Arctic Fire

by Stephen W. Frey

  “Second,” Carlson continued, “in the past week our people executed two senior terrorist agents in the United States and three more abroad. From the chatter we’re picking up out of Yemen and Syria, the agents in the US were even more vital to their organizations than we originally thought. And, we kept all of that out of the media.”

  Everyone was enjoying the food. He could tell how much because no one was asking questions. Nancy always had been a wonderful cook. Even her sandwiches tasted better than anyone else’s. He smiled sadly. At least to him they did. He hadn’t enjoyed her food as much as he should have over the years, but he was going to start now. He glanced down at his plate and the untouched sandwich lying there. Well, after this meeting, he would.

  “Finally,” he continued, “we’ve gotten word from our Falcons that it’s likely another LNG tanker is being prepped in Malaysia by terrorists and will head toward another East Coast target soon. It’ll be sometime after the first of the year, probably. This ship will be carrying almost two hundred thousand cubic meters of liquefied natural gas. We believe that Savannah, Georgia, is the target, but this time we’ll board the ship farther out in the ocean, a few hundred miles, at least. We’ll have a lot more firepower on the scene too, even some underwater. But, as I said, it’s nothing we have to worry about right away. We’ve got a few weeks.”

  “Thanks, Roger,” one of the other men said brusquely as he finished the last bite of his sandwich. “But what’s going on with President Dorn? Let’s get to why we’re really here.”

  “Yeah, let’s,” one of the other men agreed. “Is the bastard really trying to screw with Red Cell Seven?”

  “He’s not just trying to screw with it,” Carlson answered ominously. “He’s trying to destroy us. He wants lists of all RCS personnel and where they’re currently deployed. He wants all of our contacts abroad, the names of CIA and NSA in-country spies, and a list of physical assets here and abroad.”

  The room went deathly still as everyone stopped chewing and took a few moments to digest the information instead of the food.

  “Then Dorn has to die.”

  Everyone’s gazes flickered to the man at the opposite end of the table from Carlson who’d just spoken up in his deep voice.

  “It’s simply a question of when and where,” he added.

  Carlson glanced around the table. “Are we unanimous? Let me see hands.”

  Four hands rose immediately into the air. That fast, a death sentence had been passed. That fast, President Dorn had become a dead man walking. Because once Red Cell Seven identified a target, it didn’t miss. It never had before.

  “All right,” Carlson said somberly, amazed as always by their efficiency. “We kill him.”

  “What about the vice president?” the man at the other end of the table asked.

  “What about him?”

  “Are we sure he’ll be with us? We can’t push this button twice in the same decade, Roger. There’d be hell to pay if we did. I mean, there will be this time too, of course.” The man crossed his arms tightly over his chest as if a cold wind had just blown into the room. “But if we did it again…” His voice faded for a few seconds. “Well, that simply isn’t an option.”

  “Agreed,” Carlson said, glancing around the table. “I can assure all of you that Vice President Vogel will be very supportive of Red Cell Seven.”

  The room went quiet until the man at the end of the table spoke up again. “How long until David Dorn dies, Roger?”

  Carlson stared down the table. Maddux was going to carry out the execution. “Two weeks,” he answered in a grave voice. “Maybe less.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “MR. PRESIDENT, I should have looked at that list you gave Daniel Beckham this afternoon before you sent him to meet Roger Carlson.”

  Rex Stein was a short, wiry man with a full head of gray hair and intense hazel eyes set close together on his face. And he always wore bow ties. It was his trademark.

  Stein was a consummate Washington insider who knew his way around the federal government as well as anyone. He knew how to get what he wanted without compromising in a town where few people got anything without giving away the farm.

  Stein tapped a corner of the paper with his index finger so it popped loudly. “I just got this, and, well, with all due respect, Mr. President, giving Carlson this was a mistake.” The party had chosen Stein for this position to keep Dorn out of trouble. He had permission from the nonelected leaders to be extremely direct with the commander in chief. “A huge mistake.”

  Dorn smiled stiffly at Stein from behind his desk in the Oval Office. “Thank you for your input, Rex, but you were busy this afternoon. You were working on the Europe trip we’re taking next month, and I wanted to get this Red Cell Seven thing started right away.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry. Beckham isn’t going to be reporting straight to me on this. He’ll go through you just like everyone else does. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

  Stein counted to five silently as he shifted in his chair. He knew Dorn didn’t appreciate the directness. He could see the resentment for it building with each new day, and it was a function of Dorn becoming more and more comfortable in his position. But it was getting harder and harder for Stein to control his temper when Dorn decided to sling those sarcastic arrows across the desk.

  “I’m not worried about that, Mr. President.”

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  “Frankly, I’m worried that there could be repercussions for shutting down Red Cell Seven. We need to have more respect for how much support there is out there for RCS at the highest levels of—”

  “I’m not shutting it down,” the president interrupted. “I’m just getting control of it. That’s all.”

  Stein glanced down at the piece of paper in his lap. “I have to tell you that a man like Roger Carlson will interpret this list as you shutting him down. I have a few more years of experience than you in terms of dealing with things like this and—”

  “Rex,” the president cut in sharply, “did you know that Carlson allows several of his direct reports to kill people? In fact, he condones it. He even sets it up in some cases.”

  Stein slowly raised an eyebrow. At his core he was a liberal, but he still had a healthy respect for Red Cell Seven and what the individuals in it did. Getting older had enabled him to start seeing both sides of the defense and intelligence coin. As had 9/11. He’d lost a brother when the North Tower had come crashing down.

  “That’s what they do, sir,” he said deliberately. “That’s their job. They kill the bad guys, and they do it in the shadows so you and I never need to know about it. So we have plausible deniability.”

  “I’m talking about civilians. He has them kill American civilians.”

  “Can you be more specific on that one for me, sir?” Stein asked calmly, aware that Dorn wasn’t above telling a few white lies to make his point. He was like any other politician.

  The president eased back into his big leather chair and made a contrite face to let Stein know that he hadn’t told his chief of staff the whole story. “They carry out vigilante justice. They kill people who’ve dodged a bullet and gotten off serious crimes on a technicality.”

  Stein nodded. “Well, I can’t really—”

  “Don’t tell me you agree with that.”

  “Justice can’t be as blind as we’d like it to be. You know that.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “The country’s side, Mr. President.”

  Stein still wasn’t convinced that Dorn had accurate information. And, even if the president did, Stein wasn’t sure he cared. He’d had his doubts over the years, but now he was starting to think that what cells like RCS did in the shadows was necessary.

  “How did you find out about this, Mr. President?”

  “I’ve been president for ten months, Rex. I don’t need you for everything anymore.” Dorn had been looking at the painting of George Washington on the wall, but now
he refocused on Stein. “A minute ago you mentioned repercussions for shutting RCS down. What did you mean?”

  You don’t want to know, Mr. President, was what Stein was thinking. But even as direct as he usually was with Dorn, he couldn’t say that. He didn’t want to mention the “assassination” word. “Are you really serious about not shutting down Red Cell Seven?”

  “Absolutely. I respect what they do. They just need to be roped in some. Well, a lot,” Dorn added.

  Stein took a deep breath. He was going to try his best to do damage control on this, but it was going to be difficult. He knew that list on the paper in his lap had sent a very different message to Roger Carlson than what the president had just laid out. Unfortunately, there might be no stopping the intel reaction at this point.

  Lisa Martinez carefully put the baby down in his crib, covered his tiny body with his hospital blanket, and headed for the living room. A few moments ago there’d been a loud knock on the apartment door. She was hoping it wasn’t the super looking for last month’s rent because she still didn’t have it. The five hundred dollars Jack gave her had gone for formula, Pampers, and keeping the lights on.

  When she pulled back the door, her eyes opened wide. Standing in front of her was a tall, older man with silver hair, wearing an expensive-looking suit.

  “Can I help you?” she asked shyly. He looked so out of place here in the projects. Like Jack did when he came to visit her.

  “My name’s Bill Jensen,” the older man said, moving into the apartment without being asked. “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  President Dorn gazed into the autumn darkness outside the West Wing window. Rex Stein had left the office a few minutes ago, and Dorn was congratulating himself on what he considered an Oscar-winning performance.

  Stein had left here thinking that his president really had no intention of shuttering Red Cell Seven, that it was all a big misunderstanding. He’d left thinking that his president was still inexperienced and didn’t truly understand the grave message that the request for information would send.

  Dorn chuckled. He’d played it perfectly. Now Stein was going to quietly run around Washington and Northern Virginia trying to convince the senior men in the shadows that it really was all a misunderstanding. Stein was going to tell those important individuals that the president was still wet behind the ears and had no idea how his message would be taken. That would give Dorn more time to get the information he needed to actually shut the thing down for good.

  But there was no misunderstanding. Red Cell Seven was done as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t have those bastards out there killing anyone they wanted to anytime they wanted to. It wasn’t right. The world could never become the place it was supposed to be with men like Roger Carlson out there acting unilaterally. Even close allies would never truly trust the United States until the decks had been scrubbed clean of men like Carlson and his associates.

  He picked up the phone. It was time to get a face-to-face report from Daniel Beckham without Stein around.

  Hunter stared blankly into the darkness. The temperature had dipped into the thirties as the December night had fallen. But he barely noticed how cold it was as he stood beside his car in his shirtsleeves and smoked his first cigarette in twelve years.

  They’d laughed as they’d led Amy away, and he’d heard her scream once after he’d lost sight of her. But there was nothing he could do to help her. They had him tied up and had let him go at gunpoint only after she was long gone.

  He hadn’t cried in a long time, but as he finished the cigarette and tossed it to the parking lot, sobs overtook him as his tears began to flow. They’d made it all very clear to him. Help them find Jack…or Amy would die.

  CHAPTER 24

  JACK GLANCED up as Karen came out of the bathroom. He wanted to take a shower, and he’d been watching a movie while he waited for her to finish.

  “Hey there,” he said as he stood up from the chair in front of the TV. “Feeling better?”

  She had on the pair of jeans and the top he’d bought her at a Target on the way over to the hotel. He’d bought her a new coat too. It was chilly in Baltimore, but it was going to be a lot colder where they were going.

  “So much better,” she answered.

  He’d offered to get her a separate room, but she wouldn’t accept. There were two double beds in the room, and she’d told him that was fine, that she trusted him after everything they’d already been through tonight—and because the name Jack Jensen was printed on his license, which convinced her he was Troy’s brother. It turned out she had only a few hundred bucks to her name, and she didn’t want to be a burden.

  He’d offered her the room twice, but she’d gotten that look in her eyes as he’d started to ask the second time, so he’d quit in midsentence. It was the same look she’d given him on the bench when he’d asked her if she wanted to go to the hospital. She looked so soft on the outside, especially now that she’d showered. But underneath she was turning out to be a firecracker.

  “You look great.” She did too. Her still-wet long black hair was down on her shoulders; she’d put on a little makeup she’d picked up at the store too, and she seemed to be in a much better mood. “I mean it.” He liked that she’d put on that makeup. They’d already eaten and they had no plans to leave the room tonight, so it sent him a nice signal.

  She smiled back at him. “Really think so?”

  He checked her arm when he thought she wasn’t looking, but he couldn’t see anything. They’d bought some stuff at Target to dress the wound, and she’d covered it with bandages while she was in the bathroom. He thought about asking her how it was feeling, but he didn’t. She seemed OK, and they were getting along too well. He didn’t want another one of those looks flashing his way.

  “Definitely.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced uncertainly at their third-story window. “I hope we’re OK here.”

  The hotel was in West Baltimore away from city center. It wasn’t a great place, but it wasn’t too bad. He’d wanted a place where he could bribe the guy behind the front desk so he didn’t have to put down his credit card—the same way he hadn’t last night up north—and that wouldn’t have been possible at a nice place. With no credit card imprint on the room, he was confident no one would find them.

  “We’ll be fine.” They were going to get a good night’s sleep before heading west in the morning.

  Karen sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to see a picture of Charlie?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  He took the photo from her carefully after she took it out of her wallet. It was still wet.

  Banks was an athletic-looking guy with a great smile, just like Troy. But that wasn’t what caught Jack’s eye. Instead, he focused on how Banks was holding his hands. His thumbs were hooked into his jeans with most of his fingers out of the belt and pointed straight down.

  Jack counted the fingers in the picture again, for the third time. Four on the right hand and three on the left were pointed down at the ground. Only his thumbs and the last finger of his left hand weren’t visible.

  “My God,” he whispered as it hit him, as four and three became seven. “Karen,” he said loudly, “what did you say the name of that group was again? The one Charlie told you he was in?”

  “Red Cell Seven.”

  “Red Cell Seven,” Jack repeated. “Holy shit.”

  “What is it?” she asked, staring at him intently.

  In the picture, Charlie Banks was holding his hands exactly the same way Troy had been holding his hands in front of the Arctic Fire, as he stood defiantly in the photograph Cheryl had enlarged and put on the easel in the great room for the memorial service.

  And the same way Bill was holding his hands in the photograph of him standing with the governor of New York that was on his office credenza. Thumbs hooked into his belt, seven fingers pointed at the ground—four on his right hand and three on his left, Jack remembered. />
  The realization hit him hard. This was no coincidence. It couldn’t be. Charlie Banks and Troy Jensen were members of Red Cell Seven. Karen had made that clear as they were sitting on the bench.

  But now he knew Bill was connected to it as well.

  CHAPTER 25

  “DID YOU say you were a cop?”

  Karen glanced over at Jack from the passenger seat of the rented Taurus as they sped west away from Baltimore. “Yeah,” she answered deliberately. “So?”

  He raised both eyebrows. “Wow.” He was pretty sure she’d dropped that main-course cut of background data on him last night as they were sprinting down the alley trying not to get killed. “Isn’t that interesting?”

  “What’s so interesting about it?” She held her hands out and signaled in with her fingers. “Come on, come on, let’s have it.”

  He’d wanted to confirm it in the hotel room, but hadn’t had a chance because she’d fallen asleep so quickly…which he liked. It meant she felt safe with him even though they’d just met.

  “Oh, no,” he said innocently. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.”

  When he’d come out of the bathroom after taking his shower, she’d been curled up on her bed asleep hugging a pillow, and he’d pulled the covers over her shoulders gently. Her long black hair was still wet—the low-budget place didn’t have hair dryers in the bathrooms—and he hadn’t wanted her to catch cold.

  “I just think it would be cool to—” He stopped himself. “I just think it’s very cool. I really respect you for it.”

  “That’s not what you were going to say.”

  He laughed loudly. “What are you talking about? Yeah, it is.”

  “Come on,” she encouraged in a half-friendly, half-aggravated tone. “Say what you were really going to say, Jack. I bet I’ve heard it before. I’ve probably heard every crack about female cops ever invented. Don’t be afraid.”