by Hunt, Jack
“Neither do I,” he replied before walking away and scooping up a bucket from near the RV and bringing it to the foot of the tree.
“Get on it,” Liam demanded.
Tate refused. “No.”
Gritting his teeth, he slid the Glock into the back of his jeans. He grabbed Tate and kneed him in the stomach, took the rope and wrapped the noose around his neck and tightened it. All the while Tate tried to fight back but in a hazmat suit it wasn’t easy. Liam took the other end of the rope from Joe and began hoisting him up until his feet were dangling off the ground. “Liam. Don’t do this. Please,” Tate cried out.
Liam stopped pulling even as Joe placed the bucket below Tate’s feet. He tied off the rope to the tree and stood in front of him. “Give me one reason.”
“I can tell you where the rest of Jethro’s labs are.”
“And the supplies?”
Tate nodded.
“Go on then.”
He reeled off a few places where they would find identical RVs to the one he was working in. They were dotted through the national forest to the south, east, north, and west. Four in total. Jethro liked to hedge his bets. If one was taken down he would have others to pick up the slack.
“And the supplies?”
“I need to take you to them.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“If I give you the location you’ll kill me.”
Liam nodded slowly, looking deep in thought.
“You’re right.”
And just like that Liam kicked the bucket out from beneath Tate and his body dropped. He struggled at first, reaching up and trying to free himself, but the noose was too tight and he had nothing to push up against with his feet.
“That’s for Travis and Harry,” he said before spitting on him.
He stood there and watched until he stopped struggling and the rope above him moved ever so slowly, creaking on the branch. Without looking at the others, Liam turned and headed back to the RV. He went inside and came out shaking a large can of acetone all over the ground and then splashing it up the side of the RV. He scooped up a dry branch from nearby and poked it into the fire pit until it caught alight, then he turned and tossed it at the RV.
A sudden burst of flames and the whole unit went up, sending black smoke into the air. He went and got his rifle from Thomas and charged off toward the tree line.
“Liam,” Thomas called out. “Where are you going?”
“To burn them all down. Every damn one of them,” he replied without looking back.
1
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado
Two days earlier
If they came up empty-handed again there would be hell to pay.
Assistant Director of Homeland Security Danielle Gardiner focused on the screen that was feeding a live stream from a Navy Seal’s helmet-mounted camera. Surrounded by staff and crammed into a room buzzing with activity, multiple monitors showed the arrival of three fire teams at a remote farm in Minnesota. It was the fourth location Ryan had given after spending the better part of four weeks making promises. For the last ten minutes they’d watched aerial footage from two helicopters as they zipped over a country that was in ruins and burning.
Upon arrival, the Black Hawks landed and a team emptied out.
Everyone stood there staring in silence.
In as little as a month, Homeland Security had learned a lot about the attacks on America, those responsible and how it was achieved, but that was only half the challenge. Without capturing the individuals involved, they were in a losing battle, a battle that was changing dynamically with every passing day. While they had managed to gain ground, the nation had already seen two waves of attacks, the first destroying critical infrastructure and taking down the power grid and communications, the second targeting federal buildings and innocents in cities throughout the country, and now they believed a third was on the horizon. The question was what would it be?
Her eyes scanned the various monitors, each one providing a different view of the scene as it unfolded. A feed displayed the leader of a team rushing forward with a sleek M4 rifle and barking orders to his men as they stormed a two-story clapboard house. Nothing about the location looked unusual, then again, that was the goal of every terrorist cell operating under the nose of the government — anonymity was critical to their success.
Windows were smashed, smoke grenades lobbed inside before Seals burst through the doors. Danielle expected a deadly firefight to ensue, however, that wasn’t to be.
It didn’t take long for them to clear each of the rooms and establish that the property was empty. Based on what they were able to find in paperwork and computers left behind, it was clear that someone had been there but had left before their arrival.
“I told you, that kid is playing us,” said Martin, a colleague from the National Cybersecurity Division.
Danielle balled her fist. “Shit!”
They already knew he was playing games the last time they had brought him in but she didn’t expect him to continue. She turned fast and headed for the double doors. “Where are you going?” Martin asked.
“To figure out what we are missing.”
Forty-eight hours later Danielle made arrangements to have Ryan brought to her office. There was a knock at the door. She lifted her eyes from the tablet in front of her. “Come in.” Martin led him into the room. She thanked him before he closed the door.
The office was modest. A single desk with a leather chair, a filing cabinet, a table that held a coffee maker and a collection of large bulky folders. Below the table, a steel waste bin was filled with wadded paper. A military official and Danielle had been sharing the room throughout her stay.
“Take a seat,” she said gesturing to a chair in front of the table. “How have you been?”
Ryan snorted, running a hand over his forehead as he surveyed the room. His hair was even longer now, unruly, tied back in a man bun with the sides buzzed by one of the staff on hand. He was still sporting the same shabby clothes he’d arrived in, however, now they’d been washed. He’d refused government-issued clothing.
“Well, I’m just dandy, Ms. Gardiner. You?”
She leaned back in her seat, scrutinizing him as she tapped a pen against the table.
He was smarter than he let on. It wasn’t just his expertise in computers and hacking that she admired, it was his poker face. It was hard to read. Had the world not gone to shit and he wanted to work for the government, she imagined he would have made a good cop. She could see him in her mind’s eye interviewing suspects, negotiating, running circles around the best. Some folks were made for that kind of work, it was just a pity he ended up going down a different path.
That morning a thought had crossed her mind to toy with him regarding the recent information she’d uncovered in the hopes he’d crack, but that wouldn’t be much use with a kid like him. No, instead she would just get straight to it.
“The latest GPS location for the terrorist cell you gave turned out to be a miss.”
He shrugged. “Go figure. I told you it would.”
“Yes, yes you did.” She narrowed her eyes. “That’s what you said about the last three, and the one before that. If I’m not mistaken I would think that you are tipping them off before we arrive.”
“Huh?” He stared back, his eyes widening as a smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. “Okay. I see where you’re going with this. So because your guys came up empty-handed you want to pass the buck? Look, I told you that you were chasing a ghost. These people hide behind—”
She cut him off. “Layers of security. Yeah, we already know that.” Danielle got up and went over to pour coffee. The room was full of the aroma of a fresh brew, sweet and earthy with a hint of chocolate. “But here’s the thing, Ryan. It doesn’t add up.” She walked back with her drink and set it down then reached into a manilla folder in front of her and took out two large photos and placed them in front of him. “You recognize this
couple?”
They were old snapshots pulled from the FBI archives.
The man and woman were in their twenties. He had a full head of curly hair, a beard and a tiny scar just over his right eye. She was attractive, with full lips and long dark straight hair parted in the middle. She could have easily been a model.
Almost no reaction as his eyes cast down. “Nope.” He folded his arms and for the first time she saw a crack in his facade. It was a simple gesture; others might have not registered it if they hadn’t reviewed the recorded sessions and spent the last four weeks studying him. Communication was 80 percent body language and he was closing up, revealing a sense of them getting too close.
The fact was she was closer than ever before to the truth.
She nodded, taking another sip of coffee. “Samuel Kanso. Margot Kanso. They’re your parents. They’re spies. Though today we prefer to call them terrorists.”
Ryan chuckled and shook his head as she continued. “They are sleeper agents recruited by Hezbollah, the extended arm of the Islamic Jihad Organization, IJO.”
“IJO? But it was Iran who was behind this.”
“You’re right. Hezbollah acts as a proxy for Iran. They support them with military training, weapons and financial support. They’ve been at war with America for a very long time. I could list off the numerous attacks on U.S. embassies, and on the Marine barracks in Lebanon, but I’m sure you already know about that. Hezbollah is responsible for the recruitment of Lebanese and Iranians in America — people like your parents that can plan and execute acts of terror. You see, in light of your parents’ history, education and residence in America, they were recruited to join the IJO at a time when Hezbollah was developing sleepers who could maintain normal lives but could be activated at any time. Ryan, your parents were involved in the surveillance of critical infrastructure like federal buildings, airports, daycare centers and military bases. It’s what caught the attention of the FBI.”
“My parents are dead.”
A smile cracked on her face. Okay, play the dumb card. “Your guardians are dead. Parents, no. It’s my belief they are very much alive. But of course, they wanted us to believe different. You see, the feds were closing in on them and they knew it. Now they had two choices: get caught and go away to prison for a very long time or go on the run. They chose to run. However, there was just one problem.” She paused and looked him square in the eyes. “You. Two years of age.” She grimaced. “Living on the run, no, that’s no life for a kid. So they came up with a plan.”
His eyes narrowed as she continued.
“You see I got thinking, you know, back when you gave me that list of demands. You asked to be placed with a family in California. An odd request especially in light of all the other materialistic items you asked for. It seemed a little off, however, having been in and out of the foster care system for the better part of your life, it didn’t raise a red flag. Seemed more like preference.” She took a breath. “But then these locations you gave us started coming up empty. So I decided to do some digging into your background. You see, there is some information that didn’t come out in the media when they arrested you for hacking, and for good reason. There wasn’t a lot of information available but here’s what I discovered. At age two you were abandoned at a Philadelphia hospital with a nurse and she was only given the name Ryan. There was no record of who your parents were, and somehow they appeared to avoid detection on any surveillance. From there you were put into the foster system. You bounced around different homes, different states for a good portion of your childhood until the age of nine where you were taken in by Anthony and Isabella Valez, a couple of blue-collar workers out of Arizona. Good people. Hard-working. Responsible. Things seemed to go better with them. In fact they moved forward with adopting you and you remained there until age thirteen when unfortunately both Anthony and Isabella died in a car accident.”
She noticed Ryan was looking at the photos in front of him again. She stopped talking and they locked eyes. Danielle continued. “Now, that’s where things get a little gray. You see, you were placed back into the foster care system until the day of your arrest. On the surface it seemed like an open-and-shut case. A young kid in the system, a product of tragedy, winds up with a criminal record. Happens all the time, right? What reason did they have to dig deeper? You were sixteen, a juvenile, up to mischief. So, in jail for a year, and move on. That was about the extent of their digging, except one thing was overlooked.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“When you were thirteen, Anthony Valez, a man who lived paycheck to paycheck, walks into his local bank with a large sum of money that he says was an inheritance from his parents. The problem is Anthony’s mother had died in childbirth and the father was in prison for fraud.” She took another sip of coffee. “Anyway, a week goes by and your guardians end up in a traffic accident that kills them both.”
“Are you going somewhere with this?”
She tapped the photos. “I believe your parents made contact with your guardians and offered them a substantial amount of money in exchange for taking you back now that you were of a suitable age and the feds were no longer actively searching for them. I believe Anthony agreed, took the money and went back on that agreement after realizing that anyone willing to pay that amount of money in cash and stay anonymous had to be wanted. I believe that it was no accident and they were murdered by your parents for attempting to go back on the agreement.”
Ryan chuckled. “You’re reaching.”
“Am I? Before all of this, there is a record that before the accident you were in contact with numerous online services trying to find your birth parents. That search led to the same hospital you were abandoned at and multiple phone calls to those who once worked there. You didn’t get very far, did you, Ryan?”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Where are you going with this?”
“Oh. I’m getting there. Do you know how many adoptees have found their birth parents through DNA kits?”
His eyes dropped to the photos then back to her.
“Who would have thought that simply swabbing your cheek could help you find your parents? An autosomal DNA test can be taken now and provide matches within five to six generations on both sides. That’s right, Ryan. I know about the service you used. That’s how you found them, isn’t it? So here’s the thing about DNA labs. You can wipe out every record of testing from their computers but you can’t remove the hard copy. What we like to call the paper trail.” She smiled. “You see, according to your DNA test, your grandparents are Catherine and Joseph Yazbek, who incidentally were under surveillance in Lebanon for having a connection to the same organization that was responsible for the 1984 United States embassy annex bombing in Beirut. However, by the time they were on the feds’ radar they had established themselves in the United States as innocent Lebanese immigrants leading a simple life. Their daughter Margot went on to marry Samuel Kanso, another Lebanese immigrant, before they got involved with IJO. A few years later, unbeknownst to anyone, you were born. That DNA match that came back led you to your grandparents who are now deceased, but at the time, I believe put you in contact with your parents somewhere in California. Hence the reason for wanting to head out that way.”
“So? I wanted to know who my birth parents were. Big deal. Most adoptees do.”
“You’re right. Except most adoptive parents aren’t part of a Hezbollah sleeper cell and they don’t have a son with the kind of talents you have. I mean when a sixteen-year-old is arrested for hacking and no damage has been done except for some minor website defacing and a possible data breach, it’s not like they dig very deep, especially when it’s discovered that kid has spent the better part of his life in the foster care system and goes by the name Ryan Valez. Except Valez isn’t your real name. Kanso is. Ryan Kanso. Tell me, Ryan. Where are your parents?”
Ryan smiled. “You people are desperate to send me back, aren’t you?”
She leaned forward
in her seat, her frustration getting the better of her. She slammed her fist against the table. “This is about thousands of lives that have been wiped out. It’s about the runaround you’ve been giving us from day one. It’s time to put an end to this, Ryan. Where are they?”
He offered back a blank stare.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
She gave him a steely gaze and slowly nodded. “And I thought you were better than this. How can you care so little for this country that you would purposely sell flaws in government code to Hezbollah?”
“Purposely?” He scoffed. “I think you have mistaken me for someone else. I’m just a sixteen-year-old who has lost his guardians, has been through the foster system and was abandoned at age two.”
She shook her head. “I’m trying to help you, Ryan.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“Why are you protecting them? They handed you over to a hospital and left you behind. They let you get passed around the foster system with little regard for your safety. How many times were you beaten, Ryan? Huh? How many times were you physically and sexually abused?”
“You don’t know shit.”
“No?”
She didn’t like digging the knife in but she needed to get under his skin.
Danielle leaned forward. “I know this! I would never hand over my child. Tell me, Ryan, what did they promise you in return for hacking?” He didn’t reply. “Let me take a stab in the dark — was it that you could come home and you’d all be one happy family? Is that right?”
“Shut up.”
“Yeah, I bet your mother gave you a real sob story about how she missed you, and hoped you would forgive her.”
“Shut up!” he said even firmer than before.
“Right before she asked you to do one more thing. Am I getting warmer?”
And like that, as if sensing what she was trying to do, he sat back in his seat, folded his arms, crossed one leg over the other and got this smirk on his face. “It’ll be suppertime soon. I really hope it’s spaghetti this evening.” He looked up into the air and she knew there was no point in continuing. He had closed up shop for the night, turned out the lights and wasn’t going to tell her a damn thing.
