by KaLyn Cooper
“Mr. Wolf, this is Greg Miles from the Investigative Department of Homeland Security. I understand that the chief of police has made promises to you concerning the park shooters yesterday.”
Before the man could back out, Alex jumped on it. “Yes, he did, and so did the Secretary of Homeland Security.”
“Yes, sir. I am aware of that. And that’s why I am extending you an invitation to watch the interrogation of our two suspects.” His voice had been cordial, making Alex’s interruption sound rude.
“Thank you, and I apologize.” Alex took a deep breath. “I never liked being shot at, and I like it even less when my…”
Griffin had to grin at his friend’s discomfort. He could practically see the man’s search for the right word that would not disclose too much to the federal agent.
Before Alex could answer, Agent Miles addressed the situation. “I am aware that you and Lieutenant Callahan are involved in a relationship. I am also aware that you know she works for us. And to be sure we keep the slate clean, I also know that you, on occasion, work for USSOCOM.”
“Thank you for clarifying, Agent Miles. Now, where do you intend to interrogate your suspect? And do I understand there might be two of them? I would be happy to offer you, and all the parties involved, a neutral interrogation room. We do have a contract with the government to cover the costs. It wouldn’t be the first time an agency has used one of our rooms.”
“That’s an interesting offer,” Miles admitted. “I wish I would’ve known about it before but I’ll keep it in mind for the future. All parties involved have agreed we can hold and interrogate both suspects here at Homeland Security. The police are currently transporting the suspects who should arrive in approximately thirty minutes. I’ll leave a pass for you at the front desk. Someone will escort you to our area.”
“Can you make that two passes please?” Alex slid Griffin a glance. “Griffin Mitchell will be accompanying me.”
“One minute please, I’ll have to add him. What’s his full name?” Answering all the agent’s questions took a full minute.
“Thank you again, Agent Miles. We’ll see you in twenty-five minutes.” Alex disconnected the call.
Checking into Homeland Security went smoothly, once Agent Miles showed up. They were even allowed to keep their weapons. Griffin was extremely thankful he had an excellent sense of directions as they wove their way through a maze of corridors before they were shown to a small theater style room. Rather than take seats, the three men stood in the back.
“How’s your Arabic?” Agent Greg Miles asked as he handed Griffin and Alex each a cup of black coffee he’d poured from a refreshment area in the back corner.
“Practically nonexistent,” Griffin admitted and sipped what turned out to be damn good coffee. But Grace was almost fluent in certain areas of the Middle East. On their last mission, the boys’ dialect had thrown her, but she still managed to make them understand. Griffin wondered exactly where she was at that moment. Glancing at his watch, she was probably still in the air.
“I know a few words but nowhere near good enough to translate,” Alex admitted.
“Mine sucks,” the agent from the Investigative Department of Homeland Security confessed. “Then we’ll all be glad when the interpreter gets here.”
The click of heels was their only warning, but nothing could have prepared them for the woman who blew through the door to the observation room ten seconds later. Griffin stared at the woman approximately five feet seven inches tall—the heels giving her another three inches—blond hair flowing below her shoulders, the navy blue suit hugging her curvaceous body. Her scent was familiar as it filled the small room.
Alarm bells went off in Griffin's head. He glanced to Alex beside him who looked stunned. They had watched Katlin fly their sleek black plane into the night ten hours ago. Or had he? Sure, neither he nor Alex hadn’t seen into the cockpit so who knew whether she had left or not.
“Agent Chernakov, thank you for helping us out.” Agent Miles extended his hand.
“It’s my pleasure, Greg.” She took his hand and held it a little longer than socially acceptable. “You know I’ll do anything for you. All you have to do is ask.” Her voice and smile were sultry. Griffin hadn’t missed one ounce of familiarity between the two.
Agent Miles had that hangdog puppy look just before he schooled his face and removed his hand from the newcomer. “Alex Wolf, Griffin Mitchel, I’d like you to meet Agent Nikkole Chernakov. She’s one of our language experts in the Investigative Department.”
When the woman held out her hand to Alex, he studied her face. Damn, she looked so much like Katlin, but her nose was a little too long and thin, her lips had obviously been plumped cosmetically, and her face was more oval whereas Katlin’s definitely heart-shaped.
Something flashed in her whiskey brown eyes. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wolf.”
She quickly, shook Alex’s hand then held hers out for Griffin. “Mr. Mitchell, nice to meet you.” She glanced around the room. “How soon do we expect Special Agent Dennis Harris from the FBI and the representative from the police department? I’m so sorry Chief McMullen cannot make it.”
“Correct. He’s handling the media onslaught so I believe Lieutenant Shirlee Driscoll will be joining us.” Agent Miles went on to explain, “She’s in charge of detectives for the department.”
Alex’s gaze followed Agent Chernakov’s every move.
Griffin turned and lowered his voice so only Alex would hear. “Damn, she looks like Katlin, but to be honest, Katlin is much prettier.”
Alex took in a deep breath. “Yes. Kat is so much more beautiful. But I feel like I’ve met her before.” He strode to where she was talking with Agent Miles. “Have we met?”
“No.” Agent Chernakov's answer was definitive. “I can assure you, Greg, I would’ve remembered meeting Alex Wolf.”
Her scandalous voice scraped Griffin’s nerves.
“Maybe you two met socially,” Agent Miles suggested. “He’s dating Katlin Callahan who’s a field agent over in operations working for Jack Ashworth.”
At the mention of Katlin’s name, Agent Chernakov’s face pinched. It was obvious she didn’t like Katlin, but all her features had softened at Jack’s name.
Griffin could tell when realization hit Alex, but his friend hid the recognition quickly. “I must be mistaken.” When he returned to Griffin’s side, he smiled.
“So you do know her,” Griffin accused.
“No, I’ve never met her.” Alex grinned at Griffin. “That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.”
Griffin knew there had to be a lot more to that story, but with the woman in question in the room he wasn’t going to get it anytime soon. Griffin’s train of thought was interrupted as a man and woman continued their conversation as they entered.
“The chief wants to take credit for their capture, but I’m more than willing to turn the case over to the feds. I don’t care which agency gets them,” the new woman said.
“They’re ours,” Agent Miles declared as soon as the two stepped into the room. “Not only are they illegal immigrants, but they are a viable threat to American citizens which falls squarely in the mission of Homeland Security.”
“I guess that answers that.” The new man held out his hand to Agent Miles. “Special Agent Dennis Harris, FBI.”
“Lieutenant Shirlee Driscoll, Metro P.D.” She gave Alex and Griffin a no-nonsense handshake as the introductions were quickly made.
“Let’s not waste any more time.” Agent Miles pressed a button. “Bring in the older one.”
On the nearly life-size screen in front of them, they all watched as two men in suits brought a man in his middle thirties with brown skin and black curly hair wearing a prisoner’s jumpsuit into the interrogation room. They locked his handcuffs to the table and set a baggie filled with various items on the other side, out of his reach. One of the men sat down across from him while the other stood by the door.
“Do you speak English?” The interrogator asked then repeated the question in Arabic to which he responded in the negative. The preliminaries were given in both English and Arabic.
“Since this part is in both languages, I’ll only translate if the subject answers in anything other than English,” Agent Chernakov explained. It took a bit getting used to hearing the question asked in Arabic and hearing the delayed translation.
“His name, or I should say he calls himself, Hanif.” Agent Chernakov added, “Which by the way, means true believer. If you’re not familiar with naming practices in the Middle East, many men create their own names. It’s nothing like naming practices in the United States where parents name a newborn child. That’s what makes it so difficult tracking people down sometimes. For instance, the man we called Osama bin Laden actually had over twenty different names.”
The subject nodded when asked if he understood his rights, which in actuality did not apply to him since he was in this country illegally and the Department of Homeland Security could detain him indefinitely.
The standard initial questioning took fifteen minutes before the interrogator got down to asking who the man worked for.
Griffin immediately recognized the name Khalid Junyard.
“Probably another self-assigned name, Khalid means eternity or perpetuity and Junyard means warrior, thus Hanif’s boss is Warrior Forever,” Agent Chernakov explained.
“We know him well,” Agent Miles added. “After his brother was killed several months ago, Khalid Junyard bubbled to the top of our list.”
Griffin and Alex shared a glance but said nothing.
Over the next hour, the two men in the room tag-teamed the suspect who grew more agitated with every question.
“Who were you sent to kill?” Agent Chernakov translated.
Griffin leaned forward in his seat. This was his reason for being there.
“The Satan plane.” Her voice was tentative with this translation. “I have to confess, I’m not sure what he’s trying to say. Keeps talking about an airplane from the fires of hell. Now, the plane is burned.” As though she suddenly understood, she said with glee, “The plane is black.”
Griffin’s blood turned to ice. Although a bomb had been discovered a few months ago on the sleek black jet Katlin and her team referred to as the Black Swan, hearing confirmation chilled him to the bone.
Hanif pointed to the baggie in front of the interrogator.
“He says there’s a picture in there of his target. A demon, devil man, who he was sent to kill. Hanif was given blessed bullets and the Caliphate also blessed his rifle.” Then she added, “For those of you unfamiliar with the Muslim religion, a Caliphate is to his followers as the Pope is to Catholics. And in case you’re wondering, there are several who claim to be the true Caliphate, who has to be a direct descendent of Mohammed.”
“So what you’re telling us,” Special Agent Harris clarified, “is that Hanif, in there, thinks he was following the orders of God?”
“In the most basic form, yes.” She went on to explain, “They believe that the Caliphate takes his orders directly from Allah, the entity you may think of as God.”
Agent Miles added, “Khalid Junyard is one of the most radical in his beliefs so this eye-for-an-eye is totally within his purview. He might take it even further, not just putting a contract out on al Jamil’s assassin but also killing an immediate family member of whomever ordered his brother Nassar al Jamil killed.”
If Khalid Junyard wanted to kill the man who issued the orders on his brother, Griffin was more than happy to offer the purported Caliphate the name Jack Ashworth. He’d even provide the address as long as they would leave Grace and her team alone.
The interrogator slid several small pictures out of the baggie and lined them up just out of Hanif’s reach.
Someone entered the observation room and slipped a stack of enlarged photographs to Agent Miles. As he started to leaf through them he froze and stared. Then glared over his shoulder at Griffin and Alex. “When were you in Turkey?” he asked accusingly.
Alex glanced at the others in the room before he answered, “That’s classified.”
The three men both rose and met in the middle. “Can you verify that this is you?”
Griffin wasn’t sure if he should be relieved that Katlin and her team were not the targets, or scared because it was definitely Alex’s picture standing at the bottom of the stairs to Black Swan. His hand was on Katlin’s back. The picture had been taken less than a week ago at Batman Airport in Turkey.
Griffin was handed a close-up picture of him deep in conversation with Grace. The last two were taken in Tikrit, Iraq. Alex was barely recognizable, covered in the dust from the cave-in caused by the explosion when their team had blown up the nuclear armament facility. Grace and Katlin were right there with him.
Of course Khalid Junyard would never expect the women in those pictures to be the real assassins. No one would. That’s why the Ladies of Black Swan were so good.
Agent Miles had been looking over his shoulder at the photographs. “Is that Agent Callahan? And Agent Hall?”
“Yes,” was Griffin and Alex answered at the same time.
“What were they doing in Tur—” The federal agent slammed his mouth shut. “I need to get Jack Ashworth in here.”
“You do whatever you think you need to do.” Alex grabbed Griffin’s bicep and they headed toward the closed door. “I’m out of here.” He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “I’m sure you going to be interrogating your prisoners for the next several hours. I’d appreciate a copy of the video and the transcript. Call me if anything like that comes up again.”
“I’ll let you know right away and get you copies of everything.” Agent Miles picked up the landline in the back of the room. “Connect me to Jack Ashworth immediately. Code red.”
Griffin and Alex found their way out of the maze of hallways with no problem. Neither spoke until they were a few miles away. Alex pulled in the parking lot of a church and stepped out of the SUV after grabbing a device from the glovebox. Griffin took a similar electronic tool and scanned the inside carefully, then stepped out of the vehicle to run the device over himself. Once finished with the exterior scanned, Griffin scanned Alex for any kind of planted bug. All clear.
Standing outside of the vehicle, Griffin asked, “What’s the plan?”
“Let’s call General Lyon and see if we need to assemble a team to go after this Khalid Junyard before he gets us walking out the front door.” The anger in Alex’s voice was unmistakable.
“No need,” the general said with confidence. “This really doesn’t change anything. Hopefully this whole mess will be over within a few weeks. In the meantime, your head is worth two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars. Every special operator under my command has at least a twenty-five–thousand-dollar price tag on his head. Fifty thousand if they’re DevGru or Delta. Hell, I heard mine’s up to a million now.”
The familiar creak of the chair filled the interior of the SUV. “Let me tell you, Alex, the problem with these contracts is, once completed, who is going to pay them? Every mercenary out there, on both sides, knows collecting the money is almost impossible. That’s why these contracts are so seldom accepted. Sounds like this idiot, Hanif, hadn’t really thought the entire plan through. He got caught within twenty-four hours.”
Phones rang in the background as the general went on. “Do what I do. Go on with your life. From what you’ve told me, you move from one city to the next in no particular pattern. Perfect. Go take care of your business. Just plug in that Spidey sense we all get from working in the shadows. SOCOM out.”
“Sounds like good advice to me,” Griffin told his friend and boss as they drove the rest of the way back to his D.C. Center.
“I want you to move out of your apartment and into the penthouse, at least until we know Khalid Junyard is dead.” Alex threw him a glance. “Or we go kill the mother fucker ourselves.”
“Even though there are no pictures of the other men who went with us on those overseas missions, I’ll call each one to make sure they increase their vigilance.” Alex sounded as though he was talking to himself as much is to Griffin.
“Ten bucks says each one volunteers to go back to the Middle East and personally eliminate the Caliphate wanna-be,” Griffin challenged. “I want you to be extremely careful. They have your picture. You have a good strong staff. Use them,” Alex insisted.
Griffin chuckled. “According to General Lyon, I’ve had a price on my head for years.” But the thought that he had put Grace in danger tore at his very soul.
Chapter 14
Griffin’s phone dinged like he’d won at nickel slots as dozens of messages downloaded the moment he turned it on as the plane taxied to the airport in Miami. All hell had broken loose while he was gone. It seemed as though half of his employees were down with a summertime flu and the other half were growing exhausted working double shifts. For a man who didn’t want to attract attention to himself his cell phone was certainly doing a good job of screaming look at me.
On his way to baggage claim, he called Alex. “Looks like I’m going to be taking my turn in the personal protection rotation. Everyone here is either sick or exhausted.”
“If I remember right, this happened about the same time last year,” Alex reminded him. “I think I’m going to mandate flu shots for everyone. Check with your local physician and see if he can make a house call. I don’t care what it costs. I guarantee we’re losing ten times that much in man hours.”
Griffin had to agree. They discussed business for a few more minutes before signing off.
Given everything that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours, Griffin decided to take advantage of the penthouse apartment. This was one of the most secure buildings in all of Miami. Besides, he was nowhere near that black jet and although they had his photograph, he felt relatively safe in Miami.