Credible Threat

by Ken Fite

  “Ron Gibson is a very dangerous man. He has men aligned to his cause. And that cause is to see to it that the vision you have for America never becomes a reality, no matter the cost. He tried to have you and your cabinet killed. We have to stop him. And if we’re going to do something, we have to do it right now.”

  We were again silent as the vehicle rounded a corner. After a minute or two passed, Billings spoke again. “What proof do we have, Jim? Short of an admission of guilt, it’s his word against ours.”

  “We have Max Donovan,” I replied. “There should be records of the phone calls that Gibson made to him. I was there for one of them. They exist. The NSA has a record of those calls and can pull them for us.”

  “Maybe,” said Billings. “But do you think they’re going to just hand over records of the defense secretary? It’ll never happen. They might as well not exist.”

  “Even if you pulled it off, it would take a long time,” said the agent driving us. I turned around, surprised to hear the comment coming from the agent as standard protocol was to remain silent. “Not to pry, but if what you’re saying about the defense secretary is true, then I agree, we need to act. You have my support.”

  “What do you propose, Blake?” asked Keller.

  ”I’m going to confront Gibson, but I’ll need help,” I said, referring to the two agents with us.

  “Okay, what do you need and what are you going to do when you get to him?”

  I thought for a moment and came up with what I thought was a solid plan. I explained the idea and how it could work to the rest of the men inside the car. Everyone agreed that what I had proposed could work, although it would be risky. But it might be our only shot at trying to bring down Ron Gibson.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned around. The agent in the passenger seat handed me my gun. “Maybe this will help.”

  Ejecting the mag, I saw that it wasn’t loaded. “I can’t work with this.”

  “You’re going to have to. I know what you’re trying to accomplish and I support you. But I still cannot let an armed man near the defense secretary. But if what you have in mind works, you won’t need bullets. You also need to know that as the designated survivor, Gibson will have an agent with him at all times.”

  “Just one?”

  “Yes,” said the driver. “The observatory is a secure area. The agent will be in the same room as Gibson.”

  “I’ll need one of your comm units for us to pull this off, Agent–” I said to the man in the passenger seat.

  “Rivera and that’s Bennett,” he said, referring to the agent driving us. “We have extra units in the back.”

  “And you know the property, Agent Rivera?”

  He nodded. “Been there several times while on rotation. I know it just as well as anybody.”

  Bennett received word that the vice president and his family had left the observatory. He picked up speed and approached the entrance. When we arrived, he rolled down the window and spoke with security. I worried that they were going to ask why we were there but they didn’t and instead let us inside.

  “What else do I need to know about the residence?” I asked after we entered the observatory grounds.

  “The vice president’s home is large. Three stories, thirty-three rooms. Easy to get lost in without help.”

  My God, how am I going to pull this off? I thought.

  “How do we stay in communication without the other agent knowing what we’re doing?” I asked.

  “For your plan to work, I’ll set up a separate channel for the three of us,” said Rivera, referring to himself, Bennett, and me. “I’ll add encryption but there’s no guarantee it’ll be private. It may just buy us time.”

  “Do it,” I said as we pulled into a parking lot on our right, directly across from the vice president’s home.

  “This is the closest I can get you,” Agent Bennett said. “You’ll have to get to the residence from here. We don’t know what room Gibson is in. Based on experience, I suggest entering from east of the residence.”

  “Why east?”

  “That’s the pool and patio area, nobody will be out there in January. And Gibson will likely be on the second or third floor in one of the sitting rooms watching coverage of the inauguration on the television. Going in from the east should be your best bet.”

  Rivera agreed.

  We exited the vehicle and Agent Rivera had me walk around the back after the driver popped the trunk. He gave me a comm unit and created a private, encrypted channel for us. We walked back to the driver’s side window and got Bennett connected to our channel as well. We tested the frequency and we were a go. Rivera showed me how to switch back to the regular radio frequency when the time was right. Both came in clear.

  “Are you sure this is going to work the way I need it to?” I asked.

  Rivera nodded. “I’m sure.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  I FOLLOWED AGENT Rivera out of the parking lot. We crossed a service road that separated the lot next to Number One Observatory Circle where American vice presidents have lived since the late seventies.

  As we approached, I looked at the residence.

  White terracotta brick made up the exterior of the home. The wood trim was painted a warm, putty-gray, matching the gray roof and complementing the forest green shutters that flanked each of the windows.

  Rivera was right. The residence was large.

  As soon as we got to the property, a line of trees shielded us from the view of security just north of us. But they could have seen us approach, still. Although I had asked Billings to wait ten minutes before following us to the home, we agreed that if anything changed before that time, he was to head over immediately.

  “Clear,” we heard Bennett say over the private channel that we were monitoring. We hadn’t been seen.

  Rivera and I stayed along the tree line, planning our next move. “Stay close to me, I’ll take us in from north of the pool area,” he said and I followed him through patches of snow covering the lawn separating the back of the residence from the patio. At one point we were completely exposed to some of the windows on the north side of the home, but Rivera assured me that there was little chance of us being seen.

  We entered into a gazebo by the pool and crouched inside it. “There’s no way to know where they are?”

  Rivera shook his head. “An agent assigned to protective detail will do a status check every few minutes, but they won’t state their exact location unless they leave the premises for some reason. But if Gibson’s monitoring the inauguration, he’ll be at one of the TVs on the south side on the second or third floor.”

  I peered over the ledge of the gazebo and spotted a back entrance beyond the pool area on the eastern side of the residence. “Looks like we can enter through the door just to the left of that window.”

  “That’s our best bet,” replied Rivera. “It’s a Queen Ann style home, built in the eighteen hundreds. Old building and architecture. The floorplan is asymmetrical, so there isn’t a hallway that you can take directly into the residence to get upstairs. We’ll have to navigate a series of rooms that connect and open up to each other to get to the upper floors. Just through that door is the kitchen. We’ll have to make sure to–”

  “You’ve got company coming in fast from the south,” we heard Bennett say. “Change frequencies now.”

  Rivera and I looked at each other. “You’re on your own, Jordan. Switch channels so you can monitor their activity. I’ll go around the front to hold them off as long as I can. I’ll wait for Billings there. Go,” he said.

  I left the gazebo and ran to the backdoor. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Rivera backtracking to the front of the residence. After I walked the full length of the pool, I got to the backdoor and rested my back against the wall. I looked around and peered through the windowpanes on the door and saw the kitchen.

  There were two rooms leaving the kitchen that I could see from where I stood. I wondered if this was what Ri
vera was about to tell me moments earlier – which way we should go when we entered the kitchen.

  I heard chatter in my earpiece as Agent Rivera started talking to the men who were approaching the home. I didn’t know how long he could keep them away, so I knew I had to act fast.

  I reached behind me and grabbed my gun, prepared to bust out the windowpane next to the doorknob. But I ended up not having to break in. When I turned the doorknob, the door opened.

  No need to lock your doors when you live on a property surrounded by federal agents, I thought.

  Looking around, I saw that the kitchen was immaculate. I decided to go toward the right. It was the dining room. The walls were a dark navy blue. A picture of Washington crossing the Delaware hung on one of the walls. I saw a long table overlooking the front of the house. Hearing voices outside, I walked to the long, white drapes that stretched from the tall ceilings to the wood floor and carefully pulled one of them aside.

  Rivera was standing on the veranda talking with one of the agents. I saw one of the men step away.

  I could tell that Rivera knew the man he was talking to. He held a hand up to Rivera and said something in his earpiece. I didn’t catch what he said, but I figured he was letting someone know that he had arrived.

  Across the street, I saw a vehicle approaching. Keller and Billings were inside. Any minute now, Billings would exit and head for the house. Too soon, I thought before I continued to move.

  The next room had yellow and white striped wallpaper and a large rug. It took me to a dead-end.

  “Damn,” I whispered and started to backtrack.

  By the time I got back to the kitchen and started to go into the room on the left side, I heard a voice speaking into the comm unit’s earpiece. “Going around back,” the voice said. I looked out the kitchen window and saw that one of the agents was slowly making his way down the patio to the right of the pool.

  Then I realized the agent upstairs was hearing everything I was. He’d know that something was wrong.

  I thought about the plan with Billings. What he would do might buy me more time. Still, I hadn’t figured out exactly how I was going to get into the room with Gibson and deal with the agent that was with him.

  I left the kitchen and entered the room toward the left, going the opposite direction that I had tried earlier, realizing that this was the path that Rivera would have taken me on. I had to hurry before the man coming around back caught up to me. It wouldn’t take long for him to reach the back of the home.

  As I walked into the next room, I saw the same striped wallpaper as earlier but this time it was a dark, evergreen color alternating with a lighter green. A fire was going in the fireplace to keep the first floor warm. Two large bookcases filled with old books surrounded an old painting of President Kennedy. I passed into the next room and as I did, I saw in the distance a staircase and moved quickly to get to it.

  The stairs curved three times to get to the second floor, six steps with each curve.

  It kept me from seeing what was coming around the corner each time I got to the next set of steps. When I got to the second floor I entered the room to the left. It was empty. Just like the rest of the house so far.

  But I heard something – footsteps directly above me. A creaking sound that paused every few seconds before it started back up again. It was the sound of someone pacing the floor.

  I got back to the staircase and moved cautiously to the third floor. The door to the room was open, so I stood just outside the door listening. I could hear a television on inside. Then the sound of a man clearing his throat, a nervous tick I had come to realize was from the defense secretary. Gibson was the one in the room watching TV and pacing. I was running out of time and had to figure out how to get to him, fast.

  FIFTY-THREE

  AS I RESTED my back against the wall outside the room where Gibson was, I heard someone slowly creeping up the stairs. I wasn’t sure if they were going to the second floor, or coming up to the third where I was positioned, but I knew it was the agent who came around the side of the house.

  To the left of me was the room with Gibson and the agent. I looked to my right. It was a guestroom.

  I walked into the guestroom and looked around, noticing a bed, dresser, and a closet. I went into the closet and waited. There were stacks of blankets on the shelves on the top part of the closet and a large comforter carelessly left on the floor. I worried that the agent coming from downstairs was clearing each of the rooms on every floor. It would only be a matter of time until he entered this room and found me.

  Maybe Billings was right on time after all, I thought as I positioned myself so I could see into the room from between the two closet doors that left a gap of about a quarter of an inch when they were closed.

  But if Billings was going to complete his part of the plan, he needed to do it soon before I would be found.

  I continued to wait and listen to the short transmissions coming from the agents in my earpiece. They were few and far between. Finally, I heard the agent from downstairs arrive at the third floor. He went into the room where Gibson was. I could just barely make out what he was saying. He asked the other agent if he had seen or heard anything unusual in the past few minutes. The man said that he hadn’t. The agent said he was going to clear the rest of the floor before heading back outside.

  For several minutes, I didn’t hear anything. I decided that the agent must have been checking out the other rooms. Come on, Billings – what are you waiting for? I thought to myself.

  The agent finally entered the guestroom where I was hiding. Through the crack in between the closet doors, I could see him walking around. The footsteps were getting closer. I tried not to panic.

  “Ten fifty-three, Renegade down – need immediate assistance,” I heard Rivera yell through my earpiece. The agent in the room with me asked for Rivera’s location. “Veranda,” he replied.

  I looked through the gap between the closet doors and watched the agent disappear as he ran into the adjacent room. I put my ear to the gap in the closet, closed my eyes, and listened. “Why’s Renegade here?” he asked the other agent who was with Gibson and I heard him run down the stairs. I waited to see if the other agent was going to leave. I heard movement in the room, but as far as I could tell, he was still there.

  “Ten fifty-three, need a medic,” Rivera yelled again, alerting the other agents that he had a man down and with this, the agent said something to Gibson and I heard him run out of the room and go down the stairs.

  I waited ten seconds and slowly opened the closet door.

  As quietly as I could, I stepped across the guestroom and went to the window. I had planned on counting the agents down below. There should have been Rivera standing over Billings, the agent that Rivera had intercepted when we split off, the agent who followed me inside, and the one who had been with Gibson.

  But I couldn’t see any of them. I had to keep moving anyway, believing that Gibson was now alone.

  I turned to exit the guestroom and reached behind my back to grab my gun and pointed it in front of me as I approached the next room. I walked into the hallway as quietly as I could and listened. All I could hear was the television. I took a deep breath and turned the corner to enter the room with Ron Gibson.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  WHEN I WALKED through the door, I saw Gibson move from the window and sit down on a couch. He slowly reached for a phone. “Drop it,” I said. He turned to me. “Drop it now.” Gibson’s gaze returned to the landline and I watched as he lowered the receiver and set it down on a table in front of him.

  Gibson turned to me. He was expressionless. I closed the door to the room that we were in and locked it. I kept the gun at my side as I approached. When I was a few feet away from him, I stopped.

  “How’d you get in here?” Gibson asked. I didn’t respond. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I guess that depends.” Gibson watched as I slowly walked closer to him. “Why’d you try to kil
l me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re–”

  “Don’t lie to me!” I yelled and grabbed Gibson’s neck with my left hand and pressed the gun against his temple. The chatter in my earpiece from the agents outside went silent. I wondered if they had heard me. I felt my heart start to race.

  “Twenty four hours ago, you had me kidnapped. One of your men drove me to an open field. He was going to kill me. You sent someone to go after Agent Jami Davis to take care of her, too. I want to know why.”

  “Blake, you don’t really believe–”

  “Shut up,” I said and pushed the gun harder against his head. “I heard you. Donovan took a call from you. You asked about Claudia Nazir. You asked why Max wasn’t with her. I was there so stop with the games.”

  Gibson kept his eyes on me briefly before he looked down to the floor.

  “Let’s try this again. Why’d you try to kill me?”

  “Because I was warned.”

  “About what?”

  “About what could happen if you weren’t contained.”

  “Who warned you?” I asked and Gibson shook his head. “Was it Aasaal Nazir?” He refused to answer.

  “Doesn’t matter anymore,” he replied and I watched him look at the clock. It was two minutes to eleven.

  I started pacing around the room. I was getting nervous and knew that I was running out of time. The Secret Service agents would be back upstairs as soon as a medic arrived to check out Mike Billings, who had collapsed just outside of the home he was about to move into. If they figured out there was nothing wrong with him, they’d be back upstairs even sooner. Either way, I needed Gibson to talk.

  And if I was going to have to give him enough rope to hang himself, I’d have to change my approach.

  “Where’s the bomb?” I asked and glanced at the television and saw that the media wasn’t reporting yet what happened at the National Cathedral. Was it possible that Gibson thought that Keller was still there?

  “You’re too late, you can’t stop what’s coming.”