“It does seem a bit excessive,” Connor agreed. “Do we know if that shipment had anything to do with the church bombing?”
“I haven’t heard a confirmation yet. Either way, there’s no way in hell Frederick is here as an oil merchant. And he’s got a long record of freelance bombings, mostly in the Middle East. Recently we think he was responsible for taking out a merchant vessel with almost a hundred million dollars’ worth of merchandise. The insurance paid out nicely for the shipping company. Great scam. Though we can’t prove anything yet.”
“And now you think those shipments of olive oil were actually bomb-making material.”
Annie shrugged. “Like I said, it ain’t olive oil this guy is overseeing. There’s got to be more to it than that.”
“Okay, I can now see why Richards and Thompson asked us to compare notes.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, we’re both tracking terrorists evidently intent on bombing US targets at roughly the same time. They may be ideological polar opposites—one is a religious kook who doesn’t care about money, the other is a freelance killer working for money—but especially with that phone call, there’s no way it’s a coincidence that they’re both active at the same time.”
Annie shrugged. “Well, all we’re pretty sure about is that they’re on the job, but we don’t know the target—”
“Actually, let’s assume for argument’s sake that one of the targets was the church. I’m going to guess it was a decoy that that lady mentioned.”
“A decoy for…”
Connor panned his gaze across the diner and leaned closer to Annie, keeping his voice low. “Remember, my guy, Hakimi, he’s actually the one with a nuke in his back pocket. No way that church is anything but a distraction. Get everyone focused on one spot, when another spot is actually the target.”
Annie shrugged. “Maybe. But what would motivate these two to work together? Müller and this Hakimi guy? I don’t get it.”
“That’s the rub. I can’t figure out why they’d cooperate. Especially for the religious wacko I’m following. He’s a zealot, and nothing anyone would say would sway him, he wants to strike fear into his enemy. For your olive oil guy, that one’s easier to guess. It’s probably money motivating him.”
“But if you’re trying to make a splash, there’s a lot better and easier targets to hit over in Europe,” Annie said. “Think of how many classic landmarks across the whole of that continent they could destroy. Why come all the way over here to bomb a church? That’s why the why matters.”
“If you think about it,” Connor said. “there’s no money in bombing a landmark in Europe for Müller. There’s not much glory in it either. The EDF has been preaching about how evil the US is, right? Tossing around buzzwords like colonialism and American expansionism. That’s a common theme for the Muslim terrorists who think of us as the Great Satan. They have the same types of complaints. They want to teach us a lesson. Bring us down a notch. And what better way to do that than to hurt us where we live?”
Annie tapped a finger to her chin. “I think it’s more than that.”
“More than wanting to teach us a lesson?”
Annie nodded. “It just doesn’t fit. Müller isn’t on some jihad, like your friend Hakimi. They’re both after something very specific—that’s how they’ve always operated in the past. The church bombing would just be window dressing. A distraction. A decoy.”
“That’s a pretty significant distraction,” Connor said. “The basilica was a major target. If that’s not what they were after then their true target must be…”
“Huge,” Annie said.
Connor put himself in their shoes. Bombings, no matter the events that precipitated them, were generally political statements. Devastating events designed to kill or maim, to generate the maximum amount of fear and sorrow. Both emotions were equally debilitating, especially here in the States where people marched against every little thing that hurt their delicate sensibilities. And those emotions led to changes. Mass shootings always led to extended conversations about gun control. 9/11 led to some of the biggest overhaul in national security procedures the country had ever seen.
Were these people trying to start a similar conversation? And if so, about what?
“So, if the church bombing was a decoy, and we treat it as such, maybe knowing that can work in our favor,” Connor said.
Annie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, as it is, security is ratcheted up in New York City. No different than the 9/11 airplane crash. The first one, it was a tragedy. The second one, it was terrorism. Nobody needed to tell us we were under attack. If these guys play the same handbook, and manage a second attack in the city, the entire area will get locked down tighter than a prom queen on prom night. Everyone will be looking at what’s coming and going in the area.”
“How does that help us?”
“You watch movies?”
“I suppose.”
“Have you ever seen The Siege, with Bruce Willis?”
Annie shook her head. “I prefer comedies.”
“Okay, basically, a terror group makes the city a target, right? Blowing up a bus and a couple of other high-profile targets. The city and state officials are overwhelmed, the FBI can’t seem to handle it, and some secret CIA lady comes in and starts pulling people off the street to interrogate them in dirty basements.”
“I like her already.”
Connor grinned. “I thought you might. Anyway, the government decided to declare martial law and send in the military to clean up the situation. It causes a shitstorm, the entire city basically gets put on twenty-four-hour lockdown, it’s a mess.”
“Soooo…” Annie leaned forward. “How exactly does that help us?”
“Well, for one thing, it severely limits the targets available to Hakimi. If the military is called in and New York is shut down, there’s no way he’s going to be able to sneak his surprise into the city. And for another, it might limit or even eliminate the threat from your olive oil guy.”
“Where does that put us with Hakimi then, if he’s not coming to New York?”
“We don’t know that’s his target in the first place. Remember what that intercepted message said about decoys. He could be going to Washington or any other major city. His package is going to have the same effect on the country wherever it detonates.”
Annie smiled. “All this talk of packages and detonation… is that you flirting with me?”
Connor tilted his head and studied the woman’s expression. He suspected she was messing with him, but he couldn’t tell for sure. Not that it mattered. One thing he’d learned long ago was to never shit where you eat.
“You never know,” he said.
“So where do we go from here?” Annie asked.
“I suppose splitting our resources is going to get us mediocre results on both fronts,” Connor said. “We need to decide which is the more pressing threat and focus on that.”
“So, what’s the story with your current surveillance on that mosque?”
Connor shook his head. “Unfortunately, I think we’re sifting through some data, but I don’t think there’s much headway I can make right away.”
“Well,” Annie said, leaving some cash on the table, grabbing her helmet, and sliding out of the booth, “I’ve definitely got someone we can follow up with and I could use a backup.”
Connor followed Annie out of the diner, thanking the waitress as they passed. Outside he said, “Thompson and Richards never told me exactly what you do for the Outfit.”
Annie hung her helmet from one handlebar and threw a leg over her motorcycle. “What did they tell you about me?”
“Just that you were working for them. And that they called you the Black Widow.”
She laughed. “Good.”
“So…” Connor tried again. “What does a ‘Black Widow’ do for the Outfit?”
Annie pulled her helmet over her head and adjusted the chinstrap.
“I’m in the funeral business.”
Chapter Thirty
“He’s getting another call,” Annie said, moving across the hotel room to her computer. She tapped a key and turned up the volume. Frederick’s German accent came over the speaker.
“The final shipment is going out today.”
Connor sat to one side, taking notes.
“Good,” said a woman with a vaguely European accent. “Our other piece of the puzzle should be in place soon.”
“Is it time to go golfing yet?” Frederick asked excitedly.
“Not yet. We’ll tell you when it’s time.”
“And the other bodies? They don’t need help bringing those down?”
“Don’t worry, we have everything under control. So far, everything has happened exactly according to plan.”
“I’m actually surprised they’ve done everything we asked them to do.”
“It’s in their best interest to do so,” the woman said. “They understand what will happen if they don’t comply.”
“Yeah, it just intrigues me that they actually care about that.”
“Putting a gun to someone’s head is often a great motivator.”
Frederick laughed. “You got that right. So when do I get to leave here? I hate the smell of this place.”
“You can head for the primary location now.”
The line disconnected.
Connor sighed, leaning back in his chair. “What in the world was that about? Are they talking in code?”
“I don’t think so. We’re just missing a bunch of context, and that woman is being careful about what she says.” Annie turned away from the computer. “You caught him mentioning something about extra bodies? What’s your read on what he meant by that?”
Connor shook his head. “Extra manpower maybe?”
Annie sighed. “But extra manpower for what?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? That, plus I’d like to know who it is that’s ‘doing everything we asked them to.’ And who that woman is.”
Annie shook her head. “From what we know, that’s the enigmatic Ericka. We’ve tried tracing her incoming calls, but the signal is being bounced around to avoid detection.”
Connor stood and began pacing around the room. “Let’s break this down a little bit. If—” His cell phone rang, stopping him before he got started. It was Richards. He answered. “This is Connor.”
“We just got an all-points bulletin coming out of NYPD dispatch. There’s been two more bombings in New York City.”
“Son of a bitch.” Connor turned on the TV and tuned it to a local station.
“What’s up?” Annie asked.
Connor held up a finger but switched over to speakerphone. “Where?”
“The JP Morgan Building in Manhattan, and Madison Square Garden.”
“That’s kind of an abrupt change in targets,” Connor said.
“JP Morgan is in midtown,” Annie said. “The building itself takes up an entire city block.”
“Fortunately, the building is still standing,” Richards said. “But there’s even money on whether or not it’ll survive the day. Casualty and damage reports are still coming in, but it’s bad. Worse than the basilica. And the city’s radiation sniffers in the area are losing their minds. Same MO as the previous bombing.”
“And the Garden?” Connor asked.
“The data out of there is sketchier. Initial reports claim the building was minimally staffed and there weren’t any visitors at the time. However, there’s reports of bodies on the sidewalk. People hit by debris.”
Connor shook his head. He turned to Annie and mouthed the word, “Decoys.”
The anchor from the local ABC affiliate suddenly appeared on the TV screen.
“This is John Williamson with ABC News interrupting the currently scheduled programming to bring to you breaking news of what can only be described as a coordinated attack on the city. Two bombs have exploded in midtown, one bomb going off at 270 Park Avenue, also known as the world headquarters for JP Morgan Chase, and the other at Madison Square Garden. Casualties have been reported at both scenes. The MTA has shut down all subway traffic in and out of Manhattan.”
Annie hit the mute button on the remote. “Damn, this is like 9/11 all over again.”
“The entire city is going to go nuts,” Richards said. “According to a dispatch I saw leaving the governor’s communications office, he’s calling up the National Guard. National news are calling it the worst terror attack since 9/11. I’ll wager you’ll have people screaming that we’re going to war by the end of the day.”
“What’s Homeland Security saying?” Connor asked.
“Nothing yet. My guess is they won’t say anything for a while. Not while they’re still cleaning it up. It could take weeks, if not months, to work through the evidence. But my question for you is: is this it? Or is there more?”
Connor balled his hands up into fists. “Annie and I were talking and we’re thinking these may be decoys to distract from the big bomb that Hakimi’s got. We just have no idea where it would be going. Almost certainly, it wouldn’t be New York.”
“We can’t know that.” Richards said.
“We just intercepted a call from Wagner suggesting there was a final shipment going out today,” Annie said. “That might mean there’s more coming.”
“Or maybe that’s Hakimi’s load that just left? What’s stopping us from taking this guy down and figuring out what he knows?” Connor asked.
Annie smiled. “Now you’re talking my language.”
“Agreed.”
“And the shipment, too,” Connor said. “Twelve trucks left the oil warehouse today, bound for spots all up and down the East Coast. Snagging Wagner is one thing, but we need to try and stop the next attack. What other assets can you put on this, Richards?”
“Thompson and I are heading to New York now to liaise with Homeland.”
“Liaise? I thought you guys played it under the radar.”
“Most of the time we do, but sometimes it’s easier to flash some high-level credentials and observe things up close.”
Annie started packing her computer away. “You have an Outfit vehicle, right, Connor? Something with four wheels?”
“That’s right.”
“Richards, we’ll have our guy at the safe house in a couple hours.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Richards clicked off, and Annie loaded her gear into a black backpack. She shrugged the pack over one shoulder and nodded to the door. “What’re you waiting on? You’re driving. I hate driving cars.”
“Any chance you’d care to elaborate on the plan?” Connor said. “Since I’m apparently involved.” He held the door for her and followed her to the waiting Tahoe.
She smiled as she opened the passenger door and tossed her backpack between the seats. “Who said anything about a plan?”
Connor climbed behind the wheel, and Annie tapped a button on the rearview. A two-tone chime sounded. Connor raised an eyebrow at her, but she just made a spinning motion in the air with one finger and said, “Let’s go, Dad, the party’s about to start.”
Connor hit the push-button start. Another chime sounded as he pulled onto the main road, and Martin Brice’s voice came over the car speakers.
“Annie. I was wondering when you were going to call.”
Annie put one leg under her as she leaned forward and tapped the eight-inch touchscreen console in the middle of the dash. “You’re always wondering and never doing. You know my number.”
“And you never answer my calls.”
Annie winked at Connor. “It’s true. You got Wagner’s tracking signal?”
“Yep, signal’s strong and steady.”
“Put it through on our end.”
“You know people respond better to requests when you say please.”
“Please don’t make me have to kick your ass the next time I’m back at the office.”
The console chang
ed from the main system menu to a top-down navigational map. It included two icons: an arrow indicating the Tahoe, and a flashing red dot moving away from them on one of the main thoroughfares out of the area.
“That’s him,” Brice said.
Annie gave Connor a knowing smile. “You ever play cops and robbers?”
Connor chuckled and stepped on the gas. He never had, but driving like one wasn’t exactly foreign to him. He’d done his share of mandatory defensive driving courses, especially back when they were operating in the sandbox. This was no enjoyable scenic drive through town, taking in landmarks and beautiful countryside.
He veered around a Honda, feeling the power of the Tahoe’s V8 reverberating through his seat. The Honda’s driver flipped them off, and Connor couldn’t help but smile. “Just like old times.”
He swerved back into his lane to a horn blast from an oncoming F-150. “What about the police?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about them,” Brice said. “The ones patrolling in your area are busy responding to a bomb threat at the Kinko’s Shipping Center on Walnut. They’ll be there for at least an hour.”
“Did you make a fake 911 call or is there really a bomb threat?”
“Does it matter? Or would you rather have them chasing your ass all over the countryside?” When Connor didn’t answer, Brice said, “I thought so.”
“Got your gun on you?” Annie asked.
“What is this, bring your kid to work day? Of course he has his gun on him. You have your gun on you, right?”
Connor lifted his shirt without taking his eyes off the road, revealing the pistol holstered at his waist. The tires squealed as he maneuvered through an S-curve, then he pushed the pedal further to the floor. They accelerated through an empty intersection.
In his peripheral, Connor saw Annie grab the roof handle. He grinned, accelerating harder. “Nervous?”
“I don’t like not being in control of my ride.”
“I’d heard that about you, my dear.”
Patriot Page 16
