by David Spell
Wilkerson turned down the closest corridor from the food court and walked fifty feet before transmitting.
“Alpha Four to all units, Chen is meeting with Aaron Richards, the former CIA agent. I don’t think he recognized me and I left my phone at my seat in record mode.”
Thankfully, the Agency-issued smart phone would be able to record from a distance of up to thirty feet. The wizards in the digital innovation directorate would be able to clean up the audio and let them know what Chen and Richards had been discussing.
“Alpha One clear.”
“I was a soldier and then involved in the paramilitary side of the Agency,” Aaron said, with a shrug. “I know you’re looking for information, but that’s probably about the limit of what I can provide.”
Lee nodded at his companion. “Yes, I understand. However, you have a unique skillset, Mr. Richards. I have some friends who are interested in paying you very well to help them out with a few operations.”
Now, we’re talking, Richards thought. “What kind of friends and what kind of operations?”
“I’ll have them contact you directly with the details, but nothing too complicated for a man like you. They have the number for the phone I gave you.”
That girl! Aaron suddenly realized, sitting back in his seat. I know her! She works for the Agency, he thought. Wilkinson, Wilkerson, something like that. What was she doing here? Was that bitch spying on him? There was no way anyone knew about this meeting.
Richards jumped to his feet, startling both Lee and the bodyguard whose hand shot to the holstered pistol under his jacket. The muscular American rushed over to the table where Wilkerson had been siting. A cell phone lay in the seat on the far side of the table. Aaron grabbed it angrily and slammed it to the hard tile floor, cracking the screen, startling several patrons seated nearby. Aaron then stomped his foot on it, damaging it even more. The phone convinced him that he wasn’t just being paranoid. The Agency was watching him and his conversation with Lee had been recorded. Time to leave, he told himself.
Not understanding what was going on, Lee had stood, draping his computer bag over his shoulder, preparing to make his exit.
“What’s the problem, Mr. Richards?” he asked, concern in his voice.
“The problem is that the black girl who was just sitting a few tables over works for the CIA. She left her phone behind, probably taping our entire conversation.”
For the first time, the Chinese agent seemed to lose his composure. “You think the CIA is here, watching you?”
“Watching us. You’re on their radar now, if you weren’t before, Lee. Time for me to go. Good doing business with you. I’ll wait to hear from you or your friends.”
Aaron turned and hurried back out the same way he had entered. After a moment’s hesitation, Chen and his escort left the mall, both looking around, wondering which of the many mall patrons were the CIA agents.
“Alpha One to Alpha Two, Richards knows something is up and is leaving by entrance six. He smashed Alpha Four’s phone. Try to get on eyes on what he’s driving. Chen and his escort are moving towards exit one. Alpha Five, can you go get that phone or what’s left of it?
“Alpha Two clear.”
“Alpha Five.”
“Alpha One to all units meet at entrance six for pickup. Acknowledge.”
Both Jennifer and Chloe answered.
Tu had already started moving for the food court when Jay had said that Richards was leaving. The phone was clearly destroyed, but hopefully the wizards at the Agency could access the hard drive, he thought, shoving the shattered device into his jacket pocket. The former Green Beret then sprinted down the corridor last used by Richards.
“Alpha Five to Alpha One, I’m going to poke my head out of exit six and see what I can see.”
“Alpha Two to Alpha Five, I’m driving by there now if you want to hop in,” Chris Norris said.
Somehow, though, Aaron Richards had disappeared.
THE CONSULATE GENERAL OF THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF CHINA, TORONTO, SATURDAY, 4:10PM
Wang Lei Chen sipped steaming tea from an ornate cup as he stared out the window of his third story office down into the open courtyard below. Several embassy officials gathered in a circle, smoking and chatting, enjoying their afternoon break. Chen’s laptop sat open behind him on the desk displaying the files that Aaron Richards had given him.
While not earth-shattering, the intelligence that the former CIA employee had provided definitely had potential. After rushing back to the safety of consul, he had immediately divided up the files and sent the information to several of his cyber warfare team members. They had a large workspace down the hall and were already attempting to build a file on each name provided.
The Chinese IT experts would conduct in-depth searches on each person. They would start by looking for social media accounts. If any were found, they would be added to the subject’s file. The name would also be checked through various search engines, looking for marriage or birth announcements, or any news stories or blogs in which they might be mentioned.
For the most promising targets, the Chinese hackers would attempt to locate email accounts, social security numbers, family information, or anything else that might be used as leverage. Chen would receive a dossier within two days for every person on Richards’ list. He would then decide which ones should be pursued. For these, agents would be assigned to attempt to make contact.
Technically, all of this should fall under the authority of Captain Huang at the Chinese Embassy in Washington, D.C. Major Chen outranked the captain, though, and their superiors in Beijing had made it clear that this offensive against America was Wang Lei’s to lead. Huang and his people were involved but followed Chen’s orders.
The biggest issue on the major’s mind at the moment was the idea that the CIA had been spying on his meeting with Richards. Chen might have even written it off as paranoia if the former Green Beret had not found the cell phone left behind by the woman in the food court. Very interesting, Wang contemplated as he finished his tea, withdrawing a cigarette from the pack of Marlboros on his desk and lighting it.
The Americans must have had surveillance on Richards and followed him to our meeting, he thought, inhaling deeply from the American cigarette, leaning back, and blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. Or they could’ve possibly hacked into our communications. It really didn’t matter to Chen. He knew the CIA was probably already watching him, as well. Of course, they had no jurisdiction in Canada but that hadn’t kept them from showing up at the mall in St. Catherines.
If the CIA had managed to record his and Aaron’s conversation, the American would now be a wanted man. He would still give the traitor’s phone number to his Muslim contact, but if the Agency was after Mr. Richards, it was just a matter of time before they found him and dealt with him harshly. Maybe he would be able to survive long enough to earn the money I paid him, Chen considered with a grim smile.
For himself, Chen’s diplomatic immunity provided a hedge of protection around him. The Americans could pass the details of his meeting with Richards along to the Canadians and request that he be deported back to China. The Canadians, however, were even weaker than their neighbors to the south and would not do anything to jeopardize their trade treaty with Beijing. It was much more likely that the Canadian Prime Minister would express outrage that the CIA had been working in their country in the first place.
Wang Lei turned back to his computer, logging into an antique furniture chat board. After locating Musa Khan’s alias, he sent him a coded message, asking for him to call. Chen hated dealing with Islamic extremists but at least Khan was a trained intelligence agent who didn’t seem to have a suicide wish.
Chen had already provided Khan with fifty AK-47s, ammo, three hundred pounds of plastic explosive, and a hundred thousand dollars in cash. Aaron Richards, if he could keep from getting captured or killed, would be asked to train the terror cells that the Pakistani had created. Wang certainly hoped that
Musa succeeded.
While the Pakistani was concerned with jihad against the Americans, the Chinese operative’s goals were much more worldly. His mission was to cause disruption in America through any means possible, short of having any of his people actively involved. Even providing the weapons for the terrorists was a big step forward for China. Up to this point, they had preferred to defeat the United States economically and through their vast system of spies already in place inside the U.S.
The Chinese government had no intention of getting into a full-scale war with the United States, at least not yet. America was their biggest trading partner at almost five-hundred billion dollars a year. Before President Asher had been elected, however, the tariffs had favored China. Asher had directed his government to vigorously fight to have that trend reversed, costing the Chinese billions of dollars.
Wang Lei Chen had been ordered to provide material support to Musa Khan. The goal was that Khan’s upcoming attacks would destabilize America. The Chinese government did not believe that the American people had the stomach for another war. Just a year into his first term, President Asher had declared war on Iran after discovering that the zombie virus had been developed in that nation’s military labs and released into the U.S. at the direction of their government.
Clearly, the leaders in Iran had underestimated Asher and it had cost them their lives. The American President had ordered his military to level the rogue nation. The war had been in over in weeks, Iran left a smoldering pile of ruins.
The Chinese government did not anticipate a military conflict with the Americans, even if their support for terrorism inside the U.S. was uncovered. But, if President Asher wanted a fight, he would be taking on the largest army and navy in the world, not the second-rate Iranian military. Chen did not know what Khan’s schedule was for the upcoming attacks but the Pakistani had indicated that they would be very soon. The next few weeks would be interesting, Wang Lei thought, stubbing out his cigarette. Very interesting, indeed.
PALMER WOODS, DETROIT, SUNDAY, 11:15AM
Saleem Bashir was already into his third gin and tonic of the morning, the buzz in his head calming his nerves, as he sat on the expensive leather sofa in his large empty house. He was at a loss for what to do next. He was so sure that he had been following Allah’s leading to run for president and confident that Allah was going to allow him to win. Things had not worked out like Bashir had hoped and if he was honest, his faith had been shattered. He had dedicated his life to Allah and his god had let him down.
Of course, it didn’t help that his running mate, Maxwell Sterling, had inadvertently sabotaged his campaign. Bashir and Sterling had been up by several points in the polls until Maxwell had been arrested by the FBI on the opening night of the Democratic National Convention for conspiracy to commit murder in the U.S. and for rape, statutory rape, assault, and child abuse in the British Virgin Islands. There would be no recovering from that.
Saleem’s wife had left him two weeks ago, taking the children to visit her parents in Minneapolis. She had given him a very clear ultimatum: quit drinking and find a job or she was going to divorce him. The former senator and presidential candidate put his head in his hands, trying to decide what to do. I don’t need another scandal, he thought. He figured he could exist for another three months on his savings. After that, he would be broke.
Bashir had been putting out feelers, calling and emailing a number of key financial contributors to his campaign. He had been a senator for two terms and within a stone’s throw of winning the White House. He could easily offer his services as a consultant in a number of different areas. Not a single person, however, had returned his emails or phone calls.
And where was the Brotherhood in all of this? he thought bitterly.
They were the ones who had pushed so hard for him to run for president. Where were they now? They had had such big plans for the destruction of America if Saleem had become the first Muslim elected to the country’s highest office.
“Hello, Saleem.”
The voice startled him so badly that he dropped his glass onto the plush Persian rug in his living room. Thankfully, the glass didn’t break, cushioned by the soft fabric, but the alcohol left a large wet spot. A wiry, dark-skinned man stepped into the room. He had a neatly-trimmed black beard and brown eyes that seemed to look right through you. His hands were empty but the butt of a pistol was visible, sticking out of the waistline of his black jeans.
“Musa! How did you get in? It’s been months since I’ve heard from you!”
Musa Khan smiled. “Getting in was easy, my friend. As for my silence, well, let’s just say that we have much to talk about.”
A thought suddenly penetrated the fog of Bashir’s mind, causing him to stand suddenly.
“Have you come here to…kill me?” he stammered.
Khan smiled again and held both his palms out towards the former senator.
“No, Saleem, I come in peace. The Brotherhood sent me to have a talk with you about what their next steps are and how you might fit into them.”
Bashir nodded but his eyes were fixated on the pistol in Khan’s pants. Musa shook his head and laughed.
“This isn’t for you, but I just wasn’t sure what kind of reception you would give me. Plus, you know that I am a man who is always prepared for anything.”
That was true, Saleem admitted to himself, unsteadily sitting back down on the couch. He didn’t know everything about Khan’s background but he knew that the Brotherhood had recruited him a few years after he had left Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), where he had been one of their top agents. When the Brotherhood brought Musa on board, he was making a lucrative living as an independent contractor, using his deadly skills to support the growth of radical Islam around the world.
“The Brotherhood?” Bashir laughed bitterly. “Where have they been for the last six months? I’ve tried to contact you, Abdallah, and Mohammad but no one has answered me.”
Khan nodded. “Yes, the inner circle was very angry with you. They even talked about having you eliminated.”
Saleem’s eyes grew wide at his visitor’s candor. While the former presidential candidate was an American citizen, his grandparents had immigrated to the U.S., also from Pakistan. Even though his own parents were moderate Muslims, Bashir had become radicalized in his teens. He had kept his religious views to himself, however, believing that his destiny was in public service. Even as a young man, Saleem had sensed that Allah was guiding his steps. Now, Musa was telling him that he had only been one decision away from being killed by the Brotherhood.
“So, why did they decide to let me live?”
“Because I stood up for you. Believe it or not, Saleem, I think we can still wage a jihad in this nation of infidels. The inner circle, especially Abdallah, were never happy that you didn’t listen to them about picking the black congressman, Jamal Harris, for your vice-president to start with.“
Harris was not a Muslim but was extremely liberal in his politics. After Sterling’s arrest, Bashir had quickly pulled the congressman in as the replacement VP candidate. It was too little, too late, though, and the incumbent, President Benjamin Asher, had won by a wide margin.
“I understand why you picked Sterling,” Musa continued. “When he was in the Congress, he headed up the House Intelligence Committee and then became the Director of the CIA. He would have been a very useful vice-president if he wasn’t a pervert. That was why the inner circle discussed having you killed. They invested a lot of money into your campaign and think you should have known about Sterling’s moral problems.”
The failed presidential candidate hung his head in shame. “We were roommates at Yale and had been friends for many years. I knew that Maxwell had his issues, but I hoped that he could control himself long enough for us to get elected. I’m sorry. I should have listened to Abdallah and the others.”
While staying in the shadows of world politics, the Brotherhood has been around for over sevent
y years, working behind the scenes in many nations to spread radical Islam. Even after being banned in a number of countries and having dealt with periodic bouts of in-fighting, the Brotherhood was still a formidable force in the world. Their seventy branches around the world work to spread jihad, terrorism, and unrest.
One of the Brotherhood’s most well-known attacks was their assassination of Egyptian President Anwar Sadat in 1981. To have control of the White House would have been the organization’s crowning achievement. With Bashir’s loss, they would have to figure out another way to destroy the Great Satan of America.
The Brotherhood was made up of true believers. Their creed was, “Allah is our objective. The Prophet is our leader. Qur'an is our law. Jihad is our way. Dying in the way of Allah is our highest hope.”
Khan nodded. “Well, that is old news, Saleem, and like I said, the inner circle has sent me to discuss how we can start moving forward again. But, before we can do that, I need to know that you are going to be able to understand what I’m saying. Can you brew up some coffee? After we get a couple of cups in you, it will be time to talk.”
ATLANTA HARTSFIELD-JACKSON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, SUNDAY, 1620 HOURS
Grace Cunningham wheeled her gray Jeep Wrangler into the cell-phone lot of the airport. Jimmy’s departure was two hours away so they had a few extra minutes to say goodbye. For the first time in a long while, she felt peaceful and content. Her time with Jimmy had been wonderful. On Friday night, they had dined in a beautiful restaurant in Buckhead. They had talked and laughed for almost three hours, catching up on what had been going on in each other’s lives.
