Rules of Engagement

by Ken Fite

  Hesitating for a moment, Taylor collected her thoughts and said, “You wanted dirt on Keller. Here it is.”

  With that, King glanced up briefly to acknowledge the severity of the statement that she had just made. Lowering his gaze, he began to read excerpts from the report out loud. “For the past eighteen months, President Keller has been running a secret black ops team headed by his senior advisor on issues of domestic counterterrorism, Blake Jordan.” King continued to scan through the report and licked his thumb again to flip the page before adding, “Megan, you’re making some pretty serious accusations here.”

  “I know.”

  “This man, Jordan—” King shook his head and paused before continuing “—according to what you have here, he’s saved Keller’s life twice.” King flipped back to the prior page to find the spot he was looking for. “Jordan was responsible for figuring out where then-Senator Keller was being held hostage after being kidnapped the night that Keller was set to accept his party’s nomination for president. Megan, he saved his life.” Taylor started to speak, but King held a hand up so he could continue. “Same thing a few months later,” said King. Another lick of the thumb. Another page turned. King pointed to the passage. “Jordan and his team, consisting of select members from the Department of Domestic Counterterrorism and the FBI, saved Keller again—along with his incoming administration—from an improvised explosive device on Inauguration Day.” King closed the file. “I want to know who your source is for all of this information.”

  Taylor crossed her arms and bit her lip out of nervousness. “Sir, my source is anonymous and will stay—”

  “The hell they are,” snapped King.

  “There’s more,” said Meg, looking down to the closed folder in her boss’s hand. “This guy—Jordan—he’s the man behind the situation in New York six months ago. One of his black ops team members was being forced to dismantle an NSA surveillance program. Jordan found out and stopped it. That’s what really—”

  King held a hand up again and lifted the folder with the other. “Ms. Taylor, I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, but the New York Times will not be running this story.” He paused before adding, “If what you’re saying is true, then this man Jordan is a hero, and that will overshadow any misconduct by the president. Americans are greatly divided when it comes to politics, but after thirty years in this business, I know there are two things they come together on: fighting terrorism and the safety and security of a sitting president, regardless of party affiliation. That’s what sets us apart from other nations.”

  “There’s one more thing you need to know,” added Meg, followed by a brief pause to collect her thoughts as she decided the best way to reveal the last bit of information that she needed to share. It was a last-ditch effort to attempt to gain favor with her boss. She took a deep breath and said, “Blake Jordan is a personal friend of the president’s.” This raised King’s interest, but he kept a straight face. “Jordan’s known him since he was a kid. When Keller was preparing to run for senate and Jordan was still in high school, he trained the man to help improve his chances of becoming a SEAL. They trained at four in the morning every day for a year.” She paused. “I know how you feel about Keller. This can and will hurt him.”

  King maintained his composure. “Ms. Taylor, I needed dirt on the president. Instead, what you’ve given me is anything but. No need to clean out your desk on Monday, we’ll mail your belongings back to you.”

  “But, Mr. King—” said Meg as the man turned and smiled to himself. This was just what he was looking for.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I HELD ON tight as Jami raced through the streets of the Woodbridge neighborhood, headed east. She passed her cell to me, and I helped navigate as Simon Harris monitored the location of the man on the bike. I put the call on speakerphone and Simon shouted out the biker’s location as we raced to catch him.

  “Turn right,” he said, and Jami followed the command, taking the next turn and stepping hard on the accelerator. “Looks like he’s about ten blocks northwest of you now. I’m going to try to close the gap between the two of you as fast as I can, but I’m relying on CCTV cameras in the area, so I don’t have the guy’s exact location in real time. Not enough time to retask a satellite,” he said as Jami accelerated again.

  “Simon,” I said, keeping an eye on traffic from side streets, “where’d the guy go after the bombing?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line as the sound of typing filled the interior of Jami’s SUV. “Not sure,” he replied. “After I got to the Hoover Building, I started looking for the guy based on his last known location, the spot where I lost him. I isolated the footage from some of the cameras in the area and I began expanding my search in greater concentric circles until I finally—” He paused. “Hang on a sec.”

  I looked at Jami, and she turned to me. “Simon? What’s wrong?” she asked as I looked at the phone.

  “The guy turned again; now he’s headed west. Jami, make the turn as soon as you can, okay?”

  “On it,” she replied and turned the wheel hard at the next street, forcing me against the passenger door.

  “Okay, he’s about ten blocks ahead of you. I think you’re on the same street. Pick up speed if you can.”

  Jami stepped on the gas again as I reached for the grab handle above with my right hand, still clutching Jami’s phone with my left. “Slow down—you’re gonna kill us both,” I said as she began weaving in and out of traffic and slowed only when we came up to a light at an intersection that had just turned red. I looked into the passenger-side mirror and noticed a dark vehicle a few blocks behind us, picking up speed, fast.

  After getting through the intersection, Jami picked up speed again, and I looked over to Jami to tell her about the car behind us when I saw the guy on the bike momentarily at the next intersection before he disappeared again. I let go of the grab handle and pointed to my left. “Jami, he’s one block over from us.”

  She nodded and slowed at the next intersection and turned the wheel hard. Her tires screeched as she quickly navigated the turn to get us one block over so we could catch up to the biker. I reached for the grab handle again and looked in the mirror to check on the dark vehicle. The car that I thought might have been following us was gone, so I refocused my attention on the guy on the bike, who was now in front of us.

  “Any idea where this guy is going?” asked Jami as we watched the biker five or six blocks ahead of us bob and weave between vehicles with ease, and she tried to do the same, waiting for Simon to answer. “Simon, talk to me,” she yelled to get his attention. I looked down and saw that the line had been disconnected.

  “The call dropped,” I said as I turned my gaze from the phone back to the biker up ahead and pulling farther away from us. I kept my eyes trained on the single taillight that continued to appear every few seconds as the guy weaved in and out of traffic, trying to go faster as Jami followed suit, starting to close the gap.

  In the mirror to my right, I saw headlights approaching fast. I leaned forward and confirmed that it was the same car that I had seen earlier. “Jami—I think we have a problem,” I said, maintaining my stare.

  “What is it?”

  “The Town Car that Landry told us about earlier—the one that he said followed me from Alexandria—I think it’s tailing us.”

  Jami looked into the rearview mirror and saw what I was talking about as we both watched the vehicle bobbing and weaving in and out of traffic to catch up to us, just as we were doing.

  Jami’s cell rang, and I answered the call, again on speakerphone. “Lost him,” said Simon as Jami and I looked farther down the street, trying to see the biker again. “Jami, do you have a visual?” asked Simon.

  She looked at me briefly before turning back to the road. “No,” she said. “How could he just disappear?”

  “Jami, look,” I said as the car following us got to a clear straightaway, gunned it, and headed straight for u
s. Her eyes switched between the rearview mirror and the road ahead. “Jami, what are you thinking?”

  As the driver got closer, she responded, “Just hold on, okay?” and as he closed the gap even more, Jami slammed on the brakes. The driver did the same, but not fast enough. Turning back to look behind us, I watched as the car skidded along the road, his tires trying to gain traction, before hitting the back of Jami’s SUV. The guy’s airbag deployed as Jami stepped on the accelerator. “Who is this guy?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but we need to find out,” I said as I saw the car get rolling again and start to pick up speed.

  Two blocks ahead, I saw the entrance to a parking garage. Remembering the garage at DDC, I had an idea. “Pull into that garage,” I yelled, pointing to the entrance as we approached, and I looked behind me again.

  “Why? We’ll be pinned if I do that,” she said as I noticed that the call with Simon had dropped again.

  “Just trust me, okay?” I said as Jami slowed and yanked the steering wheel to the right, causing her wheels to skid again as she did. She drove through a white bar that was lowered and turned right. Before she made the first turn, I looked over my shoulder and saw the car enter the garage, following us inside. “Go faster,” I said and—after being slammed against the door as Jami took the next turn—I steadied myself and reached into the messenger bag between my feet, found my Glock, and checked the magazine.

  Jami slowed as we approached the next turn. “What are you going to do, Blake?”

  “Tuck and roll,” I replied.

  Jami looked confused.

  “I have to figure out who this guy is and what he wants.”

  Jami paused and asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  I looked up ahead and confirmed that there were enough parked cars for my plan to have a chance at working. “Stop up ahead and let him catch up to you,” I replied and unbuckled my seatbelt and gripped the Glock tight as I waited for Jami to take the next curve. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.”

  As soon as she took the curve, I used my other hand to open the door, and the force of the movement from the vehicle pushed me out onto the concrete pavement. I landed on my shoulder and immediately knew something was wrong. Rolling several times, I stopped rolling in an empty space between two parked cars.

  Looking back, I saw the passenger door slam shut after Jami straightened out the vehicle and accelerated.

  A few seconds later, the black Town Car buzzed by me and took the same curve.

  With both cars out of my direct line of sight, I got to my feet as I heard the sound of Jami braking hard, followed by the Town Car doing the same a moment later. I winced in pain as I realized that I was injured from hitting the pavement at such a high rate of speed. Gripping my weapon, I ran after the two vehicles stopped around the corner. In that moment, I thought about the fault in my plan and knew that my worst fear was about to come true. Jami was in trouble, and I only had one chance to do something about it.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I KEPT MOVING forward, knowing that every second counted. Aiming my weapon toward the ground, I climbed the ramp to the next level, approached the corner, and rested my back against the cold concrete. Trying to slow my breathing, I closed my eyes and listened to what was happening around the corner. I waited. A car door opened, then slammed shut. I gripped my weapon even tighter and opened my eyes.

  Peeking around the corner, aiming my Glock at the floor, I carefully checked to see what was happening. The Town Car was stopped behind Jami’s SUV, engine still running, and pinning her to the edge of the garage with nothing but a concrete wall at the end of the top level. There was nowhere else for her to go.

  Jami kept her foot on the brakes, causing a bright red glow against the surrounding area behind her. I watched the driver aiming his weapon at the driver’s side door and taking careful steps as he moved in.

  I turned the corner, lifted my weapon, and trained it on the man, approaching from behind as Jami kept the SUV running. The engine masked my steps as I moved quickly to get to the driver before he could realize what was going on. The pain from my shoulder was unbearable, but I had to keep moving.

  “Lower the window!” he shouted as he approached, and I detected a faint Russian accent. “Lower it!” he repeated, and finally, I saw her window lower the whole way as the guy took a wider path as he got nearer to make sure there wouldn’t be any surprises from inside the SUV. “Now show me your hands.”

  I continued to move farther behind him so Jami could see what I was doing. The man approached the window, aimed his weapon inside the cab, and tilted his head to the left as he looked past Jami and into the backseat. “Where’s Jordan?” the man asked, taking two steps closer to Jami as she kept her hands up.

  With two hands, I raised my weapon high and brought the butt of my gun down hard on the back of the man’s skull, causing him to collapse immediately and fall to the ground. “Right behind you,” I answered.

  The man had let go of his weapon, and I kicked it away as I stuffed mine in the small of my back and grabbed the guy. “Jami, help me out,” I said as I dragged the man to a nearby column at the end of a parking space. Three cars were parked along the last row next to the column. Business people, I guessed, working late on a Friday night. Jami stepped out and looked at me, concerned.

  “Throw me your cuffs,” I said

  She nodded, reached into a pocket and threw me her handcuffs, and I secured the guy to the column.

  The driver slouched, and I stood next to Jami as his head started to move and he regained consciousness.

  “Who is this guy?” she whispered, both of us staring at the now defenseless driver, and I shook my head.

  “Let’s find out.”

  I stepped to the man and crouched as Jami remained standing behind me. The guy blinked several times, but wouldn’t acknowledge me and instead continued to look down at the ground. “Who are you?” I asked.

  The driver blinked some more and then looked up to me before eyeing Jami over my shoulder.

  Grabbing his face to force him to look at me, I got even closer to the guy. “Hey—I asked a question—who are you?”

  There was no response, only a blank stare. After several seconds, he opened his mouth and started to say something. I let go of his face and waited to see what the man would say. “Screw you,” he finally grunted.

  I reached behind and grabbed my weapon. I lowered the barrel and rested it on his leg. I was breathing hard. “Let’s try this again,” I said in a low, gruff voice. “Who are you, and why are you following me?”

  Jami walked around behind him and checked his pockets. She found a wallet and cell phone and stepped to the side as I kept the barrel of my weapon resting on his leg. “Why are you following me?” I asked again with no response. I raised the Glock, aimed it to the right of the man’s head, and fired it. “Who sent you!”

  I inched closer as the man looked up and spit in my face. I was stunned for a moment, but wiped it away and smiled as I moved the weapon back down, this time setting it on his kneecap. I pulled the trigger.

  The man thrashed in pain and twisted around as a dark puddle of crimson formed by his outstretched leg.

  “Who sent you!” I asked again, but he didn’t answer, just writhed in pain as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Don’t make me do this, you son of a bitch,” I said, moving the gun to the other kneecap. “Talk.”

  “Okay,” he said between quick breaths as the sweat from his forehead started to stream down his face. “Been trying to find you for a week.” He sucked in air as his eyes moved down to his leg. I followed his gaze and watched as the crimson puddle grew larger. “I was hired by somebody to bring you in.”

  “Why me?”

  The guy shook his head quickly. “I don’t know.”

  “Who sent you?”

  He shook his head again. “Don’t know that, either.”

  “You’re lying,” I said and pressed the gun harder on h
is other kneecap, ready to pull the trigger again.

  “Stop!” he yelled, panting even harder now as more sweat dripped from his face onto his shirt. “Please, I’m telling you the truth. I work for an intermediary.” He panted some more. “I don’t know who he takes his orders from. All I know is I was told to find you and bring you in.” He closed his eyes to bear the pain.

  “And the other guy? The one on the bike?”

  Keeping his eyes closed, he shook his head. “He works for the same man I work for.”

  “The intermediary,” I said as I kept the barrel in place. “I want a name.”

  He shook his head again. “He’ll kill me if I give it to you.”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

  Before he could answer, I heard Jami gasp behind me. “Blake?” she said as I realized that I was so focused on trying to get information out of the driver that I hadn’t noticed the sound that she had heard.

  The rumble of the motorcycle’s loud engine echoed from the lower levels of the parking garage as the biker made his ascent and approached. “Quick,” I said, turning to Jami and handing her my phone. “There’s an address I put in Maps earlier. Go there and see a man named Charlie Redding. He’ll help you.”

  I could hear that the guy on the bike was now two floors below us. “Get under that car,” I said, pointing to the vehicle parked farthest away from us. Jami ran to it and looked back to me one last time. “Call Morgan when you get to Charlie’s. Turn your phone off, and do not contact Simon again. Do you understand?”

  Jami nodded and dropped to the floor. I pulled the trigger once more, and the driver’s body slumped over.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing?” yelled Jami as I stood behind the Town Car and next to the dead man’s body. Turning back, I saw her on her knees, deciding if she was going to go underneath the car to hide or not.