by Brad Taylor
I let out a breath, realizing I’d been afraid of what I would hear. “Thank God. What’s his status? How long’s he out of commission?”
“Doc’s saying six weeks no activity, then another six months of physical therapy. Should be good as new. Now you need to get the fuck out of here. In fact, go see him.”
“I will, I will. Later. What did you find out about the imam? Did law enforcement locate him?”
“No, not yet. We’ve had an event that overcame the hunt. Someone broke into Fort A.P. Hill and stole a bunch of C-4, blasting caps, and claymore mines.”
“Come on, sir! That’s them. I interrupted their transfer of explosives in Europe, so they stole explosives here. The imam is at the heart of this thing. We shouldn’t be slacking off, we should be pressing forward.”
“It’s not your group. The people who did it had inside knowledge of the post. No way is it a bunch of Arabs from Egypt. The police also found some literature inside the vehicle they used that points toward a white supremacist group inside Attica prison.”
“Literature? What’s that prove?”
“It was an underground newspaper for something called the Phoenix Order, run by a guy named Cyrus Mace. The police found five examples of the number eighty-eight and two examples of the phrase ‘remember the fourteen words’ encrypted in the text. No fucking way would an Arab be able to duplicate that. It was genuine.”
“Why’s that genuine? You lost me.”
“Eighty-eight, as in the eighth letter of the alphabet, H. As in H–H, or Heil Hitler. Or the eighty-eight words from Mein Kampf where Hitler proclaims the master race. Take your pick. The fourteen words come from the original terrorist group The Order. It’s basically a statement of racial purity, but it’s shortened in communications to simply ‘the fourteen words.’ Trust me, an imam isn’t going to know about that. Also, the people who robbed A.P. Hill killed some mentally handicapped and African American men on a cleaning crew to get inside, which is right up The Order’s alley of racial purity.”
“Well, maybe they were hired. Stranger things have happened. Remember how the PLO hired the Japanese Red Army to kill all those folks at that Israeli airport in the seventies? Maybe they’re in partnership with the Arabs now.”
“Pike, the group’s called the Phoenix Order, as in the resurrection of the original terrorist group The Order. That group went on a killing spree in the eighties trying to overthrow the U.S. government, with a bunch of crazy talk about starting a new society in the Northwest of the United States. This group’s founder, Cyrus, was just a member of the Aryan Brotherhood until 9/11. Since then, he’s gone toxic, spouting the same shit as the original Order, only this time against Muslims. Trust me, he’s not in cahoots with any Arabs.”
I tried to come up with some other valuable reason to focus on foreign terrorists, but simply sputtered, “We need to find the imam. The Arab from Egypt is a killer, and he’s here. Our only contact is that imam. Explosives or not, if we don’t press, we’ll lose them. They’ll be safe to regroup.”
“Pike, you interrupted their attack. I agree they’re a threat, but the Phoenix Order is just as violent as the Arabs. Maybe more so, since they understand America and they want to overthrow the government. They’re a clear and present danger, and they’ve got everyone on a high state of alert. The police are taking it personally, since they’re going to be a primary target. We’re not going to get them to shift priorities.”
I rubbed my face, frustrated. “Okay, sir. I get it. Hopefully, our actions in Hungary will keep the terrorists from blowing up the Statue of Liberty. Maybe, maybe not.”
Kurt stood with his hands outstretched. “Not our fight, Pike. We don’t do domestic. We have enough going on as it is.”
He then poked me a little to let me know he wasn’t blind. “Best course of action is for you to get that woman in the back of the room, who’s pretending to be an analyst, out of here. The one who looks remarkably like Jennifer—but I know it’s not her, because even you wouldn’t be that stupid. Get back to Charleston and let me know your plan for the seasoning of the G-4.”
“All right, all right,” I lied, “we’re going.”
I took Jennifer out of the Ops Center and gave her directions to the team rooms one floor up. I needed a place we could hide out for a few hours, and figured Kurt wouldn’t be traveling up there any time soon.
“What are you going to do?”
“I have some questions I want answered. Won’t take but a minute.”
She looked at me like I was keeping something from her, which I was, but she proceeded up the stairs to the fourth floor.
I went down the hall from the Ops Center, stopping at an unmarked door. I entered without knocking, seeing the two people inside whirl around.
The female spoke first. “Pike? Pike Logan? Long time, no see. Where the hell have you been? You finally going to pay me the twelve-pack you owe me?”
“Hey, Holly.” I turned to the other person, a man. “Hey, Vic. How’s the secret cell?”
The office here housed one of the most sensitive aspects of Taskforce operations, even if it was just purely analytical. Holly had first served as a Maryland state trooper, but ended up as a terrorist analyst in the Washington, D.C., police department before leaving the police for our lucrative pay. She was a five-foot-five blond spitfire dedicated to getting the job done.
Vic was retired from the FBI. He’d served as an agent, a LEGATT in an embassy overseas, and a member of their Hostage Rescue Team, which is where I’d met him originally. He’d taken an IED strike in Iraq years ago and was medically retired.
Now they both worked for the Taskforce as our pipeline into domestic law-enforcement agencies—something that wasn’t advertised and wasn’t well known even within the Taskforce, given that anything smacking of domestic operations was anathema to us, which is why I jokingly called it the secret cell.
Given their experience, together they understood cop talk and all of the myriad different law enforcement databases in place. Their job was simply collating information, trying to put the pieces together to help us in our mission. They ostensibly worked for some bullshit department in Homeland Security, which allowed them to ask the questions they needed to ask. Because it dovetailed neatly with their primary job of data mining, they were also in charge of our internal biometric database. They were the people who got the data from our biometric scans of the dead Arabs in Prague and Budapest.
Vic said, “Going about as well as always. A lot of work for very little payoff.”
Vic hated being behind a desk, but since he’d lost most of the use of his left leg, he was stuck with his fate. Both were officially retired because Kurt and the president felt it a bridge too far to actually recruit anyone who was active in law enforcement, from the Justice Department on down. Both thought it a travesty to have an officer who was supposed to catch lawbreakers support an activity that subverted the Constitution, the supreme law of the land. Made me feel a little bit like a whore.
I said, “Hey, you guys get the word on that imam from Canada? The one on the no-fly list who flew to Baltimore?”
Holly gave a short laugh. “Oh yeah, that caused a stink, but everything stopped after the A.P. Hill attack.”
“I need to find him. In a bad way. Can you guys collate everything that was done before everyone was pulled off?”
“Sure, that’s easy, because it was basically nothing.”
I decided to push the issue. “Well, can you scan everything from the Baltimore area and pull up any arrests or spikes relating to Muslims?”
Vic spoke up. “On whose orders? We’ve got our plate full with ongoing operations overseas.”
Holly heard the exchange and tossed her head. I could tell she didn’t agree with Vic’s pissed-off attitude. She and I got along well, with her constantly flirting with me even when my wife was alive. I threw in my cards, looking at Holly as I spoke.
“On my orders. Nobody else’s. I get that some neo-N
azi group is running around with C-4, but there’s a terrorist cell here, and it’s tied to that imam. I’m asking as a favor. Please. You only have to stick with Baltimore, where he flew in. Just cover the last four days. Maybe something will give me a handle on the guy.”
Vic said, “You can’t do anything domestically anyway. What’s the point?”
“Just do it, please. Nobody else is looking, and you guys have the experience. I understand it’ll cost some time for a team overseas, but this is important.”
I saw both of them look at each other, mulling it over.
Holly said, “We can give you the rest of the day, but we can’t do anything more. Sorry.”
Vic scowled, saying, “Bullshit. You want to do that, you’re on your own. I’ve got enough work.”
I broke into a grin. “Thanks, Holly. All I want to do is get whatever you find into the law enforcement system. You find some links, and they’ll do the work. Nobody’s looking right now because of A.P. Hill, and that imam’s the key to something a hell of a lot worse than a bunch of redneck racists.”
64
Rafik watched Carl load the dummy EFP with clay and set the blasting cap, then duplicate the sighting procedures, exactly as he had been taught by Farouk. His military experience was paying off, since he already knew about the dangers of the blasting cap and how to use the M57 firing device.
In fact, Rafik was surprised at how quickly all his prison recruits picked up the theory behind the EFPs. After the A.P. Hill hit, he’d separated the men, sending them to different hotels and bringing them individually to Keshawn’s Baltimore warehouse to be trained. He’d planned two full days for the train-up, but Carl was the second recruit through today, and both had taken a quarter of the time he had allocated. He was somewhat taken aback by their calm acceptance of the mission, without any questions on the manner of the attack. There was something different in the Americans that he couldn’t pinpoint. He’d spent countless hours training Arab recruits, and invariably they always needed a massive amount of time to fully comprehend what they were trying to do, as if they were going through the motions but not assimilating why. He had seen students do things with blasting caps that would be catastrophic in an uncontrolled environment, with the men acting nonchalant, firmly believing that Allah would protect them.
He believed in Allah as much as anyone he had taught, but it was a trial trying to get the men he trained to understand that Allah wouldn’t save them if they made a mistake. It required repetitive instruction until they grasped the concepts, something that didn’t seem to be an issue here.
Maybe I can speed things up. Get the attack going sooner rather than later.
He’d scheduled a full day of training per team, but after seeing them in action at A.P. Hill, he’d gone to two a day, with Carl the second one through. Now he was thinking he could train all four in a single day and begin the assault tomorrow morning, shaving three full days off of their timeline. Three days that they would need, given the media frenzy surrounding the stolen explosives.
I left the secret cell and went up to the fourth floor to help the guys unload the kit we had used. I should have taken Jennifer and beat feet out of the building, but I needed to give the cell some time to find what I wanted. I knew if Kurt discovered us here, he’d blow a gasket. I was under no illusions about which straw I was placing on the camel’s back.
The inventory was menial work, but necessary. We’d have to ensure we hadn’t lost anything, then make sure it all still functioned correctly, so the next team could pull it out of a locker knowing it would work as intended. It was a gray area as to what would happen if the stuff was screwed up or missing, since I had been the team leader, but I was no longer a Taskforce operator. Another complication for an ex-operator running a front company. Especially since this ex-operator just ran a bunch of missions with national implications for presidential authority.
Kurt or the Oversight Council hadn’t thought about it yet due to events, but I had. Sooner or later our company was going to need its own special oversight, to protect both them and us. A mandate that said it was okay for us to do more than the other cover organizations. All they ever did was facilitate the infiltration of an area. They never interfered in the action, leaving that to the operators on the ground. My company was different, with implications I hadn’t considered when I’d built it.
Jennifer saw me come in and said, “What did you do?”
“Nothing. Just trying to get a handle on the imam. That’s all.”
Decoy said, “Pike, I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but leave it alone. We don’t do domestic operations. There’s a reason for that. You ever hear of posse comitatus?”
I bristled. “Don’t tell me what this taskforce does or doesn’t do. I was taking out terrorists in this organization while you were still sweating through hell week.”
Retro cut in. “Whoa, hang on. What’s that about? He’s only saying what we all feel. Pike, you know I’d follow you into hell and back, but you’ve made a few decisions lately which were a little loose.”
He dropped the case he was inventorying, holding up his hands. “You’ve done okay so far, but we’re back at home now. Back under Taskforce control. It’s time to get back to what’s right, you know what I mean?”
I knew exactly what he meant: I was no longer an operator, and thus was no longer in charge. He was telling me to back off and let the “real” operators take over. It hurt a great deal, exposing another wrinkle related to our little business. Good enough to get the job done under duress, but no longer worth a seat at the table when it was over.
“Yeah,” I said. “I get it. No issues.”
Buckshot said, “Pike, it’s not—”
I cut him off. “I fucking get it. Let’s get this done so Jennifer and I can go home.”
We spent the next four hours going through the kit, the atmosphere decidedly strained. Jennifer got the worst of it, because she wasn’t sure where she stood. I could tell she wanted to be anywhere but in that room.
When we were finally done, Decoy said, “I’ll get you guys out.” He paused, then said, “Pike, I didn’t mean what you think I meant. I know what you’ve done for this organization. You’re a damn legend. It’s just that… that…”
“That I’m now a nobody? Save the speeches. And we don’t need you to show us out. If my feeble memory serves, we don’t have to have badges to leave the building.”
Jennifer looked appalled, like she was seeing a family self-destruct and wanted to stop it. We left without another word, going down the stairwell to the third floor. When I exited there instead of continuing down she said, “Where are you going?”
“I need to check something. Just hold fast. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“Pike… what are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just checking something out.”
I left her and headed back to the secret cell. When I entered, Vic looked at me with distaste, but Holly smiled.
“Well,” Vic said, “here you go. Everything with a Muslim angle. Thanks for wasting our time.”
Jesus, does everyone here hate me?
“Did you find anything interesting?”
Holly said, “Not really. But see for yourself.”
She handed me a sheaf two inches thick.
“Can I take this with me? Is it classified?”
“Nope. It’s for official use only, but nothing more than you’d get as a police officer. They’re all yours.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. You guys have a phone number where I can get you? I’m probably not coming back in here due to operational constraints, but I may need your help again.”
Vic looked at me suspiciously, but Holly said, “Sure, here’s our internal number. It’s good for another five days. After that, I don’t know what it will be. You know how the Taskforce changes numbers every five seconds.”
I smiled. “Yeah, I know. Nothing like operational security to impede operational success.”
> Holly smiled back. “You said it. What a pain in the ass.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “Look, I’m not trying to be mean, but don’t use that number unless it’s important. We do have real work going on.”
So much for my operator mystique.
“Yeah, sure. I won’t bug you unless it’s important.”
I left them and returned to Jennifer patiently waiting in the hallway.
“Let’s get out of here. I’ve got some stuff I want you to look at. See what you can see.”
Going down the stairs, she said, “Pike, I think you took all of that upstairs a little hard. They weren’t saying anything bad. We’re just the cover organization. You said that yourself when you got me to agree.”
I stopped walking and turned around. “I don’t give a shit about any of that. Those damn terrorists are inside the United States, and nobody seems to care because there’s some ridiculous line about domestic operations. Because of it, someone’s going to die.”
I started walking again. She said, “What are you planning to do?”
“Nothing as it stands. I have these reports to go through, and I’d like you to help me.”
Thirty minutes later, we were inside a hotel room near the courthouse on Clarendon Boulevard, the documents spread out on a table.
Jennifer said, “What am I looking for?”
“I have no idea. I’m hoping for a Son of Sam moment, where we get something we can use based on a traffic violation. Just see what you can find.”
I began wading through the reports, all of which pretty much outlined a bunch of bullshit Pakistani taxi drivers ripping off tourists. After two hours of going through them, I was about done. I saw nothing of any interest. I attempted to pass the next five to Jennifer, only to have her intently reading one of the earlier reports.
“What? What do you see?”
“It’s a missing person report.”
“The one about the chick who had a mysterious boyfriend? What about it? There’s nothing there about the imam.”
