The Senator

by Ken Fite

  “Revenge.”

  “That’s what this is all about? Just because he didn’t get your job? That doesn’t add up, Blake.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s the only thing that makes sense right now. Maybe Marco really is involved in the JC and needed the position to help make things happen, to lower the agency’s defenses and have influence in the city. Whatever the reason, it feels more personal than that. It’s like he’s trying to show my incompetence, show that I was the wrong choice. This was the biggest assignment DDC has had to date. Derek is just the backup plan. We need to make sure he’s okay and stays safe until this is all over,” I said, and Jami agreed.

  “Morgan, we’ve ID’d the kidnapper. It’s Marco Lopez,” I said, still holding the picture in front of me.

  There was a long pause before Lennox responded. “That’s impossible, Blake.”

  “It’s him, Morgan. Trust me. I don’t know how he pulled this off, but we’re sure it’s him. Can you get Mallory to send agents to pick up Derek Murphy? We need him kept safe until we can get to Marco.”

  “Hold on.” We heard Morgan talking with Agent Mallory. “Yes, he’ll send someone out to get Derek.”

  Jami pulled out her phone and called her ex and left him a message when he didn’t pick up. She followed up with a text message and waited for him to respond. I walked over and put a hand on her shoulder, and then she turned to me and held onto me tightly. I winced at the pain, but hid it from her.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, Jami. Mallory’s sending someone now to pick him up. We have to stay focused.”

  Jami let go of me when we heard shouts coming from the hallway. I folded the picture and stuffed it in my back pocket, and we asked the agent standing outside Anita’s door what happened. He said he didn’t know. We were walking down the hallway back to Nazir’s when Sandra appeared.

  “The news is reporting on the kidnapper,” she said and invited Jami and me inside.

  SEVENTY-THREE

  SANDRA’S VOICE WAS loud and raspy. “The man who kidnapped the senator, he says he’s going to broadcast the execution tonight! He’s going to kill him on the air!” she said. I gave Jami a look and she grabbed the remote and raised the volume on the TV inside Sandra’s home so we could listen to the reporters talking.

  “There’s a new video,” Morgan said.

  “I know, Jami and I are watching it right now. Can you track the location? Find out where it was filmed?”

  “No, Blake. Only if I had the source file and even then I might not be able to do something like that.”

  We watched as the CNN reporters talked over the audio and showed a short clip of the killer’s face. As Jami spoke with Sandra, the forensics team arrived. One of the agents walked inside and watched the news report with us. We were being briefed by the media—a very bad sign. Not only did it mean we didn’t have the latest intel on the situation, it also meant the public could panic like Sandra. The thought of an execution broadcast in real time for the entire world to see made me nauseous.

  How would he do it? Would he stream it from a cell phone? That seemed like the only real option to me.

  Jami said she was going to hang back with Sandra for a few minutes, and I walked back to Anita’s to show the forensics team the gun we had found. Nazir and his wife had been taken to the FBI’s Chicago field office for questioning, so a few of the men went to his home to get started. Only the children remained behind as agents waited on a close family friend of the Nazirs to arrive and take them home. It was heartbreaking to hear their cries and not know when they would see their parents again.

  The forensics guys got to work as cries from the children echoed throughout the hallway. I thought about how this event would probably mess them up for life, if they hadn’t been messed up before. I wondered how exactly their father had been involved. My stab wound started throbbing and I felt the pain come back, so I tried to focus my mind on something else.

  I turned Anita’s TV on and watched the footage again of Marco. I watched as he spoke into the camera of a cell phone, which made me even more convinced that this was how he was going to broadcast the execution in just a little while. He wore a ski mask, but I knew it was him. Marco panned over to Keller, who was gagged and had his arms tied behind a chair. I hadn’t seen this part of the video on TV a few minutes earlier—that station was probably trying to be sensitive to the situation. I was tired of the censorship. I was tired of how the media tried to spin things depending on their political agendas. The uncut, unedited version I watched was refreshing in a sick and twisted kind of way. When the video ended, I rewound it and watched again.

  The second time, I turned the volume all the way down so I could focus only on Marco’s surroundings to see if I could figure out where they were. It looked like he was filming from inside a house. Then I noticed something. Fifteen seconds before the video ended, a shadow passed over Marco’s face. I rewound it and confirmed. There was definitely a shadow. I played the video a third time with the volume all the way up and my eyes closed. Then I noticed something else.

  I heard something.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  IT WAS A woman’s voice. I heard her say “shut up” to someone off camera. If she was saying it to Keller, it didn’t make much sense to me, because the senator was bound and gagged. It didn’t look like he was trying to make any noise, either. As I watched again, I noticed his eyes trailing someone moving, which matched the timing of the shadow.

  In that moment, I realized what was really going on, where Marco Lopez was likely hiding, and how I was going to find him. I worried about Jami. Before tonight, I would have set out with her. This was her assignment and I could use the help, after all. But now I felt like there might be something more growing between us. There was a spark. And I didn’t want her to get hurt by Marco. Besides, this was between him and me.

  And I was going to get the son of a bitch.

  I needed to find a good excuse to split us up. But before I could come up with one, Jami offered her own. When she joined me at Anita’s place, she looked pale and her body language told me she was worried.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking about Derek. Why wouldn’t he answer his phone? What if something’s wrong?”

  “I’m sure there’s a good reason for why he’s not answering.”

  “What if there’s not? What if Marco did something to him? What if he took him like Keller?”

  I suddenly thought about the woman’s voice. Had she taken Derek? Was Jami onto something? I used this as an open door to ask Morgan a question I was going to ask anyway right before Jami showed up.

  “Morgan, can you check and see if you still have access to DDC employee records?”

  “Checking. Yes, I still have access to the directory.”

  “Good. Send us the emergency contact list—we need an archive version from six months ago.”

  “Blake, what are you doing?” Jami asked. “I know Derek’s address. Plus, I haven’t been at DDC that long.”

  “You’re right. I’m not thinking clearly,” I lied to her.

  “Okay, sent,” we heard Morgan say. I accessed the file until I found what I was looking for. 9405 McCarthy Road in Palos Park. I stared at the address and started repeating it to myself to memorize it.

  “I need to go see Derek. His place isn’t too far away from here—I’ll be right back,” Jami said, removing her earpiece and unplugging her Motorola and placing both in my hand.

  I insisted on walking Jami out, telling her that I wanted to know about the conversation she had with Sandra, as any information might be helpful. I just needed an excuse to get to the car. We walked across the street and I said I needed to get something out of it. As she adjusted the seat, I pulled the cell phone the FBI had given me out of my back pocket and slid it underneath the passenger seat when she wasn’t looking. Jami promised she’d be right back. I told her I’d still be here helping the forensics team.

 
As I watched her drive away, the glow of her brake lights made me realize how late in the day it was.

  “Morgan, we’re going off comm. We’re headed to Derek Murphy’s place. If you need us, call.”

  “Copy that, I see you moving,” he replied.

  I still held onto Jami’s earpiece and Motorola. I removed both of mine as well and dumped the equipment in a nearby trash can on the side of the road where I stood.

  I was on my own now. No car. No partner. I had less than an hour to find Marco and rescue Jim Keller before the execution.

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  I STARTED WALKING west on Pearson. I didn’t have to go far. The city streets were still wet from the heavy downpour earlier in the day. In the many years I lived in Chicago, I’d never seen downtown like this. There were no residents driving cars on the road. It was rush hour and the streets were absolutely quiet.

  9405 McCarthy Road, Palos Park, I kept repeating in my mind so I wouldn’t forget the address.

  After I jogged back across the street, I found a silver Chevy Tahoe parked just outside the Ritz-Carlton. It was an older model truck and looked pretty beat up. I wondered who the owner was and how they could afford to stay at the Ritz. I thought that maybe they weren’t staying at the hotel and the owner just wasn’t able to find a parking spot anywhere else because of the curfew and every car needing to be off the road.

  When I got to the SUV, I leaned back against the driver’s door, closed my eyes, and collected my thoughts. I wondered if Jami was going to be okay and what she’d find when she got to Derek Murphy’s place. Is he dead? Kidnapped? Or is there another explanation for Murphy not answering his cell?

  I thought about the FBI and how much time I might have until they figured out I wasn’t with Jami. I’d broken the only condition I was given when put back in charge of leading this mission on behalf of the FBI—not to keep them in the dark. It wasn’t too late. I could go back inside, back to Anita’s, and start looking through Marco’s office. I could come clean.

  But I knew that wasn’t an option anymore. We were running out of time with less than an hour left before my friend and mentor and the man who half of America wanted to become president would die.

  Am I really about to do this? What kind of man am I becoming? I thought. The kind of man who keeps his promises and doesn’t leave a SEAL behind, I reasoned with myself as I peered inside the vehicle to make sure nobody was inside. I tried the door, but it was locked. The car’s windows were tinted, so I took out a small Maglite I carried with me and put it up against the window so I could see inside.

  It was empty. The car had navigation and that was all I really needed right now, that and enough fuel to get to Palos Park. I hoped it had enough to do the job. I turned around and once again leaned against the truck and closed my eyes while I thought through what my next steps would be.

  I was concentrating so hard that I didn’t even hear the footsteps of someone approaching.

  “Hello again,” I heard and turned to my left. I saw the concierge from the hotel that Jami and I had spoken with earlier. His voice startled me and broke my concentration. “Find what you were looking for?”

  “I did,” I said as I slid the Maglite back into my pocket and reached for my Magnum Special Forces tactical knife. The man was surprised and started backing away slowly until he was about ten feet away from me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked as I lifted the knife and held it tightly in my right hand. “Are you going to hurt me? I thought you told me you’re FBI?” he said, and his voice trembled.

  “I need you to go back inside,” I said, feeling my heart start to race. My stab wound began to throb again, and I looked down and noticed my shirt was starting to get damp. I was overdoing it and bleeding through the dressing that the medic had applied to the wound. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. This is it. There’s no turning back after this.

  As I stayed against the car, I brought my hand to my left shoulder and quickly turned my body, hitting the driver’s side window as hard as I could with the glass breaker at the end of the knife while looking away. The glass shattered and shards landed everywhere. The man ran and disappeared inside the hotel.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  THE PIERCING SOUND of glass shattering echoed on the empty street. I reached inside to unlock the door. After I got it open, I removed my jacket and used it to remove the broken glass from the driver’s seat. Once I got it cleared out, I climbed inside to try to get it started.

  I inserted the tip of my knife into the ignition and tried to turn it over. While the trick worked sometimes, it did no good on the Tahoe. I cursed when I realized this was going to take longer than I had time for.

  I pulled the knife out and used it to remove the plastic cover on the steering column. The light from the Ritz was barely enough for me to see what I was doing. I found a bundle of electrical wires underneath and set my knife down and grabbed my Maglite to look for the right bundle that led to the battery, starter, and ignition. When I found it, I pulled it aside. I’d use it in a few seconds as the primary power supply for the ignition switch. I looked at all of the different colored wires and a memory came back to me.

  Jon Miller was a buddy of mine I was stationed with while in the Navy. He was a car guy and loved to figure out how to fix his old beat-up car himself whenever he had problems. Once, Jon had a problem with the starter and couldn’t get it to turn over. He played around with the wires until he figured out how to get it started. I thought Jon was going to get electrocuted, but he laughed and said, “Just don’t connect the wrong wire.” I tried to remember the steps he’d taken as I grabbed my knife.

  Stripping an inch of insulation from the ignition and battery wires was quick. I dropped the knife again and twisted the wires together. As I did, the dashboard illuminated and the radio came on. I was relieved to see the aftermarket navigation system the owner had installed power on as well.

  Now I needed to spark the starter wire.

  I found it and stripped about half an inch of insulation from it and grabbed the other two combined wires. As soon as the wires touched, the truck started, and I sat up in the seat and revved the engine so it wouldn’t stall out. I put it in gear and started to drive before I realized that the steering wheel was locked.

  “Damn it,” I said to myself, realizing I’d forgotten the final step Jon had showed me many years ago. With all my strength, I cranked the steering wheel to the left, then to the right. It didn’t work and I felt a sharp pain coming from my stab wound. It was becoming unbearable, but I’d come too far to stop now.

  I once again cranked the wheel left then right with all my strength, and I felt the steering wheel pop. That did it. The steering lock had been broken and the wheel could now move freely.

  I looked over my shoulder to make sure the street was still clear. I was making a lot of noise and imagined the concierge showing up with the owner of the Tahoe or calling CPD to report a car theft. The last thing I needed right now was a delay. The darkening sky was a constant reminder that I had just a few more minutes to take action and save the senator’s life before it was too late.

  My foot rested on the brake as I accessed the navigation system. I tried to remember the address, but I’d forgotten to repeat it to myself in the chaos of the last five minutes. I remembered it was in Palos Park and the street was McCarthy. The stress was getting the better of me and I struggled with the house number. I started driving just to get moving and stopped when I got to Michigan Avenue.

  I punched McCarthy Road into the system and it suggested a few addresses in Palos Park. I scrolled through the short list of options and found it—9405. I tapped on the address and the system calculated the route, distance, and time of arrival. It told me I was just over twenty-six miles away and it would take half an hour to get there. I’d have to hurry. It was twenty minutes until sundown.

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  I HEADED SOUTH on Michigan, trying to avoid one of the city’s ma
ny checkpoints I knew had been set up. Jami and I had driven through one on our way to the condos on Pearson. I had just slowed down and flashed my badge, and I knew the FBI was following us and we wouldn’t have any trouble getting through. But now I was driving an old beat-up truck and I had no way of knowing how far I’d get before the FBI would figure out I’d gone rogue again. Maybe they already knew.

  Maribel Lopez’s address was southwest of downtown. Based on the information the GPS had given me, I knew that Lopez lived in the Forty Acres Woods area, and I knew exactly where that was. Although I’d never been to the area on assignment with DDC, I had visited with Maria to hike the Sag Valley Trail.

  Maria had been an avid hiker. Me, not so much. But I didn’t mind doing the things she thought were fun. She enjoyed the rolling hills, but her favorite part was the seclusion on the nine-mile trail. Maria loved getting away from the busyness of the city and the suburbs. It clears the mind, she’d tell me. I used to joke with her and ask if she was taking me out there to kill me because it was such a secluded, heavily wooded area.

  I thought about how many times I’d used that line with her and what the chances were that this was actually what was going to be happening in just a few minutes, killing the senator out in the woods. It was the perfect spot, I thought, and snapped out of it when the GPS told me to turn right at Ontario.

  I wished I could reach out to Morgan and ask for some intel on the home. I couldn’t help but smile when I thought about his loyalty to me and how he was holding the FBI hostage. I wondered how much longer he could keep it up. Surely, he’d try to reach back out to us when Mallory wanted an update.

  What will he do when he can’t get a hold of me? I wondered to myself.

  When I got to the turn to get on the on-ramp, I started to slow down. The road curved left and it was impossible to see up ahead until I got there. It was the perfect spot for a checkpoint.