by Jack Bowie
“All the groups are aware of the threat posed by your actor and have been given briefings, but without more detailed information on the potential attack, we’re really quite blind. This actor has demonstrated unique methodologies, to say the least. Methodologies that honestly have not been part of our standard training. We hope you will be able to provide a more specific scenario for us.”
Brooks led them into an empty room at the end of the hall. It was stark, nothing but sickening pale green concrete block walls, a battered metal table and four plastic chairs. Two small windows on the outside wall were so covered with soot and grime they may as well have been examples of modern art. The only light came from a pair of fluorescent fixtures in the ceiling. A classroom-sized whiteboard was hanging on one of the walls and a large map of Edinburgh had been taped to another.
“You may use this room during your stay,” Brooks explained. “If you need anything just ask Fiona, my aide. She’s in the first office on the right. Although I imagine you have your own resources available.”
“Thank you, Robert,” Slattery replied. “We’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible. Anything new on Salmani?”
Brooks grimaced. “It didn’t take long for the news to leak out. His condition is now headline news across the world. My colleagues in Six are clueless, of course. The internal Iranian analysis is split. The hard-liners say it was the West, most likely Israel or the US. The moderates are privately saying it was the hard-liners, as payback for the treaty.”
Slattery nodded. “I spoke with my contact in Mossad this morning. They deny any involvement and I tend to believe them. The circumstances are too similar to the two previous assassinations. They favor the same rogue actor. But they have no idea who or why.”
“Maybe that’s good. For now. Tehran isn’t going to let any information out on the assassination attempt. They’ll see this as an internal matter and won’t talk to anyone. The best news is that no one has taken any credit for the attacks. That keeps the players guessing who is to blame. My biggest worry is some type of knee-jerk retaliation. We’ve got enough actors on this stage already. We don’t want any more. But then, that could be the whole point. To create a new Middle East war.”
“We need to get proof that Rockwell is behind this,” Slattery said. “And stop any attempt on President Matthews.”
“I wish you luck. I have nineteen different security services to juggle as it is. Every one of which thinks they can do my job better than me.” Brooks glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I really must go, Roger. The members have already started arriving. I’m glad you reached out.”
Brooks turned to Braxton. “Mr. Braxton. I understand you are the only person who has actually seen these villains. Please give us something to stop this attack.”
Braxton watched Brooks turn on his heels and head back down the hallway.
He pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. “Have you known Brooks for a long time?” he asked.
Slattery smiled. “You could say that. Robert and I first met in an alley in East Berlin. We were arguing about who had jurisdiction over a goddamn GDR informant until we discovered he had been playing every side he could find. Robert was Six back then. We eventually left the guy for the Stasi. Served him right.”
“So where do we start?”
“Here.” Slattery pulled a folder from his briefcase and extracted a stack of papers. “These are the information sheets from ChildSafe on abducted children that fit Rockwell’s DNA profile. I’ve added the police reports from the abductions and Kerry provided age-corrected images from her program.”
Slattery laid each set of stapled sheets on the table. “Kenneth Asher, abducted four years ago. Sarah Ann Carillo, abducted last week. Judith Davis, abducted three years ago. Samuel Durning, abducted last year. Michael Gowling, abducted last year. Katherine Kilmer, abducted two years ago. Frank Knox, also abducted three years ago. David Mazella, abducted last year. Danny Peters, abducted four years ago. And Jaelyn White, abducted three years ago.
“From Interpol’s DNA samples, we know Durning was the assassin in Israel and Jaelyn White in Iraq. But there’s no guarantee that any of the rest are with Rockwell. Anyone look familiar to you?”
Braxton was tempted to ask how Slattery had managed to get the information from the younger McAllister, but he decided he likely wouldn’t get a straight answer.
He picked up the first pile. Asher was a handsome, broad-shouldered boy. He looked like a high school athlete. He could be a football player or a homecoming king. Instead, he was an international fugitive.
A chill ran down his spine. Were these the children he saw on the exercise field? Were they being trained as assassins for Rockwell?
He rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. He had to remember. He began rubbing his temple with his fingertips, a familiar affectation in times of stress. Maybe if he rubbed hard enough it would coax the right memory out of his brain.
Three minutes later Braxton tossed one of the stapled piles to Slattery. “It’s her,” he said. “Judith Davis is the curly-haired girl from Cambridge and Geneva. They didn’t even dye her hair. She’s with Rockwell.”
Chapter 35
MI5 Command Center, Leith, Scotland
Thursday, 10:15 a.m.
Braxton spent the next hour staring at the pictures and trying to recognize any of the other children. “I just don’t know. I never got a good look at any of them. Asher and Gowling seem vaguely familiar but I couldn’t swear it. All children look the same to me.”
“You’re not alone.” Slattery shook his head “That’s another example of the genius of Rockwell’s plan.”
“And there’s no one named Charlie.”
“I saw that too. Are you sure that’s what you heard? Could it have been a different name?”
Braxton scratched his head. “I guess. I was a little woozy. But none of these names are even close. There’s not a Charlize or a Carlton. My memory’s not that bad.”
There was a knock on the door jamb and Braxton saw a soldier standing at attention. He recognized him as one of the guards posted at the entrance to the compound.
“Yes?” Slattery responded.
“Mr. Slattery, sir. There’s someone at the gate asking to see you.”
Slattery turned to the guard. “What’s his name?”
“It’s a she, sir. She didn’t give her name, did say she was from someplace called Cerberus Consulting. She seems to know Mr. Braxton.”
Braxton and Slattery looked blankly at each other.
Cerberus Consulting? What is Chu doing in Scotland?
Braxton realized he hadn’t spoken with Chu for nearly a week. He shrugged his shoulders.
“Bring her back,” Slattery replied.
A few minutes later, they heard the click of heels on the building’s concrete floor. They went to the door to greet their visitor, but rather than seeing the diminutive Karen Chu, a tall, lithe figure strode down the center aisle of the building accompanied by the guard. She was dressed completely in black: black leather boots, tight black jeans and a black leather jacket. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail that swung back and forth like a metronome in time with her steps.
Heads popped from the other offices to watch the procession. Braxton was sure that the eyes of every male in the command center were fixed on her progress.
She tilted her head as she stopped in the doorway. “Adam. Roger. It seems you’ve managed to get yourselves into quite a mess again,” she announced.
“Sydney,” Slattery said with a nod. “This is a surprise. You certainly know how to make an entrance.” He nodded to the guard, who turned and left, clearly disappointed he didn’t get more time with his attractive visitor.
The trio moved into the office where Braxton pulled another chair over to the table.
“What is this about working for Cerberus?” Slattery asked after they had sat down.
Walker flashed an engaging smile. “Th
e DIA and I had a friendly parting of ways. I called Karen after I read about Adam’s problems in Boston and we had a long talk.” She turned to Braxton. “You really did leave her in the lurch, Adam. We decided that it was time for Cerberus to take on another employee. I’ve been trying to keep your customers happy in your absence. So far, we’ve been doing pretty well.”
Braxton was almost too shocked to respond. Walker had been running his business? Without him? “Thanks. I guess.”
“How did you find us?” Slattery asked, ignoring Braxton’s discomfort.
Walker frowned and turned to the agent. “Well, it wasn’t easy. I decided that I needed to protect my company’s most important asset so I started calling around. Your office wouldn’t talk to me, of course. Then I called Mary Ellen Flynn. She remembered me from the Vision One undercover operation last year. Mary Ellen put me in touch with Manny Ikedo. Now he was helpful. He found out you had flown to Geneva.
“I called a DIA friend there and he said he had a buddy who knew Terry Jacobs. They took him out and, after a couple of drinks, Jacobs bragged how he had helped the head of counterterrorism on a secret mission. He said you and some crazy civilian had rushed off to Edinburgh.
“There could only be one reason for that, so I called in a few favors from my contacts in the Secret Service. They weren’t very complimentary but did say you might be hiding out at MI5’s command center. So I grabbed the next flight here.”
Braxton was dumbfounded. Walker was as stubborn as he was.
Slattery just closed his eyes and shook his head.
Walker looked around the room and pulled the children’s dossiers to her side of the table. “What are all these? The children that are going to assassinate the President?”
Braxton’s jaw dropped. How does she know about that?
“Can’t put anything over on you, can we Sydney?” Slattery replied. “Sam must have told you about the ChildSafe operation. You put that together with the assassinations and Edinburgh.” Walker nodded. “Let me fill you in on a few more details.”
Slattery spent the next fifteen minutes describing the relevant history of Colonel Henry Rockwell and his relationship with ChildSafe.
“My God, Roger,” Walker replied after the explanation. “The man behind the assassinations is ex-CIA? The Agency must be having fits.”
“We don’t know it’s Rockwell. It’s just a working hypothesis.”
“Right. That’s why the head of counterterrorism is in Edinburgh. Sam did tell me about what Omega was doing. An interesting development. I approve of your investment.”
“Thanks. Who knows whether it will even happen now?” Slattery grimaced. “I’m afraid my days as a government employee may be numbered as well.” He turned to Braxton. “Think Cerberus would be interested in hiring an over-the-hill spook?”
Braxton didn’t appreciate Slattery’s attitude. He wasn’t used to hearing such fatalism from the agent. The situation with Rockwell must be having more of an impact than he had thought.
“As appealing as working with you on a daily basis may be, Roger, I’m afraid my new employee’s salary will leave little room for any other additions. You’re stuck figuring out how we stop Rockwell.”
Walker got the group back to the point. “Tell me about the children.”
“These are the backgrounds of abducted children that match Rockwell’s DNA profile,” Slattery explained. “We assume it’s the same as when he was with the CIA. Two of them have been identified as the assassins in Israel and Iraq. Adam saw a third in Nod.”
“Nod?”
Now it was Braxton’s turn to update Walker. He described his trip to Geneva, capture, and eventual escape. Including recognizing Davis and the reference to the “Charlie video.”
Walker absorbed the new background silently. Her smile had long disappeared. “What a nightmare. It’s a miracle you were able to get away. But this seems like enough proof for anyone that Rockwell is behind the assassinations.”
“Maybe so,” Slattery replied, “but it doesn’t get us Rockwell or the site of the next attack.”
“I still don’t understand how Rockwell could do all this,” Braxton said. “Get these children to commit murder?”
“It’s not that hard, or uncommon,” Slattery replied. “Armies have been recruiting children for thousands of years. It’s just that recently we’ve gotten a lot better at it. You don’t hear ‘brainwashing’ as a phrase much anymore but the principles are the same.” He turned to Walker. “Sydney?”
Walker shook her head and shrunk back into her chair. Apparently, she wanted nothing to do with this discussion.
Getting no response from the fellow agent, Slattery continued. “The first scientific study on brainwashing was conducted by Robert Jay Lifton in the 1950’s. He interviewed former prisoners of war from Korea and China. It’s been the bible on the subject since then. At its most basic, brainwashing starts with repudiation and isolation. Take away everything the subject holds dear, physically and psychologically. Then fill that void with a new reality based on the goals of the captors.
“We’ve seen child-warriors in Vietnam, Afghanistan and throughout Africa. Rockwell would have been well-trained in the theory.”
Braxton remembered his first night at Nod. He had thought the cries he had heard had been hallucinations. But maybe they were real.
“Roger, we have a development.”
Braxton looked up and saw Brooks standing in the entry. The MI5 agent noticed Walker and his expression grew wary.
Slattery replied immediately. “Oh, this is Sydney Walker, Robert. She’s a … colleague of Adam’s. And ex-DIA. I’ll vouch for her.”
Brooks gave a slight bow and his face relaxed. “Ms. Walker. You must be the visitor who distracted all my highly-trained agents this morning. One might think you Yanks are trying to take over MI5.
“But back to the reason for my visit. We’ve had a report of a group of children on bicycles disrupting traffic in South Queensferry early this morning. It’s a small town west of here. Some shopkeepers reported the disturbance to their local constable. The report finally made it up here. Do you think it’s worth a look?”
Slattery looked over to Braxton. “That’s what I saw in Geneva,” Braxton said. “It could be them. I want to go.”
“Can you send a couple of cars to check it out, Robert?” Slattery asked.
“Certainly. And I think Mr. Braxton is right. He’s the only one that can make a positive identification. We’ll keep him safe.”
“Why would Rockwell take the chance to have the children be seen here?” Walker asked.
“Maybe he doesn’t think we know he’s here,” Slattery replied. “Or maybe he wants us to know. To show us he can’t be stopped. Either way, Adam’s right. We need to check it out.”
“Then I’m going too,” Walker dictated. “I’ll keep him out of trouble.”
Brooks looked over to Slattery, who shrugged his shoulders and nodded. “All right then. Let’s get you two ready. Roger, you can join me in the operations center upstairs. We’ll be watching them all the way.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Braxton and Walker were sitting in the back seat of a Range Rover driving down High Street in South Queensferry. They were in the lead car. Behind them, another unmarked Range Rover held three MI5 agents who were scanning the street ready to provide any needed backup.
The vehicles had been following Queensferry Road west from Edinburgh when another sighting of the children had been reported. They had immediately detoured to the location: High Street in South Queensferry.
Braxton had been told that the operations center in Leith would be tracking their movement using locators in the cars and available surveillance cameras along their routes. There was nothing to worry about.
Walker seemed quite at ease in this escalation of their activities, but despite all the assurances, Braxton felt butterflies in his stomach. And this time it wasn’t from hunger.
High
Street seemed to be the equivalent of Main Street in any American town. It was a narrow, brick-paved road running along the Firth. Lining both sides of the street were quaint brick and stone buildings, currently housing hotels, banks, shops and the ever-present pubs. Vehicle traffic was light, but there was a steady flow of pedestrians along the sidewalks.
They drove slowly down the street, looking for any sign of Rockwell’s gang.
“They’re here.” The message crackled through the front seat passenger’s comm unit.
Braxton and Walker turned to look behind them. Six children on bicycles were surrounding the backup car, weaving back and forth across the street, causing the car’s driver to slow. Braxton’s driver slowed as well, trying to keep contact with his backup.
The pedestrians gawked at the display, undoubtedly bemoaning the sorry state of adolescent behavior in the Internet age. Braxton had a different set of worries.
The group was gaining on Braxton’s car but slowly as if to not cause undue concern. Then Braxton saw one of the riders, an older boy, move to the front of the pack. When he had just about reached the rear of their Range Rover, he pulled a black object, the size of a small brick, out of his pocket and held it out.
Braxton remembered the ballet on the traffic circle in Geneva. The lead cyclist had scarred his target with a marker. This time it wasn’t an ink pen.
“Go!” Braxton yelled. “Get out of here. He has a bomb.”
Braxton and Walker were thrown back in seats as the vehicle sped forward. The cyclists suddenly broke formation and, just as in Geneva, disappeared into the side streets leaving the lead cyclist alone. The road now open, their back-up pulled forward to escape. As it passed the cyclist, Braxton saw him push the brick onto the roof of the car.
“Shit,” Braxton cried as he grabbed Walker by the shoulder of her jacket and pulled her onto the floor between the seats. He had just covered her with his body when the world went black.
