The Shield

by Ken Fite

  “You’re sending just the two of us?” I asked.

  He nodded. “The wife and kid won’t give you trouble. Only concern is Omar Malik.”

  “Any other hostiles in the home?” asked Miller.

  “None that we’re aware of,” said Greenberg. “The house is usually empty. We believe it’s used by the Taliban as a safe house.”

  “What if he isn’t there?” I said.

  “Our intel says he is.” Greenberg studied us again. He seemed to be able to sense our apprehension. “Listen, I can’t send everyone in like I originally planned. The CIA’s gonna have eyes over the vicinity. They’ll notice a big convoy headed over. But I doubt they’ll pay much attention to a single Humvee approaching the area.”

  Miller sat back in his chair. He shook his head. “You’d think they’d get more benefit with the guy alive.”

  Greenberg nodded. “I agree, but I don’t ask questions, I follow orders. My superior told me to get my best people in and pick the guy up before the CIA can take action. Guess he has something to prove to the CIA. Wants to show them we don’t need their help, I guess. So I’m sending you two in to get the job done.”

  He paused again. Looked away briefly, thinking. “If you want my off-the-record opinion, my guess is his own superior told him to get the guy, and he doesn’t want to let him down. Maybe he told him to ‘screw the CIA’s orders.’ Hard to say. Maybe he has a heart and doesn’t want that woman and kid to die.”

  He turned his gaze back to us. “Point is, I’ve been given a direct order. I don’t have many options. Like I said, I can’t send everyone in. I had to pick, and I chose the two of you. Besides, if you can get this guy, the wife and kid, and the CIA still conducts their airstrike, no harm, no foul. Right? They’ll get to test their missiles, and we’ll get Omar Malik and his family. Win-win. You two following where I’m going with this?”

  I nodded. “When do we go?”

  Greenberg’s eyes flicked back and forth between Miller and me. “You’ll need to leave as late as possible. Leave at eleven hundred. That’ll give you the best chance of going in while they’re all asleep. Get over there, secure the area, and go in. Pick the guy up, clear the home, and get his family out of there.” Greenberg looked away briefly, thinking. “You need to be back here no later than midnight.”

  “Midnight?” said Miller. “With all due respect, that doesn’t give us much time, sir.”

  “You have to do it in that timeframe,” he said. “You can’t leave any earlier, and you can’t get back any later. I realize it’s a short window, but our eyes on the ground say lights go out by eleven hundred, usually.”

  “Then we can’t be back by midnight,” I said. “We’ll do our best, but something could come up.”

  “Got to be back by then,” he said. “Can’t be any later than that, Jordan. You need to understand that.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Something he wasn’t telling us. “Why midnight?”

  Silence filled Greenberg’s office again. “Because midnight is when the CIA’s planning on taking him out.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  PRESIDENT JAMES KELLER paced the tan carpet aboard one of two identical Boeing VC-25 aircraft that used the call sign Air Force One whenever the president was aboard either one of them. He was going through the last several hours in his head. The explosion at the White House. The Secret Service officers ushering him through a newly created tunnel to the White House’s South Lawn. Watching Marine One from the tunnel exit as it approached in the distance with two decoys. The three helicopters maneuvering around the tidal basin, past the Jefferson Memorial at a low altitude. He’d watched the choppers turn and fly straight at him before pedal-turning and landing on the lawn harder than he’d ever seen before.

  The whole ritual was usually done in broad daylight with reporters and onlookers nearby. Keller would climb inside. Watch the pilots remove their headsets, and shake their hands and greet them with small talk. But tonight was different. The whole thing was surreal to him. He remembered being rushed into one of the helicopters, making no small talk whatsoever while the pilots kept their headsets on and prepared to get back into the otherwise restricted airspace as quickly as possible. Keller recalled them taking a circuitous route, headed to Joint Base Andrews and to one of the awaiting VC-25s to get him airborne.

  The attack had taken him by surprise. He’d seen the bright explosion in his peripheral vision. Keller had craned his neck and kept his eyes on the chopper as his Marine pilots began evasive maneuvers along with the second decoy. Keller watched as the first decoy that was hit went spiraling out of control and crashed on the street below. The blast caused him to flinch and raise a hand to shield his eyes from the explosion.

  Keller continued to pace, trying to understand what had happened. The pilots had said nothing. His Secret Service detail had also remained quiet and focused on making sure he made it to Air Force One and was airborne as quickly as possible. He was thinking everything through when he heard a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and turning to face the door to the room known as the Oval Office in the Sky. Recessed lighting from above the door lit the face of Ethan Meyer as he stepped inside.

  “Tom Parker for you, sir,” he said, gesturing to the phone on the president’s desk.

  Keller turned and looked at the phone. Noticed the white blinking light. There was a silent urgency to it. He motioned for Meyer to close the door. Told him to take a seat as he stepped around his desk and reached across and hit the blinking light, putting the call on speakerphone. “What do you have for me, Tom?”

  “Mr. President,” Parker began with hesitation in his voice, “we believe we’ve found the man responsible for the attacks on the White House and Marine One . We used satellite technology and tracked him down.”

  “Well, that’s good news. I want him prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “That won’t be possible, sir.”

  Keller glanced up from the phone and stared across at Meyer. “Why not?”

  “Because he’s dead.” Silence filled the room, except for the hum from the massive aircraft cruising the nighttime sky somewhere across northeast America. Keller thought about the ramifications of the news.

  “Alright,” said Keller resolutely. “We need to make a statement to the American people about—”

  “Mr. President,” interrupted Parker from the phone, “we have reason to believe the threat’s not over.”

  Meyer stood from the couch and approached from the opposite side of the desk. “Explain.”

  There was a long pause on the line. “Mr. President, we have a problem.”

  “Tom, stop beating around the bush and be direct with me,” said Keller. “Tell me what the problem is.”

  “We’re working with Peter Mulvaney,” said Parker. “The FBI got their hands on a video that was just released from the person we believe forced the dead man to attack the White House and Air Force One .”

  “And?”

  “And he’s demanding you turn yourself in.”

  Keller glanced up at Meyer again briefly. “And if I don’t?”

  “Then he’s going to decimate every major city in the United States. Those were his words.”

  Ethan Meyer made a face. “How could he even do something like that, Tom?”

  “The person who made the video is claiming to have taken over our entire fleet of drones, including the ones that are weaponized.”

  “And we’re supposed to believe him?” asked Meyer.

  “He’s planning a demonstration,” said Parker from the speakerphone, “within the hour, to prove it.”

  Meyer said nothing. Just stood across from the president, looking unconvinced.

  “Keep me abreast of the situation,” said Keller as he moved his hand over the phone, ready to disconnect.

  “Mr. President,” said Parker, “you need to know that Blake Jordan is helping us.”

  Keller was sile
nt for a long moment. “Does Jami know?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Check in on her for me, Tom. My understanding is she and her family were moved over to Blair House.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the way,” continued Keller, “this terrorist—the one who released the video—do we know who he is?”

  Parker cleared his throat. “His name is Omar Malik.”

  Keller said nothing in return. The hum from the engines outside filled the office as Keller placed two hands on the back of his chair and turned his gaze upward, thinking and trying to remember something.

  “Mr. President, are you still there?” asked Parker.

  Keller glanced at his chief of staff, then lowered his gaze. “Tom, you need to take this man very seriously.”

  “Why?” asked Parker after a brief pause.

  “Because we killed his family fifteen years ago,” answered Keller. “And I’m the one responsible for it.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  TEN MINUTES AFTER talking with Chris, I arrived at the location. I called Morgan on my way. He patched me in to Simon, and they had me bring them up to speed. Parker got to Simon’s desk halfway through my update. He said he’d been on the phone with Keller. I opted to wait to tell him about Willis later, in private. I thought he should know the kind of guy he had leading his new team.

  Parker said he was going to call Willis, and I told him not to. I said he was dealing with Metro PD and trying to figure out what was in the apartment. Explained I was chasing a lead, probably to make some kind of exchange. I asked Morgan what abandoned buildings were off of First. He narrowed it down to one and had me go to the spot I was parked at, and said he’d call Reed shortly and give him my location.

  The streets were dark. Hardly any vehicles out on the roads. I killed the lights. Messed with the heater to get it working and turned the dome light on as I looked around the dead guy’s car. I found a briefcase behind my seat. Maybe he got it before he even went to the apartment , I remembered Chris telling me.

  I didn’t see Chris yet, so I kept my focus on the briefcase. It was locked. Felt heavy, but when I shook it, I heard nothing jostling around inside. I remembered a trick my dad had taught me as a kid when he’d found an old briefcase in the garage one summer. I remembered watching him figure out how to open it, even though he’d forgotten the combination to the three-dial lock. He’d told me it was easy to get through all nine hundred and ninety-nine combinations quickly. All you had to do was start at 0-0-0. Keep constant pressure on the lock and move the rightmost dial the whole way through. I started doing it with the left side. Went through the first dial and nothing happened. Set the middle dial to one and started moving the right dial again. I got through the teens and twenties and thirties fast. Within a minute, I was through ninety-nine. I started moving the leftmost dial and set it to one. Tried the one hundreds, then the two hundreds. When I got to three fifty-seven, the latch popped open. I repeated the same process with the right side. A few minutes later, I saw headlights in the distance behind me as the right-side latch popped open. I looked inside. Saw stacks of money and passports. Probably fake. I stared out the windshield at the abandoned building in the distance, thinking. I removed two rows of cash from the middle and replaced it with something else. Locked both latches and made a mental note of the combinations in case they got scrambled. My phone buzzed. I reached up and turned the dome light off as I answered it.

  “This is Jordan,” I said.

  “It’s me,” said Jami. “Parker called me. He said you were helping him track down the people responsible.”

  “I’m trying,” I said. “You okay?”

  She sighed. “I’m fine.”

  “What about Kate and Matthew?” I asked as I noticed the vehicle in the rearview mirror drawing closer.

  “They’re sleeping,” she said. “Or trying to, I guess.”

  I nodded in the dark. Saw the headlights from the vehicle behind me getting gradually brighter.

  “Do you need my help?” she asked. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing,” I said as the vehicle pulled up behind me and parked. The driver turned the lights off, then flashed them twice at me. “Chris just got here,” I added. “I’ll call you back in a little while, okay?” Jami tried to argue with me, but I told her I needed to go. Told her to focus on Kate and Matthew. I clicked off and stuffed the phone inside my pocket and left the dead guy’s phone in his car. Saw Chris step out of his vehicle. I slid out of the driver’s seat. Grabbed the suitcase and shut the door. Chris motioned for me to follow him to the back of his SUV.

  He opened the hatch and pulled out a drawer. It had plenty of ammunition. I told him I needed a weapon. He asked what I wanted. I told him something he wouldn’t mind losing. He reached for a set of earpieces. We paired them to our phones and put them in.

  “So what’s the plan?” he asked as he handed me a Beretta and a flashlight.

  I stared ahead. The abandoned building was right down the street. I checked my watch. “I’m supposed to be there in five minutes. Some kind of exchange,” I said and held up the briefcase. Chris loaded his weapon. “Wait ten minutes and come after me,” I said. “Need time to figure out what I’m dealing with.”

  He was staring at the briefcase. “What happens if you don’t have what they think you have?”

  I shrugged. “I think they’ll like what they see.”

  “I think this is a mistake,” he said. “We should loop Mulvaney in on this. You saw the video. Omar Malik says he has the ability to decimate every major city in the United States. Mulvaney thinks I’m at my desk right now. If this goes wrong, I could lose my job.” He closed the drawer, then pulled down on the hatch. Turned and stared at me as he holstered his weapon, waiting for me to give him some kind of explanation.

  “Mulvaney isn’t being fully transparent with DHS,” I said. “The only reason I know about the security breach is because he told you, and you told me. So I don’t owe the guy any kind of explanation right now.”

  “You owe me one,” he said. “Why are you doing this alone?”

  I looked away for a moment. “I’m not alone. I have you.”

  Chris just stared at me. Said nothing.

  “Listen, I made a promise to someone a long time ago. I have to try to get this guy. We’ll bring in Mulvaney if I can’t deliver. Besides, Mulvaney has other problems. Let him focus on the override device.”

  Chris nodded vaguely. “Ten minutes.”

  I nodded back. “Ten minutes.”

  I activated the earpiece. “Copy?”

  “Copy,” he replied.

  I climbed back into the dead guy’s car. Started the motor and put it in gear. Eased it forward and looked in the rearview mirror briefly and saw Chris climbing into his SUV. I glanced back down to look at the road. Fifty yards farther, I was in front of the abandoned building on First and parked directly in front of it. Looked out the passenger-side window and saw the perimeter had been cordoned off with police tape. I grabbed the briefcase. Stepped out and looked up at the tall building. Felt a chill run down my spine as I pushed the car door closed. Felt someone watching me from somewhere as I stepped around the hood and worked my way around to the entrance.

  It looked like the building had caught fire somehow. They’d managed to save most of it, but there was considerable damage to the right side. I moved the Beretta to the inside of my waist belt and draped my jacket over it as I grabbed the flashlight with my free hand and stepped inside. A man stepped around a corner. I fought the urge to reach for my weapon as he approached. He shined a light in my face. I closed my eyes and looked away briefly, praying he didn’t know what the man he was meeting with looked like.

  “Weapon?”

  I handed him the Beretta.

  “Money?”

  I lifted the briefcase.

  He shined a light on it. “Follow me.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THE GUY LED me across the cold dark room. I used my flas
hlight to clear the area for Chris as I moved. He asked in my earpiece if there was more than one hostile on the first floor. “No,” I whispered. Then I said, “Stairs,” in a low voice as I saw where we were headed. The guy stepped ahead and pulled the door open. He told me to step through. I did as he asked, and the guy followed close behind and told me to go up to the second floor. I heard Chris Reed tell me in my earpiece he’d heard what the guy had said: second floor. He said he’d see me soon. I wondered why the meeting was on the second floor instead of the first.

  It opened up to a large area with two bright lights positioned at opposite ends of the room. Battery-powered lanterns set on the highest setting. The guy gestured for me to walk forward. I saw he had a gun. He held it loose in his hand. I felt sick to my stomach as I stepped forward toward the two lanterns. Heard the door to the stairs close behind us as the guy followed me. A moment later, he told me to stop and wait.

  I stuffed the flashlight into my pocket and held onto the briefcase handle in front of me with two hands. From my left and my right, two more guys stepped out from a back room. I couldn’t tell if any of them were the sentries I’d seen from the footage Morgan got of the building in the office park. They didn’t care about the briefcase. They patted me down, but found nothing. The first guy had already taken the Beretta. They finished checking me, and the guy behind me called for someone named Jackson. My eyes were still adjusting to the bright lanterns. Then I saw someone emerge from the shadows. He stepped forward and moved toward me cautiously and stood directly in front of me and studied me.

  “Took you long enough to get here.”

  I looked away, thinking. “I was delayed,” I said. “Had to make sure I wasn’t followed.”

  “Were you?”

  I glanced back. Shook my head.

  “You bring the money and the passports?” he asked.

  I raised the briefcase, then lowered it again. I had scrambled the lock combinations when he wasn’t looking.