by Spell, David
In the afternoon, McCain joined Beth to pay visits to see Amy and Tyler at the hospital. For the time being, MPs were standing guard outside their rooms. Scotty and Eric then walked Chuck through the crime scene at the Fleming’s home, as well as the fire-gutted building a few blocks away where Scotty and Emily had lived.
“Have we figured out how these scumbags got onto the base and did they ever find the one that Amy wounded?” Chuck asked, standing in front of the ruins of a row of townhomes, his hands on his hips.
Gray nodded and pointed to the east. “Less than half a mile that way is Dogue Creek. It’s really not a creek but that’s what they call it. It’s more like a small bay right off the Potomac. There’s a big marina on the other side.”
“Yeah, Beth and I were feeling adventurous one Sunday afternoon and hiked over there. Those woods are thick but we found several trails leading to the water.”
“That’s right,” Eric continued. “The security forces on the base don’t have any K9 units but one of the local PDs brought their dog over here late yesterday afternoon. The dog found the blood trail and several sets of footprints. The cops and MPs tracked them over to the edge of the creek where it looks like they had left a boat.
“It’s a perfect place for an infiltration,” the former Marine special operator noted. “They had pulled their boat behind some bamboo and were able to get to the residential area of the base without being detected. The K9 officer said he’d be surprised if the guy Amy shot was still alive. He said he’d never seen that much blood on so long of a track. Scotty, tell him what that witness told you.”
“Right,” Smith said. “When we came out of the woods with the police, there was an older guy, Gerald, waiting by the cars. He’s the maintenance man at the base elementary school and chose to stay here when the zombies showed up. Gerald told us that a few days a week he’d go fish from the bank over there. It’s one of the few normal things that he has left.
“Gerald figured he must’ve gotten to his fishing hole after the bad guys had already landed. He’d been fishing for twenty minutes when he heard some people stomping through the woods about fifty yards up the bank from where he was. They were out of breath and were speaking Spanish real fast. It was three guys dragging a fourth guy who looked dead.
“Gerald backed up into the woods and watched until they pulled their boat into the water, started the motor, and took off. He said it was a green metal, fourteen-foot, flat bottom boat but he couldn’t get the number off of it. He hadn’t heard what had happened to Andy or about the fire and thought maybe what he had seen had been some kind of training exercise. Later in the afternoon somebody told him about the attacks and he came looking for the MPs.”
McCain sighed. “Well, good work on solving the mystery of how these bastards got onto a secure base. For now, let’s all try and get some rest. I’m meeting with the admiral Monday afternoon. Tomorrow, I’d like to get with you two and with Andy, if he’s feeling up to it.”
The three men started towards Gray’s DHS Suburban. The African-American stopped in front of the vehicle and turned towards Chuck, looking his boss in the eye.
“I need to know something, Chuck,” Eric said, his voice hard. “That meeting this morning with Shaun didn’t tell me much. We just briefed him on what happened. You’re meeting with the boss on Monday. We’re all getting together tomorrow to talk. You gotta gimme somethin’, Boss. I’m hearing a lot of talking but I wanna know that there’s some action coming.
“I’m still new to working with you guys, but in the Corps, we wouldn’t take something like this lying down. This has done got personal and I’m ready to go kick some cartel ass.”
Chuck met Eric’s stare and nodded. “Let’s keep this to ourselves for the moment, but when we get together in the morning, we’re going to start planning a trip to Mexico.”
The audacity of the statement hung in the air. Gray’s eyes got wide and Smith burst into a grin.
“I’m hoping I can get support from the Agency,” McCain continued, “but you’re right. This just got personal and I want to hit this cartel like they’ve never been hit before. Of course, going into a foreign country and attacking an organization as large as the Tijuana Cartel might just get all of us killed or arrested.
“But, if we don’t do this, they’re going to keep trying to kill us. The other thing that we have to figure out is where the leak is. That operation against the cartel in Atlanta wasn’t on the news. I don’t think there was any media coverage of it. So someone passed along mine, Andy, and Scotty’s info to the bad guys. For all we know there could be hit teams enroute to Eddie’s house, Jimmy’s, Hollywood’s, our friends at Dobbin’s Air Force Base, or maybe even some of your Marines, Gunny.”
“I never even thought about a leak,” Eric admitted. “But, you’re right. Somebody told somebody something.”
“Does that answer your question, Eric?” Chuck asked, continuing to look the Marine in the eye.
After a moment, Gray dropped his gaze and softened his tone. “I’m sorry if it sounded like I was challenging you. I just wanted to hear you say what you said.”
McCain clapped him on the shoulder. “All good. I’m every bit as angry as you are. I just want to make sure that we don’t go off half-cocked and that we can inflict the maximum amount of pain.”
CIA Headquarters, McLean, Virginia, Monday, 1400 hours
The big man strolled into the conference room for his Monday afternoon meeting with Admiral Williams, hoping the cup of coffee he was sipping would kick in. There were already several people in the large conference room, located next to Williams’ office. Chuck nodded at Kevin Clark and Tu Trang, standing near the door. Two men in suits sat by themselves on the far end of the table, talking quietly. Why do we have suits in this meeting? he wondered.
It took a minute before it registered with Chuck who one of the mystery men was.
“Burns? Is that you?”
“Well, if it isn’t the man himself! Chuck McCain, I should’ve known you’d be involved in all this.” A smiling, ruddy-faced man with thinning hair stood and approached Chuck, his hand outstretched.
“I haven’t seen you since…” Chuck didn’t finish his sentence, clasping the man’s hand.
“Since the day you saved my life!” FBI Agent Thomas Burns said, loudly, causing all conversation in the room to cease.
“I think we saved each other’s lives that day,” McCain commented, quietly, a flashback of that terrible fight quickly passing through his mind.
Burns had been the Supervisory Agent in Charge of the Atlanta Office of the FBI, tasked with somehow trying to stop the thousands of zombies pouring out of the city after the car bomb and suicide bomber detonations. A few FBI agents, eight CDC officers, and less than a hundred local cops had made a stand north of Atlanta, killing hundreds of the infected, but barely making a dent in the zombie hoard.
To make matters worse, as the surging Zs were about to overrun their position, three Islamic terrorists struck the defenders from behind. Two of the attackers wore suicide vests, while the third was armed with an AK-47 rifle, shooting at the cops as they were attempting to kill Zs. One of the suicide bombers managed to detonate himself as a Blackhawk helicopter containing several of the CDC agents and Atlanta SWAT officers was landing near the command post. The helicopter was destroyed by the blast and a number of the APD cops were killed, along with the flight crew, with all of the other occupants injured.
Chuck managed to make a head shot on the second bomber just as the terrorist squeezed the detonator for his vest. McCain’s body armor saved his life but he was still knocked unconscious by the explosion and struck by several pieces of shrapnel. Chuck woke up as Agent Burns pulled him to his feet, firing his pistol towards the gunman across the street. As Burns helped the dazed McCain to cover, the FBI man was hit in the chest by a bullet from the AK.
The roles were quickly reversed and Chuck dragged Thomas behind an Atlanta police car while firing his rifle o
ne-handed, trying to keep the shooter’s head down. McCain had applied a chest seal to the agent’s wound, keeping pressure on it until paramedic Emily arrived and took over. Chuck had surveyed the scene, Burns’ blood dripping from his hands. The zombies were about to overrun them so McCain finally gave the order to abandon their position, hoping it wasn’t too late for the survivors to make their retreat.
They were just able to get Thomas loaded into the back of an ambulance, transporting him and several other survivors to Northside Hospital. Chuck had not heard if the FBI agent had survived or not. At the time, the emergency room doctor was not very optimistic, but here he was, almost a year later, looking fully recovered.
“It’s good to see you, Burns. What are you doing in DC?”
The FBI agent chuckled. “Surprisingly, I got promoted. I’m attributing it to the lack of other qualified personnel due to the present crisis,” Thomas laughed. “They made me Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge in the CT Division up here. Let me introduce you to someone.”
Burns waved over the other suited man, a burly agent with a scowl on his face. “Chuck, this is Joe O’Reilly. O’Reilly, this is Chuck McCain. He ran the Atlanta office of the CDC but now I hear he is with Homeland Security.”
“Good to meet you,” O’Reilly muttered, shaking hands with McCain. Joe then turned away from the two men and went back to his chair, sitting down away from everyone else.
“What’s his problem?” Chuck asked.
“His problem,” Thomas sighed, “is part of the reason that we’re here today. One of his agents went rogue. Joe reports to me and I’ve tried to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault but he still feels responsible.”
McCain’s mind was filled with questions. He had understood that this meeting was to discuss the assassination attempts on him and his agents. Before he could ask Burns any more questions, an elderly figure in a gray suit walked slowly into the room, his limp more pronounced than usual, Chuck noted. Retired Admiral Jonathan Williams’ face was drawn and he looked like he was in pain.
A younger man with a military haircut followed closely behind, watching the older man closely. Moments later, a plain looking, middle-age woman entered the room carrying a legal pad and a manila folder, sitting to the director’s left. Shaun Taylor sat on his right. Chuck took a seat next to Tu Trang.
“Gentleman, I apologize for keeping you waiting,” the Director of Operations for the CIA told the others, gently seating himself at the head of the table. “Let’s jump right in, shall we? First of all, I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of my team, Sandra Dunning,” pointing at the woman. “Of course, most of you already know my assistant, Mr. Taylor.”
Chuck had never met Dunning and he noticed that the admiral had not provided a title or her role on Williams’ staff. All in due time, he thought. Williams would not have the woman in the room unless she was very good at whatever it was that she did.
Jonathan Williams was in his late seventies but normally had the energy of a man half his age. Many years before, Williams had been one of the early SEALs in Vietnam, taking the fight to the Viet Cong, as well as the NVA, usually behind enemy lines. During his second combat tour, however, the young commando had taken a rifle round to the leg.
While the serious wound forced Williams out of the elite SEAL unit, he had elected to stay in the regular Navy rather than going back into civilian life. His second career was not quite as exciting as his first, but Williams had retired as an admiral. Not long after leaving the Navy, he had been offered a job with the CIA as the Assistant Director of Operations.
At the height of the zombie crisis, the Director of Operations had elected to retire from the Agency and Williams was selected as his successor. After taking the job, he had sought out Chuck McCain and Kevin Clark to become his assistant directors. The admiral laid two manila folders in front of him and watched as everyone found a seat.
“Mr. McCain,” Williams said, looking across the table at Chuck, “I apologize for adding another item to the agenda of our meeting. As you will see, this first matter is of the utmost importance and I need you and our friends at Homeland Security to be in the loop on this. I believe it will also be good to brief Agents Burns and O’Reilly about the attacks on you and your men.”
“Yes, sir.”
Something was wrong with the admiral. Chuck could see the discomfort in his eyes but his voice was still strong. There was no question that he was in charge. McCain had no desire to brief the FBI on the attacks. He and Burns had developed a working relationship, but Chuck still did not trust the Bureau as a whole. At the same time, he did trust the admiral and would wait to see how this played out.
“Agent Burns, is it just the two of you?” Williams asked, looking around the table. “I had asked that Counter-Terrorism Director Purcell or her deputy attend this meeting.”
Thomas looked uncomfortable. “Sir, uh, the director told me that both she and the deputy director had other obligations. Ms. Purcell asked me to convey her apologies and to bring back any pertinent information.”
McCain saw the flash of anger in William’s eyes. The admiral stared at the two FBI agents for several seconds.
“I see,” he finally said, with a sigh and a slight shake of the head. “I’ll deal with that issue later. For the time being, would you and Agent O’Reilly please bring us up to speed on the matter of Omer Deniz?”
Burns stood, passing around a packet of several pages to everyone in the room. Chuck stared at the top page, a photo of an olive skinned male with movie star looks.
“I’ll let Agent O’Reilly give you some of the background on Deniz in a moment. He disappeared on the same day our Iranian mole, Mir Turani, went missing.”
Burns glanced at McCain as he mentioned Turani, wondering if Chuck knew anything about Mir’s disappearance. McCain seemed to be in the middle of everything. The official story was that the traitor had vanished after Imam Bukhari’s body was discovered and was still on the run. A neighbor, however, had seen a large van back up to Mir’s front door on the day he went missing. Four masked men tossed a bound, hooded figure into the rear and the vehicle had sped away. Chuck met Thomas’ gaze, his eyes giving nothing away.
The FBI agent continued, recounting how the agency hadn’t had any contact with Deniz since the day that he had walked out of the Bureau’s temporary HQ at Andrews Air Force Base. Omer had surfaced the previous night, however, after murdering an Iowa State Patrol officer. Thomas nodded at Shaun who pressed ‘Play’ on a remote, displaying the body cam footage from the trooper onto the wall from a projector hanging from the ceiling.
Trooper Jason Moore had used great tactics when the man in the CRV had opened fire at him. Another attacker, however, had managed to sneak up behind him, shooting the police officer in the head. Agent Burns told the group that the trooper had collapsed facedown on the asphalt, not catching the rest of the encounter on his body cam. The audio recording was excellent, though, and the conversation came through loud and clear.
Burns told them that one of the voices, the one that sounded like it was in charge, belonged to Omer Deniz. The comment that sent chills down everyone’s spine was, “We’re going to kill thousands of Americans, and those two idiots are worried about getting arrested for having a gun?”
Thomas motioned at O’Reilly to take over the briefing. Joe pointed to the picture of Omer.
“Here’s some background on Deniz. His parents immigrated from Turkey when he was a child. They’re nominal Muslims. His mom and dad told us that they haven’t had any contact with their son since he disappeared.
“Omer attended Georgetown, got a law degree, and then joined the Bureau. He was with us for six years. I was his supervisor for three of those and there were no indicators that he was a traitor. Deniz grew up near Detroit where the Muslim population is huge, but I’ve never known him to practice his religion.
“The second page,” he continued, “that’s Mohammad Qasem, the one the trooper killed. He was
a Navy veteran, a computer specialist. Qasem was arrested a few years ago for being a part of a plot to blow up the aircraft carrier, the USS Ronald Reagan. He spent eighteen months in a military prison and was dishonorably discharged. He was radicalized while serving in the Middle East.
“Deniz mentioned a Walters and a Davis and there was the other voice on the audio that we’re trying identify. One of our linguistic specialists has given us a preliminary finding that the other voice is Palestinian. So far, that’s all we have on the suspects.
“The next three sheets are copies of Google map pages that were in the center console of the CRV.”
Kevin Clark spoke up, concern in his voice, “San Diego, Los Angeles, and San Francisco? Do you think they’re targeting these three cities? We all heard Deniz say they were going to kill thousands of Americans.”
O’Reilly shrugged, clearly frustrated by the situation. “We’re giving you everything we have. There’s a dossier in the packet with more information on Deniz. After he disappeared, a couple of his teammates mentioned that he was pretty good friends with Mir Turani. Turani had been assigned to the Weapons of Mass Destruction Directorate.
“They’re a separate division, but a lot of our investigations cross paths so them being friends was no surprise. Turani was the only terror link that we’ve found so we’re treating this like Mir was Omer’s handler. We were able to connect Turani with the late Imam Bukhari, so that is the scenario that makes the most sense.”
Chuck glanced at Tu Trang and decided that he was probably a very good poker player. No one would have ever guessed by his facial expression that he had been the one to send Bukhari into eternity after he and Jay Walker had pumped the imam full of sodium pentothal, often called the ‘truth serum.’ Trang and Walker recorded their interview with him before Tu injected the cleric with another syringe full of the same drugs used to execute prisoners who had been sentenced to death.