by Jace Killan
Joaquin didn’t answer right away. Spencer heard him clear his throat, then recognized that Joaquin was near to tears. “Thanks Spence. That means a lot.”
Spencer fought back his own tears. “I’ll send a car for you right now. Probably Marco. I want you here with me, okay, Jaqui?”
“Alright. Junior just asked to liquidate everything. I was about to call you.”
That made Spencer nervous. What had spooked them? Did they know the Feds were getting close?
“Okay. We’ve prepared for this. Tell Marco. He’ll know what to do. We’ll put the money somewhere safe. But this just means we really need to get you out of there. Time to wrap this up.”
“Um, there’s this girl.”
“We know.” Jared had filled him in on Kristin. But he hadn’t thought about protecting her. “She’ll be fine. She’ll have to get over you. As far as she’ll know, you were part of the cartel and were killed in prison.”
Silence followed.
“C’mon Jacqui, we talked about this. There are others out there. You’ll find someone you can grow old and fat with, I promise.”
Joaquin cleared his throat. “What about my mom?”
“I haven’t heard a report from our team today, but as far as I know she’s still at home, safe. No sign of the cartel.” The fact that he hadn’t received an update on Joaquin’s mom worried him. He was stupid for letting something so important slip his mind. “Just get here and we’ll wrap this up.”
Spencer spent the next few hours on the phone. He’d also reviewed the Dossier thoroughly with Washburn and Roode and initiated the protocols to seize Northern’s assets.
He communicated with Marco and Joaquin before they boarded the United Airlines flight from JFK to Dulles airport. As a bonus, he’d obtained a complete expunging of Joaquin’s record for his help in the operation. Joaquin would have to testify against Guzman and Askari, but he wouldn’t carry around felony charges for the rest of his life. Spencer knew it wasn’t proper thinking, but he followed the thoughts all the same. This hadn’t just cleared Joaquin’s record, but it gave his life meaning, maybe even saved his life. And that might mean that Spencer could stop beating himself up for Chorch’s death. He’d done some good here and that should count for something. A chill surged up Spencer’s spine.
His phone buzzed. He answered.
Jared spoke on the other end, panic in his voice, “There were recent communications from Askari, in the last forty eight hours. And a series of trades from a week ago through a few shell companies I’d put in the dossier.”
“What do the communications say?”
“To cash out.”
“Joaquin just told me as much.”
“Northern isn’t sending them the money right?”
“Of course not. We set up a dummy account. The CIA’s hacked Northern’s system. When Askari or whoever logs in to the website, they will see a dollar amount in their account, but it doesn’t exist. The money is actually coming to us.”
“I don’t think Askari is pulling the plug and running, I think they’re positioning for the end all. Many of the Bastian trades coincide with the Anthrax attacks. The airlines, the healthcare companies and so forth. But there is one email that has me troubled. It’s in Arabic.”
Spencer’s Arabic was a little rusty. His phone chimed indicating he’d received an email.
“I just sent it to you.”
Spencer pulled up the email on his phone. It mentioned something about a child making the whole people sick. Maybe the family sick. Unfortunately, they would not attend the fire. Something like that. He relayed the broken translation to Jared then noticed the email was signed: Askari.
“I gathered as much from Google Translate. But albayt. That means people of the house, right?”
Spencer thought. That was right. “Yeah, people of the house. Albayt.”
“The email was sent the day after the anthrax attack on the White House.”
Spencer’s gut dropped. “Albayt Al'abyad. The White House. They’re talking about the White House.”
“I think so too. I think they’re going to burn it down.”
“How?” His mind answered as quickly as he whispered the word. A plane. Bomb. Hell, maybe it was figurative. But a plane? They’d tried that once on the White House and failed. Panic robbed him of breath. Joaquin was flying here. Spencer glanced at his watch. Four thirty. No, he would have landed already.
“You at home?”
“Yep. Well, my apartment.”
Right. Jared hadn’t seen his family in weeks. Soon this would all be over and Jared might be able to find some semblance of a normal life. “Stay by the phone. Search the news for anything that might indicate an attack on the White House. I’m going to rile up the troops on this end.”
“Got it.”
Spencer left his office. He had to pee. He phoned Roode as he entered the men’s restroom. Roode didn’t answer. She was probably on the line with the analysts going through Jared’s dossier. He relieved himself and washed before dialing again.
She answered this time. “What is it?”
“I think Askari is planning an attack on the White House.”
“What? When?”
He hadn’t considered that question. While the President was in quarantine. “Today, tomorrow. Not sure, really, but soon. I’m going to forward you an email Jared found. Look at it and call me right back.”
He ended the call and sent the email. He instinctively headed down the hallway toward her office.
Seconds later his phone rang. “Did you see it?”
“Yes. You think they’re talking about the White House?”
“I do. I think the Anthrax attack was just a preliminary. Maybe to get everyone out of the White House so it’d be easier to burn it to the ground.”
“I’m sorry Spencer, but I’m not as certain as you sound. I’ll have to run this up the ladder. Seems a little far fetched.
“Is it?” There was a time that people believed the same about two very tall towers in New York. Spencer almost said as much but Roode answered.
“I suppose you’d better get in touch with the secret service and let them know.”
He’d arrived to her office. He stuck his head in and got her attention. “Hey, Nikki, you should have someone alert the FAA. What if they hijack a plane?”
She had the phone pinned between her cheek and shoulder. She gave him a thumbs up then wiggled a finger at the young man seated in the corner. Spencer stayed out in the hall. He dialed the secret service only he got Collins, someone he’d never heard of before, not Jameson or even Brown.
“Why are you answering this line?” Spencer asked.
“There are only a few of us here, sir. With the anthrax attack, the White House was mostly evacuated.”
“And the President?”
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that, sir, even to you.”
Of course not. “Can you confirm that he isn’t there? He’s safe, right?”
“He’s safe, sir. That’s our job, sir.”
“Okay, Collins. Listen, we’ve come across intel that there may be another attack on the White House and maybe the President.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “More Anthrax?”
“Maybe. Maybe a bomb, maybe a jetliner I don’t know. It’s imperative that I speak to Jameson.”
“Jameson isn’t here, sir.”
“Do you have a number for him? Can you patch me through?”
Another long pause. A second man, Flemming answered, “Sir, are you at the Pentagon?”
“Yes.”
“Can you come here? Not for nothing, sir, and forgive the protocol, but if I can verify that you are who you say you are, then I’ll get you in touch with whoever you need to talk with. I just can’t do that until I can verify who you are.”
This anthrax thing really heightened security measures. After another thought, Spencer figured the request was justified. “I’ll be there in fifteen mi
nutes.” Spencer looked at his watch. Even though it poured outside, the traffic would be manageable in the early afternoon. Not the parking though. He’d best take a cab.
He popped his head back into Roode’s office to tell her he was heading to the White House. She offered another thumbs up. Spencer turned and hurried down the corridor to the entrance.
Just his luck. A taxi pulled up right in front. Spencer raced down the stairs, in part to catch the taxi and also to avoid the moisture trickling from the sky.
Spencer knocked on the cab’s passenger window. It lowered. “Can you take me to the White House?”
“Sure.”
“Spence?”
He ducked to look in further. He’d completely forgotten about Joaquin who sat in the back seat, his billfold in hand.
“You made it.”
“I did.”
“And Marco?”
“He stayed in New York. Said he had some loose ends needing tied up.”
“Well, head up to my office. I’ve got to run for a bit. Something urgent.”
“Can’t I come?” Joaquin said.
No. That wasn’t a good idea. “Best not. There might be trouble.”
“Great.” Joaquin put on his seatbelt. “I like trouble.”
He didn’t have time to argue. And he couldn’t tell Joaquin more than he already had. And it gave him some comfort that Joaquin was here, safe. Who better to keep him that way than Spencer. They’d go over, alert the secret service and be on their way. He crawled in and buckled up. “So, good flight?”
Bruce shed his sweatshirt enjoying the cool Arizona air, a drastic change from the blizzards of the North East over the past week.
After renting a car, Bruce drove for a couple hours down to Tucson. He didn’t like what he needed to do, but had learned in the military that sometimes it was best to fight fire with fire, injustice with injustice, terror with terror. He’d decided that in order to fight the monster, he would become the monster.
He arrived at a four-story apartment complex in need of a paint job, long cracks along the stucco walls.
He went to the gate and pushed numbers until something finally rang over the intercom. “Yes?”
“Pizza for your neighbors. They’re not answering.”
The gate clicked then opened. Bruce drove inside and around until he found building I. He parked though he left the car running. Tucson seemed colder than Phoenix, so he donned the sweatshirt again.
Bruce made his way upstairs to apartment 204. He knocked the door. A chubby boy, ten maybe, answered.
“JJ?”
“Yeah, who are you?”
“I’m a friend of your dad’s. He can’t come up cause Abuela and him are fighting, but he wants to see you.”
“Papi’s here?” The kid’s Hispanic accent was more prevalent now.
Bruce held up one finger to his lips. “Shh, he doesn’t want your abuela to know. He’s at the ice-cream shop down the road. C’mon, I’ll take you to him.”
JJ didn’t bother putting on shoes. He hurried past Bruce and down the flight of stairs to the parking lot.
“Over there.” Bruce pointed at his car. JJ raced to it and climbed in the passenger side. He’d buckled up before Bruce made it to the vehicle. He checked the area then got in the car and checked again as he pulled out of the complex, onto a vacant side street. He’d done it. He’d secured Junior’s kid, not to mention committed a couple felonies in the process.
49
Tonight, Raiya would offer his life for a man he’d never met. He did it out of hope for Sharia. He did it for Islam. Raiya had given his life to Allah long ago, and that path brought him here, now. It was time for Isha and he participated as he had most nights, before travelling to the United States. He prayed to Allah as if it would be his last. It felt good praying again. He hadn’t during his long journey. Not once had he prayed as he crossed ocean or desert.
When finished, he sent a text to someone he didn’t know, somewhere he wasn’t sure. That person forwarded the message on to another and that one to another until eventually it made its way to Askari’s eyes.
Ten minutes later came a reply from a different number. “Allahu Akbar.” Raiya smiled. The time had come.
He whistled and the men gathered in the center of the warehouse. He offered a brief speech in fluent but heavily accented English. English was the most understood language among them as the soldiers came from all over Europe, Asia, and the Americas. He didn’t say much in his battle cry and he didn’t bother reviewing the night’s plans. His men were ready. They’d spent the last month dreaming of this moment and now it had arrived. They knew what to do. Sixteen teams of twelve men loaded into nearly identical white vans.
This mission had money behind it, unlike the others Raiya had participated in across Europe. They’d wanted for nothing. Everything he’d asked for, he’d received. The vans were a prime example. Not used, ratty, junkyard vans, but brand new, off the lot, less than two hundred miles on each, vans. Pity they wouldn’t see much more life. And the waste was not lost on Raiya who knew that each van could feed hundreds for a year. But this was more important. Each carried enough explosives to take out a Taliban bunker. Still, the expense gave Raiya increased confidence. He could spend his energy worrying about other things than whether or not the vans would start, or break down on the side of the road.
They filed out of the warehouse and down the street toward the US capitol.
Windshield wipers cleared Raiya’s view every couple seconds. Even in the middle of the night traffic delayed their approach. Not that they would’ve travelled much faster for fear of being pulled over.
Then they were only a few minutes from their destination, Raiya texted two men that had crossed the border with him a few weeks ago.
When they responded to his text, he rolled down the window and closed his eyes, feeling the night’s chill. Raindrops pelted his cheeks with an icy sting. He lowered his ski mask, offering some comfort. In quick succession he heard two rifle shots and then four more.
He received a text indicating that the four snipers were incapacitated. One of Raiya’s men had been wounded and wouldn’t survive.
He couldn’t think of that now. He had a White House to destroy. With the Anthrax attack, most of the White House staff and muscle had been evacuated, leaving only a skeleton force as guards. Most of the secret service accompanied the president and vice president in their separate flights across the nation.
Another text indicated that their way had opened.
They approached, southbound on 16th Street. They didn’t turn off when it dead ended into Lafayette Square, instead they continued through a section where the cement columns had been removed by another team just minutes earlier, using new industrial saws with diamond blades.
Sparks flew as his men, with the same saws, tore through metal fencing surrounding the White House lawn. They pushed a section of fence over just as Raiya’s van jumped the sidewalk and slammed through the opening. His tires blew out of course, but that did little to stall their ascent. They slowed at the fountain without coming to a complete stop, allowing Raiya and his men to jump out of the vehicle. All but the driver who cried praises as the van sped up and headed for the large building, tire tread peeling off the wheels.
Each van completed the same routine, identified their targeted spot and with great force plowed into the side of the White House and its attached buildings.
Well after his bedtime Spencer finally got a hold of Jameston of the secret service.
“The President’s safe,” Jameston said, “He’s in the air. I’ll check in with the Vice President’s detail too. How credible is this threat?”
“I don’t know, but we should take it serious. We’ve alerted the FAA. I think they’re planning on attacking the White House.”
“Let me get this straight. You think these terrorists, the same bastards that anthraxed the White House are going to try and attack it again, and you thought it was a good idea
to go there?” he laughed. “Damn son, you always were crazy.”
“It worked though, right? You’re going to get the word out to the service?” Spencer removed his tie and shoved it into his pocket. It was late and he’d had enough of his attire.
“Yeah, it worked. I’ll debrief the president and we’ll get the word out.
Jameston didn’t seem worried. But an imminent attack made increasing sense to Spencer. What if the intent wasn’t to execute the President, but take down the most iconic building in the states? What act could possibly incite more terror than that? Many speculated that Bin Laden tried with Flight 93, but the people stood up against the terrorists, downing the plane elsewhere, avoiding more casualties and the destruction of the nation’s capitol building.
“What about calling on the National Guard?”
Jameson sighed. “You should run that up your chain of command.”
“Already am.”
Collins eyes grew wide. “Say again.” He touched his earpiece. His eyes grew wider. “We’ve got trouble. You stay here.” Collins withdrew his side arm and motioned to the other two to follow him out of the room.
A series of blasts shook the walls and the lights flickered out. Spencer crouched low, retrieving his service weapon.
The blasts ignited the side of the White House in a glorious blaze.
As much as he wanted to take in the wondrous site, he didn’t have the time. Raiya raised his hand and swirled it in a circle. The men charged at the front doors of the White House. Three vans had rammed into the cement base of the newly remodeled columns shielding the front entrance. The explosion had brought some of the columns and attached ceiling down, but hadn’t barricaded it fully as hoped.
The lit entrance was still visible through the smoke and ruble. Shots fired from within. If it wasn’t for the sheer number of men, they could have lost the battle then and there as the growing fire helped illuminate their positions, and made it obvious that Raiya and most of his men aimed to enter the front door.
