by David Spell
Norris glanced up and down the sidewalk, relieved not see anyone else moving around. I need to get out of here, he thought, noticing the first punk trying to get to his hands and knees, blood dripping onto the sidewalk from his lacerated face. Chris stepped forward launching a vicious kick into his side, a cracking sound audible as at least one of his ribs was broken. The predator collapsed back onto the pavement, moaning in agony as Norris turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Three minutes later, Jay transmitted, “Bravo Two is back in the vehicle; we’re heading home.”
“Alpha One’s clear,” Tu answered. “See you there.”
The team had rooms at a Motel Six a few miles away. The interior and exterior had seen better days, but it would serve their purpose. By 0150 hours they had assembled in Stephen’s room, handing the computer whiz the disks from the cameras so that he could upload the photos and begin the process of running them through the Agency’s facial recognition software. A second computer was already receiving and recording audio from the two microphones that Chris had left behind.
“How bad did you hurt those idiots who tried to rob you?” Tu asked. “Dead bodies that close to the mosque might bring some unwanted attention from the cops before we’re ready.”
Norris shook his head. “One of them might never reproduce, and the other one may never get another date after the bottle cut his face open, but I’m sure they’ll both live to perpetrate again.”
“The real shame is the loss of that bottle of whiskey,” Walker added.
In minutes, both computers were performing their tasks. Chan yawned and looked over at Tu.
“Everything’s running. Let’s get some sleep and meet back in a few hours. We’ll have all the returns back on the photos and plenty of audio to listen to.”
Donaldson nodded. “Good work, team. Let’s plan on being back here at 0800.”
By 0815 hours, the team had assembled back in Stephen’s room, each holding a plate of food and a cup of coffee, tea, or juice from the hotel’s breakfast buffet. Chan sat in front of his computers with a set of headphones on, an open energy drink in his hand. Finally, he removed the headset, took a swallow from the can, and faced his team.
“I think we got what we need. I’ve listened to a lot of the audio and the Bureau should definitely be able to use this. The imam spoke to them about their upcoming sacrifice, martyrdom and how their families would be taken care of. He said that he was just waiting on a call from their leader, probably talking about Khan, and told the cell that their part in the jihad would be taking place very soon.”
“What about the photos?” Tu asked. “Anything good there?”
Stephen handed the team leader a stack of papers. “Yes and no. The intel we got from Musa’s laptop and phone indicated a cell of twelve in Detroit. We are only getting matches on eight of the photos. That’s not to say the others weren’t at the mosque, but you guys might have missed a few. I ran all the names we have through the NCIC and DMV records. The eight that facial recognition picked up all have criminal records. The imam is even on the FBI’s terror watchlist.”
Donaldson nodded. “So, the other four names might just be people who have not been arrested or shown up on any terror watch lists?”
“Correct,” Chan answered. “My suggestion is that we go ahead and get this intel to the Bureau. They won’t be able to get warrants or make arrests based on any of it but the info should at least point them in the right direction.”
“Okay, let’s do it. I’ll give you a list of who we need to send it to. We’ll all help you get it packaged and then we can overnight it to Bureau HQ so they can have it first thing in the morning.”
FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C., FRIDAY, 1040 HOURS
The Bureau’s Director of Counterterrorism, Valerie Morris, and Supervisory Special Agent Joe O’Reilly stood before FBI Director Cameron Pickard. He made them wait as he flipped through a stack of documents on his desk, a pair a reading glasses perched on his nose. The silver-haired man finally looked at the two people standing in front of him, taking his glasses off and laying them on his desk.
“What the hell is all this?” he asked, pointing at the papers and a thumb drive, pausing before each word for emphasis.
Pickard had not risen through the ranks of the FBI. He had, however, been a very successful prosecutor at several levels in the federal justice system. His position with the criminal division of the Attorney General’s office had caught the attention of President Asher after Cameron’s brilliant prosecution of three suspects charged with a plot to plant bombs in the New York City subway system. He had been leading the Bureau for almost four years and was already being called the man who brought integrity and respect back to the nation’s best-known federal law enforcement agency.
A United States Postal Service overnight delivery envelope lay next to the documents on the director’s desk. Both Morris and O’Reilly had each received similar packages. In fact, they had been in Valerie’s office discussing the contents when Pickard had called the CT director, ordering her and Joe to report to his office immediately.
When neither answered his question, the director sighed.
“Sit down. Director Morris, do we have any idea where this intelligence came from?”
The two agents sat in the straight-backed chairs in front of the director’s desk.
“Sir, Agent O’Reilly and I were discussing the information when you called,” Valerie said. “There’s no return address on the envelope.”
Pickard started to say something, but shook his head, glancing at O’Reilly.
“What about you? Have you got any idea where this treasure trove of information came from?”
“Yes, sir,” Joe answered, but not offering anything else.
The director locked eyes with the career FBI agent, the same stare that had made suspects and defense attorneys squirm. O’Reilly simply returned the stare, his eyes giving nothing away. Cameron finally broke his gaze and looked away.
“Could you please enlighten me?” Pickard asked, his tone softening.
“If I had to guess, I’d say that it came from the CIA. The lines have been a bit blurred on these investigations and they’ve been helping out wherever they could. I mean we had one of their agents working with me for a short time trying to find a renegade spy. When the terror attacks started, she went back to work doing whatever it is that spies do.”
Cameron glanced at his CT director. “Does this sound reasonable to you, Director?”
Valerie nodded. “That would be my guess. The information is thorough and not the type of intel that just anyone could put together. I haven’t listened to the audio but I did read the transcripts that were recorded at that mosque in Detroit. Whoever wired that place utilized some sophisticated technology. And where else could they have gotten access to facial recognition software?”
The director stared at the two senior agents for almost a minute before speaking.
“So, how does this help us? Whether the information is from the CIA or some other source, it really doesn’t matter. None of this would be admissible in court.”
Valerie did not respond, while Joe merely shrugged.
“Do you want us to ignore all this evidence, sir?”
“Is making a solid case not important to you, Special Agent O’Reilly?” the director asked, irritation in his voice. “What’s the point of arresting people if the evidence is no good and they get set free on a technicality?”
“Sir, the Bureau has a recorded tip line that people can call in to report a crime. They can also file online if they’re so inclined. We get about fifteen hundred contacts a day. Most of those tips amount to nothing; just crazy people wanting to get a neighbor into trouble over something minor. Every now and then, though, we get something good.
"My suggestion is that we use this intel dump that the Agency or whoever sent us and work it like we’d work something on the tip hotline. Let’s get some of our best people involved and see
if we can corroborate the data. We use what we have here as a starting point and see where it leads us.”
Joe paused as the director contemplated what he had just heard.
“The last thing that America needs are any more terror attacks,” O’Reilly added. “Maybe this intel will help us keep that from happening.”
The FBI Director nodded slowly. “Yes, you’re exactly right. I hadn’t thought of it that way. We certainly don’t need any blood on our hands. Director Morris, do whatever you need to do to verify or dispel this report. If it looks legit, take these bastards down as quickly as you can. Use whatever resources you need. That’ll be all. Please keep me in the loop.”
“There’s something else that you need to know, sir,” Valerie said.
The director motioned with his hand for her to continue.
“Agent O’Reilly just informed me that Musa Khan has been located. Joe, would you tell the director what you told me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
O’Reilly recounted how the CIA had located the fugitive terrorist, the shootout, the Bureau’s involvement, and how they were waiting before announcing Khan’s arrest by the Philadelphia Police Department. He also described how Aaron Richards and another terror cell had been taken down by an Agency ops team.
Pickard’s eyes registered surprise as he listened to the agent give his report.
“Are these people all loose cannons?” he asked.
Joe shrugged again. “I don’t know, sir. One of their team leaders told me that the president made it clear to the head of the CIA that there had better be no more attacks. I guess they’re taking him literally.”
After a few moments of contemplation, the director spoke.
“Yes, President Asher told me something similar. Let’s do our part to follow the president’s orders. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, sir,” Valerie and Joe said in unison as they stood.
Five minutes later, they were back in Morris’ office.
“How do you want to handle this, Boss?” O’Reilly asked.
“You know more than you’re saying,” Valerie commented.
Joe shrugged. “I don’t want to put you in a position where you’ll have to lie. Let’s just say that I’ve had some conversations with certain people at the Agency about how we could help each other shut down this cell in Detroit.”
Morris looked into his eyes, seeing the resolve that was there.
“Fair enough. This is your team,” she said. “How do you want to do it?”
At 1500 hours, Morris and O’Reilly walked purposefully into the packed conference room. The agents looked up with anticipation as Director Morris stepped up to the lectern.
“You’ve all been handpicked to be a part of this taskforce. Supervisory Special Agent O’Reilly is in charge of this operation and will be briefing you momentarily. You’ll understand in just a few minutes how important this investigation is. Operational security is essential and I better not hear of any leaks. Agent O’Reilly, I’ll turn it over to you.”
Joe shuffled up to the podium in his trademark ruffled suit and frowned at the assembled twenty-four agents.
“As Director Morris said, ‘operational security is essential.’ If any word of this operation leaks, the leaker will be on the first plane to the field office in Anchorage where they’ll be handling walk-in complaints. Is that clear?”
He looked around the room making eye contact with each of the agents.
“My number two is Supervisory Special Agent Louis. He’ll be passing out your assignments. We’re investigating a terror cell in the Detroit area. As you’ll see in your folder, everything seems to point towards another large-scale attack. Our job is to make sure that doesn’t happen. President Asher has made it clear that there will be no more terrorist incidents. Due to exigent circumstances, we’re working this case. Director Pickard has called the SAC in Detroit and ordered him to make his people and resources available to us.
“You’ve each been teamed up with another agent. The two of you have been assigned a person-of-interest that you are to investigate thoroughly. In two days, you had better know everything that there is to know about this person. There’s intel in your folder that you can use to steer you in your investigation but that information has not been corroborated. That’s your job.
“If you find any evidence of criminal activity, especially as it relates to terrorism, we need to know that ASAP. We believe that this cell is planning an attack like the ones that we saw in DC and in Trenton. Our job is to stop them. We’ll put criminal cases together, secure warrants, and have our HRT or the local police SWAT teams serve them.”
Jerome walked around the table handing out manila folders to the agents. A hand shot up from a young female, staring at a page inside her folder.
“Sir, where did we get this intel?”
“That’s on a need-to-know basis and you don’t need to know,” O’Reilly answered curtly. “Your job is to see if the information is any good or not. Use this afternoon to get organized and start your preliminary investigation. In the morning, we’re all flying to Detroit. Plan on being gone a minimum of two weeks. Any questions? No? Okay, let’s get to work.”
PATRICK V. MCNAMARA FEDERAL BUILDING, DETROIT, MICHIGAN, SUNDAY, 0925 HOURS
Deputy Special Agent in Charge of the Detroit field office Daniel Ward resented having to go in to the office on a Sunday. His boss, however, the Special Agent in Charge, was on vacation and had ordered him to work with the counter-terror team from D.C., providing whatever they needed. The DSAC parked in the underground lot, checked his hair in the rearview mirror, and strolled towards the elevator for the Patrick V. McNamara Federal Building. The FBI occupied the twenty-sixth floor of the modern skyscraper on Michigan Avenue.
I can’t believe that I have to play gopher for that buffoon, O’Reilly, he thought. Ward had worked his way up through the ranks, having spent most of his career at the Bureau Headquarters in the nation’s capital. Joe was several years older than Daniel and the two agents had crossed paths over the years. While Ward wore custom-tailored suits and took great pride in his appearance, O’Reilly’s wardrobe looked like it had come out of a thrift shop. Daniel kept an electric shaver in his brief case so that he was always clean-shaven. Joe’s five o’clock shadow seemed to set in around noon.
The DSAC had heard the stories of some of the big cases that O’Reilly had broken over the years. The younger man wasn’t sure that he believed the hype. He couldn’t imagine the older agent solving any mystery greater than locating the closest buffet.
How did this moron get placed in charge of another taskforce? Joe was assigned to the counter-terror directorate so obviously this was related to terrorism. Daniel had heard of the senior agent’s previous taskforce a couple of years earlier in Los Angeles. O’Reilly’s team had been credited with preventing the zombie virus from being deployed on a large scale and taking out a rogue agent. More luck, Ward thought.
This time, the burly man and his team weren’t saying a whole lot about what they were doing. They had just shown up the day before, commandeered some cubicles and started working. The two-agent teams checked out the field office’s extra vehicles and by late Saturday morning, most of them were out following up leads.
The SAC had told Daniel to provide Joe with one of their empty offices to work from, which is where he found the agent. O’Reilly held a phone to his ear, his tie already hanging loose, the top button on his shirt undone. He nodded at Ward as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the call.
“Yes, ma’am, he just walked in,” Joe said, glancing up at the sharply dressed DSAC. “Sure, no problem.”
O’Reilly covered the mouthpiece with his hand and spoke to Ward.
“This is Director Morris. She asked me to put the phone on speaker so she can speak with both of us. Can you push the door to?”
Daniel nodded, shut the door and sat across from the other man. Joe pushed a button on the phone and Valerie Morris�
� voice filled the room.
“Good morning, Agent Ward. Thank you for all you and your people are doing to assist Agent O’Reilly and his team.”
“Good morning, Director Morris. I’m always glad to help out. I could probably be of more help if we knew more of what is going on.”
Daniel kept his tone neutral, not wanting to let his true feelings for the CT director come out. He suspected that her rise to such a position of prominence in the FBI was more a matter of who she had slept with over her talent or qualifications. And, of course, everyone knew that she let one of her agents get killed by that terrorist, Musa Khan. They had been on a stakeout in Philadelphia and she’d had to pull off to go the restroom. She had been gone for less than ten minutes but it had been enough for Khan to shoot Special Agent Barry Towers in the back of the head.
The review board had not found any wrongdoing on her part. Hey, when you have to piss, you have to piss, but it wasn’t long after that when Valerie Morris was promoted to director of counterterrorism. And, somehow, this idiot, O’Reilly, was one of her key subordinates.
“Agent Ward, we’re going to share some information with you that’s very confidential. The investigation that Joe and his people are working is even bigger than we anticipated and we’re going to need some of your best people to be assigned to help them.”
“Of course. How many do you need?”
“For now, if you can spare six agents, that would be very helpful. I’ll send a few more from HQ on Monday.”
“Six?” Ward asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll see what I can do. All of our people are waist deep in their own investigations.”
