“People before politics,” Young said to himself as he begrudgingly answered the phone.
“Talk to me,” Young said.
“Mr. President, I wanted to call you with a report. I gather that Blunt’s hands might be tied at the moment, and I need to speak with you about a potential terrorist threat in New York City.”
“I had my security briefing this morning and am well aware of all the threats against us.”
“Including what’s happening with Al Hasib?”
Young scowled and sifted through some papers on his desk. “I don’t recall seeing anything like that.”
“If that’s the case, there’s something going on that the FBI doesn’t want you to know about for some reason,” Hawk said. “But it’s a grave threat, and it requires your immediate attention.”
“I appreciate your concern, Brady, but I’m in the middle of a campaign here. I’ve got enough troubles of my own. I’m sure the FBI can handle any threats without my help. They’re a capable organization.”
“I understand, sir. But this isn’t just another baseless threat—and the FBI knows it.”
“Then let them handle it. I have more pressing matters at the moment.”
“Sir, I wouldn’t insist, much less call you and waste your precious time, unless this were of the utmost importance.”
“I’ve already told you—”
“Mr. President, Karif Fazil is in New York City and has a stolen prototype suitcase nuke developed by Colton Industries. Now, I know you’re focused on the campaign, but if this thing detonates in the next couple of days, thousands of people could die. And it’ll happen on your watch. Any hope you might have of winning the election will be gone with Fazil’s strike.”
“This doesn’t seem possible. How come nobody ever told me about this threat?”
“I can’t answer that, sir, but I know Fazil better than anybody. I can help put a stop to this.”
“Report to the FBI offices in New York and offer your services. I need to talk to my Homeland Security secretary about what’s going on and will make sure you’re working with the point people on this.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hawk said. “I know you’ve wanted to eliminate Al Hasib for this very reason. Getting Fazil will be a good start.”
“Make it happen and good luck.”
“You, too, Mr. President.”
Young threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. He could sense his dream of winning the presidency slipping away—and even as the most powerful man in the free world, he felt powerless to stop it.
CHAPTER 28
New York City
HAWK AND ALEX TOOK A TAXI straight to the FBI offices in New York once their plane landed. A team of five federal agents greeted them in the lobby and supplied them with the proper credentials. A lanky bespectacled fellow named Richard Paxton introduced himself as the lead FBI director on the case.
“You come highly recommended,” Paxton said as he shook Hawk’s and Alex’s hands. “As in, you can’t really get a much higher recommendation than that of the president.”
Paxton proceeded to introduce the rest of the team, including Justin Frazier from NSA.
“Now that we’re all acquainted, let’s go upstairs and get to work,” Paxton said, ushering everyone into the elevator. “From what I understand, we don’t have much time.”
“The first question I have is do we have any leads?” Hawk asked.
The group was silent, all turning to Paxton. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked at his feet.
“We’re still working on that,” Paxton admitted. “We’ve heard some chatter from some sleeper cells that we recently reactivated, but nothing actionable yet. It’s most unfortunate for us that the people we had embedded in several cells across the country with ties to Al Hasib are not privy to any potential plot.”
Paxton pressed the button for the fifteenth floor, and the doors closed.
The ride up was awkwardly silent. Hawk wasn’t sure if they were expecting him to come up with a potential target on the spot, but he was stunned that nobody at the agency had narrowed down the possibilities.
“How long has this team been working together?” Hawk asked in an attempt to defuse the tension.
“Less than a week,” Paxton said. “You’ll find it’s a dedicated crew. If anybody can sniff out where Al Hasib intends to strike, I’m sure they can.”
“Hmm,” Hawk said, choosing to say nothing else. He noted that the NSA had a presence on the team. And while such a decision might be an effort to demonstrate interagency unity, Hawk saw it as nothing but a looming problem, if it hadn’t already become one. The turf wars often existed because of each director’s desire to receive full credit for the victory, sacrificing long-term results for short-term wins. Ultimately, the quest to climb any government agency’s ladder exceeded any attempts at vanquishing an enemy. Many times a partial victory was deemed satisfactory and racked up enough good will to earn a promotion. The whole system made Hawk sick.
The elevator crawled to a halt, and the doors slid open. Hawk stepped off and waited for Paxton to lead them the war room. Pushing his way through the team, he emerged and gestured for everyone to follow. Several agents approached Paxton with documents for his signature, which he provided with hardly a glance.
Paxton took a seat at the head of the long table and invited the rest of the team to sit. Several monitors hung from the walls, and a large touch screen monitor was directly behind Paxton. He gestured for one of his assistants to hand out a report he had prepared about Karif Fazil.
Hawk opened to the first page and read the bio about Fazil. Simplistic in nature and lacking any details necessary to capture the Al Hasib leader, Hawk slammed the document shut.
“Is there something wrong, Mr. Hawk?” Paxton asked.
Hawk was about to speak when he watched Thomas Colton slip into the room and take a seat at the table.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Colton said as he made eye contact with Hawk.
Hawk took a deep breath and exhaled. “I know all about Karif Fazil, and the key to finding him won’t be buried in a report like this.”
“Please, by all means, enlighten us,” Paxton said.
Hawk stood and paced around the room as he spoke. “Karif Fazil is not someone to be dissected through FBI psychological evaluations. He’s a simple man on a simple mission—revenge. A U.S. mission several years ago killed his brother. That should tell you what you need to know about Fazil. He wants to inflict the most pain possible on our country. This isn’t some idealistic jihadist. He wants blood, and nothing else will satisfy him. That’s why we must catch him before he unleashes his fury on this city. Because I can assure you that whatever he’s planning, it has the potential to kill thousands of people.”
Alex nodded at Hawk.
“Alex knows Fazil, too,” he said. “Is there something you see?”
“Based on all the potential targets, there’s one that jumps out at me this week,” she said.
“We’ve been over this list many times,” Paxton said. “Nothing seems like a slam dunk based on the numbers.”
“This isn’t about the sheer size of a crowd, though that could come into play,” Alex said. “When I look at this list, I have to go all the way to the bottom to find his likely target—the Veteran’s Day Parade.”
Paxton laughed, shaking his head. “Ms. Duncan, what makes you think he’d target such a poorly-attended event like that one? Why not the Jets game on Sunday or the concert Saturday at Madison Square Garden?”
“With all due respect, sir,” Alex began, “I don’t think you’re listening to what I’m saying. Karif Fazil wants to make a statement. A Taylor Swift concert wouldn’t make a statement. A Jets game wouldn’t make a statement. And—”
“How could you even say that with a straight face?” Paxton interrupted. “Taylor Swift is an American icon, and blowing up an arena where she is singing would create such visibility for the event that A
l Hasib would be on the lips of every person around the globe twenty-four hours later.”
“She has marginal talent with a keen eye for marketing,” Alex said, wagging her finger. “Let’s not act as if she’s the second coming of Michael Jackson.”
“If Swift’s concert isn’t the target, striking at the heart of American culture during an NFL game would also yield prime results for Fazil,” Paxton said.
“Please, Mr. Paxton. The Jets and the Bills? Nobody is watching that dumpster fire of a game.”
“So instead Al Hasib will concentrate their efforts on sabotaging a parade that likely ninety-nine percent of Americans don’t even know exists—and that’s being generous.”
“I’ll bet ninety-nine New Yorkers don’t even know about it,” Justin Frazier chimed in.
“But it might be more popular this year,” Alex said. “It says in your report that the grand marshal is presidential candidate James Peterson.”
“And that’s exactly why we can’t shut it down, even if we wanted to,” Paxton said.
“Does Peterson know about the threat?” Alex asked. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind hearing about it from someone.”
Hawk watched as Frazier and Paxton communicated with glances at each other, though neither saying a word.
“Why do I get the feeling there’s something else going on you’re not telling me?” Hawk asked.
Paxton crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “There are some things we’re just not at liberty to discuss with you.”
“If we’re going to catch Fazil before he strikes, you need to tell me everything,” Hawk said.
“Can’t do it,” Paxton said. “It’d jeopardize the entire operation.”
“So this is just part of an operation ?” Hawk asked as he shook his head in disbelief. “What are you guys doing? I imagine this means you knew Fazil was coming here but you let him in anyway. Who are you trying to catch here? A terrorist or someone else?”
“Look, Mr. Hawk, I appreciate your vigilance in wanting to apprehend Karif Fazil before he kills hundreds—”
“Thousands,” Hawk corrected.
“Okay, thousands of innocent Americans. But our past decisions about why we did what we did is of little relevance at this point to you.”
“It’s actually very relevant,” Hawk said as he narrowed his eyes. “If you want this blood-thirsty terrorist caught, you can’t leave me in the dark about anything. Need I remind you that innocent lives are at stake? And you need my help to avoid another tragedy.”
“I promise to share all the pertinent information with you, Mr. Hawk,” Paxton said. “And I promise that you’ll understand our reasons later, but for now, you’re going to have to trust me.”
“Then I suggest you trust me, too, and cancel the Veteran’s Day parade,” Hawk said.
“We can’t,” Frazier said, leaning forward as he interjected. “Peterson won’t have it. He’ll see this as some political revenge by Noah Young for accusing him of live streaming a meeting with a Russian ambassador.”
“You’re going to allow this event to take place even though it’s a likely target for Fazil?” Hawk asked. His jaw fell agape after he finished.
“Right now, the bureau can’t afford to wade into the waters of some political game. We need to maintain the public’s trust that we’re an objective government agency.”
Hawk sat back down and stacked the document on the table in front of him. “If the public finds out that you didn’t cancel the parade for political reasons, you’re not going to have a shred of the public’s trust moving forward.”
“That’s a chance we’re willing to take, Mr. Hawk,” Paxton said. “Now I think we need to stop debating something that’s not to happen regarding the parade and focus on what we can do to stop this.”
“What are you doing in the way of facial recognition?” Alex asked.
“Good question,” Paxton said. “Let me get one of my agents in here who’s overseeing that part of the operation.”
As he got up, the door swung open, and a woman carrying a tablet entered the room.
“I apologize for interrupting, sir,” she said, “but you need to see this.”
“What is it?” Paxton asked as he reached for the tablet.
“Our facial recognition software is going berserk. We’ve had more than a hundred hits on Karif Fazil in the last hour. And unless he’s got some superhuman speed and is racing back and forth across the city, there’s a major problem.”
“Why don’t you put this on the monitors so everyone can see,” Paxton said.
The woman complied, and the hits of Karif Fazil’s face populated a map of the city along with the time that it occurred. His image was clustered around a handful of city blocks.
“Where is this?” Hawk asked.
Alex glanced at her notes. “It’s all along the parade route for tomorrow.”
“He’s just messing with you—or making a practice run,” Hawk said.
Paxton closed his eyes and sighed as he shook his head. “We’re still not canceling the parade.”
“Then we’re going to have a big problem tomorrow at the parade—and an even bigger mess to clean up,” Hawk said.
“Let’s just keep working,” Paxton said. “We’re all smart enough to figure out a way to stop this madman.”
“From what I’ve found, tracking terrorists across the Middle East, when someone is desperate and determined, your odds of success aren’t good,” Hawk said.
“But there’s still a chance, right?” Paxton asked.
Hawk shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“Then find a way to catch this guy before he does something we’ll all regret.”
CHAPTER 29
New York City
JAMES PETERSON SLIPPED into the backseat of the convertible before looking up at the gray New York sky. The cloud cover combined with the looming buildings made for a dark day. Jamming his hands into his coat pockets, Peterson shivered and scanned the staging area for the Veterans Day parade.
“Is anybody even going to attend this thing today?” Peterson asked his campaign advisor, who had his head buried in his notes.
“Absolutely, sir. It’s going to be packed. The campaign offices here have done a great job of getting the word out about the event. The footage will look fantastic on television later tonight.”
Peterson glanced at his watch and cracked his knuckles. “What time are we going to get started? I thought we would be moving by now.”
“Patience, sir. We have a few more minutes before we leave. And I believe we’re also waiting on your son.”
Peterson groaned and looked for William, his son who seemed to find trouble even when it didn’t exist. Over the past few years, William had made an incredible turnaround regarding his drug and alcohol addiction. After a few months at one of the nation’s top rehab centers, William emerged clean and sober for the first time since he was in high school. But Peterson knew his son’s mischief wasn’t limited to substance abuse.
“I hope Little Willie isn’t up to no good,” Peterson said.
William hopped into the convertible and landed on the back seat just to the right of his father. “I thought I told you that I hate the nickname Little Willie.”
“Start acting like a grownup, and I’ll call you William,” Peterson said. He checked his watch again. “Seriously, when is this thing going to start? I’ve got a rally to get to later this afternoon.”
The car lurched forward as it started to roll.
“Looks like we’re getting started now,” Peterson’s campaign manager said.
The convertible turned to the right and eased onto the parade route. Peterson squinted as he scanned the street ahead to see what kind of turnout would be there to greet him.
“Doesn’t look like the crowd is all that big,” Peterson said.
“Just wait, sir.”
Peterson looked at William, who fidgeted with his fingers.
“Do you have a p
roblem, Little Willie?” Peterson asked.
William stared off in the distance before responding. “Look, Dad, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh, Lord,” Peterson said. “Please tell me you haven’t murdered anyone.”
“No, no one’s been murdered.”
“Thank God. What is it, son? I can take anything now.”
William looked at his hands and rubbed them before responding. “I might have done something that might not cast you in the best light.”
Peterson eyed his son closely. “Go on.”
“You know when you said that we need to make sure that the American people know that Noah Young doesn’t care about homeland security?”
“Yes, I remember. That’s an area I am hammering him in.”
“Well, I might have made sure the American people recognize that for sure.”
Peterson cocked his head to one side. “I’m not sure I’m following you, son.”
“What I’m trying to say is that I kind of struck a deal with someone from Al Hasib, who plans to unleash a terrorist strike on U.S. soil in the coming weeks.”
“You did what?”
“I know, I know. In hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea.”
“Hindsight? What about foresight? Son, if anyone finds out about this, it’s a disaster.”
“I realize that now.”
“What were you thinking? And what did you do exactly?”
“Here it goes,” William mumbled. “I used your plane to sneak Karif Fazil into the country.”
“I should knock your lights out right now,” Peterson said. “And if the camera weren’t rolling, I’d do it. I’d kick your ass and leave you on the street. You’re lucky you’re telling this to me now.”
“But it’s worse than that,” William said as he stared off in the distance.
“Worse than that? How is that even possible?” Peterson said, his mouth falling open.
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