I'm not saying that."

  "Well, what are you saying?"

  "Just that, from the time Harry first brought it up...I don't know...a feeling I guess. Ever since the North Korean thing, you've become a kind of national target, that's all."

  "Anybody who's unfortunate enough to make the national headlines these days--for any reason--is eventually going to gain some enemies. That's life. Abby, listen to me..." He took her hands in his. "If I thought there was a risk, I'd do whatever I needed to do to protect my family. You know that. But I'm just not that concerned about what Harry said, that's all. Everything's under control. So, let's not worry about it, honey. Okay?"

  Abigail felt the warmth and strength from the covering of his hands. There was security in his grasp. Abigail had always felt safe with Joshua. He was a man of immense courage in the face of danger. But this time it was different. She could feel it. A sense of dread she couldn't shake. As if, out there somewhere, unseen, clawing its way toward them, was some kind of unnamed threat. And because she couldn't put her finger on it, she hadn't shared it with Joshua.

  In her own growing relationship with God, she had learned an important lesson whenever she was faced with the challenges of life that were breathtaking or scary. In those situations the options were pretty straightforward: either act with faith or be governed by fear.

  Without knowing exactly when or why, she wondered whether she would have to face that choice.

  TWENTY-THREE

  "I have clearance to share this with you."

  "Really?"

  "Of course. You think I'm lying?"

  FBI Special Agent John Gallagher wasn't taking any chances. So he asked again. "You sure?"

  "Come on, John. What's going on?"

  The look in Gallagher's eye clearly indicated that he wasn't kidding. CIA Intelligence Officer Ken Leary decided to probe a bit deeper. "Why so timid, John? It's not like you. Where's the bull-in-a-china-shop John Gallagher we all know and love?"

  "Yeah, well, my supervisor's been breathing down my neck lately."

  "You mean cardboard-cutout Miles Zadernack."

  "Right. The guy who goes to bed every night wearing a starched white shirt and tie."

  "What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into?"

  "Let's just say he doesn't approve of my interrogation techniques."

  "Oh, man, I bet you didn't get the memo," Leary offered in mock seriousness. "Liberals are running the show now...no more waterboarding the suspects."

  That provoked a deep laugh from Gallagher. Leary was one of the guys in the intelligence community who shared Gallagher's cynical dark sense of humor. Somehow, laughter always helped to buffer some of the horrendous stuff they had to deal with on a regular basis. Occasionally, Gallagher would trek over to CIA headquarters in the New Yo
rk Agency station to drop in on Leary. Gallagher exercised oversight on multiple investigations. But he also maintained a short list of a few special terrorism subjects that were his own primary targets. Some of whom he'd been tracking for years.

  This time Leary had called him over to the Agency but hadn't said why.

  "Okay, let's get down to business," Leary announced. "Seeing as you are still working counterterrorism, I thought you might be interested in this..."

  Leary laid a bulletin on the desk in front of Gallagher.

  Top Secret Clearance Required

  Bucharest, Romania: A body found in room 417 at the Athenee Palace Hotel in Bucharest has been identified as Dr. Yergi Banica. The Romanian professor of international studies at the University of Craiova has been a person of interest to the Agency. The cause of death was strangulation. Dr. Banica is reputed to have associated with persons also of interest to the Agency, including persons making inquiries into international weapons systems and designs. Banica was not an Agency asset.

  "Okay. Mildly interesting," Gallagher reacted. "What else you have on this guy?"

  "We've been tracking Dr. Banica's comings and goings. For the most part, just the usual stuff. Except there was one recent trip that was a bit odd. It seems our friend traveled from Bucharest to Glasgow. And from there to Iceland for a short stopover in Reykjavik. Then onto Quebec."

  "And the reason for the journey?"

  "None that we can determine."

  "Okay, what am I missing?" Gallagher wondered. Had Leary called him across town just to go over the murder of a enemy informant?

  "We've got a reliable autopsy protocol on Banica along with an estimated time of death. The ETD is important."

  "Why?"

  "Well, you know the old saying...dead men don't fly," Leary quipped with a twisted smirk. "At least not in first class."

  "You tracked his passport?" the FBI agent asked.

  "According to immigration, customs, and the airlines, Dr. Yergi Banica was in the air sipping white wine and eating microwaved chicken fourteen hours after he was strangled to death."

  "Any idea who's using his passport?"

  "Not with any precision. We have some airport surveillance footage that shows a guy who was a pretty good Yergi Banica look-alike. Nothing close up."

  "Why wasn't Banica's passport on a watch list?"

  Leary gave an airy laugh, the kind you let out when something really isn't funny. "That's a long, complex, and very sad story. Needless to say, travel watch-list procedures are not foolproof. And just because the CIA thinks someone is suspicious doesn't guarantee that Homeland Security is going to agree. There are some rather intricate policy judgments involved."

  Gallagher threw Leary a dubious look. So the CIA official made it simpler. "To put it bluntly, the Corland administration has dumped a truckload of politics on top of the intelligence and counterterrorism business."

  "I get the picture," Gallagher remarked. "So, we've got someone, we don't know who, using Dr. Banica's passport--after he's been murdered. Your bulletin says the professor may have been consorting with some guys with an unhealthy interest in weapons. Okay, so maybe one of them was using his passport. Have anything else?"

  "I can only give you this other thing on a verbal, no documents," Leary indicated. "This is Agency-only stuff, John. I'm treading on thin ice talking to you. So we're going to have to play a little Q&A. Now, I can't give you the answers. But nothing's stopping me from asking you the right questions."

  "Always up for a challenge."

  "Here we go. How many special terror subjects do you still have on your personal roster over there at the Bureau?"

  "Okay, let's see." Gallagher took a few seconds. "Five. There used to be more, but the rest were either killed, apprehended, or are presumed to be dead."

  "Five?"

  "Right."

  "And who's the number-one bad guy on your list?"

  "They're all bad."

  "Yeah, I know, but who's the baddest of the bad guys on your hit list?"

  Gallagher looked at Leary. Leary looked back and smiled. Then Gallagher started to shake his head. He had to know.

  "You mean Atta Zimler? Assassin-for-hire. Subcontract killer for Al-Qaeda, Hamas, Chechen rebels. Occasionally used by the old KGB, then flipped on a contract and turned around and killed some of them too. Did some murder projects for warring factions in Cyprus. Also skilled in intelligence theft, cyber crime, false identity. That Atta Zimler? Mother was Algerian, father was Austrian. Never caught. Never even close to being caught."

  "Here's what we know. According to a single source of ours, one of Yergi Banica's contacts may have been Atta Zimler."

  "So you think there's a connection between Banica's interest in weapons systems and his possible association with Zimler?"

  "We don't know that."

  Gallagher's eyes were starting to glaze over, and his brain was whirling. He leaned back in his chair with an agitated look. He stuck his finger in his ear, jiggled it around like he was trying to clear an air pocket, then brought his hands down to his lap.

  "John, there's one more thing," Leary announced, breaking the silence.

  Gallagher didn't talk. He didn't move.

  "We have a trace of Banica's passport."

  Gallagher still wasn't moving.

  The last time it was scanned was at the Canada-U.S. border crossing at Lacolle, Quebec. Whoever's using it made entry at Champlain, New York."

  Gallagher continued to process everything Leary was saying.

  Leary tucked his head down a little bit so he could look Gallagher directly into the center of the pupils of his eyes and leaned forward.

  "It means, John, that this guy, whoever he might be, is now inside the United States."

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Matt Christensen was trying hard to keep it together. With eighteen minutes of airtime still remaining, he knew he'd better get some control back. As the long-running host of Crisis Point, a talking-heads television/web simulcast, it was his job to help push the agenda forward while giving the impression that he was unbiased. And he was good at it. That's why he got paid the big bucks.

  Last week's show had gone smoothly. The truckers had been marginalized exactly as the White House had wanted. Both of Matt's guests, a leftwing journalist and a liberal strategist, had, of course, been personally handpicked by Corland's press secretary. And the resulting program had served its purpose. But the ratings, along with the program itself, had been lackluster. There was no conflict. No reason to watch.

  Today's show, however, was proving to be a different story altogether. Inside the Global News Network's New York studio, a verbal free-for-all had erupted. And while these types of scuffles could increase viewer numbers and ad revenue, if the agenda suffered, heads would roll. The same reliable guests from the previous week had already been booked. So the show's new exec, to spice things up a bit, decided to add a third guest to the mix. It would be his first and last mistake.

  Matt had tried to discourage this young new producer from booking Patrick Forester because Patrick was...well, he was articulate. And he could hold his own under pressure. Despite a barrage of interruptions and constant ridicule from his opponents, the conservative strategist was able to fire off a couple of key points, even though he was outnumbered by a margin of two-to-one--three-to-one, if you counted Matt.

  "Fifty-eight percent of the American people feel that Secretary of State Danburg's speech at the Davos peace conference went too far," Patrick announced. "They believe that America shouldn't be so quick to trade our RTS weapons technology with other countries. Fifty-eight percent! And that's using your own poll numbers! I imagine the numbers are in reality quite a bit higher."

  Michael Kaufman, the journalist, shot back. "Whoa, hold on! So now you're claiming the polls are rigged?"

  "The parent company that owns the very news service you work for, Mike, conducted the poll. And everybody knows you guys are nothing but a mouthpiece for the C
orland administration. You guys wouldn't know how to conduct an unbiased poll if it snuck up behind you and bit you on--"

  "All right, fellas. Let's try to calm down." Matt interjected. "Look, we don't yet know exactly what this weapons system can do. All we know is that we've had one test run during the New York City crisis, and it liquidated a North Korean ship."

  "Yeah, and it created an international scandal," the liberal strategist added. "And a lot of unanswered questions. North Korea claims the ship was unarmed."

  "Doesn't surprise me that you're gonna side with the Communists on this," Patrick quipped.

  "Now wait a second. That was--"

  But Patrick charged ahead like a bull pushing his way through the noise. "The Pentagon has confirmed that the North Koreans were the ones who launched two nuclear missiles. And it was good ol' American technology that was able to turn them around and send them back. The studio we're sitting in right now, along with many New Yorkers viewing this program, wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for the RTS system."

  "That may be true," the journalist responded, "but the administration has released a statement to the Special Select Congressional Committee investigating this incident, stating that President Corland did not authorize the use of RTS during the crisis. His understanding was that our air-defense people at NORAD and NEADS would be taking those missiles down with conventional airborne intercepts."

  But Patrick had an answer for that too. "If you recall, Mike, there wasn't enough time for that."

  "Nevertheless, without notifying the White House and Congress, a defense contractor took the matter into his own hands. Now this same defense contractor is refusing to cooperate with Congress," Kaufman continued. "He's stonewalling. The American government has a right to know exactly how this system operates."

  "The only reason this administration wants to know is so they can sell the technology to other countries, as Secretary Danburg so eloquently announced during his speech at Davos--"

  "Hey, nobody said anything about selling anything, Patrick!" the liberal strategist shouted. "If anybody's trying to make money, it's your buddy Joshua Jordan, who's obviously holding out for the highest bidder--"