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

by Craig Martelle

  He leaned back and looked at the entirety of his domain. A small office and two people.

  “You’re not done with this, are you?” Travis asked. Rick shook his head. He didn’t trust anyone else. Maybe the DDO understood that about him, and that’s why he seemed a kindred spirit. Trust no one and verify everything. Then do it yourself anyway.

  “Can you get anything on this guy from your contacts?” Rick asked Becky.

  She motioned him to get up from his chair. She logged him off and herself on smoothly and started typing and clicking at a high rate of speed. To fill the time, Rick started drawing a caricature of Clay next to the faceless man. Clay wore his jersey with his number from JMU: 93. Rick drew the young man’s hands in a way that suggested he was worshipping the other figure.

  “We are close, you bastard. We’re going to find you, and we’re going to do it in time.” Rick threw the marker at the board when he was finished. It bounced and rolled under the desk. He started to go after it, but noticed Becky was wearing a skirt, so he stopped himself in time. “I’ll get that later,” he said embarrassed at what he almost did.

  “If I get an address, I’ll stake out his place myself. It’s crunch time. He has to sleep between now and Wednesday, so he’ll come home. He has to because we need him to. If he’s already gone to ground, then we’ll do everything we can to trace his steps since the time he bought the sulfuric acid. Where did he take it? And who has the product now?”

  Becky finished what she was doing and printed the results of what she found. It wasn’t very much, but to do more, she’d alert people that she was in the system.

  “Monday. If we don’t hear anything from the Confusion Center by Monday, we’ll go further,” Rick told them. With address in hand, Rick wanted to stake the place out, but decided against it. He’d get in real trouble if the DHS found him there.

  He decided not to let luck drive the train. He called the Fusion Center and asked for the watch commander. A voice he didn’t recognize came on the line before they went secure. Rick told the man to open the time-constrained email Rick had just sent.

  A minute later, the watch commander told Rick that he received it and saw that action was warranted. He’d share it with the FBI and see what they thought. Since Clay was a foreign national, Immigration and Customs Enforcement could be brought in and they would have jurisdiction. ICE worked for DHS so they were easy to task. The voice on the other end of the line sounded confident that everything would be taken care of. Rick gave the man Clay’s home address, just in case. The watch commander was courteous enough not to ask Rick where he got it but simply thanked him and wrote it down.

  When they hung up, Rick felt better.

  “Now, it’s time to go home. If I stay here any longer, my head will explode. He chased his team out of his office, closing the door behind him. “Tell me about your future wife, Travis, so I know what not to say when you two come over to my house for Thanksgiving. Will she be healthy enough? And you’re coming, too, if you don’t have other plans.” Rick said to Becky.

  “This will be my first Thanksgiving away from home. I really appreciate the invite. Thursday was shaping up to be pretty grim, but not anymore. Thanks, Rick. I’ll let you in on a little secret. ” She leaned close to him and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I don’t know how to cook.”

  D Minus 6

  Mohammed loved American parks. He traveled few places in the Middle East that had such lush growth. Even with the leaves falling, it was pleasant. A cool breeze blew, but not too hard. He relaxed and took deep breaths, filling his lungs with the oak-scented air.

  He was sorry about Clay, but nothing could get in the way of the mission. He put it out of his mind. His Shams al-Din persona would last a few more days, then James Erdogan, a Turkish American would take his place.

  He used his phone to buy a one-way plane ticket on Friday evening from Baltimore-Washington International Airport to Chicago O’Hare. Everything he needed to do would be done. Clay’s rental car would be parked in a place beyond the airport without cameras. In his line of work, one always had to know where the cameras were. He wore sunglasses and a scarf to break up his facial features, so anything tying him to the van would be inconclusive.

  And he was always cool. They’d never find him sweating or looking worried. He blended in. Cool like James Bond, but inconspicuous. Yes, a perfect mix of spy and terrorist.

  He smiled into the cool of the evening. Yes. A perfect mix. He had time to waste and a minivan filled with explosives. What to do? He decided to rent a cabin in the Appalachians and disappear until the time was right. There was a place only a couple hours’ drive away.

  He strolled casually to the minivan and looked around for someone to smile at. Everyone was minding their own business, lost in their families, lost in their own thoughts.

  Mohammed nodded as he got in and drove away.

  A Slow Weekend

  Rick was on the deck of his colonial home in Reston, Virginia. On Saturday afternoon, most people grilled out, especially when, this late in the year, the weather was so nice. Nearly 60 degrees and sunny. Rick wore flip flops, shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt.

  He paced as the ribs slowly cooked. He stopped to baste them yet again, then resumed his pacing.

  The Senator was home and in his backyard, dithering with his bushes while his dog ran around. Why does he have a pug? Rick thought. Maybe he needs a dog that looks like its owner.

  Rick turned the heat on the barbecue down and casually strolled through the joining backyards to greet the Senator.

  “Howdy, Senator. What do you think of this weather?” Rick asked. The Senator had seen him coming too late and failed to escape back into his house. Once Rick had him trapped, the elder statesman smiled broadly and offered his hand, which Rick took firmly.

  “Briefed the President yesterday. I’d never been to the Situation Room before. I think I’ll be good if I don’t go back there,” Rick said, not really knowing where he wanted to go with the conversation.

  “Rick, right? Aren’t you in the IC?” And that’s what made Senators great. They remembered small details to make people feel like they were important.

  “Yes, sir. What do you know about Senator Webber? Or maybe the DHS Secretary?” Rick asked, not fishing for information, but trying to find a way to talk about the security of Washington DC.

  “What makes you ask about those two? I can’t talk about a colleague or one of the President’s appointed men, now, can I?”

  Rick thought that Senators never stopped talking about their peers and since the President was in a different party, all of his appointees were fair game. What the Senator meant was that he wasn’t going to talk to Rick about anything to do with business.

  “My apologies, Senator! It’s a beautiful Saturday. You are on vacation, having this week off, and here I am, bending your ear about stuff that must melt your brain every day of your life. Why didn’t you tell me you were off the clock, sir? You are far too kind. And look! Here comes your better half.” Rick took a step back and faced the older lady who was nicely dressed as if she were ready to go out somewhere.

  “Ma’am, I am so sorry to intrude on your Saturday. Please find it in your heart to forgive me?” He pleaded with her, holding his hands up in prayer. “Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I smell ribs on the grill, and they are calling me.” Rick strolled back to his porch, waving as he went, happy with the way he planted a seed and didn’t answer any questions.

  But he didn’t get any answers, either. Still, the weather was exceptional, and the ribs were grilling up nicely. When his wife returned with their teenagers, they’d put out a big spread and enjoy a picnic outside.

  Anything to help Rick take his mind off the impending doom. The watch commander hadn’t called. There had to be an update, actions that were taking place. He wanted to go into the office, but the only thing he’d accomplish is to step on toes. No longer running the show, Rick didn’t have jurisdiction, which meant no one wou
ld protect him if he rubbed an agency the wrong way.

  Tossing the football with his son and maybe playing two-person volleyball game, boys against the girls would help ease him forget, at least for a short amount of time.

  Only until it ended, and then Rick would be right back where he started, waiting for the phone to ring and someone asking for help. No one cared more about this than him.

  He hoped he was wrong while fearing he was right.

  A Different Monday, But Still Monday

  Rick arrived at the CIA Headquarters at 4:30 am. He simply couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know what was happening.

  He checked his email first thing, and there wasn’t a single message for him. He looked for any status reports from the Amber Rose group. Nothing. He was still read-in to the program, at least he thought he was. He turned to his phone and called. The watch commander answered, and Rick initiated a secure connection. That’s when they hung up.

  He looked at his phone in disbelief.

  Hanging his head, he grabbed his coat, and headed for the parking lot. He knew there had to be a Starbucks close by that was open. There had to be.

  Once in his minivan, Rick searched for a Starbucks using a personal iPhone that never went into work. One was open 24 hours and only two blocks away. He decided to walk to cool down and clear his head.

  When he got there, there was already a line. It seemed lines at Starbucks were a universal condition. He looked around, thinking he’d see Clay again. Football hero turned terrorist. If he hadn’t seen it for himself, he would not have believed it. He thought there had to be another explanation. Clay seemed like an average person. He didn’t fit the mold. Then Rick asked himself the hard question, who fit the mold, a screamer who stood out, like Ahmed al-Suqami?

  What was that jacket Clay was wearing in the picture? It looked like Meller Construction. He’d dig into that when he returned to the office.

  He ordered one coffee for himself and a second one for Travis, just in case, expecting that he’d drink both before Travis arrived at work. He walked back, finding it hard not to mope. His baby had been taken away, and he’d been denied visitation rights.

  Becky might be able to find something out. People usually didn’t deny her anything. She looked so young and innocent. She was young, but as she proved at Grainger, she had a devious streak that needed nurturing before she built herself a lair on a remote desert island and took over the world.

  Rick smirked at his joke but saw unlimited potential. He’d stay in contact with her, regardless of how this week went. It wasn’t shaping up well, and it wasn’t even 5 am.

  Did Grainger have video coverage of their parking lot? They’d have to call the manager and see if he had any footage. Did Clay have a car?

  Maybe there was more to do than he thought, although he would have expected the Fusion Center to do it all. He knew there had to be good people working hard to find the truth.

  It only took one bad leader to destroy their motivation, give bad direction, and waste their time. Deputy Andrew Bridges had been supportive when Rick was there, but Andrew was hands-off. Andrew let the watch commanders do their own thing. He thought they may assume that security at Dulles would be ramped up, and that would take care of it. No one wanted to work over a four-day weekend.

  And then the watch commander hung up on Rick. It did not instill confidence.

  The Intelligence Community received little feedback for what they produced. Usually, they only saw it in the newspaper identified as an intelligence failure.

  The IC didn’t help itself. Many simply reported everything without thinking, to cover themselves just in case anything bad happened. They weren’t doing their job when they put the onus on the operators to figure out what was a threat and what wasn’t.

  Intelligence was a thankless job. Rick would do what he could for his co-workers and those who reported to him. He committed to saying thank you more.

  First, he had to find out what was going on. He decided to go to the Fusion Center and attend the 7 am briefing. If nothing else, for his own ego and personal need to stay in touch. He wanted to see that they were fully engaged in going after the terrorists.

  Rick walked into the CIA Headquarters for the second time that morning and went to his office, where he sat back, looking at the whiteboard where Clay’s caricature dangled from the faceless man’s marionette strings.

  It wasn’t long before Travis arrived. They shared a coffee and wrote an extensive note for Becky before they walked out together, running into her on the way. Rick pointed to the paper on his desk and told her to take the office. If she could get any parking lot footage from the manager at Grainger, then she’d be Rick’s personal hero for the day. Too bad she didn’t drink coffee.

  He thought about it. He didn’t know what she drank. He needed to find out more about her, so he could better show his appreciation for her good work. Maybe Travis would know.

  Rick Is The Man!

  Rick and Travis made record time getting to Herndon. It helped that they were going the opposite direction of the daily DC traffic.

  Rick and Travis were welcomed into the Fusion Center as if they were regular members. Rick made a beeline for the watch commander, the same who was Rick’s alternate when he ran the day shift. Travis hustled after him, knowing Rick was still angry.

  “Rick! Great to see you again. They kept me on the night shift as my sleep cycle was still gooned up. Was that you that called this morning?” Rick nodded. “That phone is all messed up. You need to call a different number. I was going to send you an email but got distracted. That info you gave me on Friday? Priceless!” The man beamed with joy. Rick waved him to continue.

  “Guess who rented a storage unit the day he bought the sulfuric acid?” Rick took a deep breath and looked at Travis.

  “Yes!” Rick cheered and grabbed Travis in a bear hug. The night shift’s leader started to back away, but Rick caught him in a hug, too. Rick pumped his fist, nodding his head, grinning broadly.

  “A huge win for the intel team, my man!” Travis said, slapping Rick on the back.

  “I’ll write a commendation for Becky. And you. You two made this possible.” Rick turned back to the watch commander. “What next?”

  “Secretary Throckmorton will be here this morning as the FBI is going to brief their plan for a simultaneous takedown of the man’s apartment and the storage unit.”

  “Does that mean we haven’t gotten any video from the storage area? I expect to see a second man with him,” Rick said as he looked around and spotted the whiteboard with his caricature still intact.

  “There’s some debate whether Kalu is the faceless man or not. I’m with you, but Deputy Bridges thinks he might be our man. In any case, if we find the explosives, we save Thanksgiving,” the watch commander stated.

  “And that’s what I want to hear. At this point, I’m not sure the faceless man is going to hang around. He may have already left, but if we can get a picture of him, then we get that much closer to finding him. Good work! Outstanding work.”

  The watch commander excused himself as he had a great deal to orchestrate for the morning briefing. People were cleaning the space, making it look presentable for the parade of visitors that inevitably followed the power brokers.

  Rick wasn’t one of them. He grabbed a spot on the back wall, out of sight. His cynicism was unfounded, and the slight at getting hung up on was unintended. He closed his eyes and delivered a litany of apologies to those he thought unkindly of. He then thanked Travis for saving him from himself, before smiling.

  “You found him!” Rick said, ecstatic with the size of the win.

  “We found him. Our team, the three of us. I wish Becky would have come. She deserves to see this, too,” Travis said.

  Rick took advantage of the lull before the briefing. The night shift usually did the talking, but the day shift carried the full responsibility for ongoing actions.

  Rick stayed out of the way by making a STU
-III call. Becky answered, they went secure, and he told her how the Fusion Center dialed in on Clay over the weekend. He thanked her profusely for what she did to get them to this point, promising to buy her a plum tea on the way back to Langley.

  She declined the tea preferring a RockStar. After morning coffee, RockStar was his favorite drink. He was pleased with her choice.

  Seven o’clock came and went. Rick’s mind created scenarios where the honorable Secretary Thaddeus Throckmorton laughed at keeping everyone waiting, knowing that they’d wait for him. Thad drank from the firehose of power, and he liked it.

  Arriving only five minutes late, he uttered apologies and looked harried. When he saw Rick, the Secretary detoured from his path toward the head of the table, holding out his hand as he approached. Rick shook it firmly.

  “Rick! I’m glad you made it. This is a great day. I hope our friends at the Bureau can wrap this all up for us.” He pointed at Rick and nodded as he walked away. Deputy Bridges followed the Secretary, giving the thumbs up as he passed. Rick nodded back.

  The credit. Rick had gotten the credit he deserved for something good, something that made a difference for the people of Washington DC, and something they’d never know about.

  They didn’t need to know. They only needed to be safe, live free because people like Rick looked out for them.

  Today had turned into a great day.

  Takedown Plan

  Jack Coleberg arrived shortly after the Secretary of the DHS to brief the team. The entire room stopped and watched as Jack greeted both Rick and Travis heartily. Rick thanked Jack for leading today’s operation.

  The apartment had been under surveillance for two days, and no one had come or gone from the apartment. The light of a television flickered through the night, but the team doubted anyone was home. Infrared scans didn’t show a heat source.