by David Spell
Dunning turned her head away and was silent for so long that McCain thought she might have fallen asleep. He was about to stand and leave when she turned back, looking him in the eye. She spoke so softly that Chuck had to lean in to hear her.
“It might not be anything, but on the morning when I got shot, I was supposed to meet with him when I got to the office. I hadn’t given him a full report yet on your Op in California or Kevin’s in Honduras. Of course, nothing is written down for those kinds of missions so I was going to tell him what you and Kevin had told me. But, I also planned on asking him for more context on why he ordered those two operations.”
“So, both of those missions came directly from Sterling?” McCain asked.
“They did,” she nodded. “He told me that he wanted Nicholson and Knight taken out, but didn’t really give me a good reason why. The only thing he told me was that they were terrible people who had preyed on so many young girls. He also mentioned Alfie’s mob ties and hinted that he was financially supporting ISIS. He said that the other reasons for the missions were need to know and I didn’t need to know any more than what he had already told me.
“Something felt off from the very beginning, but we’re all good soldiers and know how to follow orders. I’m good with having people like that taken out, but it just seemed a bit odd. It was definitely not the type of mission that we were normally given.”
Chuck looked surprised. “You held one of the highest positions in the CIA and he told you that you didn’t need to know? Like you said, we’re all good soldiers. Kevin and I felt the same way, but we didn’t know if the ops order had come from you or Sterling. We had no qualms about eliminating those two perverts and we assumed that you had your reasons. It’s not like we’re lacking in targets to take out around the world, but we thought it strange that we were ordered to take out a Hollywood producer and a big-name actress. And then on the morning that you were going to meet with Maxwell and ask him about those orders, you get attacked and almost killed.”
“When you put it like that, it sounds more than a little suspicious. Why does Agent Burns think that Sterling is hiding something?”
“Just some of the things that Little Max said and the fact that he’s being so uncooperative.”
“Shaun told me how he’s ‘restructured’ Ops,” Sandra commented. “I know the new director, Vijay Sable. He’s a nice enough guy but has no experience as a field agent, an operative, or even in Analysis. He’s got a Ph.D. in Robotic Engineering. And Sterling taps him to run the Ops Division? Then, presumably under the director’s orders, Vijay transfers, fires, or runs off all the experienced operatives. What do you think, Chuck?”
“You’re the analyst, ma’am. This definitely sounds like something more is going on here besides the fact that Sterling is an incompetent ass.”
Dunning chuckled, in spite of herself. “Oh, it hurts to laugh! Tell me what you really think.”
The big man smiled, glad to see his former boss’s mood brighten a little. A knock at the door caused him to quickly reach for his pistol. A nurse stepped in, letting McCain know that his time was up.
“I’ll check back on you in a couple of days, ma’am. Let me know if you need anything.”
Bashir Campaign Headquarters, Detroit, Friday, 1750 hours
Amari Roberts flipped through the latest polling data which his assistant had just handed him. The large work area outside Roberts’ office continued to hum as both paid and volunteer campaign staff kept up a frantic pace. Most of them worked until at least 7:00pm every night, making phone calls, sending emails and text blasts, posting social media updates, and even stuffing envelopes.
The results the campaign manager held in his hand were excellent. Saleem was still in second place behind Governor Mason Wilson among the Democratic candidates. Wilson and Bashir were clearly the two front-runners, with Saleem in easy striking distance. The next debate was less than a week away and would be telling. The governor was sincere, humorous, and connected easily with any audience. The senator was handsome, educated, and articulate. The press had declared the first debate a tie. None of the other remaining candidates had a chance but several of them were still included in the debates to keep them interesting. Connecticut Congressman Jamal Harris, in particular, had given a good account of himself in the first meeting.
In the overall polls, the Democrats were leading the Republican incumbent, President Benjamin Asher. Roberts was thrilled by this data, but also a bit perplexed. Politics had fascinated him from the time he was first old enough to vote. How could the American people not be supporting Asher? He had gotten them through one of the greatest crises in the history of the United States and had also been a successful wartime president. Amari shook his head, grateful that he just needed to focus on pushing his man ahead in the Democratic polls.
Roberts was still mulling over the damaging evidence that Maxwell Sterling had given him on Wilson. The photographs, video, and witness statements were ugly and damning. The young prostitute was even willing to go on camera and discuss her relationship with the governor. Clearly, she was anticipating a big payday for her story, but that didn’t mean she was lying. From everything that Amari had seen, the woman was telling the truth and that truth would bring Mason Wilson’s presidential hopes crashing to the ground.
The biggest decisions for Amari were when and how to release the information. The plan was for the story to be released over time, with each new bombshell more damaging than the previous one. The election was still several months away, but it was time to start the process of knocking Wilson out of the race. The campaign manager glanced at the calendar on his desk. The second Democratic debate was scheduled for Wednesday night.
Next Thursday morning would be a good time to release the first tidbit to the hungry media. Choosing the day after the debate would serve two purposes, Roberts thought. If, by chance, the governor has a good showing against Saleem, the top story for the next several days would nullify his debate performance. If Bashir won this second contest, the negative story on his opponent would only enhance his victory.
Now that he had decided when, Amari needed to decide how to get the story out. He couldn’t just announce that he had dirt on Governor Wilson. Things didn’t work that way. The campaign manager picked up his phone, opening his contacts. He scrolled through, looking for just the right one. There he is: Ronald Meadows with MSNBC.
Meadows was one of the most liberal reporters in MSNBC’s already leftist-leaning stable of journalists. He and Roberts had developed a relationship of sorts over the last couple of campaigns. He would call Ronald next week and let him know that he was emailing him a crazy story that an anonymous source had dropped through their mail slot the night before. The source would be alleging that the governor had been seen in the company of a known prostitute at a cheap Charlotte motel. A grainy photograph would be included showing Mason kissing a young woman outside a motel room door.
Of course, Amari would say that he had no idea who the source was but if the story was true, the public deserved to know about it. Ronald would be thrilled to be the one reporter out of thousands who managed to get the scoop. He would call the Wilson campaign and ask for a comment. That would start the fireworks as Mason’s people would vehemently deny the allegations. The next day, the story would break, with network after network jumping on the bandwagon and repeating the same report.
The public would lap it up, and Governor Wilson’s support would begin to erode. It would be interesting to see how he and his team handled the bombshell, Amari mused. The campaign manager expected that Wilson would weather this first attack without dropping too far in the polls. The subsequent stories, however, would be the ones that sealed the deal.
The second release would involve revealing how the governor enjoyed being dominated by a muscular woman wearing leather and holding a whip. That revelation would be tough to survive and would likely cause Wilson to drop out of the presidential race to focus on his family and persona
l life. If he chose to keep fighting, however, Roberts’ team would record an interview with the young prostitute whom the governor was photographed kissing.
The public was forgiving and understood that their leaders were not perfect. At the same time, people had no patience for hypocrites. If Wilson continued to insist that he was innocent at that point or if he stayed in the race, there was little to no chance that he would win. This was dirty politics at its finest, Amari thought. Maybe having Maxwell Sterling around wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Saturday, 1130 hours
Musa Khan sipped a cup of tea as he watched the latest news headlines. Bashir was doing quite well, Khan observed, still in second place behind the governor of North Carolina. The Pakistani did not know exactly how American politics worked but he understood enough to know that his fellow Muslim was in striking distance of becoming the next American President.
He had only known Saleem for the last year and a half. Their conversations had convinced Khan that Bashir was a true believer with a radical agenda for the United States. The two men had spoken candidly, both understanding that the American infidels would possibly try to remove him from office before he could do too much damage. At the same time, Saleem understood the political system well, having served in the senate for twelve years. If he was careful, he might be able to last an entire four-year term before being voted out.
Musa had been contracted by the Brotherhood to slip into the United States and to be available to help the presidential candidate with any messy situations that popped up during the campaign. The Brotherhood was paying him generously to be available and Khan had set up several safehouses that only he knew about. This one in Philadelphia was right around the corner from Masjidullah, the largest mosque in the city.
Khan had developed a relationship with one of the imams, also a true believer. He would meet with Shaheed Ali whenever the assassin was in town, using the Philadelphia hideout. Musa regularly gave the imam an envelope of cash, his offering to help with the upkeep of the mosque, as well as to go towards feeding the poor in the community.
In return, Shaheed had given Musa a list of names that he felt would be worthy soldiers of Allah in the ongoing jihad against the United States. Khan had already met with several of those contacts, settling on six of them as the nucleus of his Philadelphia cell. Ali had no idea what Khan was planning, and really didn’t care as long as his friend eventually was able to strike a blow against the Great Satan, America. In reality, Musa didn’t have any terror attacks planned yet. He was, however, getting organized, having created groups in Philadelphia, Washington, D.C., Detroit, Trenton, and New York City.
While the Brotherhood was paying the Pakistani to be available to help Saleem, they were also funding the cells in those key cities. The plans that were being developed called for them to launch attacks against American citizens in their respective cities if Bashir lost the election. The attacks would be blamed on a racist country that did not want a Muslim leading it. If Saleem won the election, the terror attacks would be placed on hold until the best time for the new President to exploit them.
The previous Muslim terror cells had been eliminated by the CIA, the FBI, and even the CDC Enforcement Unit. Those Islamic warriors had caused much damage to the Great Satan as they had released the zombie virus over two years earlier. Khan had known one of the imams who had organized a number of the groups of soldiers of Allah. Ruhollah Ali Bukhari had operated out of Washington, D.C., creating cells up and down the east coast.
The Americans had gotten to Bukhari, however, tracking him to his safehouse in Pennsylvania. After killing the imam’s bodyguards, the infidels had injected Ruhollah with sodium pentothal, the truth serum, and had interrogated him before giving him a lethal injection of deadly chemicals. Bukhari had revealed the location and the names of those involved in the groups that he had created.
The infidels had been playing by different rules since the bio-terror attacks. While some of the terror cells had been taken down by conventional means, with the members arrested, many of Allah’s soldiers had been executed in their homes, cars, or other locations. Musa had learned that the zombie virus had been released around the same time that Maxwell Sterling had been appointed to lead the CIA. Sterling, like most of the American leaders, had been unprepared to deal with the crisis.
One of Sterling’s assistant directors, however, had risen to the occasion. A retired Navy admiral working for the Agency had led the charge, keeping the zombie outbreak from becoming a nationwide crisis. He had managed to keep it mainly confined to the east coast, thanks primarily to the CDC Enforcement Unit that he had created ahead of time. Thankfully, that infidel was dead, his successor was paralyzed and had decided to retire, and the new ops director was hand-picked by Sterling.
The head of the CIA was doing exactly what his friend, and hopefully future president, was asking him to do: weaken the Agency while at the same time, shifting the organization back to primarily focusing on problems outside of America. It had only been during the zombie crisis that President Asher had allowed the CIA to work on US soil. Sterling did not want to attract attention as he made changes within the Agency, but he was laying the groundwork for when Saleem became President.
Musa felt certain that Maxwell had no idea what Saleem was up to. Bashir had likely just filled the CIA Director’s mind with how America hated Islam and the CIA was one of the country’s leading weapons in attacking peace-loving Muslims throughout the world. Sterling was in for a surprise once President Bashir began to unleash his radical agenda on the United States.
Matamoros, Mexico, Sunday, 1815 hours
Vincente Villarreal stared angrily at the doctor standing in front of his desk. The surgeon had just given him an updated prognosis on Damian Sanchez. The former Mexican Special Forces soldier-turned-sicario was a very strong man, the doctor had said. Most men would have succumbed to the injuries that Sanchez had sustained. Damian, however, was not most men and would make a full recovery.
There was one caveat to that prognosis, however. His right arm had been amputated below the shoulder. The hollow point bullets had done too much damage. In a normal hospital, there might have been a chance to repair the arm. In their makeshift environment, though, the only option was to remove the damaged limb. The good news was that the wounds to Sanchez’s left arm and right leg should heal up without any complications.
“But the man is a sicario! How can he work with only one arm?” Villarreal had exploded.
A week and a half earlier when Damian had arrived, the surgeon had explained to Vincente that the arm would have to come off. He was used to the cartel leader’s outbursts, but also knew that the smartest thing was to continue his briefing. Villarreal’s beefy bodyguard, the Bull, moved a little closer, waiting, the doctor supposed, for the command to snap the surgeon’s neck.
“Sí, señor, but the science of prosthetics has come so far. Can I make a suggestion?”
Vincente glared at the man for several seconds before answering. He knew he shouldn’t blame the doctor but he wanted to lash out at someone. Doctor Colon had always been loyal, saving the lives of many of his men, including some of his best assassins. Finally, the gangster’s expression softened. He motioned with his head for Fernando to back up.
“What’s your suggestion?”
“Señor, you’re known for taking care of your soldiers and sicarios. When Damian gets a little stronger, why don’t you buy him a new arm? I’m just a simple doctor and I don’t know if he will ever be an assassin again, but I do know that many men have learned to shoot with their other hand. And like I said, the field of prosthetics has come so far. If you’d like, I can do some research and see what is available.”
“Buena idea, Doctor! Buena idea,” Villarreal nodded. “Let me know what you find. And muchas gracias for your hard work!”
Ten minutes later, Juan Guerra knocked on the cartel leader’s door. The Bull opened it and nodded to the sma
ller man.
“Juan!” Vincente welcomed his friend. “Come in, amigo.”
“You wanted to see me, señor?”
Ramos took up his post behind Villarreal where he could watch Guerra.
“Sí. We need to start planning for your trip. When do you want to leave? One of the police on my payroll told me that the gringos found our tunnel so we’ll have to make other arrangements to get you back to Estados Unidos.”
“I was thinking maybe two more weeks? If it’s OK with you, I’ll go visit my mother again first. I’ve also been in contact with the rest of my people in DC and they’ll be coming to Atlanta with me.”
“Bueno. That sounds good, Juan. I know you’re the right man for this job and I know you’re going to fix the problems there. That city is muy grande and should be generating a huge profit for us.”
“Absolutely, señor. You give me a couple of months in Atlanta and we’ll turn things around.”
“I know, Juan. I can always count on you, amigo. I need you to be careful, though. I can’t afford to lose you. The gringos are still dangerous.”
Guerra smiled. “Señor, I’m always one step ahead of the pigs. One of the problems with the gringo cops is that they are not as corrupt as the Mexican federales y polícia. Not many of them can be bought.”
“All the more reason to be careful, Juan,” Vincente nodded. “See what the problem is with the operation in Atlanta, but keep a low profile while you are doing it. I had hoped my cousin would’ve performed better. Pablo knows the price for failure.”
“I’ll let you know how Pablo is doing after I get there.”
“You like living in America?”