by Ken Fite
Willis said nothing. Just eyed me briefly, then looked away. He seemed just as frustrated as I was.
“So that’s what you saw, Morgan,” I said as I stared down at the man’s body. “With the infrared. The guy was bleeding out. You picked up the heat signature with the infrared, but he was dead and getting cold.”
Morgan said he understood. Simon continued to work on identifying the dead guy based on the picture Willis had sent him moments earlier. I stood in silence, thinking the whole thing through. Then I stepped closer and noticed something Willis hadn’t seemed to catch. “I don’t think he shot himself,” I finally said.
Willis stopped what he was doing. “He clearly did.”
I pointed to the table in front of the man. “Look at the way the blood splattered,” I said. “It sprayed forward. You shoot yourself, it’s not going to spray that way. It would go backward, Willis. Not forward.”
“There’s blood everywhere,” he said and pointed to it pooling underneath the man’s head and all around.
“Yes,” I said as I pointed at the edges, “but it wouldn’t look like this. The guy was shot from behind.”
The constant, even tone from the alarm out in the entranceway continued to sound. I kept scanning the room. Then I thought about something I’d seen in the hallway a few minutes earlier when I cleared my side of the building. I went back to take another look. Willis asked me where I was going. I ignored him.
“Morgan, do you copy?” I said as I moved.
“I’m here, mate.”
I looked at the ceiling. “There’s a broken camera in the hallway, behind an emergency sign,” I said, staring up at the camera as it dangled from a wire. “It looks damaged, but can you check it for footage anyway?”
“I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll cross-reference the address with a few surveillance companies to look for a match.”
I went back to the main room. Willis started scanning it with me. He found two more cameras located in different spots around the large room. Their lenses were blacked out with spray paint. I went down the hallway Willis had checked. There were no cameras down that wing, so I went back to the main room.
“Don’t waste your time, Lennox,” said Willis. “No need to go down rabbit trails trying to access footage.”
I said nothing.
“Clearly we have our guy,” he said, “whether you want to believe it or not. He was controlling the drones from here. Used the large screens to work from. He piloted the drones that detonated over the East Wing of the White House. Found out he missed Keller, so he piloted another one and chased after Marine One . Found out he missed again. Knew the police would be looking for him. He didn’t want to be taken alive.”
Willis paused. He walked over to the guy’s body. Grabbed him by the hair again and lifted his head. Pulled out the laptop. Blood had spilled all over the keyboard. Willis set it to the side and lowered the dead guy’s head back down. “We’ll take the laptop with us. Bet we’ll find all the evidence we need on it.”
I was staring at Willis when Simon spoke. “Curt, I think I’ve identified the man in the image you sent me.”
“Already?” asked Willis.
“Yes,” he said. “Just ran it through our database and got a hit right away. Just checking one more thing.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
There was more typing in the background. More frantic now. “A guy named Lewis Frasier.”
“Who is he?” I asked again.
Simon made no reply. Just kept working as I heard the rumble of vehicles approaching outside the building. “Okay,” he finally said. “I don’t think he’s anybody. Not government, not on any watch lists.”
“Need an address,” I said. I saw Willis furrow his brow. I left him behind with the dead guy and moved toward the front of the building. Told Morgan to keep trying to access the surveillance footage. Said I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned. I wanted to know why the guy had done it.
I could hear the two analysts typing away in the background. Simon trying to find an address for the man named Frasier, and Morgan trying to access the security footage from the broken camera I had found. I heard car doors slam shut. I reached for my weapon. Stepped to the door and looked outside.
TWENTY-FOUR
I SAW A police cruiser parked and an officer approaching the front of the building. I looked past him and saw another cruiser down the street headed our way. “Metro PD just showed up,” I said into my earpiece. The cop was a middle-aged man. I holstered my weapon and pushed the door open slowly as he saw me.
He put a hand on his weapon. I told the guy I was with DHS and showed him my credentials and said my partner was inside. The other cruiser pulled up fast and stopped. The second cop stepped out and joined us. He was a younger guy. The two cops had me lead the way and followed me inside. Willis was standing next to the body of the man named Frasier. He explained to the cops everything we knew up to that point. How we’d had someone track the drones responsible for the White House and Marine One attacks. How the trail had led us to the building and how we thought the dead man was likely the person responsible.
The men radioed back to the police station about what was happening. The constant tone from the alarm continued to sound. The older cop said he needed to call the medical examiner. The younger one said he needed to call his boss. Willis told them to make their calls, but explained we needed to get going soon.
We stepped away to give the cops some space to work. I saw Willis had forgotten about the laptop Frasier had used to pilot the drones. He told me not to worry about it. Said to let Metro PD turn it over to the Bureau or whoever else wanted to look at it. Said he didn’t want to argue with Metro PD about jurisdiction. Willis didn’t think anything would be on the laptop except for drone navigation software. Plus, there had been blood pooled over the keyboard. I doubted the laptop was functional, so I dropped it.
“Morgan, how’s the surveillance footage coming along?” I asked as we moved over to a far wall.
“It’s not,” he said. “Trying to figure out who these people use for video retention. Not finding anything. Hope they’re actually recording something and the cameras you saw in there aren’t just for show.”
“I saw some equipment in one of the rooms,” I said.
“The building is run by a government contractor,” said Morgan. “From what I see, they do simulations.”
“What kind of simulations?” asked Willis.
“Not sure,” said Morgan. “Something having to do with the military. Army or Navy, maybe Air Force.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw the cops standing over Frasier’s body. Both cops were on their cell phones. The middle-aged cop wrapped up his conversation and stepped toward us. He got our names. Said they’d be in touch if they had questions. Willis said we’d be happy to help; then we stepped outside.
We walked across the lawn toward Willis’s SUV. We still had the phone call with Morgan and Simon going. I could hear the two analysts working and speaking to each other periodically through the earpiece. Willis stepped around the hood and slid in. I pulled my door open and dropped into the passenger seat.
“How you doing on the address, Simon?” I asked.
“Just found it,” he said. Willis rested a hand on the steering wheel as we waited. “Okay, Frasier lived in The Parkway apartments in Cleveland Park, three miles north of your location. I’ll send the address over.”
A moment later, Willis’s phone chimed with the text message coming through. He cranked the ignition. The SUV came to life. “We’re disconnecting,” I said. “Morgan, I need you to call me the moment you get access to the video footage.” He said he would, and we disconnected the call as the SUV lurched forward.
TEN MINUTES LATER, we pulled into the Cleveland Park neighborhood. Willis brought the vehicle to a stop outside the five-story apartment building. He was on his phone again, texting Simon, I guessed. He finished up and slid the phone back into his pocket and stared
out at the apartment building.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked as I followed his gaze across to the building where Lewis Frasier had lived.
I shrugged. “We check it out,” I said. “See if we find anything before Metro PD sends someone out here.”
I looked back. He nodded in the dark. We got out and approached together. Willis said it was apartment 302. There was a set of stairs leading to the entrance. I tried the door, but it was locked. Before we could talk about it, I saw through the glass a young woman walking toward us. She was wearing a sorority shirt. Maybe about to meet up with some friends on a Friday night. She pushed the door open. I grabbed onto it. She didn’t even look at us. Just walked out and down the stairs as a car stopped at the curb and she got in.
Willis stepped inside and I followed him in. I started thinking about Jami. I checked my phone. No missed calls. We took the stairs and came out on the third floor and took a second to orient ourselves with the numbering pattern of the apartments. I reached for my Glock and held it behind my back as we moved. We got to 302 and Willis tried the door. It was locked. I turned to look at the door to the apartment across the hall. I didn’t want to kick Frasier’s door in. It was getting late. I was sure the people in the apartment across the hall would hear the noise and call Metro PD. I took a step back and got ready to do it anyway.
“Wait,” said Willis. He dug into a pocket and found a set of keys. Tried a few, then found the right one.
“You took his keys?” I asked.
He nodded. “Only thing in his pockets.”
Willis turned the doorknob and raised his weapon. I leveled mine and gripped it with two hands and entered behind him. He found the light switch and flipped it on. The room was illuminated. We went through the same process as we did earlier at the building inside the office park, clearing the apartment. I took the right side and Willis took the left. I entered a bedroom. Checked the closets and the bathroom.
Willis came out and met me in the middle of the apartment. “Clear,” he said, and I nodded in agreement.
We holstered our weapons and took in the room. There were drones everywhere. Some on display on shelves in the living room. One on a coffee table in front of the television with an instruction manual next to it and packaging material scattered all around it. Frasier’s newest addition to his collection, I guessed.
“There are more in his office,” said Willis, pointing behind him with a thumb. He paused a long moment. Continued scanning the room along with me, then finally said, “Guess he was some kind of hobbyist.”
“But why would he try to kill the president?” I said. “That’s what I want to know.” I grabbed my cell phone from my back pocket. Dialed a number and pressed the phone to my ear. I told Morgan we were standing inside Lewis Frasier’s apartment. Told him there were drones everywhere. Willis gestured for me to put the call on speakerphone so he could hear. Willis asked Morgan to find out what Frasier did for a living.
“Not right now,” Morgan said.
I stared at Willis. “Why not?”
“Because I got access to the surveillance footage,” he said. “And you’re not going to believe what’s on it.”
TWENTY-FIVE
I HELD MY phone out in front of me. Willis stepped around and watched the screen from next to me. Morgan said he was sending us the feed and we’d receive it shortly. Thirty seconds passed and we got it. The video feed was grainy and blocked partially by the exit sign. I decided the people who had used black spray paint on the other cameras might not have seen this one initially. I thought that whoever had installed the camera meant to point it the other way, down toward the hallway opposite the large room. That way, there’d be coverage of that wing of the building. Or maybe somebody turned it on purpose. Maybe they thought it would be better to cover the main area. Or maybe they wanted to hide something.
“You get it, mate?” asked Morgan.
“We’re watching it now,” I said.
“Okay,” he said and rewound the video until he got to a spot where the young man inside the building came into full view. He stepped forward, carrying a laptop. Then another man walked past. He was wearing all black and was holding a weapon out as he moved. I recognized the young guy as Lewis Frasier. He was wearing the same clothes as the dead man we’d found slumped over the laptop.
But the man wearing all black was hard to make out. He just moved across the screen. Two seconds, that was all there was of him. Willis asked who it was. Morgan just told him to wait another minute or so; then he started fast-forwarding the video feed. Three more men appeared. Sentries, I assumed. Willis and I watched as the man in black reappeared several times. He seemed to be pacing the floor, back and forth.
He moved left past the camera and didn’t show up again for a while. When he finally did, the man wearing black was walking behind a new face, a man wearing a business suit, and the guy in black was moving with a gun aimed at the businessman’s back. The man in the suit looked like he was in his late thirties, maybe early forties. It was hard to tell as they walked past the camera, left to right, in just a few short seconds.
“Who are they, Morgan?” I asked.
“Just keep watching, mate,” he said, and then he fast-forwarded the video.
Morgan slowed the tape when the man wearing black came into view. He was on a cell phone, pacing the floor again. He moved in and out of the frame. I glanced at Willis briefly, then lowered my gaze back down to my phone and kept on watching. My eyes grew wide as the man stepped back into the frame and moved toward the camera. He glanced up at it as he kept his cell phone pressed against his ear. His eyes became fixed on the lens. Then they narrowed. He reached up fast and grabbed hold of the camera. His hand covered the lens briefly, and the screen went black except for a small amount of light from in between his fingers. The video shook violently as the man pulled on the camera. A second later, the video went black.
I felt a cold chill run up my spine and I struggled to breathe. “Rewind it, Morgan,” I said in a low voice.
He rewound the tape back to when the man wearing black first noticed the camera, and played it again.
“Pause it now,” I said as I stared at the image of the man. I took in a breath.
“Simon’s running the image through a lookup database. It’ll be a few minutes for us to identify him.”
“His name is Omar Malik,” I said.
Silence on the line. Willis said nothing. Just turned to me. I kept my eyes on my phone. “I’m sure of it.”
“Who’s Omar Malik?” asked Willis.
I said nothing. Just stared silently at the image frozen on the screen as a rush of memories fell over me.
There was typing in the background. “Omar Malik,” began Simon after a long pause, “the guy was a mujahideen leader in Afghanistan, killed in a CIA drone strike fifteen years ago.”
Thirty seconds passed. Willis moved on and told Simon what we’d found. Said the home was empty, no tablets, phones, or any other electronics, just drones scattered everywhere. The guys got to work looking for a cell phone. They came back on and said Frasier had one, but it hadn’t been used in a couple of days. They confirmed he had a laptop, and it was online earlier and located it in the building where he died.
“What about Malik?” I said. “He was on the video using a cell phone. Can you guys use it to locate him?”
“It was probably a burner phone,” said Morgan. More typing. “Best we can do is look back through local cellular records and triangulate the phone based on location. Should be easy enough. Wouldn’t expect many cell phones being used this late on a Friday night in that office park. I can do that and get the phone’s unique identifier, then do another search to see if it’s being used anywhere else. If not, we can monitor for it. We’d know the moment he used the phone again. Then I can try to get his exact location.”
“Do it,” I said.
I stood in silence, trying to process the situation and understand how Omar Malik was involved.
Then my thoughts shifted to Peter Mulvaney at the Bureau and the schematics that appeared to have been stolen from the NSA after their system was compromised. I tried to focus on how it was all connected. I tried, but I couldn’t. My mind went back to Omar Malik and a promise I had made to myself a long time ago.
Then I had another thought. “Simon, stop the lookup database search you’re running on the image.”
There was a pause. Hesitation on the other end of the line. “Why stop the search, Blake?” he finally asked.
“Because we already know the person in the image is Omar Malik.”
I heard Simon clear his throat through the earpiece. “It’s almost done,” he said. “Just a couple more seconds and the search will be complete. We’ll know everything we need to—”
“Stop the search,” I said.
“Why?” asked Simon again.
“Because the guy’s supposed to be dead,” I said. “Obviously he’s not. You let that search finish, it’s going to set off all sorts of alarms. I’m worried about jurisdiction. I don’t want to argue over who can go after him. So stop the search before it finishes, okay? We need to keep this between us for now, plus Parker.”
I heard typing in the background. Either Morgan or Simon. I didn’t care who was doing it, just needed it done. Thirty seconds passed. “Okay,” Morgan finally said. “We stopped it and deleted the search history.”
I nodded to myself. Took a screen capture of the image. Willis was staring at me. “Now what?” he asked.
“Now we find Omar Malik,” I said and paused for a moment. “And when we do, I’m going to kill him.”
Willis kept staring. “You know him, don’t you?”
I said nothing, just stayed silent.
“What did he do to you?”
TWENTY-SIX
FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER, I was in a cot next to my buddy, Jon Miller. He was already up and getting ready. We were doing the usual things for a Navy SEAL team on assignment—cleaning our battle dress uniforms, readying equipment, staying fed and rested. Eat when you can; sleep when you can , we’d say.