People Raged: and the Sky Was on Fire-Compendium (Rick Banik Thrillers Book 1)

by Craig Martelle

  Clay didn’t believe that they were good enough to find Mohammed. He was a master at hiding in plain sight. If they found him, they’d lose him again quickly enough. The mission had to continue. Clay decided that it was time. He needed to know.

  “Mohammed, what is our target?” Clay asked quietly.

  “How will it change your life if you know?”

  “What do you mean?” Clay was confused.

  “Only one person knows the details and that’s me. One other person knows a great deal and that’s you. No one else knows anything. You’ve seen what the zealots were told. That’s all they know,” Mohammed explained.

  “The best way to keep a secret is to tell no one. And that’s what I’ve done, and what I will do. It has nothing to do with trust. It has everything to do with accomplishing the mission. Da’esh trusts me. If they like what I’ve done, they take credit. If they don’t, they don’t. It is quite simple and has nothing to do with friendship or trust. This is an operation where no one will know until it’s too late.

  “Our inner thoughts can give us away, my friend because a secret is a burden that a man carries. Those burdens have a way of showing through. In America, they call it stress. They have panic attacks here. We have none of that back home because we share our burdens. It’s here, in the land of the kafir that we must exercise the utmost care. I will carry this burden alone until the time is right, and then we will carry it together.” Mohammed reached out a loving hand and put it on Clay’s shoulder, looking into the younger man’s eyes as he talked. Clay nodded, once, a small nod.

  “I accept your explanation, and I look forward to the day when I can help share your burden. Another question, afterward, what happens to me? Will I become a martyr?” Clay asked sincerely, eyes glistening.

  “No! No, my friend. The zealots will be martyrs because that is their place. I see you becoming me, maybe opening operations on the West Coast. You shall wipe your hands of this and move to the next crack in the armor of the unbelievers. Together, we will continue to drive wedges until everything shatters.” Mohammed offered his hand, and Clay took it, shaking vigorously while sporting a big smile.

  So that was it, my friend. You believe but didn’t want to die for the cause, although you would have had I asked, Mohammed thought to himself. You are right where I want you.

  “We have work to do, Clay. I need to change hotels and personalities while you need to get us a new vehicle, a minivan will be best, I think. I will drop you where you can get a shuttle to the airport. We cannot go back to a place where we’ve been together before. I will miss the Turkish coffee at Yoyla’s. Too bad.” Mohammed shook his head. “No matter. I will meet you tomorrow for breakfast at the IHOP in Chantilly. Say 8:30 am?” Mohammed asked as he started walking back to the Cadillac.

  There were a few things he needed to do for Mohammed Marsook ibn al Mohammed to disappear and for Shams al Din to enter the world.

  A Company Man

  Rick’s first day working at the Agency was less than gratifying. People looked at him suspiciously everywhere he checked in. He would always be an outsider to these people. It made him angry that anyone would be so insular to the detriment of the overall mission.

  Then again, one of the many Marine Corps sayings was, “God, Corps, and Country, in that order.” The point was that every Marine served a moral right above all, then loyalty to the Corps was paramount. Finally, the United States came before any other country, should a Marine have to make such a profound decision. Rick accepted their fanatical loyalty to the Agency as a quirk of the trade. When one was in the business of paranoia at least there were institutional companions.

  Rick chuckled to himself as he looked at one hostile face after another because he expected that they didn’t trust each other either. What a sad existence, he thought. It’s what DC does to people. And my job is to save them so they can continue just like this. How refreshing!

  Rick found humor where he was sure others did not. It didn’t matter. His family was here, and if making their lives better helped the rest of these lost and bitter souls, then so be it.

  It had taken a full day before he had access, but it was a Friday and despite their claims to the contrary, the CIA was a government organization. Rick could do nothing except fidget and pace in his new office. As an acting member of the Senior Executive Service, he expected to get the royal treatment that was reserved for any flag officer, that is, a General or an Admiral.

  Rick still felt like a Staff Sergeant, although he chose to invest in nice suits because it was DC, and he was too often thrust into close confines with movers and shakers. Sometimes it seemed less important to get the analysis right than it was to look professional. With the advent of eBay, he was able to acquire two Armanis and four Joseph A. Banks suits of the finest lamb’s materials. There is a certain power one felt when wearing thousand dollar suits even if he paid less than $200 each for them. That’s the real power, Rick thought, while continuing to burn a path into his office carpet with his Salvatore Ferragamo shoes which he also bought on eBay.

  While he waited, he used his new desk phone to call Colonel Tom Alexander, his boss.

  “Hey Tom, Rick here.” Before Rick could say anything else, his phone made the telltale sound of encryption working its magic. Rick waited, deciding to let the Colonel talk first.

  “Rick, old buddy!” That was new. “It’s not often the CEO gets a call from the Director of Central Intelligence to let us know that he’s promoted and absconded one of our employees, but we can’t be happier. Not that you’re gone, mind you, but that they recognize your value to the community. Of course, you are still an EPEC employee, but we’re led to believe that you’ll be chopped to the Company long term.” The silence continued.

  “Thanks, Tom. I didn’t get that impression. We’ve got a little something going on that I can’t talk about, no surprise, but I think once we wrap it up, I’ll be back home at EPEC,” Rick replied, giving nothing away.

  “I like the way you say back home at EPEC, Rick. This is your home, and we’re your family. Now, if you need any other employees over there, you know we have some of the best available that we can send your way. Just let us know.”

  “How much are you billing the Agency for me, Tom, and you know that all I have to do is walk down the hall and ask to find out?” Rick actually had to go upstairs three floors but found it better to imply that he was now on the same floor as the Agency’s senior leadership. There was a long hesitation before the Colonel answered.

  “A cool fifty-thousand a month, Rick.”

  “I’ll need my salary to go up to $21k/month while I’m billable here, and I’ll do my best to steer more business to EPEC,” Rick said firmly and evenly. This wasn’t a negotiation.

  “Well, maybe we can…”

  “Stop!” Rick interrupted. “I’m not playing Tom. Those are the terms and the new pay rate starts today.”

  “My apologies, Rick. I didn’t mean to come across as if I was stonewalling you. I just need to run it through the owners as that is a significant bump in your pay. I can’t approve it myself, but rest assured, I’ll make sure they sign off. I think the DCI was pretty insistent on things, and who are we to buck the big man? Hey! We heard that you were involved in the takedown, as in, you personally took out the target and one other. Is that the truth?”

  “I’m not sure it was as good as all that. You know me. Something needed to be done and I took care of it. It’s for the cause, not the applause,” Rick quoted his signature line. “And I’ll need confirmation on Monday of my new pay rate, and please, when you are talking with the Generals, express my appreciation for everything they’ve done for me and the approval of the new pay level. That means a lot. I’m doing the best I can here.”

  “I expect no less, Rick. You’ve set a high bar. We appreciate what you’ve done for us. And let us know how we can help. I think Bill Todd is wrapping his project. He’ll be available as soon as you could use him…”

&nb
sp; “The STU-III muffled your tone, but I think that’s a joke. If we need someone, I’ll send a by-name request, have no fear. I think people are quitting for the day, and I need to get a hold of IT before they leave. Thanks, Tom.” Rick hung up without waiting for an answer. Rick pronounced the STU-III as stew three, but emphasized the word “stew” as a running joke at EPEC. Throw everything in together and you’ve made stew. Rick made fun of the many analysts who worked that way.

  As people strolled past his office on their way out, he checked his computer and was finally able to log in but didn’t have full access. Rick called the IT department and within two minutes, the issues were resolve. He thanked the voice on the other end of the line profusely, who hung up on him. After all, it was Friday afternoon and Rick was keeping the man from whatever plans he had.

  Xbox, Rick figured. Am I getting older or does the CIA have a bunch of little kids running their computer systems?

  Rick checked through his variety of emails. The color screen around the program showed the classification level telling him readily whether the email was Secret or Top Secret with the added Sensitive Compartmented Information (SCI) discriminator. He found some congratulatory emails for the success of the takedown, on both his Secret and Top Secret systems. Rick wasn’t sure how they were supposed to be classified but thought they should have been under the Thorny Rose caveat, which would have been resident in a subsystem of the Top Secret world.

  Rick usually defaulted to the highest classification system available, since he refused to get into trouble for exposing classified information. Leaning back in his executive chair and shaking his head, he knew that if he put Top Secret information on the Secret system, he’d probably get fired. When a particular presidential candidate put Top Secret information on a private, unclassified server, she laughed at the calls for her prosecution. Once again, Rick only knew what would happen to him.

  When it was in his control, Rick had the death grip on it. When it was in his sphere of influence, he did everything possible to drive it in the right direction. Any incompetence outside his control had to be fought. This is where anger and frustration combined to torment him.

  This is where the rage lived.

  A Slow Weekend

  Rick reported to the Agency on Saturday morning, expecting it to be buzzing with activity. The bad guys never slept, and if the good guys wanted to stay one step ahead, they couldn’t sleep either. Or take weekends off.

  The situation room was active. The CIA staffed a 24/7/365 watch. The good guys watched and dutifully reported, to include calling people who need to be called at whatever hour when certain trigger events happened.

  The watch floor had a few specialists for the areas with the most activity and some key language speakers, Russian, Arabic, and Mandarin Chinese for example. When Rick saw how empty the building was, he found his way to the sub-basement where the Situation Room was located, happy that his badge allowed him access.

  He greeted the watch-standers one by one as they looked back at him as if Rick was conducting a surprise inspection. They never expected anyone to show up on a Saturday. Some people might come in on Sunday afternoon to get caught up before or after a busy week, but generally, the day workers stayed away on weekends.

  Rick had outstanding actions he needed to resolve. He wanted to know which Middle Easterners changed their return tickets after the first media report on the FBI takedown at Bagdad Market. Rick wanted to bounce that list off multi-entry visa holders to narrow his list of suspects. He figured the faceless man would run, returning when things calmed down, possibly with a different name on a new passport.

  If they got lucky, they might get a picture of this man. Rick needed to resurrect the Thorny Rose collection plan and see which intelligence sources were still active. Most importantly, he had the contact list of key players like Becky from the Department of Justice. He also had Travis’ personal phone number.

  Which reminded him. Travis was supposed to come to his home for dinner tonight.

  Using his Blackphone, he called.

  “I know how you are, so I’m calling to make sure you aren’t sitting around in your underwear and had already forgotten about tonight.” Rick hadn’t known Travis long, but he could relate. He understood the man.

  “Butthole! Don’t tell me you’re at work?” Travis had an intuition about things that Rick was impressed by.

  “Of course. The new place, not to be named.”

  “Well don’t stay long. You promised me brisket and that doesn’t happen in an hour or two!”

  “Worry not, my man. I had it rubbed and marinating overnight. Sadie will throw it on the grill later this morning. I’ll flip it when I get home, and we’ll let it cook until it falls apart.”

  “It doesn’t get any better than that. I’ll see you at your place then. By the way Rick, I didn’t get a chance to tell you what a good job you did. They don’t promote toads like that. Sure, they do, but not the same day, from Gomer Pyle to General Pyle if you aren’t the cat’s meow.”

  “At least you got the Marine reference right. We’ll raise a beer to Gomer. See you at 5.” Rick ended the call.

  He returned to his office and checked the reporting. He wanted anything that followed up on the FBI raid. What did they find? He made a note to call Jordan Speaks on Monday as well as Becky. While he was looking at his to-do list, his Blackphone rang. It was Jack Coleberg, Hostage Rescue Team leader.

  “Rick. I wanted to let you know that Xandrie’s through the worst of it. We think she’s going to make it, but there’s one thing, one of the bullets went through her spine.” Jack didn’t expound. Rick couldn’t see her as a quadriplegic.

  “She won’t walk again?”

  “And thank God that’s the worst of it,” Jack answered. Jack’s voice was sullen. He and his people were operators, keeping their bodies in top condition. None of them were ready to give that up.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. Xandrie was one of the best. She’s good people. And now she can be a top analyst. Analysis is my business, and we need people like her, who’ve been there, who understand. She has a great future ahead of her if she’ll take it.” Jack gave Rick the hospital and room number before they hung up.

  Rick would broach it with Travis tonight. Maybe they’d both go and visit her.

  Rick thought about Xandrie lying in the ICU, starting her long recovery.

  Being committed to finding the faceless man, Rick found himself alone. There was no team. Sometimes he worked better without others, but now had his own horsepower as an SES. He wondered if there was a budget. Another question for Monday.

  He wrote the questions down, added more, and then put the pad of paper in his desk drawer. In his office, he had open storage of Secret material, as well as a safe, but nothing he wrote down was specific enough to rate the higher security.

  There was a whiteboard on the wall, but it lacked a dry-erase pen. He searched this floor of the building until he found a pack. He wasn’t sure whose they were, but now they were his. He took half the board to draw a new caricature of the faceless man, a well-dressed man with a shock of black hair, with head thrown back, and laughing.

  Rick drew an airplane and added a question mark.

  This was the puzzle that he alone was tasked with solving. The pay raise and prestige bump? He was a tool that others would use to get what they wanted. At least they were paying him for it. The $100,000 extra? That would pay off bills and help him buy a better car for his son.

  And to show that he understood how it all worked, he decided not to come in on Sunday. He’d worked half a day on Saturday and take Sunday off. Come Monday, he had hands to shake, taskers to drop, and people to see. After that, who knew?

  One day at a time.

  He needed to get home and check on the brisket. He finally liked where his attitude was. He would get nowhere today, but come Monday. He could start making a difference.

  Again.

  D Minus 12 – A Full Load

 
; Mohammed looked at Clay and smiled. They were in the storage unit at Extra Space. Thirty-three pounds of TATP sat in various containers, sealed against the weakening influence of outside air.

  The explosive was malleable but susceptible to shock and fire, either of which could ignite the material. Delicate handling was called for, and after the long and dangerous production process, neither Mohammed nor Clay wanted to have an accident.

  Brewing the concoction felt like a rite of passage, a boot camp of sorts. If they stored the explosive, it would quickly lose its potency. Mohammed suggested they needed to use it within a couple weeks.

  Thanksgiving was the week after next, and a thought came to Clay. “What are your plans for Thanksgiving, Mister Shams al Din?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find a restaurant and enjoy a traditional American meal. And you?”

  “I usually try to take in a football game. Maybe we can go to dinner, and afterward, you can come to my apartment and watch American football with me?” Clay offered.

  “That is an incredibly kind offer, but at this point, my friend, I think it best if we not be seen together. This mission is rapidly coming to a close. For the next week, we both stay out of the public eye, as it may be. Read, relax, go to the gym, do whatever might be normal. Stop by the storage unit every couple days with things from your apartment. You might even bring the nice man behind the counter donuts. Here,” Mohammed said as he handed Clay a stack of cash.

  Clay took it without hesitation, not wanting to insult his friend. He had thousands of dollars in cash already. Yes, the gym sounded like a good diversion.