Behind Enemy Lines

by R. J. Patterson

  Once Black was finished, he sneaked onto the top of the Museum of Natural Sciences building just to see the potential target area from that location. It only reaffirmed his suspicion that it was the best position to shoot from, if that was a serious threat to Gaither. But Black figured the Missouri senator was just emphasizing how important he was that someone might actually want to kill him.

  Black meandered back down to the national mall. He was convinced that anyone who attempted to take out Gaither from even the best perches would find great difficulty in succeeding. A car bomb or a random mugging would be far better ways to kill him than picking him off in front of an audience during a live broadcast on television. Unless, of course, that was the objective: to kill Gaither while the world was watching. It’d send an ominous message for sure, but Black maintained skepticism the more he pondered it.

  *

  AN HOUR LATER, a crowd gathered for the ceremony. Black decided to linger near the back and see if he noticed anything that raised suspicions. Since the event was being held in such an open public place, there wasn’t a way to funnel spectators through a security checkpoint, but the place was crawling with Washington police, keeping a careful eye on attendees who took a seat or were milling around the area.

  Christina Shields parked Firestorm’s surveillance van just off the mall in a metered spot. She only climbed out of the vehicle to feed the machine and avoid drawing any scrutiny from the Washington Metro police.

  “What do you see out there?” she asked.

  “Nothing that worries me yet,” Black said. “You?”

  “Nobody even remotely in the category of potential shooter. And let me tell you, there’s always at least two or three who appear like they’d enjoy filling someone with several pounds of lead.”

  Black continued to mill around until about fifteen minutes before the event was scheduled to begin. He slipped behind the stage with his security badge and strode up to Watkins.

  The captain eased away from his handler, stepping out of earshot from her.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” Watkins said.

  “Of course,” Black said. “Are you ready for the consequences of what you’re about to do?”

  “If they kill me before I have the opportunity to expose their criminal behavior, what’s the point? I will have given my very life for nothing. But if I can at least expose them and restore dignity and honor to the Air Force, this all won’t be in vain.”

  “So far, the coast is clear.”

  “That’s today,” Watkins said. “Tomorrow’s a new day, fraught with its own danger, no doubt. At least the cowards will have nowhere to hide in about twenty minutes after I’m done speaking.”

  “Well, good luck,” Black said. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re the real deal. I really admire you for what you’re doing.”

  “Don’t ascribe such platitudes to me just yet. Check with me in five years and I’ll tell you if I thought it was worth it.”

  Black shrugged. “Trust me. It’s always worth it to take down corrupt leaders.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Watkins said with a nod.

  Watkins’s handler called for him.

  “Gotta run. Catch you later.”

  “I promise I won’t be sitting in your chair in the dark,” Black said as he winked.

  “And to think I ever thought fighter pilots were crazy,” Watkins said before he spun and walked toward the woman organizing the ceremony’s order of events.

  Black strode around the side of the stage and scanned the area again. There still weren’t any red flags.

  “What are you seeing out there?” Shields asked over the coms.

  “Calm. Almost eerily calm.”

  “I’m with you on that. There should be at least one loony-looking fellow stalking around behind the crowd with an overstuffed backpack. But I’m not seeing anything like that either. Well, keep me posted if anything changes.”

  “Likewise,” Black said.

  He meandered near the back, veering toward a clearing left of the stage. Given the likely locations of a shooter, Black determined it to be the optimum position to take in the scene.

  “The U.S. Air Force” song blared over the speakers, garnering everyone’s attention and kicking off the festivities. A ceremony emcee welcomed the crowd gathered at the mall, which Black estimated to be around three thousand people. It was a little smaller than he expected, but more than the number of chairs arranged on the lawn.

  Black surveyed the attendees and still didn’t see anything of note. “How are things looking on your end?”

  “No nut jobs yet, though are you really gonna be inclined to stop something if Gaither takes a bullet?”

  “It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to Congress if he took an early retirement.”

  Shields chuckled. “That’s about the best euphemism I’ve heard for one of our assignments in a long time.”

  “I’ll be here all week,” Black cracked.

  The emcee continued the ceremony by inviting Senator Gaither onto stage. “This man needs no introduction as he’s been a powerhouse in Washington from the day he arrived. Please put your hands together as we welcome Senator Todd Gaither.”

  “Powerhouse?” Shields said. “More like lightning rod or the congressional equivalent of a radio shock jock. He’ll do anything to get a rise out of people.”

  “I don’t know,” Black said. “Shock jocks are intentional about it, taking up a radical contrarian point of view for the purpose of getting big ratings. Gaither just does it every time he opens his mouth.”

  “Maybe he likes the limelight,” Shields said.

  “That’s possible, but it’s also sad since the bulb in that brain of his is so dull I doubt it could light up a closet.”

  Shields laughed again. “You’re mighty witty today, Black. Did you have a little Bailey’s with your coffee?”

  “I can assure you that these one-liners are being conceived while completely sober.”

  Gaither stepped up to the lectern and glanced down at the notes in front of him. “Thank you. Thank you for taking time of your busy schedules to brave Washington traffic and celebrate one hell of an American hero, Captain Trevor Watkins.”

  The crowd roared its approval with applause and whistling. Once the noise died down, Gaither continued.

  “Capt. Watkins deserves a welcome like this, too. He was shot down in the service of his country and endured hardship while in a Russian gulag, slaving away and working tirelessly, all subject to the whims of overbearing taskmasters who didn’t grant him even an ounce of respect.”

  “A gulag?” Shields whispered. “Is he just making this stuff up?”

  “Sounds like it,” Black said.

  “Any potential hostiles out there yet?”

  “Nope. All is still quiet, while the loudmouth continues to foist lies on the American people.”

  “Well, what did you expect?” Shields asked. “He is a politician. Aren’t lies and embellishments what they do better than anything?”

  “I wish you weren’t right.”

  Gaither continued with his introduction before inviting Watkins to the stage. The crowd broke out into applause again as he plodded up the steps and strode toward Gaither. Overhead, a drone buzzed about twenty feet off the ground, capturing images of the event. The press corps photographers rushed closer to the stage in anticipation of the moment the two men met.

  Black scanned the crowd again before searching on the nearby rooftops. Everything appeared above board. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gaither extend his hand to Watkins as the two drew near.

  Then Gaither collapsed on stage, followed by Watkins a split second later. The two gunshots sent the crowd fleeing in chaos. Black glanced at the two men on stage as they were attended to by security personnel. He switched his focus to the ground to see if anyone was admiring his work or looking on with great satisfaction.

  “Where did that come from?” Shields asked ove
r the coms.

  “I don’t have a clue,” Black said. “It was clear down here and on the rooftops. I didn’t see anybody who could’ve made the shot.”

  Black stared at the scene, unable to do anything but try to assess how someone was able to kill both of those men. Gaither was the one who claimed to have credible threats against him and ask for more security. But Black could tell this was a pre-planned assassination attempt, one designed to throw off any investigation into the possibility that Watkins was the target.

  Sirens wailed in the background as remaining law enforcement cleared out the lingering crowd. Black flashed his credentials to a police officer who ran by in an effort to avoid being hassled. After a few minutes, only a couple of rebellious photographers remained in a two hundred meter radius of the stage aside from the officials and paramedics who had just arrived.

  “How bad is it?” Shields asked.

  “I can’t tell,” Black said, “but I don’t think it’s good.”

  “Get closer and find out.”

  Black ventured up to the foot of the stage where medics were working furiously on Watkins, pumping his chest and trying to find a pulse. After a couple minutes, one of the men sighed and shook his head.

  “He’s gone,” the man declared as his partner cursed.

  Meanwhile, Gaither sat up, alert and somber, his bicep wrapped with a blanket draped over his shoulders.

  “Is the senator all right?” Black asked a nearby attending paramedic.

  The man looked at Black and nodded. “He was lucky. That was a clean shot that went straight through his bicep. If it had been over a few more inches, it would’ve exploded into his chest.”

  Black left the area and called Blunt.

  “Did you hear the news?” Black asked as his boss answered.

  “Shots fired at the ceremony,” Blunt said. “Is Watkins gonna make it?”

  “He’s already gone,” Black said.

  “And Gaither?”

  “He’ll be just fine, according to one of the paramedics I spoke with. The bullet went clean through his bicep.”

  “This was a pro hit, designed to make it look like Gaither was the target.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking. So, what do we do now?”

  Blunt grunted. “We’re gonna blow the lid off this corruption and make sure Watkins didn’t give his life in vain.”

  “I’m all in,” Black said. “Just tell me where you want me to start.”

  “Go to Union Station and get all the proof Watkins collected,” Blunt said. “I want to see all this information for myself before we decide to tangle with the people behind this.”

  “I’ll call you when I have it.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Two weeks earlier

  TATIANA COULD HARDLY stand the stench after being locked in the shipping container for nearly two weeks. A toxic combination of body odor, urine, and stale air had settled over the entire steel box. Before she was thrust inside the eight-by-twenty-foot space, she’d never met the other eleven girls who joined her. With dim lighting, putrid conditions, and a mix of ethnicities, she didn’t bother with attempting conversation. And she wasn’t even sure what she’d talk about anyway if she could communicate. None of them wanted to be here, likely all wishing to be safe at home instead of tossed about at sea in a virtual prison.

  The general had done his best to convince all of his so-called recruits that their sacrifice would be vital to the future of their country. But it was difficult for Tatiana to envision that at the moment. For the past two years, she went to bed each night exhausted from all of the work the general and his other instructors put her through. During that time, she grew stronger and more focused, earning her an early assignment.

  She strode around the container, trying to ignore the smell as well as her cellmates. After a few minutes of pacing about, one of the girls stopped her and spoke in Russian. It was the first time anyone had said anything outside of a few things some of the girls mumbled in their sleep.

  “It’s not so bad,” the girl said, her eyes betraying her statement.

  Tatiana glared at the girl. “Get out of my way.”

  She didn’t move. “You get used to it after a while.”

  “Get used to what?”

  “The job. It could be worse. At least, that’s how most of us feel. We could be at home getting beaten every night, wondering where our next meal will come from. At least we know we don’t have to go back there, starving as we slip into bed, praying that we’re still alive when morning comes—or perhaps praying for mercy that we won’t.”

  Tatiana ignored the girl. “If you don’t get out of my way, you’ll regret it.”

  “It will get better.”

  Tatiana slammed the girl into the wall. She slid to the ground with a thud and then a whimper as Tatiana continued pacing.

  I’m not like any of you. I’m not even here for the same reason you are.

  “Maybe next time you’ll move,” Tatiana said with a sneer.

  The general had apologized as he bid Tatiana good luck. He explained how he would’ve preferred to fly her to the destination, albeit in a much more uncomfortable manner. The travel time would’ve been hours as opposed to weeks. But recent developments had dictated that she enter through a less scrutinized portal.

  Being caged up for nearly two years made her less amicable than she was before she chased down that soccer ball in Bali. And spending a fortnight in such tight quarters shortened her fuse considerably.

  Tatiana staggered as the ship swung around. Regaining her balance, she braced herself against the wall and realized they were finally docking at port.

  *

  TWO HOURS PASSED before Tatiana sensed any further movement. Outside the doors, she could hear workers chattering. Then with a sudden jolt, her steel box jerked upward. Tatiana had grown up near a shipyard and understood what was happening. Once ships were secured in the dock, cranes lifted the containers off the ship and moved them to solid ground where they were unloaded. The General had warned her that it would likely be several hours before anyone released her.

  He was wrong. According to her watch, nearly twelve hours passed before someone unlocked the door. It swung open with a creak and clanked hard against the side.

  Tatiana shielded her eyes as the beam from a powerful flashlight poured inside. A man waved it around the room before speaking.

  “They’re all here, alive and accounted for,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  “Bring ’em out,” another man said.

  Men rushed into the container and grabbed the girls, removing them one-by-one and placing them into a van. Tatiana ripped her arm away when they grabbed her, but to no avail. They dug their fingers into her skin, keeping her firmly in their grasp.

  “It’s okay, little girl,” one of men said in a gruff voice. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  Tatiana sneered at him before stopping just short of the van. The men released her and waited for her to get inside. When she didn’t react fast enough, one of the men shoved her in the back, forcing her into the vehicle.

  “It’ll be better for you to follow directions immediately,” he said.

  Tatiana eased into her seat and stared blankly out the front window.

  “Do you speak English?” he asked.

  She didn’t flinch.

  The man reverted to Russian. “It’ll be better for you to follow directions immediately.”

  Tatiana remained stoic, determining not to give the man even the slightest bit of pleasure that he guessed her country of origin.

  Instead of ignoring her, he grabbed her face with his hand and forced her to look at him. “When I speak to you, you better acknowledge what I said. Is that clear?”

  Tatiana mustered a feeble nod.

  He shoved her head and spun back to retrieve the rest of the girls in the container. When they were all loaded into the two vans lined up by the door, they were driven to a dilapidated hotel only a few miles away. />
  They were led upstairs to their rooms with a pair of queen beds, four girls in each one. A sequin dress for each girl was hung in the closet.

  “Shower and get dressed,” the man said as he escorted Tatiana to her room. “We will be back in one hour to pick you up.”

  One of the girls in Tatiana’s room turned on the television. The menu scrolled past with the date remaining in the upper right corner. Tatiana sighed as she glanced at it. It was her fifteenth birthday, and no one knew it.

  She thought about her mother and the kind of fuss she used to make over each birthday. There were parties with friends, special mother-daughter adventures, or a lavish spending spree at her favorite fashion shop. But not today. There were no candles, no presents, no friends.

  “Hurry up,” the man barked as he knocked on the door.

  When Tatiana stepped out of the shower, she shimmied her way into the tight, silver sequin dress that was the closest to her size. She was still combing her hair when a harsh knock at the door startled her.

  “Let’s go, ladies,” the man said. “It’s time to get to work.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Great Falls, Virginia

  BLUNT STOPPED AT THE gatehouse and showed his driver’s license to the guard stationed there. After carefully studying the ID, he dialed a number and had a brief conversation before waving Blunt through. Blunt found gated communities to be contentious, but he understood the desire for privacy by some people, especially the head of the NSA.

  Blunt lumbered up the steps to Robert Besserman’s house and rang the doorbell. When he didn’t answer, Blunt walked around the side of the spacious yard and found Besserman relaxing in chair by a dormant fire pit, his eyes closed with a drink in his hand. The sun was setting just over the Potomac River, a scenic view that the NSA director enjoyed each day after work, if he was awake to see it.

  “If you don’t open your eyes, you’re going to miss that,” Blunt said, gesturing toward the sunset.

  Besserman bolted upright in his seat. “J.D., what the hell are you doing here? You’re interrupting my after-work moment of zen.”