“Dede, we got a major shit storm about to descend on us. I need you to verify the serial number of the weapon found at the first execution. I’ll hold.”
The number was logged into the case file, but Dede decided to physically verify the number by going to the evidence locker herself. She had to break the seal that wrapped the weapon and hid the serial number. She photographed the serial number with her cell phone, returned to her office and read off the numbers to the Director. There was dead silence on the phone for ten seconds.
“Dede, who had access to that weapon?” asked the Director.
“Well, Mac, let me think … the Philly cop who found the piece, our two agents, another Philly cop, a lieutenant, our evidence people and once it was sealed, I don’t see how anyone could have gotten the number.”
“I’m going to send you an email. The contents have already landed at The New York Times and God knows where else. Have Kintrell and Alvarez in your office ASAP and all three of you go over the email, then call me in thirty minutes,” said Director MacKibbon.
After hanging up with Dede, the Director placed a call to the White House requesting an immediate face-to-face with the president. On the way to the White House, MacKibbon contacted his opposite number at the NSA.
“Tony, Mac here. My people are sending over an email now. After you read it, I need your people to track it down. I need to know how and where it came from. I don’t have time to go into it, but when you see the email, you’ll understand. Highest priority on this, and by the way, the serial number has been authenticated. I have to go, talk to you soon.”
“Mac?”
***
Kintrell and Alvarez entered Special Agent McGriff’s office to find their boss staring intently at her computer screen.
Dede directed the agents to look at the monitor on the wall to their right.
They both read the e-mail.
Kintrell spoke first. “Has the serial number been verified?”
Dede just nodded.
“What does Washington say?”
“At this point they’re just trying to gauge the trajectory of the shit, once it hits the fan,” said Dede.
Alvarez remained quiet, thinking about something.
“Agent Alvarez, you have something to say?” asked Dede.
“Something’s ringing a bell but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“What?” asked Kintrell.
“The last line of that e-mail.”
Dede Googled the line.
“It’s something Thomas Jefferson wrote in a letter to someone,” said Dede, “Are you a fan of Jefferson?”
“Yeah, I must have read it somewhere,” Alvarez said, slowly shaking her head.
Dede focused on Kintrell. “Tom, what do you need?”
“I need everything we got. We have to beat the bushes. We need our people as well as local law enforcement to start pushing their CIs for any info on well-heeled fringe groups. We need someone to cross reference any airline passengers on the crazies list that landed in Philly, New York, Newark, Baltimore and D.C. in the last three weeks. We need to cross reference that list to any right-wing or left-wing zealots that jump out. We need to outfit all senators and congressmen with the latest body armor. It probably won’t stop a fifty-caliber round, but it will make them feel a little better about security. No more public speeches by any members of congress until this thing is over. We also must ask the public’s help in this. We have to figure out why these killings took place in Philadelphia. What kind of fringe groups are operating here? Can we borrow manpower from the other agencies? Trying to protect five hundred people plus their families is going to be a nightmare.”
Dede thought about it for a minute, then said, “Getting the public to help on this may be difficult. A majority of them probably agree with the goal.”
“We need the media to get on board with this,” said Alvarez
“Good luck with that, most of them probably hope this goes on forever,” said Kintrell.
“Okay, Tom, you’ll have everything you need. Lanny, I want you to prepare a statement for the press. They’re going to be on us like locusts in a cornfield.”
Chapter 10
The meeting was called to order.
“Okay, gentlemen, quiet down please,” said the distinguished looking man seated behind the desk.
“The opposition will hem and haw, stalling for time. We may need to press the point.” He looked at the man to his right. “Caleb, I need options.”
“Sir, I’ve been thinking about those Stingers we have. I think there’s a way to tag Congresswoman Latham, without collateral damage,” said Caleb.
“Enlighten us,” said the old man.
“We know she takes long weekends at least twice a month. She leaves in her Gulfstream G280 from that private airport outside DC, usually between three and four PM on Thursdays. Tony can remove the explosive from one of the Stingers, leaving the propellant and avionics intact. More often than not, they take off from the east end of the runway because of the prevailing winds. Once they get in position and rev their turbines, we hit ‘em with a Stinger while they’re still on the ground. It will destroy one of their engines. The pilots will most likely try to feather the engines and evacuate the plane. Once the congresswoman is on the tarmac, Hank can take her out with a rifle shot. Shouldn’t be more than a hundred fifty yards, I would think. I’ve looked at the landscape and ex-fil shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Any reason we can’t take her out before she enters the plane?” asked Hank.
“The car she travels in is armored, and they generally pull into the hangar and board the plane inside, away from prying eyes.”
“Sounds like a plan, any comments?” said the old man.
“There’s a possibility the plane could still catch fire before the passengers exit,” said Cole.
“Not likely, the engine itself may catch fire but the passengers should have ample time to deplane,” said Steenbergen.
The old man pondered this for a few moments. “Collateral damage will turn many people away from our cause. Is there any way we can simulate and get a better grip on the outcome?”
“I’ll work on it, sir,” said Steenbergen.
They then discussed the Campbell family from Connecticut. Their son Rick, a Navy Seal, was killed by Russians in Syria while gathering intel on the Syrian regime’s use of chemical weapons.
“How old are Campbell’s kids?” asked the old man.
“The boy’s eleven and the girl’s fourteen.”
“How are their finances?”
“Shaky, sir, the money they got from the government will cover basic necessities for a while, but they were living from paycheck to paycheck before Campbell was killed. Both he and his wife come from humble beginnings. The wife has a secretarial background. Both children took it very hard.”
“Okay, thanks, Monte, I’ll take care of it,” replied the old man.
As the four men started out of the office the old man said. “Emerson, hang back for a minute.”
Emerson Cole, former Green Beret, stood in front of the desk.
“What’s the name of that militia group, down in the Jersey Pines?”
“They call themselves the ALBH, America’s last best hope,” said Cole.
“Do you think you could penetrate their compound?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, I’ll recon the site and get back to you,” said Cole.
***
That night, Cole parked the Harley behind an abandoned house along Route 542, just outside Hammonton, New Jersey, then made his way on foot to the compound, two miles southeast of his location. He was dressed all in black. He carried night vision optics as well as a silenced 9mm pistol. He could see dim lights through the woods. He assumed they were coming from the compound. Keeping downwind, he closed to within fifty yards of the compound. He slowly sunk to the ground, then crawled, stopping every couple yards to listen, being mindful of dogs and makeshift alarms. He stopped t
en yards from the fenced in compound and used his night vision optics to discern what he needed to know. He then slowly and carefully retraced his steps. He reached the hiding place of the bike and made his way back to Philadelphia.
The following morning, he placed a call to the old man and reported that he could get in and out of the compound undetected.
“Good, here’s what I want you to do. Take one of the M-4s with you …”
***
Later that day the old man placed a call to the office of the foundation he set up for families of special ops troops killed in the line of duty.
“Judy, this is Judge Adams, please have Bill Hannigan call me.”
“Will do, Your Honor. He’s at the Senate office building now, trying to wrangle more money for us.”
“Thanks, Judy.”
After hanging up, the judge placed a call to the FBI. As the recording began, the judge keyed in a four-digit extension which was answered on the third ring.
“Hello, is this Agent Newkirk?” said the judge.
“No, I’m afraid you have the wrong extension. I’ll try to connect you.”
“Thank you,” replied the judge, as he hung up.
By prearranged signal, the person who received the call would contact the Judge via secure phone later that evening.
At precisely 7:00 PM a cell phone that was sitting on the judge’s desk vibrated.
“Hello,” said the judge.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I need the personnel files of the main investigators assigned to the two executions.”
“This will take a little doing, sir, but I should be able to get them to you in three or four days.”
“Thank you.”
***
At 2:00 AM the following morning, a figure clad in black, stealthily made his way to a fenced in compound, deep in the Pine Barrens of Southern New Jersey. He made sure that the portion of fence he approached was downwind of the compound, because of the dogs. He brought with him an M-4 assault rifle, an entrenching tool, and a silenced Glock 9mm pistol. He then removed the steaks that had been drugged with a chemical that would render the dogs unconscious in less than two minutes. He hurled the steaks over the fence. The dogs reacted to the noise and ran in his direction. Finding the steaks, they ripped them apart and swallowed them in record time. A few minutes later both dogs were on their sides, fast asleep. Using the entrenching tool, he dug a hole big enough to shimmy under the fence. He left the entrenching tool by the hole and entered the compound, taking the rifle with him.
He located the structure he sought, picked the lock and entered. A row of various assault type weapons rested within a wooden frame, also padlocked, against the right wall. He picked that lock and removed an AR-15, replacing it with the weapon he brought, then re-engaged the padlock. Hopefully, no one would notice the difference. He spotted a trash can on his way out of the building. Peering inside, he saw some crumpled papers and an empty coke can. Jackpot. He removed the can, then placed it in a Ziploc bag he had brought with him, being careful not to smudge any fingerprints that the can might contain. He then relocked the door of the building and made his way back to the fence, noting that the dogs were still out. After crawling back under the fence, he used the entrenching tool to push the dirt he had earlier removed back into the hole. He then left the compound with the captured weapon and the rest of his paraphernalia. He made his way back to his jeep, stowed the weapon and the coke can, then drove home. Once home, he texted: done, with bonus, to the pre-programmed number.
Chapter 11
“What?” said Kintrell to Alvarez.
“I keep going back to that last line of the demand e-mail. I don’t think I read it, I think I heard it somewhere,” said Alvarez.
“Where could you have heard it? Maybe a TV show about Jefferson?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s right there, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Stryker wants to meet up and bounce something off us. Told him we’d grab some sushi over at Sagami’s in Collingswood,” said Kintrell.
“Does he even like sushi?”
“He told me if I’m buying, he’s trying.”
They arrived at the restaurant a short time later to find Stryker standing in the parking lot. They entered the restaurant and proceeded to the room in the back, which allowed more headroom for Kintrell and Stryker, both being over six feet tall. The front of the restaurant mimicked an authentic Japanese restaurant—dimensions and all—which would be a little cramped.
They exchanged small talk while their order was being processed, Stryker telling them of a hostage situation a few months back …
“So, this mutt has just killed his wife and he’s holding a gun to the head of his own child, a girl about eight years old. They send me this sniper who looks like he’s barely out of high school. The kid had freckles and a mop of reddish hair. I ask him, are you sure you’re going to be able to do this? And he says, ‘Sure, no problem.’ Negotiations with the goof are going downhill at this point and we fear he’s going to kill the girl, then take his own life. I tell the kid to get ready. The killer starts to shout something, and his gun moves slightly off the kid’s head. Bam! He goes down with a round right between his running lights. The girl runs towards us and is enveloped by a female officer as the sniper and I approach the killer. I step on the pistol, still in the killer’s hand, then look at the youthful sniper, worrying about how he’s going to react about killing this guy. He says to me, ’You know, I’ve never shot anybody with a nose that big before.’”
Both Stryker and Kintrell laughed, and Alvarez just gave them her Thank God I’m not a man look.
Kintrell and Alvarez opted for combination platters. Stryker passed on the sushi and had a teriyaki dish.
“What have you got, Norm?” Kintrell asked.
“I think these guys are special operators or former operators, maybe ours or Spetsnaz or SAS,” said Stryker.
Kintrell, having come to a similar conclusion, said, “Why?”
“For one thing, they knew when and how to hit that armory in LeJeune, and they also knew what was in it. The shot that took out the congressman was surgically precise. By that I mean that round took out the congressman passing through him and missing everybody behind him. The attack on the senator, same thing, perfectly executed when you think about it, no collateral damage. Not a trace of evidence left behind nor a witness. It really was a nice piece of work. Whoever is planning these things is doing it with the precision of a Seal or Delta operation.”
“You sound like you admire these guys, Norm,” said Alvarez.
“I admire competence, Lanny, and these guys are way competent. I wouldn’t want them coming after me.”
“The question is, how do we catch them before they off somebody else?” said Kintrell.
“Assuming we are dealing with a cabal of special ops guys, they probably have their next target planned out and ready to go, right after the deadline. If they were just targeting left-wing or right-wing pols, it would narrow the field, but they’re one and one on that score, probably on purpose,” Stryker said.
“You were with the Teams, Tom. What would you be doing?” Alvarez asked.
“Like Norm said, this guy or guys are planners and very competent. They know it won’t be easy to get to their targets now, especially if Norm is right and they are avoiding collateral damage. If they kill a bunch of people, going after one person, they will lose a lot of support, so I don’t see them using explosives in crowded places or trying to bring a plane down. Maybe they would try a diversionary tactic of some sort to take the focus away from their primary target.”
Kintrell thought for a moment.
“When we get back to the office, Lanny, let’s get your super nerd looking for all special ops guys recently separated from service for cause, especially Seals and Delta guys. Focus on guys that live on the Eastern Seaboard, guys that might be nursing a grudge against the powers that be. Norm, could you
have your people pull up all stolen vehicle reports for the last ten days?”
“Sure,” said Stryker.
They left the restaurant and went their separate ways.
In the car on the way back to the office, Kintrell noticed that Alvarez was uncharacteristically quiet.
“What are you thinking, Lanny?”
“That quote from Jefferson in the ultimatum. It’s right there in front of me but I can’t see it. I know it was a while ago. It’s driving me crazy.”
“Think about context,” replied Kintrell.
“Huh?”
“Where would you read or hear such a thing, College maybe? Did you have any courses that focused on Jefferson?”
“Dede said it was in a letter Jefferson sent to one of his friends. Maybe if I Google it, it may jog my memory,” said Alvarez.
Chapter 12
Later that day Alvarez told Kintrell what she had found about the quote.
“Jefferson wrote a letter to one Phillip Mazzei, an immigrant from Italy, who was a horticulturist, surgeon, and wine maker, among other things. The two became friends through correspondence. In the letter Jefferson excoriates what he calls place seekers. Those in the government who are more interested in their jobs than the principles of the Republic. A cadre of people trying to establish an aristocracy not unlike that of Great Britain with all its attendant corruption. The quote in the demands appears in this letter.”
“Jefferson was prescient,” said Kintrell. “But why does that stick out in your mind?”
Termination Limits: Tom Kintrell Book 1 (Tom Kintrell Thriller Series) Page 5
