by C. G. Cooper
Three months earlier, Unger off handedly mentioned that she should consider dating other people. He threw out some excuse about the re-election and trying to reconcile with his wife. She’d been offended but took it in stride. If she ever wanted a political career, she needed to have a level head. Besides, the Congressman wasn’t fun anymore. He’d almost become a recluse in recent months. In fact, she thought, it all started with that trip out to Las Vegas in May. Strange.
She lugged in the mail and sorted through the junk. Picking up a small package, she inspected the label. Opel. I’ll bet this is that new phone he wanted me to order for him. The pretty intern walked into the Congressman’s vacant office and set the package on his large desk. On second thought, she grabbed a sticky note and wrote “Let me know if you need help using this” with a smiley face. It was better to keep all of her options open. Maybe Las Vegas would be a chance to climb back into his bed.
She left the office, already planning on which skimpy lingerie to pack.
Chapter 28
Las Vegas, Nevada
11:11am, September 18th
Minutes after Cal left to monitor the raid, there was a knock at Neil’s door. He was so engrossed with his work that he didn’t hear the knock or see the manila envelope slide under the door.
+++
Gaucho’s teams had already entered Zeitaku at staggered intervals. Some were in pairs of two, others as threesomes. It would be up to him to penetrate the casino’s labyrinth with their little toy. They would only have one chance. It couldn’t be wasted.
The team leader found the access door right where Neil had described. He glanced around casually and picked out a couple of his men. They were doing what they did best: blending in. Moving to the door, he rolled his suitcase behind. If anyone asked, he was looking for his room. His luggage was actually full of clothes. Tucked in the side pocket was their little surveillance tool.
Once next to the access point, he stopped and parked his bag. Luckily, there weren’t any security guards nearby. There were, however, plenty of cameras. The drop would need to be smooth. Gaucho had just the thing. He’d tucked a map in front of the folded surveillance piece. Unzipping the side pocket of his suitcase, he extracted the map, keeping The Sphere covered right behind.
Staring at the travel guide, he used his peripheral vision to detect any wandering eyes. Nothing. Without taking his eyes off the map, he depressed the small power switch on the covert surveillance unit. He could just barely feel it vibrate as it powered on.
Gaucho waited five seconds more, mumbled a few curses for the sake of the cameras, turned quickly, and “accidentally” dropped the map. It fell perfectly flat, The Sphere safely on the ground. He bent over, still cursing to himself, and picked up the map. As he stood, he placed a perfect kick behind the barely visible disc and it slid under the door.
Taking his time with the map, he finally folded it up and slid it into his pocket. Next, he pulled out his phone and texted GO to Cal, Neil, and the rest of the team. He headed to the only place on the main level without cameras: the bathroom.
+++
“He’s in,” Cal whispered to Brian. They’d been at the little café long enough to have half their coffee.
“So how come we can’t control that thing from our hotel?”
Cal took another sip of his coffee, then answered. “The signal won’t go that far. We’ve gotta be pretty close to direct it.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“As long as Gaucho can keep the thing moving, it’ll probably be around twenty minutes. Thirty tops.”
“So tell me again how that thing is gonna help us?” Brian asked between glances across the street.
“Neil thinks that if we can get close to their internal servers, he’ll be able to tap into them. I think he’s using The Sphere to send a signal at close range. Once he does that, Neil says we’ll have unlimited access to their entire network.”
“I guess we better pray that the batteries don’t run out.”
Cal snorted and went back to pretending to read something on his cell phone. Soon he should be able to see the feed from the surveillance unit. This thing had to work. He had a feeling the Japanese contingent was planning something big.
+++
Gaucho settled into the handicap stall at the end of the bathroom. He propped his suitcase against the door and pulled out his phone. Switching on the display, he brought up the appropriate app. While he waited for it to load, he plugged in a pair of headphones.
The screen changed to a large green button. He pressed it. A few meters away, The Ball ballooned into a sphere. Gaucho could now see through the tiny camera. It was an unremarkable hallway that looked huge from the small camera’s perspective.
He texted to Cal and Neil: YOU GETTING THIS?
They both replied: YES.
Following the small map Neil had drawn, Gaucho guided the silent vehicle to its destination.
+++
Neil watched his creation move closer to Ichiban’s server room. He wished he could be driving the thing, but Cal had insisted on keeping him at the hotel. He was too valuable to put in harm’s way. Neil agreed on some level, but he always ached to be with the guys in the field. Sometimes he went along in a support capacity, but they never let him near the action.
He stood up and did some quick stretches. Once they were in the server room, he’d be busy trying to dissect the network. Might as well get in some exercise.
Ever since arriving at the hotel, he’d averaged two to three hours of sleep per night. In order to stay awake, Neil would occasionally do a couple sets of push-ups or burpees, just to get the blood flowing and jumpstart his brain.
As he lowered himself down to the ground for the first of fifty fast push-ups, he spied the manila envelope at the door. Curious, he stood up, walked to the door, and opened up the envelope.
It contained a simple message: WE KNOW ABOUT THE COUNCIL
Neil cursed and ran to his phone.
+++
Cal watched as Gaucho carefully guided the remote vehicle through the winding maze. Two times he’d quickly swerved around walking employees who were oblivious to the spy camera’s presence. He almost jumped when his phone buzzed with the incoming call. He looked at the caller ID. What does Neil want?
He put the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Neil.”
“I just got a message,” Patel knew the capabilities of agencies like the NSA. Nothing you said on a cell phone was safe anymore.
“Can’t this wait?”
“No. I need you back here right now.”
Cal looked at Brian and shrugged. “Okay. I’ll be there in ten.”
Ramirez looked at his friend. “What’s going on?”
“No idea. Apparently, we’re in another shitstorm. Neil won’t tell me until we get back to his suite.”
“You want me to stay here?”
Cal thought about it. On one hand, having an extra pair of eyes might be useful. On the other, Gaucho’s boys were more than capable.
“No, come back with me. I might need your help.”
Brian waved for the waitress to bring the check while Cal texted Gaucho to let him know he’d be off station. What else could be added to this little adventure?
+++
Ten minutes later, the costumed duo entered Patel’s suite. Neil motioned them over to the scattered papers on his makeshift desk. The first thing Cal noticed was the note from the envelope: WE KNOW ABOUT THE COUNCIL.
“What the fuck?”
“I told you it was bad. It gets worse though, Cal.” Neil pointed at the contents of the mysterious envelope. “I think they’re trying to tell us something.”
“What are you talking about?”
Neil exhaled. He knew he had to keep his friend calm. “I think they’re trying to say that we better leave or they’ll expose the Council.”
&n
bsp; “But there’s no way they could know about it, Neil!”
“Well, apparently someone pieced it together. It doesn’t look like something you could take to court, but they sure could cause a stink.”
“How the hell did this happen?” Cal wondered aloud.
+++
The crooked politician started his investigation into the secret group nearly two years before. It all started as an accident. The aspiring President wasn’t new to Washington. Over the years, he’d fought hard to head certain committees and cement important relationships. Very diligent in his planning, the long-serving federal servant knew the importance of building a resumé. He now chaired one of the highly coveted intelligence oversight committees.
On this particular occasion, a certain suspected terrorist cell was tracked to the United States by federal agencies. The problem was that The Patriot Act could only do so much. The President had already given explicit instructions that action would only be taken against suspected terrorist cells at home or abroad if the reviewed intelligence proved that the party was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Intelligence is rarely absolute. There isn’t always a smoking gun. To make matters worse, cells operating in America had become very skilled at evading authorities and masking their activities.
One of the favored ways these groups stayed out of the reach of the law was to conduct clandestine meetings in mosques. Terrorists knew the American President drew the line at entering these holy places of worship. One of the pillars of his election was to repair the American relationship with the Muslim world. What sounded like a noble goal had turned into an open invitation. Ever since the Presidential inauguration, foreign fighters who’d managed to enter the U.S. flocked to mosques and made them their base of operations.
This particular cell, though new on the intelligence radar, was already very accomplished. Recruitment in the Detroit area increased alarmingly. As one of the hardest hit areas as a result of the recent economic downturn, young Arabs were easy targets.
The politician remembered grilling the FBI representatives that stood before his committee. He couldn’t believe they were incapable of doing anything. Their reply was always the same: “Our hands are tied.”
He’d thought the agency would somehow get creative. It scared him to think that America’s enemies could so easily infiltrate his country. Something must be done.
A week later, he happened to run into former President Hank Waller. The two men were members at the same exclusive country club in Annandale. They’d been acquaintances in the halls of Washington for years. Over martinis, they caught up on each other’s lives and commiserated on the trajectory of the American economy. Smoking cigars in the member lounge, the politician broached the subject of terrorists on American soil. Waller’s brow furrowed. He could tell something was bothering his old colleague.
The politician proceeded to rail against the current President’s asinine policy of treating terrorists like prisoners of war. He went on to describe a laundry list of potentially important operations that never launched just because the President wanted to be careful about offending the international community.
“Damnit, Hank. This man is making us look like a bunch of pussies!”
Waller calmed his friend and asked if there was anything he could do to help. Maybe a friendly meeting with the new President?
“That won’t help. He’s got his guard of cronies that make sure no one rocks the boat. During the election, he was all about reaching across the aisle; working together to affect change. Now he won’t talk to a soul if his staff catches wind that they’re trying to push an opposing agenda. The man is playing emperor in his ivory palace!” huffed the tired politician.
He’d continued by describing the case of the suspected terrorist cell in Detroit. “I mean, they are on OUR soil and we can’t lift a finger until they jaywalk or murder someone. It’s ludicrous.”
Waller hadn’t promised anything. He’d simply told him that if he ever needed to vent again, his door was always open. After all, he was retired. Both men laughed and promised to stay in touch.
The politician didn’t think about the conversation until two weeks later. FBI reps were set to give his committee an update on the Detroit operation. What he received was far different.
“Sir, just this morning, we found out that the Detroit terror cell has been…well, it’s been eradicated,” informed the obviously confused FBI agent.
“What do you mean it’s been eradicated, Mr. Pratt?” the politician questioned suspiciously.
“Well, sir, the two leaders of the cell and their top lieutenants were found this morning in front of their mosque.”
“And…?”
“They were all dead, sir.”
The politician sat back and digested the news. Certainly the FBI hadn’t had anything to do with it?
“Were we involved, Mr. Pratt?”
“No, sir! In fact, we got the tip into our regional office at five this morning. I think we knew about it before the mosque did,” Pratt paused, seemingly trying to formulate his next comment. “There’s more, sir.”
“More? I can’t wait to hear this, Mr. Pratt.” The politician rolled his eyes turning to his colleagues.
“This was a warning, sir.”
“How so?”
“Each man lying on the ground held a large poster board with a message and a package. I have a picture for you here, sir.”
“Why don’t you save us some time and read it, Mr. Pratt,” the politician recommended impatiently.
“It says ‘America welcomes all races and religion. What we don’t tolerate is terrorists trying to kill our country and our people’.”
The committee sat back in shocked silence. Although quietly rooting for the vigilantes, the politician understood the possible fall-out.
“Thank you, Mr. Pratt. If you’ll please leave copies of your documentation we will call on you again soon.”
The politician had tried not to rush as he’d taken his assigned packet. It seemed that whoever had murdered the terrorists had first done their homework first. Each man had a nametag stuck to his shirt. They were given names like PEDOPHILE, COWARD, and BLASPHEMER. In each package, they’d included the evidence to explain their nicknames. One man had a DVD showing close to six hours of the dead man having sex with ten-year-old prostitutes. The next man’s package contained a thumb drive with hours of audio. Each recorded conversation was the dead man talking with one of his colleagues. They were laughing about the naïve recruits that strapped bombs to their bodies. The man actually said, “I would never be stupid enough to do that. They are so easy to convince in this country.”
The transcripts went on and on. These men were obviously guilty. To cap it all off, the killers also provided audio, video, and schematics recovered from the deceased terrorists. The plans detailed an operation soon to be executed. They were targeting public elementary schools. The captured video showed the terrorists casing local educational institutions at the start of the school day. Based on the information provided, the FBI had already raided the terrorist safe house and uncovered crates of automatic weapons, RPGs, and hand grenades.
The politician was impressed by the daring killers. Whoever had conducted the investigation and the subsequent killings were professionals. Someone was secretly doing things right.
Over the next week, more and more intel was mined from the contents of the Detroit safe house. No one cried for the loss of these men. Surprisingly, once the truth of the dead terrorists’ background and operation leaked to the press, the local Muslim community understood and calmed. They knew it was a warning to other would-be terrorists and not a threat to them.
The politician marveled at the effect of the killings. While listening to the testimony of countless FBI representatives, he started to wonder how the initial investigation leaked to the covert masterminds.
During one particularly boring hearing, the conversation with President Waller popped into his head. Could it be? Is tha
t the leak? At first, the politician chided himself for his indiscretion. A plan formulated in his mind. Maybe if he let another piece of actionable intelligence slip to Waller, the problem would take care of itself.
The politician had found out long ago that in the corridors of Washington’s elite, there was no such thing as knowing too many of other people’s secrets.
That night, he carefully went over every supposedly dead-end operation he knew about. These would commonly be called ‘cold-cases’ in a police department. He liked to call them ‘grey cases.’ They lived in a grey area where either the evidence could only be collected through less than legal tactics or the suspected criminal was untouchable due to the person’s station or status under current law.
Federal agencies hadn’t ‘officially’ given up on them, but the mix of current regulation and the sitting President made convictions nearly impossible. After much reflection, the politician knew the perfect case to leak.
+++
The next day, he placed a call to Hank Waller’s office. Because of his status in Washington, he was immediately patched through. During the brief chat, the politician never mentioned the Detroit operation. Instead, he invited President Waller to play eighteen holes at the Army-Navy Club the next week.
Waller quickly checked his schedule and confirmed that he could make the tee time.
The following week, the two competitive men, surrounded by a roving Secret Service team, did their best to out-putt and out-drive each other. After the ninth hole, the politician steered the conversation to the increasing problems on the U.S.-Mexico border.
