Breach of Protocol

by Nathan Goodman

  He looked in the direction of the sheriff, expecting to see him lying on the ground. Instead he and his deputies looked toward the highway as an eighteen-wheeler swerved into the guardrail, jack-knifed, then flipped on its side. Car tires screeched but the drivers could not avoid slamming into the overturned truck.

  “Mierda!” Rafael said. He chambered another round, aimed and fired. This time the unsuspecting sheriff crumpled to the ground. Two deputies standing behind him stood in motionless horror as brain matter splattered their faces.

  Rafael did not wait to find out if anyone had noticed where the shots had come from. Instead, he emptied the contents of vial number two onto the ground, packed the rifle into the golf bag, then walked through the trees onto the fairway.

  To anyone on the course, he might have looked like a golfer who had perhaps lost his Titleist and gone into the woods to retrieve it. He waved to the foursome who now occupied the tee box on the eighth hole, and made his way to the adjacent parking lot.

  It wasn’t until he had driven through neighborhood streets, turned on Rue Rochelle Boulevard, then onto Interstate 12 before he realized his mistake. In the excitement of taking the second shot, he had inadvertently failed to collect the shell casing after he ejected it from the rifle. It was a costly error, but one he could not correct now.

  13

  CAUSE OF DEATH

  NSA Command Center

  Knuckles ran toward Uncle Bill.

  “I’ve got some information about the . . .” But he stopped and looked across the room at Jana, then continued in a lower voice. “About the murder scene in Spain.”

  It was too late, Jana had overheard.

  “You people need to quit trying to hide things from me.” She was upset and Knuckles could tell.

  “Sorry, Agent Baker.”

  “I told you a long time ago to call me Jana, Knuckles. It’s okay. Just don’t hide things from me. I’m a big girl.”

  “All right, son, so what’s the big news?” Uncle Bill said.

  “The Spanish secret service has determined the cause of death.”

  Cade, Jana, and Agent Kyle MacKerron looked at him, then at one another.

  “What do you mean they determined the cause of death?” Jana asked. “It was plainly obvious she had been stabbed.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But stabbed with what is the question.”

  A scowl formed on Kyle’s forehead. “What do you mean? She wasn’t stabbed with a knife?”

  Knuckles continued. “Not exactly, no. She was stabbed with a sword.”

  The statement hung in space for a moment. It was Cade who first spoke.

  “A sword? You aren’t serious.”

  “Very serious. The Spanish secret service confirmed it. She was stabbed through the heart with a broadsword.”

  “A broadsword. What? Is that a particular type of sword?” Kyle said.

  Knuckles was in his element now, his head so full that at times, the knowledge had to spill out.

  “Yes. It’s a double-edged sword commonly used in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In fact, the Spanish are saying that the sword even appears to have been an original. In other words, it wasn’t a replica.”

  Jana stepped closer.

  “You mean someone had an original sword from the fourteenth or fifteenth century? And they used it to kill Gilda? That’s completely insane. Who would do that?”

  But everyone knew the answer. The killer, from all accounts, was most certainly terrorist Waseem Jarrah.

  Cade said, “Okay, look. This is all coming at us a little fast. I’m going to take Jana down to get something to eat. She just got off a nine-hour plane ride for God’s sake.”

  As they walked away, Kyle said, “Watch out for the sausage pizza. I’m pretty sure it’s been sitting on that buffet since yesterday.”

  Cade turned back. “Pizza? Kyle, it’s nine in the morning.”

  “And?” After the couple was safely out of earshot, Kyle turned to Uncle Bill. “Bill? Got a minute?”

  “Sure. What’s up?” he said as he flicked a bright orange crumb off his short sleeved buttondown shirt.

  “You know what’s up.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I know what you’re going to say about it. Jana’s PTSD is back with a vengeance.”

  “You know I love Jana too, right? But Bill, we’re not playing a game of Monopoly here.” Kyle looked around the cavernous NSA Operations Center to make sure no one was nearby. “Lives are on the line. Her PTSD makes her a liability. If Jarrah has resurfaced, we’re going to need all hands on deck, and we can’t have one of them freeze up.”

  “You want her removed from active duty,” Bill said as he crossed his arms.

  “Jana is one of my best friends in the world. She’s a better agent than I am. But I’m a field operative, Bill. If we get in a firefight, or God knows what else, she could black out, and that could cost lives. No offense, but you work at a place where no one gets shot.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Kyle,” Bill said a little too loudly. He looked around, then lowered his voice. “And under normal circumstances, I’d agree with you. But this is different. This time Jarrah has put Jana in the middle of everything. It’s my belief that he’s going to call again, and every time he calls, we may learn something else.”

  “Allowing her to work this case is unsafe. You’re putting people in danger, Bill.”

  “No, I’m not!” Bill again looked around himself. “Look, Kyle, of course there’s an inherent risk here. But remember who you’re talking to. I care about that girl as though she was my own blood. If anything happened to her, I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself. But I’m also an NSA section chief. I have a responsibility to the United States and have been working terrorism cases since you were still in diapers. She might be a danger to herself or others, she might not.”

  “She may not make it out of this alive.”

  “If Jarrah has another nuke, none of us may make it out of this alive. But if he wanted her dead, he would have killed her in Spain. No, this is different. He wants to keep her alive so he can taunt her.”

  “Bill—” Kyle started.

  “Your request to remove Agent Baker from the active list is denied.”

  14

  JARRAH CALLS AGAIN

  NSA Command Center

  “It surprises me, Miss Baker,” Jarrah laughed over the phone, “how far behind you are in the game, no?”

  “This is not a game, Jarrah.”

  “Oh, is it not? But I am having such fun. My mood has never been lighter.”

  “You’re speaking in riddles. In Spain, you said something about a voice and thunder and the command to come. What did you mean by that? What do you mean I’m behind in the game?”

  “The most amusing thing is, with all your technology, you are unable to trace the source of my phone calls.”

  “Yes, hysterical. Now what did you mean?”

  “Did you not go to church as a child, Miss Baker? Oh, come now. Surely your grandfather took you to church.”

  Jana’s lips pursed. “Listen to me, you son of a bitch—”

  “I certainly was not the son of a bitch. It wasn’t my mother and father who abandoned me in childhood. Such cowards, they were.”

  “Shut up! They didn’t abandon me. They died.”

  “Are you certain they just died? Is that what your grandfather told you?”

  “My grandfather was a great man. And how the hell do you know about my grandfather?”

  “He was loving, kind, always honest with you? Is that it?” Jarrah was taunting her.

  “I don’t intend on discussing personal matters with you.”

  “And why not? He is dead, is he not? It’s the question of your grandfather’s honesty that troubles me.”

  “My grandfather never lied to me!”

  “No? Are you sure? Your father was gone when you were, what? Two years old? And your mother when you were seven? You were so young. The memory plays tricks
on us. How would one know? I suppose your grandfather told you your father died of cancer?”

  “He did die of cancer!” Her mind scrambled as she fought to take control of the conversation and her own emotions. “I want to know what you meant when you said I was way behind in the game.”

  “You want no such thing. You are simply trying to divert my attention. You want to know more about your past. Did you never question your grandfather about how your parents died? Your grandfather was, after all, just a man. And your mother, his only child, had died in a car crash, a suspicious car crash. He was left to care for you. It’s true, your grandmother was alive for a time, but that did not last, did it?”

  “What makes you think you know so much about my childhood? You know nothing!” Jana choked her emotions down.

  “You fail to answer my questions, Miss Baker. Have you never considered why they died?”

  “What do you mean why they died. They died because they died. There’s no explaining it. Cancer happens! Accidents happen! People die.”

  He let a period of silence emphasize his next statement.

  “Your parents abandoned you, and they did it in a most cowardly way.”

  Jana’s blood turned to ice. “You know nothing of me and my past! My grandfather never lied to me.”

  “Well, perhaps the public records are wrong then.”

  “Public records? What public records? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Now, let me see,” Jarrah said, “what else is it you wanted to talk about?”

  “Jarrah, what public records?”

  “Ah, you are interested in our little game, is that it? Well, the game has begun and you are way behind. You are not the adversary I had hoped for.”

  “What public records?” Jana cleared her mind. “Jarrah, this is no game. Real people are dying. That nuclear device you set off killed eight hundred thousand innocent Americans.”

  His voice lashed through the phone. “And some not so innocent! I’m sure you have considered it from my viewpoint, have you not? When I destroyed your CIA headquarters, the beast itself, I liberated my soul and the soul of countless brothers in jihad. The beast has always been our sworn enemy. It is true that many ‘innocents,’ as you would call them, got in my way, but what’s a few hundred thousand vaporized Americans between friends, right?”

  “You are sick. You are insane, and I think you know it.”

  “You try to raise my anger, Agent Baker. This is folly. You are too far behind and will not be able to catch up. I, again, will win.”

  “What did you mean when you asked if my grandfather ever took me to church?”

  “Now you are on the right track. Miss Baker. Are you not aware that the Koran and your Bible speak of similar things?”

  “Of course,” Jana said. “Both religions believe in the same God.”

  “It is deeper, Miss Baker. You’ll have to dig much deeper to get to the bottom of this one.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Jana heard a click on the phone line.

  “Jarrah? Jarrah?”

  15

  SANDS OF THE HOURGLASS

  NSA Command Center

  No one on the team went home that night. Instead they bunked in temporary duty quarters, dormitories that were two floors below in the basement level of NSA headquarters.

  The accommodations were spartan to say the least. Old college style bunk beds with metal frames and wire springs. Each room slept a maximum of eight people. It was relatively uncommon for the rooms to be occupied, but dorm spaces were available in times of crisis, and this was one.

  Half of the hall was set aside for men, the other, women. Where that separation began, it ended in the communal bathrooms. Although each toilet and shower stall was well subdivided, the overall facility was shared.

  When Jana awoke on the bunk, she found a blanket stretched over her. It was not something she remembered doing herself. And the thought occurred to her that perhaps Cade had come in during the night to cover her up.

  As the stress and long hours of the terrorism investigation escalated, Cade and Jana had little time for each other. There was no time to talk alone. No time to eat together or catch a movie. No time for dancing, no surprise at the arrival of a bouquet of flowers. There was nothing.

  She could see him though, daily. She would often find him looking at her from across the table or across the large NSA command center. They would smile and wink at one another but their relationship was suffering—another casualty of the war on terror.

  FBI Director Stephen Latent had told Jana about his own failed marriage.

  He may have been director of the FBI, a career goal he had obtained after decades of exemplary service, but destroying his personal life in the process was not something he had counted on. He divorced her the day he took office, at least that’s how he had described his marriage. The extreme hours, the overwhelming stress, had all played a role in the destruction of the relationship, and he did not want to see Jana lose her personal life the way he had.

  It was apparent he regretted every minute of it and Jana did not want to repeat his mistakes.

  The relationship between Jana and Cade had started out in a most unlikely way. He had been the only material witness who could possibly help the FBI stop terrorist Waseem Jarrah in his first attempt to detonate. He just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

  In fact, it was Jana’s striking looks and soothing voice that convinced him to work undercover for the FBI in the first place. The two had spent a great deal of time working together, even to the point of acting like they were a couple on a date.

  Prior to the case, Jana had dated only very attractive men. Not that that had ever gotten her anywhere. To her, Cade was something different. He was cute in a boyish way, but it was his innocence that captivated her.

  It wasn’t long before she could no longer distinguish between the role she was playing in the undercover investigation and her true feelings. The more intense their circumstances became, the stronger her feelings grew. By the time that first terrorism case ended, Jana knew her feelings for Cade were real.

  Here was a guy who was genuine. She wasn’t dating him for his looks or his money, she was dating him for him. For the first time in her life she had found something she didn’t even know she was looking for.

  And by the time the second terrorism investigation concluded, she and Cade had grown closer. It wasn’t until they took a vacation together in Spain that she finally realized she was in love with him.

  Jana’s thoughts trailed off at the questions swirling in her mind. At the top of the list were Jarrah’s comments about the death of her parents. She couldn’t get them out of her mind. Had she been misled by her own mother? By her grandfather?

  Now, in the bleakness of morning, in the sleep-deprived, pressure-filled third investigation, she didn’t know if the relationship would survive. One thing she did know was that she still held strong feelings for Cade and those feelings were going unabated.

  Her obsession to stop Waseem Jarrah was coming to a head. She was engrossed in stopping him, but she knew to do so might cost her everything. She couldn’t allow Jarrah to continue. He had to be stopped, and stopped cold. And this time Jana could not allow anything or anyone to get in her way.

  If she got the chance, she would kill him without hesitation. These thoughts played forward in her mind throughout each day. It was as if she understood her life could end at any moment and she would gladly trade it to shut the terrorist down once and for all.

  Jana had grown up with her grandfather’s advice, a piece of advice as simple and pure as the rays of the sun. He had told her, Never do anything you’re going to regret for the rest of your life.

  But that statement had an opposing side as well. She never wanted to look back with regret at not having done something either.

  She crept down the hallway and peered into the first room. Kyle on one bunk, Knuckles on another. She tiptoed to
the second room and found Cade alone, sleeping on the bottom bunk. She slipped inside and closed the door. It wasn’t until she turned the lock that he stirred.

  “Jana, is everything okay? What are you doing?” But she didn’t say a word. Amber light burning around the edges of the door illuminated her sleek shape. Cade watched as she began to undress.

  When the last article of clothing hit the floor, Cade could not avert his eyes. She was stunning, and he was just realizing how much he had missed her physical touch.

  “Are you sure we should—”

  But Jana put her finger on his lips and climbed into the bed.

  16

  THE SNIPER’S PERCH

  NSA Dormitories, Fort Meade

  Another day passed and the next morning came early. Jana awoke unsure whether she should scour the public records for information related to the deaths of her mother and father, or study similarities between the Bible and the Koran.

  There was so little evidence to go on. At this point there were virtually no clues in the death of Stephen Latent. They hadn’t even located where the sniper had been hiding. All they knew was that Jarrah was behind the assassination somehow. And it was certainly Jarrah who was responsible for the killing of Gilda, Jana’s hiking friend.

  Jana listened to a news podcast on her phone, the way she had done every morning, to catch up on what was happening in the world.

  “WBS News at the top of the hour. I’m Mike Sladen. We bring you a breaking story out of Saint Tammany Parish, Louisiana. We go to our correspondent in the field, Charlie Rose, just north of New Orleans. Charlie what can you tell us?”

  “Well, Mike, it’s a gruesome scene. Just hours ago the sheriff of Saint Tammany Parish was murdered in an apparent sniper attack. Deputies who were with the sheriff say they were preparing for their shift when a major traffic accident occurred in front of them on Interstate 12. The accident involved a tractor-trailer that apparently swerved out of control and crashed. Several cars were involved. Then moments later, deputies report, the sheriff crumpled to the ground—struck by a bullet which was apparently fired from somewhere across the highway. Investigators say there is no way this was an accident. And in a strange twist to the story, Mike, it turns out the driver of the tractor-trailer was also hit with a sniper round. At this point the theory is that the assassin may have fired at the sheriff, but the tractor-trailer passed in front at just the wrong moment. The driver of the tractor-trailer is also deceased, and this normally quiet community is left wondering what happened, and why. Two sniper attacks have never occurred in the United States in such close proximity since the days of Lee Boyd Malvo and John Allen Muhammad, who perpetrated the Beltway sniper attacks in the Washington DC metropolitan area in October of 2002. In that case, the assassins used a sniper rifle to hold that city in terror over a three-week period. Even today, many label the two as homegrown terrorists, even though there was no link to any terror organization outside the United States. For now, this is Charlie Rose reporting live from Louisiana. Back to you, Mike.”