by Ken Fite
“They’re onto you,” I said and watched his expression change.
“Says who?”
“Says Parker,” I said. “That’s why he called me. He said the NSA realized why they couldn’t find a breach. He said they were looking into the possibility of someone within the Bureau stealing the schematics.”
“How’s that working for them?”
I stared at him in the dark. Saw the smile return to his face. “You’re working with Omar Malik,” I said. “Why?”
Willis said nothing.
“They’re going to figure out it’s you. Why do it, Willis?”
He took another step closer. I figured he was maybe fifteen feet away from me now. “President Keller,” he said. “Because of him, I lost the one and only person who ever cared about me.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“I was engaged,” he said. “Just like you. She worked for me at the New York City field office. My superior found out we were together. Said one of us needed to transfer out. I couldn’t do it. I was the special agent in charge, after all. So she left. We decided it would be just for a little while. It was right when the government shutdown happened. She wouldn’t have received a paycheck, anyway. I didn’t for a while.” Willis paused another second. “We started losing people. They resigned. Took private contract work. Some of them had been running down a lead to find a terrorist who’d made it into the country somehow.”
“Omar Malik,” I said.
He nodded. “The shutdown continued. I was putting in long hours, doing it all myself. I was never home. And I wasn’t home the night someone broke in looking for me. They killed her. So I worked harder. I went after Malik. I found him, but he made a good point. He said he wasn’t responsible. Keller was. We had an understanding. He made an interesting proposition.”
“Help him get the schematics, and he’d let you play a part in getting to the president,” I said.
Willis nodded again. He held his weapon out, straight at me. “Within the hour, President Keller will turn himself in or we’ll release the drones. What do you think? Is Keller the kind of guy to follow through?”
I said nothing.
“Too bad you won’t be around to find out.” Willis pulled the trigger. Everything went black.
FORTY-SIX
WHEN I OPENED my eyes, I found myself facedown on the ground. I could taste grit and dirt in my mouth. I blinked several times and spit and tried to turn over, but I couldn’t move at all. It was too painful. I could smell wet earth. It reminded me of some kind of distant memory, but I couldn’t place it. I winced in pain as I tried to turn over again and realized I couldn’t. My head was spinning out of control.
The pain brought me back to the present. The dizziness I felt wasn’t going away. It was getting worse. I didn’t know where I was or what had happened or how long I’d been here. The pain was excruciating. It started out slow; then it spread to my whole body. Everything felt sore, but I couldn’t understand why. I felt an intense stinging sensation in my chest, like I’d gotten hit with a baseball bat. I could hardly stand it.
Then my eyes blinked opened and grew wide as I remembered everything that had happened.
I’d been standing at the top of a large ravine. I remembered the drop-off. I remembered Curt Willis. Remembered his weapon leveled at me. Remembered him telling me something about the president.
I remembered him firing his gun and everything going black. Then I remembered nothing else.
I must’ve fallen backward. Rolled down the drop-off and kept rolling until I ended up where I was now. I figured Willis would’ve stepped over the small metal barrier and looked down, trying to find me. Probably thought about coming down here to make sure I was dead. Probably saw the huge drop-off and decided he didn’t need to. If the bullet didn’t kill me, the fall surely would’ve done it. I closed my eyes again. I imagined him closing the passenger-side door then sliding back into the driver’s seat and driving away. I could see him smiling, thinking nobody would ever find me. Not anytime soon, anyway.
I tried wiggling my toes and felt them move in my shoe. I tried moving my fingers. I got them working, but the pain in my chest kept getting worse. As I tried to turn over, I winced again. So I decided to just stay put with my face on the cold dirt, resting and thinking and trying to put the pieces together in my mind.
Willis had been acting strange since Parker had asked us to work together. I thought about how Willis had shot and killed our only lead after the guy had entered the apartment. I’d told him he’d made a mistake. But he hadn’t. He knew the guy would recognize him. So Willis decided to take him out. Then I remembered seeing Willis texting someone. Maybe he asked the guy to meet him before we arrived.
I thought about when Willis had shown up at the meetup with Jackson. How Chris Reed had been captured, and Willis had come out of nowhere and helped take Jackson and his men out. He’d played it off perfectly. I kept my eyes closed and kept on thinking and realized he knew what he was doing. Curt Willis was slowly and methodically taking out all of Omar Malik’s men and accomplices.
I thought through what other clues there had been. What other signs were there that I’d missed? I wasn’t sure, and I decided it didn’t matter anymore. Then I tasted something warm and metallic. I wondered if I was bleeding internally and if that was why I was tasting blood. I thought about my chest wound and wondered if I was bleeding out. I moved my fingers again. Moved my right hand and went to my back pocket. The pain was excruciating. I felt around, but only found my DHS credentials. I followed the same process with my left hand and checked my other pocket. It was empty. My phone was gone. I had no way of calling for help all the way down here. My body went limp again as I remembered tossing my phone to Willis and watching him throw it into his Tahoe through the open passenger-side door. Right before he’d told me about his past and what he and Omar Malik were planning on doing with the drones.
I wondered if it mattered now. Nobody would assume anything was wrong. Not for a while, anyway. Morgan was tied up with Simon, trying to help the Bureau’s Cyber Division take back control of the CIA’s drones. Chris Reed was at the Hoover Building with Jami and Maddie. They were all preoccupied. I thought if Morgan ever got suspicious about my whereabouts, he might track me using my cell’s location. But it’d just look like I was in the Tahoe with Willis. Nobody would be worried for several more hours.
Then my thoughts shifted to President Keller and Willis’s final words after asking if I thought the president would turn himself in. “Too bad you won’t be around to find out,” he’d said to me. James Keller was a former SEAL himself. One of the originals. Back when SEALs were called something else. I shuddered, thinking about the answer. Yes, he’d turn himself in if it would save American lives .
I thought about a lot of things. I thought about Jami for a while. I thought about my dad. And Matthew.
I tried to take in a deep breath, but it was painful. I decided I must’ve cracked a rib or two on my way down the steep hill. I tried moving again, but couldn’t. I noticed the earthy scent of the ground as I breathed in again, and I finally remembered where that memory from earlier had come from. I was facedown on the dirt in the same way as I was now. Only it was fifteen years earlier and half a world away.
My mind shifted back to Omar Malik and everything that had happened all those years ago. The drone strike. The failed mission Miller and I had attempted. How Greenberg had ordered us to get Malik before the CIA could send one of their new Predator drones armed with missiles to attempt the first killing of a terrorist in that way. I remembered the sound of the missile as it raced toward the home and it exploded on impact. I remembered the force of the blast knocking me down, and being sprawled on the ground, unable to move.
At some point, I had regained consciousness and saw the home Omar Malik and his family had been staying in completely destroyed. There were flames and char everywhere. People were standing all around. Men were yelling in a lang
uage I couldn’t understand. Women were screaming and crying. One of the men came over to help me stand up, but I couldn’t. I just sat there on the ground, watching the flames.
Omar Malik’s body was never found. Only the bodies of his wife and children and Miller were recovered.
I’d promised myself I’d complete the mission Miller had given his life for if I ever had the chance. I’d find Omar Malik. But Greenberg told me he’d been killed in the drone strike. I explained everything to him. Told him I knew the guy was still alive. He’d been next to me when the missile had struck the home and it was destroyed. Explained that Malik had escaped, and we had to tell the CIA so we could track him down.
But Greenberg told me the CIA marked the airstrike down as a success. They wanted to use it to show that not only could a Predator be outfitted with missiles, but they could be accurate, too. This was their proof. This was their demonstration. The CIA ordered more Predator drones and Hellfire missiles. Over the years, hundreds more were deployed. Eventually the Reaper replaced the Predator, carrying a more deadly payload, and the US drone fleet became the killer of choice for the United States government.
Greenberg’s order was never brought to light. Jon Miller’s death was written up as a training accident.
Everyone moved on after that. Greenberg told me not to speak to anyone. But I’d never forget my friend.
The pain from the gunshot wound got worse. It was excruciating. I tasted more blood in my mouth. My body grew weak. I didn’t want to get up anymore. I just wanted the pain to go away. I wanted it to be over.
I waited to drift off to unconsciousness again. Decided my body couldn’t take much more of the pain and figured I was close to exhaustion, and it would happen any second now. So I just waited. My mind stopped racing, and I just let go of the urge to hold on. I felt it wash over my cold body, taking me someplace warm.
I closed my eyes and took in one last breath. “I’m sorry, Jon,” I said to myself as the world faded to black.
FORTY-SEVEN
I WASN’T SURE how long I’d been out when I came to again. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe a few hours. But the moon was low and I could still hear traffic out on the road high above me. I saw dark clouds moving fast. I stared at them for a long moment; then I tried to move my fingers and toes again. I got them working. I lifted my head and turned to the other side. Saw nothing but dirt with patches of grass and weeds. Tasted blood in my mouth again as I tried to understand why I hadn’t completely bled out yet.
I didn’t know how, but I was alive.
A few drops of water hit the back of my head. I glanced up. Saw the moon disappear behind the clouds. The drizzle quickly turned into a downpour. The pain in my chest was still there. It was a constant pressure against my skin. But the inside of my shirt didn’t feel wet like I thought it should. I stayed in that position for several minutes, cold rain on my back, thinking and trying to get the strength to push myself up.
Slowly, I raised my left arm and put the flat of my hand on the wet dirt. Took a breath in and let it out as I pressed hard and was able to turn over onto my back. I winced in pain and grabbed my chest. Wondered how many ribs I’d cracked during the fall. Twisting my body wasn’t a smart decision. The pain was excruciating when I breathed. It felt like I could only take shallow breaths if I didn’t want it to hurt.
I closed my eyes and let the rain hit my face. I raised my arm and used a hand to shield my face from it. The rain felt like needles pricking my skin. Thunder boomed somewhere in the distance. A low rumbling sound. I scanned the area. Saw there was no easy way to climb up out of the ravine, even if I wanted to. It was shaped like a football field, and I was near what would’ve been one of the end zones. I was working out how I could climb out when my thoughts shifted elsewhere. I looked down at my chest, curious about something. I unzipped my jacket and felt around the wound carefully. My shirt was dry.
I dropped my head back onto the ground and moved my hands. They were trembling. Maybe because I was feeling weak. Or maybe because I was worried about what I was going to find if I kept searching.
When I went back to checking the area surrounding the wound, I found nothing to be worried about.
I patted my hand everywhere. I did it cautiously, waiting for the moment when I’d feel warm, sticky blood. I ran my hand all along the right of my chest but found nothing. I moved it to the left where I felt the most pain. Touched something that made me wince again. I let out a soft groan as I checked around the wound.
Still no blood. Just a very tender area on the left side of my chest, directly over my heart.
I gently moved my fingers across the point of impact. Felt nothing there. Unbuttoned my shirt and reached inside and felt my skin. It was clammy, but still no blood. Just felt very tender to the touch.
Then I remembered something.
I started feeling all around the outside of my shirt. But nothing was there.
Raised my head again and looked to my left. Saw nothing. Turned to my right. Then I found it.
I reached for it slowly. It took a lot of effort, but I grabbed it with my fingertips, and once I had it securely in my hand, I lowered my head back down and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to gain my strength.
I opened my eyes and looked at what I was holding and stared at the Secret Service badge in disbelief.
I thought back to when Matthew had pinned it on me after dinner. I remembered the smile on his face when he’d given it to me. The badge had been shiny and new, like it had never actually been used before.
Now it looked completely different from the shiny newness it once had. The gold shield was now covered with mud. I could barely make out the SECRET SERVICE and SPECIAL AGENT lettering across the top and bottom of it. Directly in the center was a deep indentation with a nine-millimeter bullet lodged into it. The shield itself was now concave, bent inward from the impact of the bullet that Willis had fired into it.
I flipped it over and saw the protrusion on the other side of the shield. It was bent and sticking out half an inch. I thought about the pain in my chest I’d felt when I was on my stomach. Felt the area where the badge had been and winced from the tenderness. Decided the sensation I’d felt was the bulge of the other side of the shield flat against my chest with the weight of my body as I was on the ground, facedown.
I lowered my head back one more time. Stared straight up into the rain and smiled. “Thank you.”
Then I tucked the disfigured shield into my left pocket and put both hands flat on the ground. Took a breath. Felt the resulting pain in my ribs as a distant memory came rushing over me from a long time ago.
I was flat on my back. I’d just completed twenty minutes straight of doing sit-ups. It was Hell Week. I was trying to make it into the Navy SEAL program and had instructors standing all around me, yelling. There were other guys there. Some of them doing sit-ups, some of them motionless, deciding if they should give up. I remember thinking if I quit, someone else would get in. But if they quit and I didn’t, maybe I’d get in.
Then I had another thought. A more recent memory. “Us or them,” I heard Willis saying in my head.
I sat up with all of my strength. Felt loose teeth in my mouth and understood why I’d tasted blood earlier. Sat there for a minute, getting my bearings and trying to reorient myself. I saw a couple of scattered rocks and wondered how I’d managed to roll all the way down and not injure myself more than I had. Glanced back and heard another car drive by on the road far above me. I stood slowly and steadied myself.
I only got a few steps in on level ground before I reached the slope. I put my hands on the muddy ground and grabbed two fistfuls of grass and weeds. I pulled myself up and reached for another clump of grass. Kept at it, hearing my Hell Week instructors’ voices in my head, yelling, trying to convince me to give up.
When I reached the top, I crawled up to the barrier and remained on my hands and knees, sucking in air and trying to catch my breath without breathing in too deeply. I staye
d there for a minute until a car passed by. I looked up and saw the driver look at me as she passed. I stood the best I could. Stayed slightly hunched over and stepped over the barrier. Went down on one knee and grabbed my ribs, trying to control the pain. I closed my eyes briefly as I winced and, a moment later, opened them and looked down.
On the ground, directly in front of me, was my Glock 22.
I stared at it for a second, confused by how it got there. I thought back to Willis and remembered him ordering me at gunpoint to drop my weapon. He’d stepped out of the Tahoe and forced me to step backwards. He’d said to toss him my cell phone. Did he forget about my weapon after he shot me?
I reached down and grabbed it. Slid it into my holster. Noticed another car approaching. I stepped out into the middle of the road. Pulled my DHS credentials from my back pocket. Held them up at chest level and raised my other hand to get the driver to stop. The headlights grew brighter. I squinted as the driver brought the vehicle to a stop. Water was streaming down my face. I lowered my hands and stepped around the hood to the driver’s window. “Homeland Security,” I said. “I need your vehicle.”
The driver said nothing.
I reached for my Glock and aimed it at the man. “Get out of the car now,” I yelled. He stepped out and moved to the side of the road. I slid in and closed the door. I put it in gear and floored it. Saw the man in the rearview mirror watch me go from the side of the road. “It’s you or me, Willis.”
FORTY-EIGHT
I DROVE TO the Hoover Building. Pulled the car I’d commandeered into the garage and stopped at the guardhouse. The same woman was there. She gave me a strange look as I reached for my DHS credentials. I handed them over. She studied them briefly. Looked me over carefully and handed them back across.
“Welcome back,” she said and pointed behind her with a thumb. “Go on through. You know where to go.”