Total Mayhem

by John Gilstrap

  This time, it rang six times before Brooks answered. “The hell are you doing, Artie? This is entirely inappropriate.”

  “I don’t give a shit about propriety,” Evers said. “Did you guys betray me? Tell the truth now, and I swear I won’t hurt you or your family.”

  “Jesus, where does that come from?”

  “Have you watched the news? That unfortunate event in Maryland?”

  Brooks’s tone darkened. “Yes, I have.”

  “Did you and the other feds know about it?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I happen to know that an FBI agent approached a friend of mine.”

  “Absolutely not,” Brooks said. “Not unless it was some sort of renegade operation. If this is what I think you’re talking about, I’ve already told you what I think. Who your enemy is.”

  Jonathan Grave.

  Evers clicked off without saying good-bye.

  “I promised you what would happen,” Evers mumbled as he went back to his burner and began thumb-typing again. The first message went to ANON4.

  BOSS1: 10-84 TBD.

  Translation: You and I are going to meet at a place to be determined.

  Then he thumbed a second message, this one address to ANONALL, which would go out to all of the Retribution team members.

  BOSS1: X-ray. Zebra. NLT 11-3.

  He clicked SEND, then sat heavily in his chair. All the plans for tomorrow were now aborted, and sometime on or before November 3, Operation Zebra would be in effect.

  Scorched earth was on the way.

  * * *

  “What the hell does X-ray. Zebra mean?” Jonathan asked. He sat with the others in his living room on a wooden William and Mary rocker that was identical to the one in his office. He held a bag of frozen peas against the left side of his face. His wound was just a graze, but it had cut a stripe on the angle of his jaw and sheared off the last millimeter or so of his earlobe. Boxers had stitched it up, so a scar was pretty much guaranteed. When you had as many of those as Jonathan had, what was one more? The good news was that his hearing seemed to have returned.

  “There’s no way to tell for sure,” said Derek Halstrom. He’d been yanked out of bed at zero dark early, did some research for a couple of hours, and then drove seventy minutes to get to Fisherman’s Cove. Somehow his suit was perfectly pressed. He sat in the center of the wine-colored sofa with Venice on one side and JoeDog on the other, sprawled on her back, legs splayed, and snoring like an old drunk as Derek softly stroked her tummy.

  Maybe Jonathan liked him a little more than he thought.

  “My guess is it’s their exfil plan,” Boxers said from his spot in the oversized leather lounger that Jonathan had bought specifically to make Big Guy comfortable when he visited.

  “Guesses don’t count,” Gail said from an identical lounger. She filled the extra space with her legs curled up under her. “Obviously, it’s code for a plan, but how can we know what it is? An announcement to abort, maybe?”

  Venice said, “The wallet you got from the shooter didn’t produce anything of value, but grabbing the phone was helpful. BOSS1 made the same mistake twice.”

  “You’re not going to like where the signals pinged,” Derek said. “In addition to the one in your hand, we got another in Baltimore, then four in Lansing, Michigan, and two in Westboro, Massachusetts, of all places. All of them are burners, no way to trace the identity of the owners.”

  “But we have signals we can trace?” Boxers asked.

  “Not anymore,” Derek explained. “They’ve all gone dark. That was probably part of the meaning of the code.”

  Jonathan rocked as he thought aloud. “Even without the details, we have usable intel,” he said. “Vitale is breaking his pattern.”

  “Who’s Vitale?” Derek asked.

  “You know,” Venice prodded. “The man who threatened to attack us all?”

  “Ah.” Yes, he remembered.

  “According to Masterson, these attacks were all one-offs, lone wolf simulations. Now he’s combining multiple assets in the same city.”

  “You look like you have a theory,” Gail said.

  “And theories are no better than guesses,” Jonathan reminded. “But I think this concentration of resources reflects a plan to go bigger and better. I don’t know what the prime targets are in those others cities. Ven, remind me to reach out to Wolfie so she can reach out to the police departments in those cities, even though I’m pretty sure the bad guys have aborted their efforts.”

  “Whoa,” Gail said. “Aborted? Why do you say that?”

  “Because I think our interference knocked them off their game. We forced their hand to go early with their attack.”

  Gail looked horrified. “Is that what you meant last night when you said that we caused the attack?”

  “I didn’t say we caused it,” Jonathan corrected. “I said we started it. Once we pushed Kellner in a corner, he pulled the trigger early as a diversion.”

  “Hell of a deadly diversion,” Boxers said.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Do you ever listen to yourselves?” Venice said, clearly offended. “You know a lot of people died last night, and you speak of it as nothing.”

  “I do not,” Jonathan said, but he heard the defensiveness in his voice. “At least that’s not what I intend to do. But let’s be honest. We’ve all been around this block a few times.”

  “That doesn’t mean it should start feeling normal,” Gail said. “I think that’s Venice’s point. So, what you’re saying is that I caused all those people to die out there.”

  Jonathan groaned, “Oh, come on, Gail.”

  “I was the one who confronted Kellner, wasn’t I? If that was the reason all those people were killed last night, isn’t that the same as saying I’m responsible?”

  Jonathan grunted his frustration. “How could I possibly think you’re responsible? You didn’t pull a trigger. You didn’t blow out the lights. In fact, last time I saw you during the shooting was out in the middle of it all, rendering aid. So, hell no, you’re not responsible.”

  He hesitated before going on but decided to throw caution to the wind. “But did you trigger the cascading events that ultimately made his cohort open fire? Yeah, you probably did. In fact, I’m certain you did.”

  Venice looked aghast. “Digger!”

  “What? When have you known me not to be honest and direct? There’s no shame to be found in this, Gail. You did all the right things, and this time, the right thing had a bad effect. But even that’s not a horrible thing. It’s reasonable to extrapolate from past experience that whatever this larger hit mission was supposed to be, it was supposed to happen simultaneously in three different cities. Given the increase in manpower assigned to each, they were going to be huge. I think the fact that the Capitol Harbor incident was a one-off is definitive proof that they went off early.”

  “Jesus, you suck at pep talks,” Boxers said, eliciting a wan smile from Gail.

  Jonathan wasn’t done. “So, here’s the thing. If you want to throw yourself a pity party, have at it. Yes, you inadvertently started the ball rolling on last night’s free-for-all. But if you’re going to illegitimately take responsibility for all that, you also need to claim credit for all the lives you saved tonight, when I’m certain they had intended to attack.”

  “You can’t know that they won’t attack tonight,” Gail said.

  “Yeah, he can,” Boxers chimed in. “In its own right, Capitol Harbor was big. Big enough to scare the bejesus out of every other community in the country. Assuming tonight—Halloween—was the intended night, security’s going to be too tight everywhere for them to chance it. After Ven gets off the phone with Wolverine, the collective asses will be so tight you won’t be able to drive a ten-penny nail.”

  Derek laughed.

  “Oh, please don’t encourage him,” Venice said.

  Boxers continued, “So, get over yourself and get a grip, Slinger. Not everyt
hing that goes wrong is your fault.”

  “Thanks for that,” Gail said. “Condescension is exactly what I was trolling for.”

  “Stop,” Jonathan said. “We’re not doing this. Ven and Derek, work your magic. We need to figure out what their next move is and where they’re going to hit.”

  “I thought we knew that,” Boxers said. “Vitale pretty much promised that he was coming here.”

  Venice sat bolt upright. “Wait. What? What does here mean?”

  Jonathan explained Vitale’s threats in greater detail than he had before. Thanks, Big Guy.

  When he was done, Venice looked wounded. “You knew all this, yet you interfered with their plans, anyway?”

  “You’d rather I’d just let a few hundred people die?” Jonathan said. “And don’t answer that question. I don’t want to know the answer either way.”

  He stood and started pacing. “Here’s what we need to know,” he said. “If the team has disbanded and taken to the winds, they’re not our problem anymore. They become Irene Rivers’s problem.”

  “But you don’t think that for a moment,” Gail guessed.

  “Not for a fraction of an instant,” he confirmed. “Up until now, Kellner has been our vector into the group. Now we’ve got the guy who pretends to be Joe Vitale and seven unknown terrorists, one of whom we believe to be Frederick Kellner. Kellner’s the key. He’s got to be spooked, and unless he’s got no other option, he’ll be lying as low as he can. We need to find him. Gail, pull what strings you’ve got to find him. Reassign some of our own people to it.

  “On the overt side?” Gail asked. “What do I tell them is the reason?”

  “Tell them a client is paying to know where he is, and that that’s all they need to know.”

  “That’s not how we normally operate,” Gail said. “They’re going to want to access the file.”

  “Tell them that the fact it’s different should be an indication of how important it is. Use those two new investigators you hired. What are their names?”

  “Cody Johnson and Megan Bobbins,” Gail said. “Aren’t they a little green for something like this?”

  Jonathan waved the thought away. “We were all green at one point. I figure they’re hungry and they’ll be anxious to please the guy who writes their paychecks.”

  “What about Masterson?” Boxers asked. “Think we could lean on him a little?”

  “I think it’s a perfect idea,” Jonathan said.

  “What makes you think he’ll talk to you?” Gail asked. “What’s in it for him? He wasn’t all that cooperative the first time.”

  “I’ll have to make it worth his while.”

  “You don’t have the authority to do that,” Gail said.

  “But we all know who does. Ven, have Dom arrange that meeting with Wolverine ASAP.”

  * * *

  St. Matthew’s Cathedral was too far a drive at this hour. The morning rush up I-95 was always brutal, and Jonathan was in a hurry. He convinced Wolverine to drive south to meet him at the Maple Inn in Vienna, Virginia. Located just a few miles south of CIA headquarters, the Maple Inn didn’t have much to offer in the way of aesthetics, but the food was good—the best chili dogs on the planet—and it was accepted by the intelligence community as a safe place to meet.

  Jonathan thought that one of the reasons secrecy worked at the Maple Inn was that no one made a big deal about it. Local citizens composed most of the regulars, and they were too interested in their own conversations—or in their beer and food—to notice who else was sitting nearby.

  Jonathan called ahead to make sure that the table in the far corner—the one under the ceiling-mounted television—would be vacant for him when he arrived. The young lady he spoke to—Tiffany—knew better than to ask why, thus cementing his appreciation for the venue.

  Irene Rivers arrived wearing jeans and an unassuming shirt and a scuffed leather jacket that looked like it’d had seen a lot of use over the years. She entered alone, but by the time she’d reached Jonathan’s table, the Tweedle brothers had also entered, one at a time. They wore their standard security dude suits, but without ties. They sat separately, but less than ten feet from their protectee, facing outward.

  Jonathan stood to greet his guest, but she was not in the mood for pleasantries. She sat heavily in her seat, her face turned away from the rest of the diners. “It’s your meeting,” she said. “Go.”

  Despite her sharply angled features—or, perhaps because of them—Jonathan had always found Irene to be quite stunning, but man, oh man, did cameras not like her.

  “Okay, here it is,” he said. “We know that there are at least eight Black Friday terrorists still out there. Maybe more.The business at Capital Harbor knocked them off their game. We’re pretty sure that they’ve aborted their plan to attack tonight. I believe Father Dom told you about increasing security in Lansing, Michigan, and Westboro, Mass.”

  “I did, and I passed it along. Why am I here?”

  “Because we’re not allowed to talk on the phone, and I need help from you.”

  Irene leaned in closer. “What kind of help?”

  “I need to give Logan Masterson a reason to give us information, and you’re the only person I know who has the authority to do it.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Assuming he’s forthright and helpful, let him go.”

  Her expression telegraphed her answer before she verbalized it. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Think about it, Wolfie,” Jonathan said quietly. “No one knows you have him in the first place. He’s not been charged and letting him starve to death in a black site or killing him outright just isn’t you. It sure as hell is not me. Hell, you can fit him with a chip or make him report in every week somewhere.”

  “He killed dozens of people, Dig. We can’t pretend he didn’t.”

  Jonathan leaned in to whisper, “Who among us has not killed dozens of people, either directly or indirectly?”

  As he leaned back, he watched her jaw set. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Look at it this way,” Jonathan said. “If you stand fast against the killer of dozens, we’ll be powerless to save the lives of hundreds more when these asshats go back to work.”

  “If he’s got information, our people will get it out of him,” Irene said.

  “Jesus, Irene, you’ve had him for over two weeks, and hundreds have died in one and a half coordinated attacks. How’s that interrogation model working for you? How many more have to die?”

  Irene’s cheeks reddened. Jonathan thought she wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Jonathan said. “I’m not trying to lay any of this nightmare at your feet, but this is a chance to learn something really useful. Masterson is a soldier, and he’s looking at the end of everything. I’m telling you that I know his kind. For all I know, even freedom might not break him, make him turn on his buddies. Jesus, the guy in Iowa cut his own throat. But I think we have to try.”

  “Lie to him,” Irene said. “Tell him that freedom’s on the table if he cooperates. Tell him whatever you want. That we’ll give him the Medal of Honor, whatever. Doesn’t mean we have to do it.”

  Jonathan scowled and leaned away as he folded his arms. “I’ll forget you said that,” he said. “Just because times are tough doesn’t mean ethical boundaries are no longer important. Not when the stakes are this high. That’s just wrong.”

  “But letting a murderer walk isn’t wrong?”

  “It’s a trade-off,” Jonathan said. “The dead are already dead, and we can’t do anything about that. But there are people walking around alive right now who will be dead if we don’t intervene. If he sells us bullshit and the next hit happens, then you can still burn him. But if it works . . .” He let her finish the sentiment in her mind.

  Something changed in Irene’s eyes, and she sat taller, as if a piece of a puzzle had just fallen into place. “What aren’t you te
lling me?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  She leaned in again and smirked. “We’ve known each other a long time, Dig. You’re never this passionate about your missions. You’re holding something back, and I want to know what it is.”

  It bothered Jonathan that he was that transparent. He prided himself in his poker face. “I have reason to believe that the next target package includes Fisherman’s Cove.”

  Now he’d piqued her interest. “Reason to know? What does that mean?”

  Jonathan moaned a little. He really didn’t want to disclose this next part. “I think I met one of the leaders of Retribution,” he said. “And he warned me that if I didn’t lay off on what they were doing, they would, and I quote, destroy everything I love.”

  Irene sat straighter still, deeply concerned. “How did they find you?”

  “I have no idea,” Jonathan said. “But it’s concerning.”

  “Concerning my ass,” Irene said. “The implications are huge. Where did a leak like that come from?”

  “Not from my team,” Jonathan said. “But that’s tomorrow’s problem. For now, we’ve got Masterson to think about.”

  Jonathan could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. She stewed for thirty seconds or more, then thumped the table. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll do it.”

  Jonathan smiled. It was a rare occurrence to change Director Rivers’s mind. “I’ll need something in writing,” he said.

  “When are you leaving for South Dakota?”

  “As soon as possible,” Jonathan said. “Out of Manassas.”

  “You can’t want to wait till I get back to my office,” Irene said. “I can dictate the letter from the car and email it to you. Make him understand that this is contingent upon him being entirely forthright.”

  Jonathan’s smile widened. “I’ll scare the shit out of him. How’s that? Actually, I’ll let Big Guy handle the intimidation part.”

  Something about that image made Wolverine smile. “Go stop this thing,” she said.

  * * *

  Boxers painted the Hawker 800 onto the runway at Juliet and taxied to the trailer-size hut that served as a terminal. As the engines spun down and he went through the shutdown procedures, three four-passenger golf carts approached, along with a fifth cart carrying six men in white shirts and blue sport coats, each of them armed with rifles.