by Ken Fite
“Blake, earlier I told you that I still believe you’re destined for great things. I agree with Keller. You belong in the field. It’s what you’re great at and what you’ve spent your whole life training for. It’s who you are. You really should consider what he’s offering you. Look at me, Blake. I’m about to call Morgan to try to get information, some of which the FBI already has. Our hands are being tied by our own government.”
I grabbed my blazer and reached an arm inside, followed by the other. I pulled it on straight, using my reflection in the mirror from the bathroom that I could see from where I stood. “It’s who I was. That’s not my life anymore, Jami. And it’s not what I signed up for. It’s a job for people like you.”
“Because of your dad? How long are you going to keep blaming yourself for what happened?”
Jami watched as I walked to the door. “I’m going downstairs to collect my thoughts and give you some room to work,” I said. “I’ll ask about our luggage at the front desk.” I heard a ping on Jami’s laptop and watched as she sat down to see who was trying to reach her. I assumed it was Morgan, ready to talk.
“Blake, wait,” Jami said looking up at me as she tried to type a response to her coworker back in Chicago.
“You should call Morgan. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said and reached for the door. Before I walked through, I turned around and faced Jami. “I’ll tender my resignation tomorrow after Keller is sworn in. He’s got a lot on his mind today.”
TWELVE
IT WASN’T EASY for Claudia to tail the moving van that Paul Hartmann drove without being spotted. When Hartmann merged onto I-90, the woman kept a safe distance between her vehicle and Paul’s as he followed the black SUV. She was careful and knew that once they made it out onto the highway, she’d have an easier time blending in with the many travelers driving out of the city.
After leaving the meeting at Buckingham Fountain a few hours earlier, Claudia gave Hartmann a head start. She drove past the building where Paul worked and, seeing his truck parked outside, decided that the best place to watch what happened next was from the safety of an empty lot across the street.
Claudia backed into a parking spot and watched one of Hartmann’s employees arrive at the same time as the Secret Service and was relieved to see the caravan set out for Kenwood just a few minutes later.
That was the moment of truth, she had thought, not knowing with absolute certainty if Paul would follow through and find a way to conceal the package that she had given him or if he would cave under the pressure of having to deceive the Secret Service.
While Paul had considered landing the United States government as a client and the assignment as a very lucky break weeks earlier, the reality was that using Hartmann’s business wasn’t luck or coincidence. It was intentional, with many strings being pulled by people that Paul Hartmann would never know about.
Claudia and her husband had made sure of that.
Once again, she had given Paul Hartmann a head start, knowing that it would take some time for him to load James and Margaret Keller’s personal effects into the moving van. She arrived in the Kenwood neighborhood twenty minutes before Hartmann and his helper, Rich Sullivan, loaded the last box onto their truck and once she saw the two vehicles move out, Claudia started her vehicle and followed closely.
With the plan in play, Claudia picked up her cell phone, dialed a number, and placed the phone to her ear. She waited for her call to be answered.
Hartmann tried to focus on the road ahead of him. It had been a long night with little sleep and Paul knew that he might be in trouble in just a few hours. He knew how easily the drone from the road noise could make him drowsy.
When Hartmann heard the cell phone ring, he became fully present again and any bit of drowsiness immediately left him. Paul reached for his cell phone and saw that it wasn’t ringing and watched his passenger fish a phone out of his pocket and answer. “This is Rich,” he said after the fourth ring.
“Act normal, Mr. Sullivan. If you put me on speaker or if you make it seem like you’re doing anything other than talking to your girlfriend, we’re going to have a problem. Do you understand?” asked Claudia.
“Yes,” Sullivan answered. “Doing fine, just got on the highway a little while ago,” he said to the woman who he had met with the night before, a woman that, like Paul Hartmann, he had also been working for.
“I’m assuming that the instructions were for you to follow the SUV in front of you to Maryland and drive straight through where you’ll unload the items that you picked up earlier – has that changed?”
“No,” replied Sullivan as he shot Paul a glance and mouthed the word girlfriend and Paul nodded.
“If there are any complications, or you notice anything that I need to be aware of, I want to know about it right away. I hope I’m clear, Mr. Sullivan. Do you have access to turn on the vehicle’s hazard lights?”
Rich’s blood ran cold. As he continued to hold the cell phone up to his ear, he looked out the passenger side mirror, finally understanding that the assignment that the woman had given him was like no other.
Why is she following me? Rich thought as he briefly made eye contact with the woman in the mirror.
“Mr. Sullivan, please don’t do that,” Claudia said. She had been brazen enough to get directly behind the van before placing the call. She glanced at her GPS. “You’re going to arrive somewhere between nine and ten o’clock tonight. If anything changes – your destination, your ETA, anything – I need to know right away. Find a way to engage the hazards and I’ll be in touch. And I’m especially interested in your boss – if he tells you anything that you think I need to know about, you make contact immediately. Understand?”
Rich Sullivan once again glanced over to his boss in the driver’s seat and wondered how the woman knew who he was and what Hartmann’s involvement might be. It didn’t matter, he realized. He was being paid very well by the woman to simply take her phone calls like she had instructed him to and give her updates.
“I’ll reach out if anything changes. Talk soon,” Sullivan said and slipped his cell into a jacket pocket.
Paul Hartmann looked Rich over before letting his eyes drift back to the road and the SUV in front of him. “Give it a few years and she won’t even care enough to call anymore. Throw in a kid and your life is over,” said Paul. “The only time you’ll hear from her is whenever she needs you to do something for her.”
Sullivan was relieved to have gotten through the conversation without raising any suspicions by his boss. “I guess you’re in the doghouse, too?”
Paul thought about Judy and his little girl, Bella. He wished his only problem was a wife that was unhappy with him being away on business. Instead, Paul had allowed his need to make ends meet and provide for his family to get him into a mess that he had no idea how to get out of. “I’m always in the dog house,” replied Paul as he turned on the radio to end the conversation with Rich.
Claudia eased up on the accelerator, causing the car behind her to pass and get in between her and the moving van, providing additional cover. Once she was at a safe distance, she placed another call.
Two rings later, her husband answered. “Claudia? Where are you?” he asked. The man had a Middle Eastern accent, just as thick as Claudia’s.
“On target to arrive by ten tonight. We’re driving straight through. The package is secure and ready to be handed off upon arrival.” Claudia adjusted her rearview mirror and looked behind her to confirm there were no other cars causing suspicion. “And on your end?” she asked with a condescending tone of voice.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Claudia. Just make sure they get here without any complications.”
The call was disconnected moments after Claudia heard her husband bark an order to one of his men. She looked at her cell to make sure the call had ended and placed it on the passenger seat and got comfortable.
Claudia had a long drive ahead of her. She planned to follow Paul and Rich all the
way to within five miles of Bethesda where, instead of exiting, she would continue on to DC and meet with one of her husband’s men at the previously agreed upon spot. He would provide additional instructions once Claudia arrived.
She pushed the thought about the long drive that awaited her out of her mind by focusing on what the next twenty-four hours would bring. Tomorrow, the entire country will be brought to its knees.
THIRTEEN
PRESIDENT-ELECT KELLER paced the hallways of Blair House while Chief of Staff Emma Ross and longtime friend, running mate, and soon-to-be Vice President Mike Billings huddled in the sitting room.
The next hour was scheduled for Keller to practice the inaugural address that he would be giving in less than twenty-four hours from now in front of millions watching from the National Mall and millions more viewing the live broadcast. It was the first impression of a new American president that worried him.
“Damn it, Mike,” Billings heard the president-elect say from the next room as he and Ross sat together around a tablet, looking at an aerial view of the west front of the Capitol and brainstorming a game plan should an improvised explosive device detonate somewhere in the crowd that Keller would be speaking to.
Keller walked into the room, dropped his notecards on the desk, and leaned on a chair that separated Billings and Ross. “I’m finding it hard to focus, knowing there could be an attack tomorrow.”
“I can work on the alternate speech if you think it needs some tweaking,” said Ross.
“Forget the speech, Emma. If something happens, I’m going to tell people to get the hell out of there,” Keller snapped. “And if anyone thinks I’m going to let the American people and terrorists all over the world see me run or cower or do anything other than stand there directing people to safety, then you–”
“Jim, we know,” Billings interrupted. “Your job is to lead. But our job is to keep you safe and able to lead.”
Keller walked to the window of the president’s guest house and looked out onto Pennsylvania Avenue, watching the many tourists walking the busy streets of DC. “I want to talk to President Rouse,” he said.
Ross looked at Billings. “I’ll try again, but he already said that he’s unable to meet with us.”
“We’re across the damn street, Emma. He can’t spare a few minutes time? What could he be doing over there? Get him on the phone.” Ross and Billings looked at each other. They weren’t used to seeing James Keller so furious. “Get him on the phone, now,” Keller yelled and watched Mike start to stand.
“I’ll take care of it,” Ross insisted and stepped away to place another call to the outgoing president’s office.
With a few moments alone, Keller took Ross’s seat and pushed the tablet aside.
“Mike, I want Blake Jordan included in every meeting, involved with every decision, part of every conversation, completely engaged in this. Do you understand?”
Billings nodded. “I remember our conversations and I think this situation is a prime example of what we need Jordan and people like him doing.”
“I’m tired of it, Mike. I’m tired of the out-of-control government and what Rouse has done to overcomplicate everything. Do you think I can really undo what he’s created in four years?”
“You’ll have eight, Jim. Once the American people–”
“We’ll see about that. We’re such a divided nation, Mike. How’d we get here? I’ve seen former presidents from both sides of the aisle, polar opposites on the political spectrum, get along. And now a president-elect can’t even meet with his predecessor just because we don’t see eye-to-eye on what we believe in?”
“I have President Rouse on the line,” Emma Ross said as she walked back inside the room to join Keller and Billings who both looked surprised. Ross pressed a button on the Polycom to take the call off hold.
Keller held a hand up in the air as if to say, I’ll handle this. “Jeff, we have a problem.”
“Mr. President, we have a problem,” Keller and his team heard the president say. “You have five minutes.”
“I don’t have time to play games, Mr. President. How long have you known about the Somali extremists?” Keller asked. “I’m sure by now you’ve heard of the credible threat of an attack planned for tomorrow.”
“Gibson speaks highly of you,” the president replied. “Smart decision keeping him on.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I? Your senate shot down everyone I’ve put up for confirmation.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, senator. We always have a choice, don’t we? You’ll understand soon enough. You’ll have a pen. You’ll have a phone. You’ll find a way to make things happen when you need to.”
“Not how I plan on governing. Not now, not ever.”
“You know what the problem is with people like you?” Rouse asked. “You think that the other party bends the rules to their favor. But when you’re sitting in this chair tomorrow, I think you’re going to see that the world isn’t as black and white as you believe it to be. I looked into the Somalis, senator. They’re harmless.”
“Bending rules and breaking them are two different things. I’m reaching out for support from your team.”
“My team? The same team you and your party vilified over the last eight years every chance you got?”
“Damn it, Jeff. I need your team and their experience to assist us in coming up with a strategy for how to deal with this. Let’s set our parties’ differences aside and work together on this. Do the right thing here.”
A silence covered the entire room as Keller, Billings, and Ross stood around the Polycom speakerphone. “I’ve listened to your rhetoric over the past year on the campaign trail,” the president replied. “I watched you explain to millions of voters how you’ll change America back to the country of your youth, the one you remembered as a kid. You talked about how my decisions have ruined the country. Asking me if I will help is the wrong question, senator. Now you’ll get to see just how difficult this job really is,” Rouse said.
James Keller got closer to the phone. “Damn you to hell if a terrorist attack takes place on American soil tomorrow. The blood will be on your hands if you knew there was a border issue. Your hands, Jeff–”
Keller and his team heard the call disconnect and Emma Ross touched the speakerphone button twice to listen for a dial tone and make sure that the line was truly disconnected by President Rouse. “What are we going to do?” Keller asked as he took a seat at the conference table followed by Billings and Ross.
“We haven’t received an update from the FBI,” Ross said. “I know you don’t want to cancel the ceremonies tomorrow and you don’t want to be sworn in from the White House East Room. So we’ll move forward.”
“Send a car to pick up Jordan and the defense secretary from the Hay-Adams. I’d like to have whoever’s handling security talk with all of us. Can you coordinate with the Secret Service?” Keller asked his chief of staff and Emma Ross nodded in agreement and left Keller and Billings to make some calls.
“Mike, give me a few minutes,” Keller said and watched Billings walk out of the sitting room. Keller shook his head and thought about the conversation with Rouse and what he had said about how things would be different once he sat in his seat. Keller said a prayer that he would be able to govern differently.
FOURTEEN
AFTER BLAKE LEFT, Jami stared at the door and, for a moment, became lost in her thoughts. Ignoring the pings from Morgan telling her that he was ready to talk, Jami thought about the conversation with Blake and what he had said. She told herself that she should have cut him some slack. Jami knew firsthand how difficult it was losing a father, a shared experience that helped bring Blake and her closer.
A moment later, Jami’s cell rang and she became present again. “This is Davis.”
“You ping me telling me you need to talk, then you ignore me. I haven’t got all day, dear.”
“Sounds like you need another cup of coffee, Morgan,” Jami re
plied.
“How can I be of service, love?” the Australian-born DDC agent asked in his typical disinterested, I’ve-got-better-things-to-do tone of voice.
“Shapiro called me about an hour ago.”
“Ah, Regional Director Roger Shapiro – the man who fires Blake Jordan then can’t find an adequate replacement, so he decides to do the job himself and take double the pay – that Roger Shapiro?”
“He asked me to get with you,” Jami continued. “I’ve read the briefing from the FBI – it’s incomplete.”
“What do you mean by incomplete?” Morgan Lennox asked, holding the landline phone against his ear with a shoulder while navigating his screen to the interagency bulletin that the FBI had issued earlier.
“I’m in DC with Blake. He just met with members of the National Security Council and Keller. There’s more going on than what is in that bulletin, Morgan. They’re saying that al-Shabaab may be involved.”
“Al-Shabaab?” Morgan asked. “Out of east Africa? What in bloody hell makes them think that?”
“Blake said an informant walked into an overseas U.S. embassy and told them about the plot.”
“Which embassy?”
“That’s where you come in. I want to know which embassy our guy walked into and, if possible, find out who the informant was. But I have a feeling you’re not going to find anything.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. “Why would you say that? What are you thinking, Jami?”
“Poison pen. With terrorists, you always have to watch the other hand. I’m thinking that the Jihadi Coalition put this Somali storyline in play to throw us off. The whole thing just doesn’t feel right to me.”
“Love, I don’t operate based on feelings. If you want my help, I’ll give it to you, but you’re going to have to tell me what you want me to work on first – the embassy, the informant, or a possible JC connection.”
Before Jami could answer, she heard a knock at the door to her suite. “Hang on, I think Blake is back.”