by Jack Mars
“Not like we can ask him now,” Maria muttered.
Reid frowned. “What? Why?”
“No one told you?” Her hand slipped away from his. “Kent… the Libyan is dead.”
“Dead?” he asked hoarsely. “How?”
“Shortly after arriving at H-6, he… well, he bit off his own tongue.”
“My god,” he murmured.
“He must have passed out from the pain,” Maria said. “He choked to death on his own blood. They don’t believe it was an intentional suicide, so whatever he might have had to say, he was extremely desperate not to say it.”
Reid shook his head in dismay. This was too far beyond chance to pass off as coincidence. “That doesn’t weaken my theory,” he told her. “It fortifies it. I was in Bixby’s lab earlier today, and I saw something—a remote guidance system that looked nearly identical to the one we found aboard the tugboat. Bixby told me it was universal, that it could be programmed to almost any military-grade drone on the market—”
“That hardware could have come from anywhere, Kent—”
“No, Maria. It couldn’t. Bixby designed it. It’s CIA tech.”
Maria put a hand over her mouth. “Jesus. Are you suggesting that the agency supplied them with the weapon? That our government is working with the Brotherhood?”
“No,” Reid said. “The Brotherhood are jihadists; I don’t think they would willingly work with Americans. I think that Awad bin Saddam believed that the plan was his, but that he was coaxed. He must have been given the intel about the delegation being in Baghdad through an intermediary—just like the Libyan was. Someone to supply them with a weapon that they never should have been able to acquire. And whatever is planned next, I don’t think it’s any coincidence that five of them escaped from Israel.”
He knelt down in front of Maria and the chair, and took both of her hands in his. “Maria, I think our government, and our agency, is using the Brotherhood to initiate an attack on American soil. And if that’s true, then this is it. We’ve run out of time. This is the catalyst to the war.”
“But when?” she asked quietly.
“I think it’s going to happen tomorrow.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
“Why?” Maria insisted. “What’s tomorrow?”
Her fingers normally felt warm and inviting, but now they were cold in Reid’s hands. “President Pierson told me there was a military parade for the delegation members killed in Baghdad,” he explained. “It would be the perfect target. The streets will be shut down—millions of people in them with nowhere to go. Not to mention dozens of the country’s leaders will be present.”
“It all fits,” she murmured. “It sounds utterly insane, but it all fits.” Her sharp gaze met his, and for the first time he could remember, Maria Johansson looked afraid. “What do we do with this? We can’t take it to our superiors. If they’re involved, they’ll at least try to dissuade us, probably even stop us.”
“What if we went over the agency’s head?” Reid asked. “We take it straight to your father on the National Security Council and get the Director of National Intelligence involved.”
Maria shook her head slowly. “I don’t know,” she said in nearly a whisper.
“You don’t know? We have to take it to someone, someone high up enough that they can…” He trailed off. “Oh.” Reid suddenly understood what she meant—Maria didn’t know, because she wasn’t sure that her own father wasn’t part of the plot.
“I’m so sorry, Maria.” He felt empathetically awful for her, but it made sense to doubt. The president had offered Reid a position on the council to get him on the “right side” of things; it was entirely possible that most, if not all, of the NSC was aware. “Okay,” he said, thinking. “Okay, what about the media? We could make it public. Get everything out in the open. The Brotherhood might still try to act, but those behind it would want to stop it from going off…”
“We can’t do that,” Maria said quickly. “For one, we’d risk inciting massive panic. And sharing covert intel like that is definite grounds for treason. If the attack is secretly stopped, the agency could justifiably throw us in prison forever—or worse, put out a kill authorization on us both.”
“Okay, okay.” Reid rubbed his face, trying desperately to consider every possible ally. “What about Baraf and Interpol? Or Talia and Mossad?”
“They have no jurisdiction here. You know that.”
“But they resources,” Reid argued, “things we can use…”
“Their agencies wouldn’t allow it.”
He grunted in frustration. “Fine. What if we call it in anonymously to the NYPD? They’ll cancel the parade, keep the heads of state away.”
“You don’t think that might cause the Brotherhood to act prematurely?” Maria countered. “If they have reason to think their plan is foiled they might set off whatever weapon they have anyway. We have no idea what it is, and if your theory is right it could be anything at the government’s disposal. We could be talking missiles, drones—hell, for all we know they could drop a warhead on Broadway. It’s Manhattan, Kent. Parade or not, the loss of life would still be tremendous.”
Reid threw up his hands. “Then I don’t know what to do, Maria. We’re only two people. It would be impossible to do this alone.”
She shook her head. “Cartwright. It’s gotta be Cartwright.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I said!” Maria snapped. She ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry. This is all just… heavy. Look, we don’t know if Cartwright is involved or not, but we have to take it to someone, and we have to do it now. He’s all about image; he can’t ignore something this big or he’s liable to become a scapegoat. Depending on how he reacts, we’ll either know if we can trust him, or…” She shrugged. “Or if we need to find another way.”
Reid didn’t like it one iota, risking that sort of security, hinging the potential loss of life on whether or not a particular boss was a co-conspirator. But they had little choice. He glanced at his watch; they had barely more than sixteen hours until the parade was scheduled to begin in New York City.
“Fine,” Reid agreed uneasily. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell.
“No,” Maria said sharply. “Not over the phone, just in case. I know where he lives; it’s not far.” She stood. “I’ll drive.”
Reid followed her out of the office, hurrying down the stairs on her heels to make a house call to their possible-collaborator boss.
*
Twenty-four minutes later, Maria eased the car into a parking spot of a street lined with expensive row houses in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, DC. Reid knew the area well, not only because of its proximity to the university but because he enjoyed the Federal-style architecture and cobblestone streets of the area. Georgetown was a sector where upscale boutiques and waterfront seafood restaurants met college taverns and promenade shopping. He had no idea that Deputy Director Shawn Cartwright lived around there, though he did know that homes in the neighborhood typically went for upwards of a million dollars.
Maria led him up a set of eight black and white stairs with a wrought-iron railing to the bright red door of a stately brick row home. On the drive over, they had discussed precisely what they would mention to Cartwright; obviously any theories about the US government providing the submarine drone to the Brotherhood would be out of the question, as well as Reid’s sighting of the guidance system in Bixby’s lab.
Maria rang the doorbell and took a step back, waiting. Reid tried to act casual, but Cartwright was among the higher-ups of the CIA; he was certain there were indiscernible cameras nearby and that the deputy director was already well aware of who was standing on his front stoop.
A moment later the door opened, just about a foot, and Shawn Cartwright peered out at them. “Well,” he said flatly, “this is an unwelcome surprise. You know I have several phone lines, right?”
“And you know we wouldn
’t be here if it wasn’t imperative,” Maria stated hastily.
Cartwright’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them for a moment. Then he opened the door wider. “Alright, come on. Hurry up.” He ushered them both inside and closed the door behind them.
The foyer of Cartwright’s home was floored in dark bamboo, with an ornate but tasteful chandelier hung overhead. Classical music drifted to them from somewhere nearby, and Reid could hear a woman humming melodically along to the tune.
“I think it goes without saying that I’m not going to introduce you to my wife,” said Cartwright shortly. “So, what’s this about?”
“We need to talk,” Maria said, “immediately and privately.”
“Are you two in some kind of trouble?” he asked. “Or did you cause some kind of trouble…?”
“Shawn?” A woman called out from another room. “Who was at the door?”
“Go,” he said to them. “Upstairs, first door on the left. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be right up.” He hurried out of the foyer to answer the call.
Maria started up the stairs and Reid after her. It was bizarre seeing Cartwright at home—not to mention wearing a cotton polo and jeans with his feet bare, rather than a suit and polished black wingtips.
The first door on the left of the Cartwright’s second floor looked like a lawyer’s office, everything dark wood tones or brass, shelves bearing long rows of encyclopedias and collected volumes. Reid started to settle into a leather chair, but Maria promptly began snooping, checking the desk lamps and running her fingers over the edges of the bookcases.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking for hidden cameras or wires,” she told him simply.
“You won’t find any,” Cartwright said from the doorway. They both turned abruptly as he closed the office door behind them. “This room is secure, I promise you.” He crossed the room and settled into a chair opposite Reid. “Now, to what do I owe this unpleasant intrusion?”
Reid exchanged a glance with Maria. She did not sit, but stood behind his chair with her hands leaning against the back of it.
Reid cleared his throat to begin, but suddenly it seemed as if everything they had discussed on the drive over had vanished from memory. “Um… alright,” he started. “We have a theory. Well, it’s more than a theory; it’s a belief…”
Maria squeezed his shoulder gently as she interrupted. “Cartwright, we don’t believe the Brotherhood is finished. We think they’re planning a large-scale attack on New York City, and that it’s going to happen tomorrow during the parade for the congressional delegation.”
Thanks, Reid thought. “We know how this might sound,” he picked up, “but I have reason to believe that the attempted bombing of the USS New York was an instigation attack, not unlike the attack on the USS Cole back in 2000. Obviously it won’t be a submarine drone in downtown Manhattan, but they may have another weapon, something just as powerful—”
“Whoa, hold up.” Cartwright put up a hand, palm out, to interject. “Let’s pause it there for a second. You two are my very best agents, and I know that you wouldn’t come to my home after hours with a notion of this gravity if you weren’t completely serious and had something to back up the claim. However… the remaining five members of the Brotherhood have been captured.”
Reid blinked in surprise. Maria’s hand fell away from his shoulder, she too taken aback. “They were?” he asked.
Cartwright nodded. “I got the call not even two hours ago. Russian commandos caught them trying to sneak across the border into Syria,” he explained. “The Russians didn’t know who they were, of course, but they were five armed Iraqi men without valid identification. A bit of interrogation revealed their identities, and Russia handed them over to us willingly. All five of them are on their way to H-6 as we speak.”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Reid didn’t know what to say. Minutes ago he had been completely certain that he had figured out a horrid truth—and now, it seemed that the crisis was averted with just a brief exchange of words.
But Maria was not as convinced. “What if the Brotherhood planted something?” she demanded. “What if they don’t need to actually be there to initiate the attack?”
“Then we’ll know about it soon,” Cartwright assured them. “You two know better than most how effective Sergeant Flagg and his guys at H-6 are at obtaining information.”
Reid shook his head. It all seemed far too easy. Besides, he thought, if the Brotherhood was planning an attack here in the United States, why would they have been in Syria? It didn’t add up to him—but he couldn’t contend with Cartwright or he’d risk spilling what he knew.
“Look, what you’re bringing me here is extremely serious,” Cartwright continued. “I can hardly think of anything graver than this. In the wake of September eleventh, there were many precautions and stopgaps put into place to avoid that from happening again. And I promise that I will personally make sure that the FBI and NYPD are aware of a potential threat. Both will be present in full-force tomorrow, not to mention soldiers and officers from every branch of the military. Sharpshooters on the rooftops. Emergency personnel of every type. The Secret Service, for god’s sake. Things are different than they were back then. 9/11 happened because we were taken by surprise. We’re far better equipped now, and frankly, it would be suicide for anyone to try something tomorrow.”
Reid bit his lip. He certainly wanted to just tell Cartwright everything he knew and everything he suspected. If Cartwright wasn’t complicit, it would be very advantageous to have a higher-up in the agency as an ally. But if Cartwright’s reaction betrayed him—well, he and Maria might be forced to do something brash to keep their secrets.
Reid felt Maria’s hand on his shoulder again. “We understand,” she said. “And you’re right. As long as the city of New York and the right organizations are aware, then we’ll have felt we did our jobs.”
“Good,” Cartwright said. “In that case, I want to have a debrief tomorrow morning, at eight a.m. I want all of this on the record. If there’s anything found or an attempt made, you’ll be recognized for your intervention.” He stood from his chair. “So if that’s all…”
“That’s all,” Maria confirmed. “Thank you for seeing us.”
Reid rose, terribly confused. That couldn’t just be it. It felt wrong, and Maria must have felt it too. He couldn’t just walk away with a promise that others would handle it.
Talia Mendel’s words ran through his head, from their assault on the Brotherhood’s tugboat: Which is it, Agent Zero? You don’t like others doing your dirty work, or you enjoy being the hero?
I just hold myself responsible for my own wild conjectures, he had told her.
Despite his feelings, he nodded to Cartwright and followed Maria back down the stairs to the bamboo-floored foyer. He bid the deputy director a good evening as they headed back out to the street.
Dusk had fallen and the streetlights were flickering on as they reached the car. But Maria did not unlock it or get in.
“You don’t believe it either,” Reid said.
“Not for a second.” Maria shook her head, her gaze angry and hard. “I believe that it’s what he might have been told, but it’s not the truth.” She scoffed. “That meeting didn’t tell us anything about Cartwright.”
Reid felt the heat rise in his face as his own anger and frustration grew. Once again they had been derailed from a goal. Once again he felt lied to, betrayed by people he was supposed to be aligned with. “Fine,” he said. “Then let’s just find out, once and for all.” He turned and started back towards Cartwright’s home.
“Kent, wait!” Maria hurried after him and grabbed him by an elbow. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to kick in his door and demand the truth,” Reid said heatedly. “I’m going to force him to tell us what he knows.”
“You can’t—”
“I’m tired of this, Maria!” he nearly sho
uted. “I’m sick to death of lies and conspiracies. Of trying to guess who might know what and who might try to kill me next. I’m exhausted from worrying about my family, about anyone close to me. Now we’re talking about thousands of lives—possibly many more than that. All for what? So that a handful of people can be richer and stay in power?” He shook his head. “No. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Hey,” she said gently. “Just get in the car.”
“I’m serious, Maria.” And he was; Reid felt fully prepared to storm Cartwright’s home, cameras and witnesses be damned.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Maria insisted. “Get in the car.” She tugged on his arm. “Now, Kent.”
“Fine,” he muttered as he relented. He got into the passenger side while Maria climbed behind the wheel. “What is it?”
She sighed. “I don’t believe for a second that it’s mere coincidence that the Russians happened to find the rest of the Brotherhood, nor how willing they were to hand them over.”
“And why do you believe that?” he demanded.
“Because some of my… sources indicate that Russia may have a hand in the conspiracy.”
Reid shook his head in dismay. He understood immediately what Maria was telling him; she had not severed ties with the Ukrainians as she had promised.
“I wanted to,” she said quickly. “I tried to cut myself off, but they have information that I need.”
“What sort of information?” Reid asked.
“I can’t tell you.” She averted his gaze, staring instead at the steering wheel.
“What did you tell them you would do in return for this information?”
“The same thing I would have done anyway,” Maria said candidly. “Stay close to you, so that we can figure this thing out together—”
