by Jack Bowie
Braxton gingerly took the card. It was plain white, holding only the name ‘John Smith’ and a 703 area code telephone number. He turned it over looking for some kind of affiliation.
“That’s all you need to get me,” Smith commented.
Braxton reluctantly shook the agent’s hand and walked him to the door. Smith reached for the handle, then paused, and turned back to face the consultant. The mechanical smile had disappeared.
“In case you have any concerns over the validity of this request, Mr. Braxton, give Sam a call. He can vouch for me.”
“Sam?”
The smile returned on Smith’s face. This time it almost appeared genuine. “I think you know who I mean. Tell him he still owes me that Dos Equis.”
Braxton watched as Smith left the office and turned down the hall. What had he gotten into now?
“That was a short meeting,” Chu said as her boss walked by. “No luck?”
“I’m not really sure,” Braxton replied. “Give Sam Fowler a call. I’ve got some questions for him.”
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen,” President Matthews began solemnly. He was addressing the Press Corp in the James S. Brady Press Briefing room, an idea Dawson must have had over a bout of severe indigestion. Why external events continued to conspire against him, he would never know.
“I believe many of you have read with alarm the recent Report on World Terrorism released by the NATO Counter-Terrorism Analysis Group. Despite concerted efforts by the international community, certain factions, and nations, continue to believe that terrorist acts will help them slow the inevitable progress of peoples to seek freedom and democracy. The United States of America will never accept or condone such acts, and will apply all of its resources to assure that those responsible are brought to justice.
“Because of this documented threat to the sovereignty of our great nation, I have asked the Director of National Intelligence to prepare a detailed analysis of our readiness to identify, prevent, and if necessary, respond, to terrorist activity on our soil. He will complete this report in the next ninety days. Along with his analysis, I have asked for specific recommendations, organizational and operational, which will better enable us to meet this threat.
“I know you all must have a number of concerns on this effort, so I have asked General Carlson to join me in answering your questions. Before we begin, however, I want to assure you and the American public that this effort is purely cautionary. We have no evidence of any existing terrorist plans. But let those in the international terrorist community be alerted that we will not tolerate their heinous actions here or anywhere in the world.”
“General Carlson and I will now take a few of your questions. Mr. Harrison.” Matthews nodded into the crowd toward CNN’s White House Correspondent. Donald Harrison had been a favorite ever since his positive coverage of the Turkey conflict.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” the reporter replied. “Will you or the Director be making any changes in the structure of the intelligence community as a result of this request?”
Matthews stepped back as if on cue and Carlson stepped to the podium.
“As you know, Mr. Harrison, the National Counterterrorism Center has been tracking and responding to terrorism threats for some time now. Today we have representatives from the CIA, NSA, FBI, DoE, DEA, State and all branches of the Department of Defense. This is by far the most knowledgeable and capable group of individuals to address the President’s request. We will, of course, solicit additional expertise from across the government, but I do not envision any major membership or structural changes at this time.”
Hands were again raised and Carlson pointed into a crowd on the right. A tall, slim woman pushed up through the others.
“General Carlson.” It was Caroline Guthrie from the New York Times. “Is this increased focus a reaction to the upcoming intelligence sharing agreement signing? Have any specific threats been made?”
“Security is always a concern at any major event such as the signing, Miss Guthrie. But the Secret Service and the FBI have extensive plans for the safety of all of our guests. We are aware of no particular threats and anticipate no security problems. This event is not a focus for the NCTC.”
Carlson shifted his attention and pointed to the left. This time it was a man who broke through.
“Taylor Luckett from the Washington Post, General. You seem to have focused on the threat of foreign terrorism at the signing. What about the threat from inside the country? From the so-called militia movement, for example.”
Matthews saw Carlson’s jaw tighten. What was bothering Steven?
“Mr. Luckett,” Carlson replied. “We are certainly aware of your personal interest in this particular topic, but we believe the real threat lies in the extensive network of international terrorism described in the NATO report, not in the farms and communities of law-abiding Americans. Miss Guthrie?”
“Excuse me, sir,” Luckett interrupted, “but what about the three arson attacks . . .”
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Luckett,” Carlson commanded. He turned back to his left. “Mr. Grant?”
Leave it to Carlson to shoot someone in the head for asking a question, Matthews thought. Luckett was a bit off the mainstream, but he was a good reporter. Ever since Oklahoma City, no one in their right mind ignored domestic para-military activity.
Carlson took three more questions before the President brought the press conference to a close. There had been no more questions about domestic terrorism.
Matthews and his entourage filed out of the briefing room in neat pecking order. Why hadn’t he heard about the militia attacks? He made a mental note to find out.
Chapter 18
National Counterterrorism Center, McLean, Virginia
Friday, 4:00 p.m.
“Welcome to our little corner of the NCTC, Roger. Good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
Slattery had requested a meeting with the Special Assistant earlier in the day. It was all part of his strategy to test the militia analysis Ikedo had developed, without alerting Carlson.
He had been escorted up to the third floor of the NCTC where he had been personally greeted by the Special Assistant. The FBI’s Counterterrorism Division occupied most of the floor. Flynn had dressed down today, foregoing the staid business suit for a knit top and tailored silk skirt. The outfit made her almost look normal.
“Mary Ellen,” he said, extending his hand. “I really appreciate your taking the time to meet with me today. I’m not sure how much I can contribute to your investigation, but perhaps by comparing notes we can come up with some new ideas. It has certainly been an eventful week.”
She seemed surprised at his deferential approach and her voice lost some of its usual edge.
“Very much so, Roger. And we can use all the ideas we can get.”
She led him into a large, comfortable office. It was decorated in classic Washington Bureaucrat: heavy in oak and leather, with numerous smiling group photographs and the requisite portrait of the reigning Director, Franklin Squires. What was missing was any artifact that would suggest the Special Assistant had a life outside the Bureau.
Flynn directed him to a small conference table across from her desk.
“Would it be too much to expect any new information from your asset?”
Well, she does get right to the point.
“I’m afraid so, Mary Ellen. There’s been nothing new since Peter’s report at the meeting. I went through what little we had on militia activity, but it left more questions than answers.”
“And we don’t have a whole lot more,” Flynn replied. “We’ve infiltrated most of the large groups, but they don’t seem to be involved in this latest activity.”
It was time to play some of Ikedo’s insights. “That would be expected. Whoever is organizing this is going to keep it low key. Use the smaller groups. Security is better and there’s less chance of running into informers.” Slattery noticed Flyn
n was actually paying attention to his analysis. Maybe there was some value to this meeting after all. “You did hit on the Tyler cell pretty accurately. Where did you get the lead?”
Their eyes met, and Flynn hesitated, apparently evaluating the request. A moment later she responded.
“The Atlanta field office received an anonymous tip. They checked it out and it looked interesting. Special Agent Derek Thomas went on surveillance, then we sent him in.”
The tension in Flynn’s voice betrayed the effect the agent’s loss still held over her. He decided to drop the topic for the moment but wanted to know more about that anonymous tip.
“Anything on Tennessee or Kansas?”
“Some possibilities. The local field offices are preparing briefs with the assistance of the Serial Crimes Teams. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much militia focus in either state. I doubt there’ll be too many easy answers.”
“I understand. These will be very tough groups to identify. How many folks do you have in the field?”
“We assigned a Serial Crime Team to each site and they’re backed up with five local agents. We’re okay on coverage now, but if this multiplies . . .”
“Not a scenario any of us want to think about, Mary Ellen. I would like to look over those reports when they come in. If that’s all right.”
Another pause. All investigators were jealous of their data; Slattery had been in the same position enough times to know. But if he was going to pull this out for Markovsky, he had to get Flynn’s support.
Flynn finally stared back into Slattery’s eyes. “Of course, Roger. I’ll have Dawn forward them to you.”
So far so good.
“Thanks. We’ve got some experience profiling the operations of small cells like these.” Flynn’s eyebrows jumped. “Internationally, of course,” he quickly added. “Maybe we can find some common factors to bring into play.”
“Understood.” Flynn sat back and laid her hands in her lap. “So tell me, Roger, why did Peter put you on this one? Trying to check up on us?”
“Absolutely not, Mary Ellen. Honestly, I think he’s worried. He’s been uncharacteristically uptight lately. He’s bothered by the lack of IMAGER response, and seriously concerned about the ramifications of coordinated action. History paints a pretty bleak picture.”
“We must be reading the same books at night. I haven’t slept very well either. Tell Peter we do appreciate the help. We believe this is very important, Roger. Even if the DNI seems to disagree.”
Slattery nodded. “I agree, but I’m sure Carlson is just being cautious. That’s why we need to get some more proof of the coordination.” He hated to bring up the next subject, but it needed to be asked. “Still no word from your agent?”
“No. I’m afraid we’ve lost him.” Flynn paused and he saw she was having trouble dealing with the disappearance. Losing a colleague was a wrenching experience for any law enforcement office. No matter how experienced.
“The best proof would be more militia activity,” she continued. “Something we definitely don’t want. I’m between a rock and hard place, Roger.”
An awkward silence told Slattery it was time to quit while he was ahead. Before she started pushing any harder on IMAGER.
“Then we’ll have to help you come up with something, Mary Ellen. But I think I’ve taken up enough of your time already.”
Before he could get up, Flynn stopped him. “One more thing, Roger. The Tyler cell is still under surveillance, and it looks like our friends are getting ready for something. There has been a lot of activity at the farm. Supplies have been arriving for days. Now it could just be a great big happy family party,” Flynn didn’t even try to hide her sarcasm, “but I’m betting it’s something more.”
Why was she describing this now? What was she afraid of earlier?
“What can you do?”
“Nothing. We have one new agent on surveillance. And there’s no way I’m sending him inside alone. We have no proof of any criminal activity. Even if they start popping off some handguns and rifles, that’s not a crime. Certainly not in Georgia. So we’ll sit it out and take pictures. It’ll be a day or so before I get the report, but it should be interesting reading.”
Slattery was about to open his mouth when Flynn added: “I’ll flash you the report as soon as I get it.”
He nodded in reply. Time to sneak one in. “Did your informant have any additional information?”
“Informant?”
“Yes. The one who originally alerted you to Tyler.”
“Oh. No. We don’t know who he was. One thing though. The original call came from DC not from Atlanta. Our informant’s a local boy.”
A D.C. resident? Maybe things were starting to click.
“Well, look on the bright side. Maybe these exercises will keep them out of trouble for a while.”
“We can hope.”
Now it was time to go. They got up from the table and walked back to the door.
“Thanks again for the time, Mary Ellen. I wish we could have gotten reacquainted under less stressful situations. If you need anything just give me a call.”
“I think you know what I want from the Agency, Roger. And for us, they’re always stressful situations.”
* * *
Matthews relaxed in the Oval Office sofa and watched his friend sitting across the coffee table. It was the end of a very long day for both men and they were enjoying the moment by sharing some of the President’s favorite sour mash.
“So explain these militia attacks to me, Steven,” Matthews asked. “I didn’t see anything about them in the Daily Brief.”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t feel they were of sufficient concern. These events are a subject of some disagreement among my advisory group.”
“Indulge me. Just the basics.”
“Last Thursday there were three militia attacks; the ones Mr. Luckett mentioned,” Carlson began. “Fires were set at small independent newspapers in Georgia, Tennessee and Kansas. There was one fatality, we do not know whether it was intentional or not. The FBI believes this could be the start of an escalation by these groups. ”
“Do you agree with the FBI’s assessment of the threat, Steven?”
“I’m not sure, Mr. President. I have asked for comprehensive reports from all the agencies. The FBI’s RIPPER program did identify a number of points of commonality, but the sample is so small it’s impossible to draw any hard conclusions.”
Matthews nodded. “RIPPER has been quite successful. We should not ignore its findings.”
“I agree, Mr. President, but we should not rush to any premature conclusions either. I believe our most prudent course is to let the FBI continue their investigation. These could still be simply random events.”
“What about this IMAGER agent?” Matthews asked. “Didn’t he confirm the coordination hypothesis?” Matthews watched his DNI’s reaction as he named the source. It had taken all afternoon to pry the background from the CIA.
Carlson hesitated, then continued unfazed. “That is one interpretation. This is at least third hand information, however. This agent, or whatever he is, has provided no more than a few unsubstantiated allegations. I’m sorry to say this, but Peter refuses to reveal any details on IMAGER. Without additional background there is no way to gauge the information’s veracity.”
“I appreciate your position, Steven,” said Matthews. “You know you have my complete support. I trust you to do the right thing. I only want to point out the sensitivity of our current position.”
“I understand, Mr. President. As Chad pointed out, we have to be very careful in our handling of domestic affairs before the election. The Democrats would certainly take advantage of any negative publicity. We don’t want to raise unnecessary alarms that might jeopardize the campaign.”
“Surely you are not suggesting we ignore criminal activity? A man was murdered!”
“No, of course not, Mr. President,” Carlson replied quickly. “The FBI and local authorities
will perform thorough investigations. I am simply not convinced that these events raise to the level of a national threat.”
“Thank you, Steven,” replied Matthews.
The President glanced over to his desk. The desk on which Truman had kept “The Buck Stops Here” prominently displayed. Most saw it as a statement of strength and power. Matthews knew it for what it really was: an oppressive curse.
He reached for his glass. “I know you will give these activities a fair evaluation. But if there is any further escalation, I expect to be notified and an appropriate response taken.” He emphasized the point with a careful narrowing of his eyes. It was a look that was never ignored.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Carlson took his glass and tipped it toward the President. They each took a long swallow.
“Now, when can Margaret and I expect to see you for a dinner?” Matthews asked.
Chapter 19
Tyler, Georgia
Saturday, 9:00 a.m.
“The Gathering starts tonight,” Holly began. “I want to go over everything one more time. We gotta get this right.”
Gary sat quietly in a dark corner of the great room watching the proceedings around the hewn-wood table. The old farmhouse had become a familiar location since he had completed the purchase nearly a year ago, when they were just forming the plan. The farm had been on the auctioneer’s block and the bank was only too happy to take his money. They hadn’t cared where the proceeds came from and there would be no traceable connections.
The property was close to both Atlanta and Columbus, yet could give them the privacy they needed. And now the numerous barns, houses, and ancillary structures would support their diverse needs. Holly’s cell had agreed to act as the farm’s overseers, even with their benefactor’s strange conditions.
This meeting was Gary’s last chance to make sure things were on track for the training. The next step in their journey.
“The other cells will start arriving this afternoon,” Holly continued. “We need to give ‘em a place to stay and store their equipment. Ricky, how are the arrangements going?”
