Death to America (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #4)

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  Another thousand dead.

  Muslim leaders were now demanding government protection. They were gathering in mosques and community centers, armed to protect themselves from vigilantes out for revenge. More mosques had been burned, including one in New Jersey where dozens of the hundreds taking refuge inside died from smoke inhalation. The fire departments appeared now to only be intervening when human lives were at risk, and they had fought this fire valiantly, several of their own injured in the attempt. The other mosques had been left to burn once everyone was out.

  The nation was at a tipping point.

  The very values America represented were being abandoned and Leroux was concerned that if things continued, his country would become like those these fundamentalists came from. A land of no law and order, no equality, no rights. Merely vigilantes roaming the streets, killing whoever they thought might have wronged them in some way, with the authorities standing by unless an “American looking” person might become a victim.

  He could understand the anger. Hell, he even felt it too. His blood boiled every time he heard of a new attack. He seethed when he went to the bathroom and saw a paper towel tossed in a urinal because one of his Muslim colleagues was commanded by his teachings to not touch his penis without performing ablution afterward, and apparently didn’t have the time. And he cried when he saw the victims, especially the children, in the aftermath of the actions carried out by these insane individuals.

  And he questioned why the Muslim community remained so silent.

  Perhaps if they marched on the streets, denouncing the violence, there might be more sympathy.

  Another bulletin beeped in his Inbox.

  Governor of New Jersey announces voluntary internment program.

  This woke him for a moment as he scanned the brief that announced the Governor of New Jersey was offering to allow Muslims to stay in the closed schools with security provided by the National Guard.

  What’s the next step? Japanese internment camps?

  But right now even Leroux, who considered himself a firm believer in the Constitution, had his doubts. Perhaps locking them all up for now might be the best thing to do. At least it would protect them, and if the perpetrators are among them, then the attacks would stop. And if they did, they could begin to carefully screen and release the interned until the guilty parties were identified.

  It’ll never happen.

  And he was glad of that as it went against his ideals, and those of the country he loved.

  He realized he hadn’t been watching the cameras for the past ten minutes and reversed them just in case he missed something. He hadn’t.

  I’ve got to sleep!

  He brought up another dozen feeds.

  Just one last batch.

  They began to play and as his eyes travelled over the mundane views of hallways and common areas, he stopped on the last row, his eyebrows jumping and adrenaline providing a second wind.

  Sitting in a chair with her hands tied behind her back, her face bloodied, was the most important woman in his life.

  And he felt rage like he had never felt before.

  The Whitehouse, Washington, DC

  President Bridges pulled at his hair, hair he swore was far grayer today than it was two weeks ago. The country was collapsing before his eyes and he didn’t know what to do about it. Which was something he couldn’t admit publicly.

  Never admit to the enemy you don’t have a strategy.

  The attacks were continuing at a furious pace and the nation was in a panic. The stock markets had been closed for days but he had finally been forced to reopen them and they had collapsed. All educational institutions were closed, stores were empty, traffic gridlock a nightmare since mass transit was being avoided like the plague.

  And preliminary reports from his staff were showing the economy was quickly imploding as the retail sector foundered.

  But online sales were up.

  Until they find out that every one of the bombers received a courier delivery.

  “Sir, what have you decided?”

  “Hmm?” He looked up at National Security Advisor Susan Lawrence, she too looking like she had aged a decade in ten days. He looked about the room. They all looked haggard, worn, scared.

  All except General Thorne. He appeared unaffected.

  But he’s military. He’s trained for this type of thing.

  He thought about what Lawrence was asking. He had just met with a delegation of Imams who swore what was happening wasn’t representative of true Islam and promised to turn over any information they might come across, but they were also scared. They demanded that their mosques be protected and provided the same police and fire services that any church would receive, and they demanded protection for their citizens, short of internment as they considered that to be imprisonment rather than protective custody.

  What was sad was that all their demands were perfectly reasonable, and if coming from a group of Christians, not a soul in the land would deny them any and all of their demands.

  But they weren’t, and the situation would never be reversed.

  Modern Christians, with the sad exception of recent Northern Ireland history, just don’t do this type of thing.

  He had thanked them, promised to consider their requests, and adjourned.

  “At a minimum we must guarantee that the mosques receive the same services any church would receive. I think any reasonable person can agree with that.”

  Lawrence nodded, as did the room. “Of course, Mr. President.”

  He turned to Bill Cambridge, his speech writer. “Bill, I’m going to address the nation again tonight. I need something that will calm the anger toward Muslims. These retaliatory murders have to stop. And figure out some way to inspire the firefighters and police to do their jobs. There has to be some way.”

  “It will be a great speech, Mr. President, don’t you worry.”

  Bridges smiled slightly. “They always are, Bill, they always are. I’m afraid before this is over, I’ll be asking a lot of you.”

  “It’s an honor, sir.”

  Lawrence cleared her throat. “What about the camps some states have begun setting up? This is Japanese internment all over again. You should see what CNN is reporting.”

  Bridges frowned. “If I had my choice I’d take them off the air. All of them. Their constant fear mongering is making the situation worse.” He waved his hand in the air, dismissing the words. “I know, I know, it’s just the wishful thinking of a tired citizen rather than the serious thoughts of your President.”

  But it would be so much easier!

  It wasn’t the nightly news coverage that was the problem. NBC, ABC, CBS, FOX—their regular news broadcasts were terrifying, but brief with little commentary. It was the 24-hour news channels that were whipping everything into a frenzy. Was there reason to be scared? Absolutely, the country was under attack. But the unsubstantiated rumors and conjecture of the talking heads was inexcusable. As happened so often now whether it was the Malaysian Airliner going missing or Ferguson, the press seemed to latch on to a story and try to fill 24-hours of their cycle with nothing but.

  Which meant people ran out of things to say, so just made stuff up. Reporters turned into commentators and gave opinion, with people at home thinking it was news. After all, when Joe Blow tells you the top stories every night at 5pm, then is now telling you that the missing airliner might have been flown to a secret base on an island in the Indian Ocean, you believed it must be based on some reliable fact, some reliable source.

  Not anymore.

  The news is just opinion now.

  It was a sad day for the Fifth Estate.

  He pulled at his ear, then finally spoke. “I would do something about the camps if it weren’t for the fact they are already full with people seeking refuge voluntarily. Entire families have moved there.”

  “It’s sad,” whispered Ben Wainwright, Secretary of Homeland Security. “My grandfather on my mother’s side was
interned during World War Two. And I was just in Jordan visiting the refugee camps there. To think we’d see the day when American citizens would be so scared they’d leave their homes and businesses and take refuge from their fellow citizens…” His voice drifted off, there no need to finish the thought.

  Everyone in the room was just as appalled.

  And it’s happening under your watch.

  He looked up at Wainwright. “Any progress on the investigation, no matter how small? Some ray of hope?”

  Wainwright shook his head slightly. “What we do know at this point is that all of the explosives being used are C4, military grade. We believe it’s all part of a large shipment lost during transport to Iraq several years ago.”

  “How big was this shipment? I mean, how much of it do they have left?”

  Wainwright lowered his briefing notes and sucked in a deep breath. “Mr. President, they’ve barely scratched the surface. Our estimate is that if this is indeed the source of the C4, they could sustain this level of bombing for three more months.”

  “By which time there won’t be an America left to save,” murmured Lawrence.

  “Were there any leads on the theft?”

  “Negative. The convoy was hit and hit hard by Iraqi insurgents. It was lightning fast, efficient, very well executed. It was one of their more professional operations according to the investigation.”

  “It seems so many things are out of character,” observed Chief of Clandestine Operations Leif Morrison. “We have none of the regular chatter, all of the operations are performed by non-Muslims, no credit is being taken, not a single operation has truly failed, every single person coerced into these actions seems to have been well chosen—family men or women, able-bodied, none military or civilian law enforcement. It’s as if these people have all been chosen to be mentally and physically capable of carrying out their task, and manipulable enough psychologically to be counted on to go through with it. If it weren’t for the ‘Death to America’ signs and the occasional shout of Allahu Akbar, we would be looking for domestic terrorists.”

  “What are you saying?” asked General Thorne.

  “I’m saying something doesn’t smell right. We’ve got US military explosives being used, no Muslim perpetrators, no Muslim claims, and a certain shall we call classified”—he added air quotes—“event that can’t be discussed that used the same MO. Is it just me or are things not adding up?”

  “I think it’s just you,” replied General Thorne, clearly displeased. “I find it impossible to believe Americans would do this to America. I find it perfectly plausible to believe that Islamic extremists would. This is merely an ingenious tactic. They don’t need to waste their own people, they have an unlimited number of victims—” He stopped and threw up his hands in frustration, sucking in a deep breath. Looking from Morrison to his President, Thorne raised his hands, palms facing outward. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, Director, I’m just as frustrated as you all. My country, the country I have served all my life, is under attack. I don’t care who is doing it, but they need to be stopped. And the only way I can see stopping it is by asking Congress for permission to break a few rules. We need to implement MYSTIC.”

  Bridges pursed his lips, shaking his head. “We’ve discussed that. I’m not willing to suspend our Constitution or civil liberties. This is a slippery slope that has already harmed the Union. I’ve been trying to rein in some of the laws that have been passed since nine-eleven, but the pushback from congress and many constituents is unbelievable. I’m called unpatriotic, a terrorist, soft on crime.”

  “Ridiculous,” cried Lawrence. “I support your efforts, Mr. President. We all do! Why, my husband was pulled over by State police last week. They claimed he hadn’t signaled, then began interrogating him and asked him to consent to a search for drugs. He let them. He’s an innocent man with nothing to hide! They searched the car and found he had an envelope with two thousand dollars in cash that he had just got at the bank for some antiques we were going to buy last weekend. They seized it as possible drug money and told him he could contest it in court! He hasn’t been charged with anything and they just took his money!”

  “And it’s perfectly legal,” said Wainwright. “I get complaints all the time. Police have executed over sixty-thousand stops since nine-eleven and seized over 2.5 billion dollars, almost none of it ultimately found illegal. And because it costs so much to try to fight it, many people aren’t bothering because it will cost them more than the money taken. They’re legally stealing from average Americans because they get to keep the majority of the funds to top up their budgets.”

  Lawrence jabbed her finger at Wainwright, her head bobbing up and down violently. “Yes! I looked into it. Huffington Post and a lot of other news organizations are starting to report on it. And some of these police precincts are using the money to pay for luxury cars, first class plane tickets and other unnecessary things. They’re living high on the hog by stealing money.” A burst of air and a growl of frustration escaped. “Mr. President, this has to be stopped!”

  Bridges chuckled slightly, a smile spreading on his face. “Susan, when the current crisis is over, we’ll look into this entire ‘Stop and Seize’ abuse of powers, but until then, we need to keep our focus.”

  Lawrence covered her mouth for a moment, flushing with embarrassment. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, Mr. President. You are of course right.”

  Bridges waved off the apology. “No need to apologize. Just hearing the stories upsets me too. To think our own law enforcement are encouraged to steal money from innocent Americans—legally—is outrageous.” He clapped his hands together. “But today, we keep moving forward. We continue to investigate and hopefully we can finally get a break. Tomorrow I’m shutting down all parcel and courier delivery in the country that isn’t from a validated business. They must have been in business for at least two years and been regularly shipping items six months before the crisis. Anyone else can be vetted by the FBI to be added to the approved list. Perhaps this will make it a little more difficult to actually deliver these bombs.”

  His aide poked her head into the office. “Mr. President, it’s time.”

  General Thorne’s eyebrows popped up. “Mr. President, you’re not still going to greet the tour group!”

  Bridges rose, as did the rest. “You know I try to meet the morning tour every day. It takes five minutes of my time and lets me meet our fellow Americans. I refuse to allow those who would harm our country stop our citizens from having access to their President.”

  Thorne’s lips spread into a thin line as he clenched his jaw shut, it clear he wanted to continue his protest.

  Bridges walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, Brad. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll mix up which group I actually meet?”

  Thorne relaxed slightly. “A wise precaution, Mr. President.”

  Bridges turned to the room. “Thank you everyone.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  He smiled and headed for the door, his step a little lighter, kissing babies and pressing flesh one of his favorite perks of being President. He loved his public, loved his country, and was determined to find some way to help save it.

  Stan Reese had never done the White House tour before, despite living in the DC area his entire life. He had always wanted to be a tourist in his own town, he missing the school trip most kids did due to chicken pox, but he had always thought he would have another day. Today he knew he wouldn’t. He had been instructed to go here, on this day, at this time.

  From everything he had seen in the news, he knew today would be his last day on Earth, he just didn’t know yet what his instructions were.

  He cleared the heavy security, President Bridges having refused to cancel the tours, saying they were a symbol of American democracy at its best, and no terrorist threat would let him deny Americans access to their leadership.

  He was handed a tour badge and hung it around his neck. His ph
one immediately vibrated in his pocket.

  His chest tightened and his mouth dried.

  “Hello?”

  “You will be handed a gun. Shoot the President immediately, as many times as you can. If he lives, your family dies.”

  The call ended, the mechanical voice leaving him with chills running up and down his spine.

  “We’re walking! We’re walking!”

  Reese barely heard the tour guide, the rather thin herd of those brave enough to still come near a government facility following her like sheeple, he joining them at the rear of the pack.

  Where the wolf was most likely to strike.

  His mind was a jumble of confusion. He knew he was being used, he knew what they were asking was wrong, and he knew that if he didn’t follow their instructions his parents would die.

  And he loved his parents beyond all else.

  They were close, very close. He spoke to them several times a week, sometimes almost every day, and quite often for an hour at a time. They spoke about everything, including their favorite topic, politics. He couldn’t begin to tally how many hours they had spent talking about what would eventually happen with the Muslim immigration situation, and now it was happening on the streets of America exactly as they had all predicted.

  He and his parents had been in favor of shutting down all non-Judeo Christian immigration immediately, of deporting any immigrant who committed a crime, regardless of religion, and doing whatever it took to make America independent of non-North American oil.

  Needless to say they were huge supporters of the Keystone XL pipeline which was almost completed and a mere fraction of the nation’s already existing 2.5 million miles of pipelines. If you were to believe the naysayers, things should be leaking and blowing up left, right and center every few hours. It frustrated him and his father especially when those opposed refused to answer the question of whether or not they’d rather get their oil from America’s closest ally of Canada, or from Saudi Arabia, the home of Wahhabism and one of the strictest interpretations of Islam. They were the source of much of the funding for most terrorist acts around the globe, and were spreading their hateful brand of Islam worldwide thanks to Arab oil money gained from selling their product to Western democracies.