by Radclyffe
“Which he has very successfully buried beneath his alias,” Roberts added.
Oakes’s stomach tightened. Palmer didn’t just have ties to Identity America—he was somehow connected to Nikolai Rostof. The Commander had gotten his name from Ari’s father, but what Nikolai knew about him or how he knew was still a mystery. At least to Oakes. Cam Roberts almost certainly knew.
“You have a pretty good program somewhere yourself, Commander,” Sloan said dryly.
Cam’s small smile echoed Sloan’s. “We had one piece, and you have the rest. The picture looks pretty clear. This can’t be a coincidence that this is happening now, when the president will be in town tomorrow.”
“We’ve got one more piece,” Frye said. “Sandy.”
“They’re planning an action, possibly several, and”—Sandy’s brows knit in obvious frustration—“I can’t pin down what, where, and when. I’m close, but I think I’m running out of time.”
“Violent?” Roberts asked.
“That’s my read,” Sandy said.
Oakes found her assessment credible. The detective might’ve looked young, but if she was part of this group, she was exceptional. With any potential threat to the president, the Secret Service would have to take point. And that meant her.
Oakes said, “Have you seen any sign of weapons?”
Sandy shook her head. “No. Not one word. Nothing to suggest they’ve got a stockpile of firearms, and I’ve been in Ford’s apartment. There’s nothing there. And…none of them look like shooters.”
“What’s your read on them, then,” Oakes asked.
“They’re not fanatics in the usual sense,” Sandy said, “but a couple of them I could see being willing to take extreme action.”
“Suicide bombers? Chemical agents? Bioweapons?”
Sandy was quiet a long moment. “The secrecy, the extreme loyalty to the group, the general sense of fatalism about anything other than violent action being effective—yeah, I can see a couple of them would fit the profile of suicide bombers. I don’t think the others are aware of that, though.”
“That’s often the case,” Oakes said. “But given the choices for an effective strike here, we have to consider it a high-probability threat.”
Sandy straightened, the glint in her eyes distinctly predatory. “And that would fit if one person in each group self-terminated, taking others with them. What a mess that would be—that kind of action often results in enhanced recruitment.” She shook her head. “Go figure.”
“The Secret Service will take point in this,” Oakes said to Frye.
Frye said, “We’ll keep working our end. The PPD will need to be put on alert.”
“Select teams only,” Commander Roberts said. “We don’t want this leaking. We need to round up all of these individuals. If we shatter the cells, they’ll need time to rebuild.”
“Understood,” Frye said. “My unit will spearhead the SWAT teams.”
Oakes rose. “We need these images for our details,” Oakes said. “We have to find them before they get into the streets.”
“We can hit the ones we’ve identified tonight,” Frye said. “That should throw the cells into enough chaos to disrupt what they have planned for tomorrow.”
“And what about Ford?” Oakes asked. “What’s his game?”
Sandy grimaced. “Whatever he’s planning, it’s his own story. And he wants it to be unforgettable.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Game Day minus 22 hours
“If you’ll excuse me just a moment,” Ari said to Wayne Lorenzo, the regional network producer for Rostof media, “but I need to take this.”
“Of course, Ms. Rostof,” he said, hiding the annoyance he probably felt at the interruption. His aura of self-importance had been barely restrained since she’d arrived for the pre-production meeting.
She stepped out of his corner office with its two walls of windows overlooking downtown Philadelphia and the waterfront into the private waiting area that was almost as spacious. The receptionist manned a semicircular desk that rivaled the command deck on the Enterprise in the center of the rich maroon-carpeted expanse opposite the bank of elevators.
“Hello,” Ari said as she walked to the far end of the room and stood in front of the windows. Barges and oil tankers plowed up and down the river, leaving muddy gray troughs in their wake.
“It’s me,” Oakes said. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I need to see you as soon as you can.”
“Of course. I’m just finishing up here. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way back to the hotel. I need to brief Evyn and then I’ll be free. Half an hour?”
“Where?” Ari asked.
“Your room.”
“All right. I’ll see you then.”
Ari slid the phone into her jacket pocket and returned to finish her meeting. She’d really only needed to finish up reviewing the week’s broadcast schedule, and undoubtedly Lorenzo’s barely disguised irritation stemmed from his opinion that sort of thing was beneath him. However, Ari didn’t agree. She’d wanted to confirm the timing of on-air coverage, vet the reporters who would be doing the in-person interviews with the president, establish when and where the interviews would take place, and check the blocks reserved for prime-time ad placement. A snafu at this late date would result in canceled interviews and the loss of millions of dollars of advertising and on-air exposure.
“Thank you, Wayne,” Ari said as she walked back into the office. “I think we’ve about covered the essentials. Please be sure any change in plans, no matter how small, is relayed to me or Ms. Alaqua immediately. Thank you for your time.”
Lorenzo stood and extended his hand over the desk.
“We’re very glad to see you in your new position, Ms. Rostof,” he said, with all but a wink.
She returned his handshake. “I’m meeting with cable and broadcast networks later today. President Powell’s campaign is of international importance, and we of course want to be sure that the coverage is as extensive.”
His smile faltered just a little, and he nodded. “Of course. Of course. Anything you need—anything at all—please call my direct number.”
“Thank you.” She left his luxurious office, took the silent, speedy elevator down to the first floor, and exited out to the street. She rather missed Witt as she texted for an Uber. The convenience of having a driver waiting, however, did not override the knowledge that her every movement was being noted, if not reported. Witt was probably equally happy to be somewhere else.
She arrived back at the hotel twenty minutes later and found she couldn’t really work while waiting for Oakes. Usually, her concentration was total, and even five minutes was enough time for her to be productive. When the knock sounded on her hotel room door, she hurried to open it.
Oakes entered, and when she didn’t kiss her, Ari steeled herself. Whatever the problem, it wasn’t simple.
“Hi,” Ari said. “I didn’t order coffee or anything. I wasn’t sure how much time you had.”
“I’m fine.” Oakes strode past her into the lounge area of the large suite and Ari followed.
“What’s going on?” Ari asked.
“Two things,” Oakes said abruptly. “The president’s schedule throughout the day tomorrow—possibly longer—is likely to change on short notice.”
Ari stiffened. Worse than she’d expected, then. “I see. Can you be more specific?”
“I’m afraid not yet. I may have more details for you later.”
“I can’t do any kind of damage control until you tell me exactly how the itinerary will be disrupted, but I don’t need to tell you how critical it is at this late date that we not alter the appearances we already have scheduled. Aside from the cost, the public perception—”
“This isn’t open to discussion,” Oakes said.
“I see,” Ari repeated. “Is this you pulling rank?”
“When matters of security are concerned, the Secret Service has the final
word.”
“Except for the president’s.”
A muscle on the left side of Oakes’s jaw tensed. “Yes, that’s correct.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Don’t fight me on this, Ari. I’m not trying to make your life difficult.”
Ari huffed. “As if fighting it were even possible. Is this matter above my pay grade, then, that you can’t give me any explanation?”
“It’s a matter of national security, at this point.”
Ari reined back her irritation. Oakes was doing her job, and right now, their jobs were at odds. “A credible threat—that’s what you’re saying.”
Oakes held her gaze silently.
“All right.” Ari blew out a breath. “Since I have no choice, I’ll need all the time you can give me.”
“That’s why I’m here now. And one other reason.” Oakes grimaced. She wasn’t handling this very well, but the president wasn’t the only one at risk. Anyone in the kill zone could be a target, and that included Ari. After her immediate reaction to what the HPCU’s intel meant for the president’s security, her next thought had been of Ari. That Ari could be in mortal danger. The image shorted out her brain. Her professional control went out the window whenever she thought about that. “If it’s at all possible, I’d like you to limit your exposure. Curtail your personal appearances with him until further notice.”
Ari laughed incredulously. “Now? At the biggest event of the year? We have donor dinners scheduled, meetings with high-ranking congressional supporters, lobbyists. You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I don’t—” Oakes squeezed the bridge of her nose. “You realize if there’s a threat to him and you’re anywhere nearby—”
Ari cupped her jaw. “Oakes, stop. I know what you’re trying to say, and I feel the same way whenever I think about what you do for a living. It scares the hell out of me. But you’ll do what you have to do, and so will I. And I don’t want you thinking about me when you’re trying to do your job.”
Oakes grasped her shoulders and pulled her close. Pressing her cheek to Ari’s hair, she closed her eyes and just breathed her in. Slowly, she shoved the fear back into the recesses of her mind where it belonged. “It’s hard for me not to think of you. It’s pretty much all I do.”
“That part is all good,” Ari whispered as her mouth moved over Oakes’s neck. “You just have to get used to me being in your life, and quickly. Because I’m here, and I’m staying here. You need to do what you do best with no worries, no second thoughts, and no distractions.”
“No distractions?” Oaks laughed. Being in the same space with Ari made her head spin. Being away from her made her a little bit crazy. Touching her set her on fire. “You’re the best distraction that’s ever happened to me.”
Ari’s arms circled her neck as she leaned back, giving Oakes a satisfied smile. “Couldn’t be happier, then.” She pressed her fingers to Oakes’s mouth. “I heard everything you said. I understand. I’m not at all happy about any of it, especially the possibility of you needing to put yourself in harm’s way, but…” Her voice wavered. “We are who we are, the two of us together. Tell me what you can, as soon as you can.”
Oakes kissed her with all the heat and longing and tenderness she could convey. “I love you.”
Ari tightened her grip and closed her eyes. She’d never known that love could make her so strong, and so incredibly vulnerable at the same time. “I love you back.”
Cam and Oakes logged in to the video conference from the Secret Service control center at the Hyatt on a secure line.
Tom Turner came on first. “Cam, Oakes. Hold for the president.”
The others appeared on her monitor one after the other: Blair, the president, Lucinda.
“We’ve got a situation up here,” Cam said. “All evidence points to a violent alt-right group planning an action which we believe may target the president.”
“How credible?” Andrew asked.
“High threat level.” Cam ran down the details of her briefing with the High Profile Crimes Unit. “They’re good, and their evidence is solid. We’re mobilizing here with the FBI and local law enforcement.”
“Nothing specific,” Lucinda asked, “in terms of time, place, or target?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Cam said.
The president said, “I can’t see that we’ll be able to do anything other than we typically would in terms of security. Tom?”
“We can bring in more agents to widen our perimeters on the ground. I also recommend changing the motorcade route just in case we’ve had any kind of breach in security thus far. Oakes?”
“Not a problem,” Oakes said. “No details will be provided to the police escort on the route until Air Force One is in the air. I recommend alternate route B.”
Tom nodded. “We won’t scramble the escort or file the flight plans until just before takeoff.”
“Sir,” Oakes added, “I recommend we proceed directly to the hotel from the airport. We can approach on a parallel street and enter via the secondary rear garage entrance.”
“That would mean canceling the televised arrival,” Lucinda said.
Andrew shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s going to be possible, Agent Weaver. I understand your recommendations, but we need to be seen arriving with the expectation that I will be the party’s nominee, and that means publicly visible and confident.”
“We can arrive at the main entrance but cancel the rope line,” Tom said.
“Not for my first public exposure,” the president said. “First impressions, as you all know,” he added with a wry expression, “are critical.”
“I’d strongly advise you to reconsider, Mr. President,” Cam said.
Andrew glanced at Lucinda, who nodded, her expression completely unreadable. But apparently, the president could read behind her veiled eyes.
“The rope line stays,” he said.
After the video call was ended, Oakes left to confer with the rest of the detail. Alone for a few moments at least, Cam dialed Blair’s number.
“How serious is this?” Blair said.
“Just short of confirmed red. We’ve identified half a dozen active cells, possibly all staging an attack at the same time. Best-case scenario is we apprehend the majority before tomorrow.”
“And if you don’t? What exactly are you expecting?”
Cam wished she could bridge the infuriating distance separating them and touch her. “Suicide attacks.”
“God,” Blair murmured.
“Blair, if there’s any way you can alter your travel plans, come up earlier, or delay until—”
“You know I can’t do that. Besides, I couldn’t be any safer than next to my father when I have you and the entire Secret Service, the FBI, and countless others protecting us.”
“I knew you’d say that,” Cam said.
“Of course you did. And you’ll have expected this too—promise me, Commander, since I know you won’t be sitting back, leading from some safe zone—don’t let anything happen to you.”
“I won’t,” Cam said, promising as she always did the one thing she couldn’t really promise, and they both knew it.
“You’re going to call the feebs in, aren’t you,” Watts said.
“Have to,” Frye said. “Domestic terrorism. Their game, their ball.”
A chorus of groans emanated from around the table.
“But,” Frye added, “I won’t let them shut us out. If they want our intelligence, they have to let us in on the takedowns.”
“Lieutenant,” Sandy said.
“Sandy?” Frye said.
“I think the only way I’m going to get any more useful intelligence is to turn Trish.”
Beside her, Dell jolted upright. “If that goes bad, your cover will be blown. And these people won’t hesitate to take you out.”
Sandy bit back a retort. Dell always did this—one of the things she loved about Dell was how protective she was, even when she was being a jerk and treatin
g her like her girlfriend instead of another cop. It was knee-jerk, and she knew absolutely that Dell respected her abilities and was proud of her. Dell was just scared. And Sandy knew how to handle scared. “Thank you very much, Detective Mitchell. I never thought of that.”
Dell flushed. “Sorry.”
“Detective Mitchell has a point,” Frye said coolly, having refereed the same situation in different combinations within the group many times before. The strength of their unit was their loyalty to and, contrary to popular teaching, their dependence on one another. Any one of them would die for any other. “What makes you think she’ll turn?”
“She’s been excluded, and she’s angry about that. She’s also not ideologically committed like the others. She is Matthew Ford’s girlfriend first and foremost, and that’s her main connection to all of this. He’s pulled away from her lately. His attention’s directed elsewhere. She’s angry, and I think a little bit frightened. If she knew she could get pulled down by what the same people who’ve pulled Matthew away from her were planning, I think there’s a good chance she’d want out.”
“I think the kid’s got a point,” Watts said. “I’ve been sitting out in that car enough nights to get a good sense of this Trish girl. She’s no revolutionary, or whatever they call themselves. She’s just one of those girls that hangs on to a guy because that’s what she thinks she should do, who believes that’s all she can do, and she got sucked into this thing.”
“Thanks, Watts.” Sandy smiled at him. He was so much more than he wanted people to know, and he always seemed a little embarrassed when it showed.
“I didn’t say it’d be easy, and you’re going to need backup. But”—he looked at Frye—“considering what’s at stake here, it’s worth a shot. They might not get close to the president—they’ll have agents six feet deep around him—but what about all the civilians at risk? Those are our responsibility.”
“Make contact,” Frye said, “but at the first sign she’s in deeper than we think, you pull out for good. I want you to disappear before they can retaliate.”
