by Brad Taylor
I didn’t buy the argument. “Sir, I get where you’re coming from, but there’s a higher purpose here. Israel was simply conducting an attack based on revenge. We’re trying to preempt a WMD attack, to save countless lives, for Christ’s sake. It’s not the same thing, even if we get compromised. The repercussions are worth it. Would you rather have World War Three or some egg on the president’s face?”
“Pike, we don’t even know if the WMD is real. All you have is what Ethan gleaned from a single paragraph. It doesn’t make it fact.” He paused for a moment, then his tone softened. “Look, I get that there’s a threat out there, but the Taskforce isn’t the correct tool to use against it. Let me get this information into the system. Let the CIA and the Special Mission Units handle it. That’s what they do.”
“Jesus Christ! You sound like all the jackasses that said the Taskforce doesn’t need to exist. You know what happened with the first effort to create our unit. You put this information into the system and we’re going to get our wheels spinning for weeks, until someone believes it’s a true, distinct threat. You said it yourself. It’s just a paragraph on a piece of paper and the word of a discredited operator. Nobody is going to take that seriously, and we don’t have time to prove it. We can’t waste a week developing corroborating evidence to convince the National Command Authority to launch. That bomb’s going off before then.”
I looked at Kurt to see if anything I said was registering. When I didn’t get a response, I threw out my final trump card.
“In fact, because the Taskforce operates without constitutional constraints, we’re the only element that can execute. Everyone else will be waiting on DEPORDS and presidential findings. Please. I’m begging here. Think about what you’re saying.”
“Pike, I have a greater obligation to the nation. If you had something besides simple extrapolation of what you think is going on, I might do something. I simply can’t jeopardize the entire presidential administration and the future defense of the nation based on what you think.”
I grunted, sick of the conversation.
“Get back to Arlington. Drop Kurt off,” I said to Jennifer.
Turning back to Kurt, I said, “I’m not the only one who believes there’s a bad fucking event coming. Someone tried very hard to keep me from talking to you. I guess they could have spared all the death and destruction, since you don’t give a damn in the first place.”
I could tell the words stung, but Kurt held firm.
“What’re you going to do now?”
“I’ll go to Norway and save the fuckin’ world by myself — without any help from your Taskforce.”
“You can’t get on a plane. You’ll be arrested from the Homeland Security database.”
That answer caused me to start swearing like a sailor and punching the seat in front of me.
Kurt put a hand on my shoulder. “Hold on. Look, I can’t launch a force, but I can support you from here. I’ll get you to Norway on one of our aircraft. Give me those e-mail addresses. I can have them monitored 24/7. You said you deleted the meeting message, right?”
That mollified me a little. “Yeah. It’s gone. They couldn’t have made that meet, so I’m thinking they’re still hanging around waiting.”
“Good. I’ll keep an eye on the e-mails. When they set up a new meet, I’ll relay the information to you. Give me an e-mail address.”
I didn’t have one. Jennifer turned around. “I have one. Will any address do?”
“Yeah, I don’t care what it is.”
Jennifer gave him a Hotmail address.
Kurt said, “Good enough. We’ll monitor this 24/7 as well. If you need any analytical help, send us an e-mail.”
Kurt reached into his pocket, pulling out his worldwide pager. “Here. If you find them, and confirm there is a weapon, use this. You remember how, right?”
“Yeah. I remember.”
“You alert us back here, and I’ll assume you’ve found something. I’ll launch a team your way.”
He held the pager in his hands, not yet passing it over. “Pike, I meant what I said. Don’t press this button just because you believe something’s going on. Don’t use it for your own personal vendetta. Once I launch, and we get compromised, there’s an even chance that the U.S. government is going to go through a seizure. Make sure it’s worth it.”
78
Kurt gave me the pager, saying, “One more thing. You really will be on the Impossible Mission Force for this one. You get caught, and you’re going to be hung out to dry. You won’t get any official sanction from here.”
“I didn’t expect it. I won’t get caught. I haven’t been yet.”
We pulled into Arlington and switched to Kurt’s car. We spent the majority of the time it took to drive to the Dulles FBO listening to Kurt set up an aircraft for me. Finally, it was done, and I got to ask about the men who had tried to kill us.
He said, “I’ve been thinking about that quite a bit, but really have no idea. Whoever it is has a lot of power, but all the people with power like that simply wouldn’t do it. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I can’t even figure out why they would want a terrorist attack to occur in the first place. The whole thing is screwy. Anyway, it’s no longer your concern.”
“Huh? It’s exactly my concern. They aren’t trying to kill you. They’re trying to kill Jennifer and me.”
Kurt’s face became hard. “That’s not what I meant. You focus on the terrorists. I’ll find out who killed Ethan and tried to kill you. Don’t worry about them. They have ceased to exist. I can’t bring back Ethan’s family, but I promise you the men who did that will pay.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jennifer visibly blanch. I’d purposely not told her the grisly details of Ethan’s family to spare her feelings, but she had now connected the dots between the body count and who was dead. Maybe realizing for the first time that doing the right thing had consequences outside of our control, and that the good guy doesn’t always win.
Kurt continued, pulling into the general aviation section of Dulles, “Whatever you do, don’t call my cell phone until I have it scanned. Those assholes are tracking either you or me, and I don’t trust my own equipment at this stage. I’ve got the thing dismantled in my pocket right now.”
We pulled into Signature Air at the Dulles FBO. He parked the car and turned around. “Well, I couldn’t get you a junky airplane. All we have available at short notice is the rock-star bird.”
I grinned. “Perfect. Nothing like riding in style.”
Jennifer looked from me to Kurt, asking, “What’s the rock-star bird? Are we flying on a Greyhound tour bus?”
“Better than that. It’s a Gulfstream IV. Just like the rock stars use.”
Then the second part of her question hit me.
“And ‘we’ aren’t flying on it. I am. You need to head on back to Charleston and go back to school.”
She was silent for a second, the words not sinking in. When they finally did, she exploded. “What? Bullshit! I’m going with you.”
I glanced at Kurt for support.
He gave her a look I’d seen a hundred times. “We appreciate everything you’ve done, but let’s face it, you’re not capable of providing help here. Pike will work better alone, without having to worry about you. You don’t have to go back to Charleston if you don’t want to. I have some safe houses here in D.C. you can use for a while. You’ll have the protection of the Taskforce until this thing is over.”
That seemed to really piss her off. “You didn’t even believe the story in the first place. You have all of this talent and resources at your disposal and you’re sending Pike by himself. You don’t have the right to even talk to me. I’m the one that figured this thing out. I’m the one that got Pike to start this hunt. Me. Not you. All you’ve done is spit on our efforts, cloaking yourself in some bullshit tale of higher patriotism.”
She ignored Kurt, turning her back to him and facing me. She looked into my eyes the same way she
had when she asked me to go to Guatemala. I could see the hurt on her face, like I had broken her trust. Surely she can understand that she’s completely unprepared for this. It’s not like we’re going on a roller coaster ride and she’s a quarter inch too short. Her expression caused the twinge again, much stronger than before, making me want to end her pain. Stop that… stay focused.
She said, “I haven’t been a liability. I’ve earned it. You can use me on this and you know it. They won’t suspect a woman of anything.”
I said nothing, conflicting emotions churning away. I considered the question, trying to leave my confusing, sorry-ass feelings out of it. Looking at it dispassionately, the truth of the matter was she had a point. I was already at a disadvantage for the work ahead. I had seen what the terrorists looked like when they mugged me, which meant they also knew what I looked like. But they haven’t seen Jennifer. And she was right — the Arab’s inbred prejudice against women might help us.
True, she wasn’t a badass counterterrorist commando, but she had the raw talent. Beyond the physical ability, which she had in spades, she was very good at solving problems under pressure. She had proved that less than an hour ago with her circus stunt in the mall. This trait, above all others, was prized in the Taskforce, and was the cut line that kept otherwise outstanding soldiers at the level below. With a modicum of internal talent, you could teach anyone to surgically shoot, run all night, or do hand-to-hand combat, but the ability to think on your feet and solve problems in real time was the prize. She had the mettle necessary for operations, only lacking the experience. She was a quick learner, though, and had gotten quite a bit of experience over the last few days. I made up my mind.
“She’s not a liability. She’s going.”
Jennifer gave me a radiant smile, then turned and glared at Kurt.
Kurt exploded. “Have you lost your mind? She can’t go. She’s a damn civilian. She’ll compromise the whole operation!”
“Sir, I appreciate your support, and your opinion, but you’ve already told me I’m hanging my ass out on my own. I’m also a civilian. It’s my call, and I say she goes. I need the help. Unless you want to launch a team with me, that is.”
Kurt grimaced but backed down. “You’re going to be the man on the ground. Your call.”
“Thanks. We’ll contact you when we get in-country. What’s the name of the corporation we’re supposed to be flying with?”
He gave us both a down-and-dirty dump of the cover of the aircraft we would be on, ending with a caveat.
“Remember, you don’t work for the corporation. You have nothing to do with the corporation. The plane is only stopping to refuel. You get off, and the plane flies away. You simply hitched a ride because you know someone who knows someone who got you a free seat. Happens all the time. You only need the cover story when you land. Once you’re in-country, never mention the corporation again. You’re tourists, or whatever else you want to be, but you’re not connected to me.”
Moving through the FBO to the flight line, I grinned. “Like old times. Except for that little ‘you’re on your own’ thing.”
Kurt wished us luck, holding his hand out to Jennifer. She graciously returned the shake.
He shook my hand, saying, “Look, I want to stop this as much as you do. Do what you do best and we can both rest easy.”
I returned the handshake, feeling a little embarrassed at my outbursts earlier. “Sorry about yelling at you. I understand your position. I won’t let you down.”
I held his hand a little longer than necessary and locked eyes with him.
“Don’t let me down either.”
PART FOUR
79
Inside his Crystal City office, Lucas closed out the tracking Web site in disgust. It had grown dark outside, and he wondered if he had missed the opportunity to take out his prey. The pager beacon had gone to Arlington National Cemetery, then had driven aimlessly about for the next couple of hours. It had finally stopped at the Dulles Fixed Base Operations center, where it had remained ever since. That meant one thing: the beacon, and presumably whoever was carrying it, had flown somewhere. Due to the length of time it had remained stationary, that flight was taking some time, either going across the country or out of it.
He picked up the phone to relay the bad news. When Standish answered, Lucas went secure and got right to the point.
“We missed both targets. The beacon signal itself has become stationary at Dulles, which leaves me to believe the targets are airborne moving to another location. Do you wish to proceed?”
For a moment he heard nothing but breathing on the other end, disgusting him. Weasel can’t make a decision. He’d last about eight seconds in combat.
“Well, yes, I guess so,” Standish said. “We need to get it done.”
“Even if it means going to a foreign country? You willing to risk that?”
“Is that what they’re doing?”
“I won’t know until the beacon lands, but the last report was over four hours ago, so they’re flying a long ways. What do you want me to do?”
“What have you done so far?”
Lucas proceeded to tell him about the lead they had gleaned from Ethan’s phone call the night before, clinically using terms such as asset information and neutralizing further exposure. Before he could continue with the morning’s events, Standish put two and two together and interrupted the conversation.
“Whoa! Wait a minute! Don’t tell me you’re involved in that multiple murder in Herndon. Lucas—”
“Yeah, that was me.”
“Jesus Christ! They’re calling it a Charles Manson copycat killing, for God’s sake! They think a psycho gang’s on the loose. Are you insane? Four people were fucking slaughtered. Tortured to death.”
Lucas wanted to reach through the phone and rip out Standish’s heart. You coward. Just like everyone else. Want to get the job done, but don’t have the balls for the work.
“Listen to me, you self-righteous blowhard, you gave me my mission parameters and I’m still within them. I’m accomplishing the fucking mission. You don’t like how I’m doing it, then you should’ve specified some restrictions beforehand. Now shut the fuck up and let me finish my situation report.”
* * *
On the other end of the line, Standish felt sick to his stomach. Not because of the deaths in Herndon, but because of the possible exposure to himself. He was barely listening to the rest of Lucas’s situation report, frantically going through all of the ties that connected them, when something Lucas said clicked, bringing him back into the conversation.
“… So we were forced to exfil without terminating either target. From there we regrouped, waiting on contact from the asset’s phone you gave me…”
Holy shit. He did the drive-by shooting in Clarendon as well? That can’t be right. No way is that right.
“Wait… wait. Are you telling me you’re also responsible for the shootout across from the Arlington Courthouse? You actually opened fire on a bunch of civilians?”
This time Lucas didn’t shout. He spoke in a calm, deliberate manner. Standish recoiled from the venom he felt coming from the phone.
“I’ll say this one more time. You gave me my parameters and my mission. I’m executing. You told me to ensure the hit wasn’t traced to you, and that’s why we did the drive-by. I’m following your lead. Don’t question my methods again.”
He thinks he’s in charge. I’m losing control.
“Bullshit. You’ve exceeded my parameters. I told you that collateral damage had to be five or less. You killed four at the house in Herndon, then shot at least two at the courthouse, maybe more. You’re outside my guidance, and my guidance stands. Is that understood?”
“Standish… there are two targets. A collateral damage of five per. That means I still have four to work with. Anyway, two of my guys are in the hospital because of your target, so I really don’t give a shit about your damn guidance anymore. It’s getting personal.”
<
br /> Standish couldn’t believe how quickly the violence had escalated. He thought about telling Lucas to stand down but was afraid of his response. He might ignore me altogether.
“Okay, okay. I can see the miscommunication, but I’m the one in charge. I’m still the one funding this. You want to get him, the only way you’ll do it is with my money — and that comes with my oversight. Got it?” He waited on a response, the silence making him wonder if he’d already lost control.
“All right,” Lucas answered, “as long as we understand each other.”
“Continue with your report.”
After Lucas had finished, Standish gave him the go-ahead to execute — even on foreign soil — but told him that no more collateral damage was to be tolerated. He hung up the phone, wondering if Lucas would bother to listen to him. I’m going to have to do something about him when this is over. Too much exposure. Too much of a threat.
80
After a solid day and night of heading inexorably eastward, Bakr exited the train station at Tuzla, Bosnia-Herzegovina. Weary down to his bones, he gathered his meager possessions and walked to the first taxi he could find. Speaking in halting English, Bakr asked for a cheap hotel somewhere downtown. The driver held up a finger, saying he knew just the place.
Driving east, toward the heart of downtown, the taxi traveled about two miles before stopping in front of a nondescript four-story concrete building with a Cyrillic sign in the front.
“Here. They treat you well here,” he said.
Bakr thanked him and was surprised when the man butchered the phrase Allahu Akhbar in return.
Bakr stared at the man, smelling of liquor and smoking a cigarette, thinking surely he was not one of the faithful.
“Are you a man of the book?”
“Yes, yes.”
