by Ken Fite
He paused again. Looked at each of us in turn, as if he was deciding something. “They killed the Marine pilots,” he said. “They’re burning in the cockpit right now. Probably died on impact.” Rivera paused again. Longer this time as he continued to think. “This changes everything. No longer a matter of protecting the president. These people need to be found and stopped before they strike again. Think you can do that?”
I glanced over to Parker.
He nodded. “You have my word.”
Rivera nodded back. “Whatever you need, you’ve got it.” He glanced at me. “Jordan has my cell number.” Then he turned to Willis. Eyed him briefly. He didn’t know the man. “Find them and stop these people.”
I said nothing. Just watched Rivera turn and jog back to his men still over by the wreckage.
The firefighters were starting to get control of the flames. Dark black smoke billowed high into the cold night air. Easy to see with the lights from the surrounding buildings and the news crews who’d moved their vehicles here from the White House and were lining their trucks up behind where we were standing.
Parker started pacing and cursed under his breath. Smoothed his graying mustache with his hand. Thinking. Willis stared at me, then shifted his eyes to the burning helicopter and the people working on it. I followed his gaze and watched as an ambulance arrived and parked close to the wreckage. One of the firefighters was able to get the cockpit door open. He pulled out the pilots. Didn’t look like they were moving. The firefighter helped put the bodies on two gurneys. I watched as paramedics rolled them away.
“What do we do?” asked Willis.
Parker thought about it for a second. “We go back to the NAC and figure out our next steps there,” he said. Then he paused for a long moment. Thirty seconds passed before he faced Willis and me and spoke again. “I was wrong about these people,” he finally said. “They’re not trying to send the president a message. They’re trying to kill him.” He thought about it another moment. “Rivera’s right, this changes everything.”
I looked past him at the Treasury Building. Turned and looked at the reporters and all of the onlookers. None of us spoke again for several minutes. I thought about Jami and Kate and Matthew. Felt that same urge I’d had to go back inside and make sure they were okay. Then I turned my gaze back to the burning wreckage and thought about President Keller. A man I’d known half my life. A friend of my father’s. I remembered a conversation I’d had with my dad before he passed away, asking me to keep his friend safe. It felt like a lifetime ago. I could still hear his voice in my head.
And I could still remember the promise I had made.
Parker dug a hand into a pocket and came out with a set of car keys. “Where’s your vehicle?”
Willis glanced over his shoulder, west toward Fifteenth. “Two blocks away.”
Parker nodded. Then he stepped closer to me. Reached for his phone. “Need Rivera’s number, Jordan.”
I shook my head. “Later.”
Parker furrowed his brow as Willis stepped closer. The two men stood side by side, staring blankly at me.
“I’m going with you,” I said.
Parker glanced briefly at the burning wreckage; then his eyes shifted back to me. He nodded. “Let’s go.”
SIXTEEN
I RODE WITH Willis. Parker drove separately. We all arrived at the Nebraska Avenue Complex ten minutes later. It was a quick drive, just under five miles. We pulled up to a guardhouse, and I watched as an older gentleman inside saw us coming. Parker rolled his window down ahead of us, and the guard opened the gate and let him inside. Willis nodded at him as we got closer, and the old guy waved us through. I saw the gate close behind us through the side mirror as Willis brought his SUV around a curve and moved it to a back wing of the massive complex. I’d been here a few times, but never to this part of the NAC. Willis parked in a space and we both climbed out. Parker was on the sidewalk already, waiting for us.
“We’re over here,” said Parker, pointing to his left. “Second floor. Need to sign you in first, though.”
Parker said he was heading upstairs to check in with Simon Harris. I nodded. I knew Simon. Parker asked Willis to get me credentials and a weapon from the armory. Willis nodded. Then he led me into the building next door. We approached a guard behind a desk, busy monitoring security cameras. What he was looking for, I had no idea. The Nebraska Avenue Complex was large, but it was quiet. Deserted, even.
“This is Blake Jordan,” said Willis, gesturing to me. “Need temporary credentials provisioned for him.”
The guard pressed a button and motioned for me to step through a metal turnstile. I did as he asked. Willis swiped his badge behind me and followed me through and stood with me as the security guard ducked into a back room and came out with a DHS badge affixed to a leather holder. He handed it to me.
“Need a weapon now,” said Willis. The security guard stared at him and nodded again. Told me to step into the back with him. A moment later, I was standing behind a tall counter inside the small armory.
“What do you prefer?” the guy asked as Willis stepped inside and stood behind me.
“Standard issue,” said Willis.
The guy turned and dug through some drawers and prepared the weapon and turned back around. I took it from him and looked it over. He’d given me a Glock 17. “You got any twenty-twos back there?” I asked.
“We issue the seventeen,” said Willis as he unholstered his weapon and showed it to me. “Less recoil.”
“Less stopping power, too,” I said and faced the guard again. “I’ll take a twenty-two if you have one.”
“A few,” he replied and turned briefly and unlocked another drawer and got it ready for me.
“Two mags okay?” he asked as he handed me a twenty-two and I handed back the seventeen.
“Sure,” I said.
The guy handed them to me fully loaded along with a holster. The Glock 22 felt good in my hand. Like being reunited with an old friend. I inserted one of the magazines and slid the other one into a pocket. Attached the holster to my belt along with the Glock itself. The guy had me sign for everything.
“Thanks,” I said when I was done and stepped outside with Willis. I followed him across to the other building. Told him he really should switch to the twenty-two. Told him how I didn’t trust the seventeen. Explained why I liked them. How the larger rounds could take a guy down with fewer shots. Willis disagreed. Said he preferred speed over stopping power.
We got to the main building, and Willis motioned for me to try my badge on the reader next to the door. I swiped it once and the reader lit up green. I heard it click open and Willis pulled on the handle. We entered and went straight to the stairs located directly in front of us. “Second floor,” he said as we climbed them. We got to a door and Willis had me try my badge there, too. That door opened up to a large space with a sea of empty cubicles. I saw Tom Parker standing in the middle of the room. Willis and I walked toward him. As we moved, I could see Simon Harris in a chair, staring up at Parker as he spoke.
Parker noticed us. He stopped the conversation as we got closer, and gestured to me. “Simon, this is—”
“Blake Jordan,” he said and extended his hand as he stood.
I shook it. Nodded once.
“I have Morgan Lennox on speakerphone,” he continued as I noticed Willis glaring at him. “He’s been helping me access one of the satellites to try to figure out where the drones from tonight might have been launched from.”
“Morgan?” I said as I heard typing from the speakerphone stop briefly.
“It’s good to hear your voice, mate,” said Morgan from the DDC field office in Chicago.
Willis was still staring at Simon. The room was silent. Nobody spoke. “What’s the problem, Curt?” I asked.
“No problem,” he said. “Just thought I was clear when I left. Simon was supposed to work another lead.”
Simon kept his eyes on Willis. “I was able to access t
he drone manufacturer’s customer database,” he said. “I thought maybe we could find out where the drones were sold, and track down the people who launched them that way.” His eyes shifted away from Willis, and he glanced at Parker, who was standing over him. “But after the White House was attacked, I had another idea. I thought maybe we could use one of the interagency satellites to track them down that way.” His eyes shifted back to Willis. Simon looked scared.
“I called DDC before I left,” said Willis. “Spoke to Lynne May across town. She confirmed it’s too dark out. The satellites can’t see much of anything this time of night. That’s why these people fly them after dark.”
Morgan cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Lynne May is fairly new to DDC,” he said. “She might not know about all of the satellites we have access to. When Simon was in Chicago last year, I told him about them. They’re equipped with infrared technology. One is positioned over Washington at all times.”
Parker ran a hand across his face. “You were able to access it?”
“Yes,” said Morgan. “But it required approval from a director. I’m waiting on my boss to review it now. Roger Shapiro should be getting back to me any minute. Once he approves, we’ll have full access to it.”
“Good,” said Parker. He glanced over to Willis. “I’ll call Mulvaney. Make sure he intends to send us images of the drone wreckage his guys are picking up, if there’s anything left. I’m sure he’s got the Explosives Unit out there right now. They’ll probably bring the remains to the Hoover Building after they make sure they’re safe for transport.” He paused. “I’ll tell him we need the images sent over to us ASAP.”
Simon picked up the landline. The call transferred from speakerphone to his receiver. He cradled it against his ear and used his shoulder to keep it there as he typed and continued to work with Morgan. I told Willis we needed to go. He asked where to. I told him the Hoover Building. Said I didn’t want to wait for Mulvaney to send us pictures. I wanted to see the drone wreckage firsthand, right when they brought it all in. Parker nodded like he thought that was a smart idea. I started walking and Willis caught up to me.
“I’ll call Mulvaney,” called Parker from behind us. “I’ll tell him to expect you.”
“Wait ten minutes,” I said.
SEVENTEEN
I CLIMBED BACK into Willis’s SUV. Slid into the passenger seat and felt Willis staring at me as I looked out the window, thinking. He started the motor and backed out of the space. Put it in gear and the SUV lurched forward. He drove to the exit and stopped at the gate. A sensor made the gate open automatically. I could see the old guy from a faint light inside the guardhouse next to us. He nodded at us as we drove by.
Willis was driving at a moderate speed. He seemed distracted. I figured he was still in as much shock as I was at everything that had happened down by the Treasury Building. A light turned red ahead of us. Willis slowed momentarily and turned on his interior police lights and chirped the siren to get us through the intersection. Once through, Willis stepped on the gas and brought the SUV to a steady speed once again.
I knew the drive to the Hoover Building would take about ten minutes. Maybe less if he could drive faster. Willis looked at me and noticed me staring at the speedometer. He faced forward and drove a little faster.
“Been a while since we’ve worked together,” I said. “I was surprised to learn you took the job with Parker.”
Willis nodded at the wheel. “Had to.”
I glanced left. “How so?”
He shrugged. “Tired of the Bureau always getting the short end of the stick, I guess.”
I said nothing. Just faced forward and watched the road and let him continue.
“You know they stop paying you during a shutdown? And you can forget about back pay.” He paused. “I had some savings, but blew through it all. Most of the people I worked with were in the same boat. You can only go so long before the bills add up.”
“So you took the job for the money? I doubt it pays more than you were making in New York.”
He shook his head. “Homeland is more stable,” he said. “Keller seems to favor the department, somehow. Guess I thought it would work out better in the long run. Maybe I could even make a difference here.”
I nodded. Looked out the passenger-side window. Thought that was a better answer than the first one.
“What about you?” he asked. “Heard Parker offered the job to you first. Why’d you turn it down?”
I thought about it and watched the downtown Washington buildings blur past me. “Just decided it wasn’t for me,” I finally said.
“Had to be something,” he said back.
I shook my head and stared out the window, thinking about Matthew and Jami, and said nothing.
“Thought you would’ve been perfect for it,” he added. “Black ops team working for Keller. Isn’t that what you were doing before? When I first met you back in New York?”
I turned and looked at him. “Do you have a family, Willis?”
He shook his head in the dark.
“Neither did I,” I continued. “My mom passed away a long time ago. Then I lost my dad a few years back. Devoted myself to my job. Then I lost it. You ever lose a job? Fired for doing what you thought was right?”
He made no reply.
I nodded and faced forward. “I have a family again. That’s why I didn’t take the job.”
He grew quiet and drove on. “You’re here now,” he said a few minutes later. “Why?”
Silence in the car except for the hum from the engine and the road noise coming from outside the vehicle. “There’s a kid named Matthew,” I said. “My fiancée’s nephew. We were at the White House during the attack. He gets scared easily.” I shook my head, thinking about it. “I don’t want him to be scared anymore. I guess I want to be able to look him in the eye and tell him everything’s going to be okay—and mean it.”
Willis nodded and drove faster along Massachusetts Avenue. We passed the Naval Observatory. I imagined Vice President Mike Billings inside, being briefed about everything that had happened earlier.
“Fiancée,” he said as we hooked right on Eleventh Street and headed south. “You still with Davis?”
I nodded. Two additional turns later, Willis pulled into the Hoover Building’s parking garage. They had their own security people, similar to DHS. Willis stopped at the guardhouse and rolled his window down. A woman looked him over, then stared at me. Asked for our credentials. We handed them over to her.
She asked what our business was, and Willis told her we were there to meet with Peter Mulvaney. I checked my watch. The woman checked a clipboard. She ran a finger down it slowly then said we weren’t on the list.
“Call him,” I said.
The woman cocked her head slightly and just stared at me.
“He’ll verify it.”
I watched as she picked up a phone and turned her back to us. Somebody answered. I heard her say something into the phone. A moment later, she nodded to herself and dropped the receiver. “Alright,” she said and handed our credentials back to Willis, who passed mine over to me. “Know where you’re going?”
Willis said he did. The woman raised the bar and Willis drove through and parked. We slid out and headed to the lobby. There’d be another security checkpoint there as well. We’d have to wait for Peter Mulvaney himself to come down and get us. “Why’d you want Parker to wait to call Mulvaney?” asked Willis.
I said nothing. Just kept walking.
“You gonna tell me? Or do you like keeping me in the dark?”
“An old trick I learned when I ran the DDC field office back in Chicago,” I said as we kept moving.
He furrowed his brow.
“When I’d interview people for job openings, I’d try to throw them off somehow.”
“Throw them off how?”
I shrugged. “I’d change the meeting location at the last minute,” I said. “Or once we got started, I’d have someone k
nock on the door and say they’d already booked the room we were meeting in and we’d have to scramble to find another place to have the interview, something like that. Sometimes I’d take a seat with my back to the sun with the blinds open. Just to make them squint a little and maybe even sweat a little.”
“You must’ve been a hell of a guy to work for,” he said as we got closer to the entrance to the lobby.
“I just liked having the advantage,” I said.
“You interviewing Mulvaney?”
I shook my head.
“Or are you saying you don’t trust him?”
I shrugged again. “Right now, I don’t trust anybody. You worked for the Bureau. You know about the problems they’ve had. Remember Bill Landry?”
Willis nodded.
“I just don’t want to get the runaround.”
I got to the door and pulled it open. Willis stepped in first. He was Parker’s guy, after all. I wasn’t. A security guard stood from a desk and walked over to us. “We’re here to see Peter Mulvaney,” said Willis.
The guy nodded. “He wasn’t expecting you,” he replied. “Director Mulvaney just got a call from DHS, apparently. He’s in a meeting, so he’s sending someone else to come and get the two of you. Wait here.”
Willis gave me a look. I’d tried to throw Mulvaney off. I wondered if he was trying to throw me off now. The guard made a call. Willis and I watched the row of elevators and waited. A minute later, we heard it chime open. There was a brief pause. A man stepped out and moved in our direction. I recognized him immediately. It was someone I’d known for a long time. Someone I trusted. And someone who could help.
EIGHTEEN
ROBERT HAYES WATCHED the madman from the back of the room. His wrists were still tied together. The pain from the zip ties digging into his skin might have bothered him more if he hadn’t just witnessed what the young man named Frasier had done. He’d been ordered by the kidnapper to attack Marine One . Hayes had watched the video feed as the drone rapidly approached one of the helicopters. There was a brief explosion; then the screen faded to black. But there had been a complication.