by Camden Mays
Chapter 3
McLean, Virginia – Five Months Earlier
Jess and her friend Brittany helped her dad and Hannah clean up after the barbecue. Everyone had enjoyed the afternoon, and the two girls had plans to meet up with David Kincaid and his friend for a late movie.
As Jess lifted the beer bucket and dumped out the ice in the yard near the patio, the bottom of her shirt raised up in the back, giving Cole a view of two of the scars from the terrorist’s stab wounds two months prior. It saddened him that his daughter would bear the constant reminder of that horrific night on her body. She amazed him with her mental toughness and refusal to play the victim card by ruminating on the event. Instead, it fueled her new passion as she took charge of her emotions and poured herself into becoming a strong, capable woman.
She sensed his presence behind her and turned. “What is it, Dad?”
“Nothing,” Cole said. “I’m so glad you’re here, and I’m so proud of you.”
“What? Which of my amazing feats are you proud of now?” she joked with her father. “That I can drop a lineman on the football team to his knees with a sidekick or that I can ping targets at thirty yards with your Springfield XD MOD.2? I guess I’m turning into the boy you always wanted.” Jess laughed, but Cole knew his daughter was now dedicated to self-preservation, taking every opportunity to train and improve her fighting skills and marksmanship. Cole had taken her to the range several times, but she had only a mild interest before her attack. Now she fired off rounds with remarkable accuracy and could exchange the magazines with her eyes closed.
“Well, yes to both, but mostly just that you are becoming such an incredible woman.”
“Aw, thanks, Dad,” she said, reaching over to give her old man a hug. Cole saw Hannah watching the exchange from the window at the kitchen sink, and she smiled at him, appreciating the moment.
“So you girls are going out tonight?” Cole asked.
“Yes, David and Brent are picking us up later, and we’re catching a late movie. So we’ll be home late, and I think Brittany will sleep over if that’s OK?”
“Sure, no problem with me, but aren’t her parents still ticked off at us? I mean, didn’t they like try to get her to sue us or something?”
Jess looked around to make sure Brittany was out of earshot. “Her parents are weird, Dad. She told them what she thought about that very plainly. And honestly, I think she feels more at home here than she does at either her dad’s or her mom’s place.”
“Alright. Be careful out there tonight.”
“We will, but maybe tomorrow we can head over to the Lincoln Memorial, just you and me.”
“I’d love that,” Cole said as he grabbed the bucket from Jess.
“And you know what we haven’t done in a while?”
“What’s that, sweetie?”
“Fly!” Jess said.
“You’re right. It has been a while.” Cole had acquired his private pilot certification when they lived in California. Back then, in the private sector, he had more disposable income, more time, and certainly better weather. With only a few hundred hours of experience, Cole never completed his instrument rating, and the FAA restrictions around the DC area were prohibitive. He stayed up in the air enough to maintain flight currency with FAA regulations but no longer had the opportunity to fly as much as he wanted.
He had such fond memories of taking little Jess up for plane rides. One of his favorite photos captured her in the copilot seat of a Cessna Skyhawk at age eleven, wearing the aviation headset over her straight blonde hair. She had her hands on the yoke of the plane and peered over the console to see out the window with an intense look of concentration.
“That sounds great. We can go out to Godfrey Field. I’ll check the weather and go online to see if I can schedule a rental. That’ll be fun.” Cole used one of the flight schools out at Leesburg Executive Airport for his aviation hobby.
“I have to check my log book, but I’ll probably have to do a few laps in the pattern before you climb on board,” he said, referring to the FAA requirement of recent takeoffs and landings required in the last ninety days before flying with a passenger.
“Brittany and Hannah can come too. We can make a day of it and grab lunch out there at that great burger place. You know, that gourmet burger place, Melt?” Jess said, excited about the plans.
“Sounds great.”
Later that evening, Cole and Hannah rested on the sofa, both in comfy shorts and T-shirts, watching TV while Jess and Brittany were out on their movie date. They were both tired from their long workweeks and the activity of the day. Hannah lay on her side and put her head in Cole’s lap as he had his feet up on the table.
“You never told me you could fly a plane,” Hannah said, poking his thigh with her fingernail.
“You OK going up in a small plane? It’s not for everyone, you know.”
“You know we were in the FBI plane and a helicopter together, right?”
“Yeah, but those were professional pilots.”
“I’m a big girl, Cole. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Awesome. I reserved it for Wednesday.” He flipped the channels again and landed on an old movie. He could tell she was uninterested in what they were watching, so he flicked the TV off.
She pulled her hair back over her ear and asked, “You OK?”
“Yeah, just glad to be with you. Thanks for staying over this weekend.”
“Well, since Jess is here, maybe I should go home tonight.”
“What? No. The girls are going to be out until late tonight. We’ll be asleep in bed before they get back.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, absolutely. Plus, you can make the girls those omelets they like so much for breakfast tomorrow.”
“So that’s why you really want me here,” she teased.
“I’ll show you what I want you here for,” Cole said, lifting her head off of his lap only to roll on top of her on the couch.
“Oh no. Stop. Stop!” Hannah yelled, laughing as Cole playfully wrestled with her. He loved how he and Hannah could crack up like a couple of kids, and he had her laughing hard.
“Cole, I can’t breathe. Get off of me, you big goon.”
She pushed and wrestled, causing him to slide off the couch onto his knees as his phone began to vibrate on the kitchen counter. He was back up, pinning her down and getting frisky with her, causing her to squirm and laugh so hard she was in tears. The phone continued to vibrate.
“Stop, stop, you’ve got to go get your phone,” she said, finally twisting out of his grasp and scooting away.
He pounded the empty cushion. “This match isn’t over, young lady,” he warned.
“You better watch yourself tonight, mister!” Hannah’s piquant glance and brown eyes betrayed mischievous intentions as she headed to the bathroom. “I’ll get in one of my biting moods, and you’ll regret it.”
“Oh no, not the biting,” Cole shouted as he heard the bathroom door close, finally picking up his phone.
It was Nancy McCune at the CTC. She informed him that Grant Ramsey had died at a private island resort in the Caribbean. She suspected SVR involvement, and they were shipping his body back to the States for an autopsy. Cole was unmoved by the information and offered no response.
McCune continued, stating that they were getting additional threats from the AIJB. Like a roach infestation, they just continued to appear. A new leader, perhaps one of Hasni’s old lieutenants, was emerging and posting online rhetoric via an avatar character. It was generating a strong response from jihadists, and the rally was effectively resuscitating the deflated extremist group. Cole’s team needed to be field ready.
“I know you’re due some comp time, but you need to be ready to go, and we’ve also got some other pressing matters that we’ll need to address this week, including Shepherd,” McCune said. “It seems your friend up on the Hill is at it again. He’s pushing for an investigation into your handling of the Titan Shiel
d AIJB task force.” The associate director of the CTC was referring to Congressman Scott Shepherd, who Cole had offended at the Charity Gala. After a failed attempt to entrap Cole, the congressman had relentlessly pursued other avenues to settle the score.
“Ma’am, Jess came home early for Father’s Day next week, and we have plans, and on Monday after the awards at HQ, Hannah and I are headed out of town for a few days.” Cole hated that the smug putz politician was affecting his commitment to visit Hannah’s parents. Hannah reentered the room and sat on the stool at the large kitchen island, gathering that their agenda had been derailed. Her face saddened.
“I understand, Cole, and I regret that this is happening, but we’re not going to have a choice here. This is straight from the director himself.”
Cole knew McCune was acutely aware that his efforts may just have saved her life that night at the Hilton Capital and that Shepherd was using his political leverage to exact payback for his own embarrassment. But this was Washington, and it seemed the brighter he shined for the agency, the more determined the politician was to tear him down.
“Alright, ma’am,” Cole sighed. “I’ll be in on Monday, but I’m taking some time through the next two weeks as the tasks permit to be with Jess. I owe her that.”
“Not a problem. Deal with the essential stuff and get home as much as you can.”
Cole put his phone down, shook his head, and looked with apologetic eyes toward Hannah. They knew this came with the territory for both of their careers. It was just earlier that day at the barbecue that Cole had surprised her with the idea of a trip to see her parents. Just that morning, he had told her for the first time that he loved her.
“So, does this mean that I don’t have to worry about you wrestling with me now? That’s too bad, because the vampire in me was ready to come out.” She broke the drab mood.
“Hell nah, it’s happening,” Cole said as his eyes lit up and he pretended to poke his head through an opening, imitating Jack Nicholson’s iconic scene in The Shining.
“Oh shit!” Hannah shouted, seeing Cole’s playful mood return. “Stop it, Cole, you know that freaks me out!”
“Here’s Johnny!” Cole acted out.
“No, no, no,” she screamed, running under the barrel vault archway and racing upstairs. Cole chased her.
✽✽✽
Bandar Abbas, Iran
Jamil Rasul removed his thick-framed glasses and wiped them clean as he stepped through the doors of Bandar Abbas International Airport in Iran, waiting for his ride. The thin man with thick black hair and beard held the glasses out for examination. Satisfied they were spotless, he put them back on his face. He had been sequestered for nearly three months as part of Hasni’s contingency plan. Now with Hasni and al-Himyari both dead, he was the new leader of the AIJB network.
Hasni’s protégé was well educated, a borderline genius in fact, and devoid of typical emotional restraints. While Hasni had been driven by revenge, Rasul was a strategist and motivated purely by radical religious beliefs. He lacked Hasni’s charisma, but he was self-aware enough to know it and manipulate his personal brand with the AIJB followers to make up for it. As part of the brand manipulation, the small, thin man communicated through an avatar. The avatar was always the same face and long beard in different attire. Sometimes desert camo, other times white or black uniforms, but invariably with the head covered and holding an AK-47.
Rasul had stayed under the radar of the US counterintelligence community just as he and his former leader had planned. Hasni’s lieutenants remained their focus, as they were confident the natural progression of the network’s leadership would flow from those positions. All intel on Rasul indicated he was just a personal assistant to Hasni. Someone to carry his bags, make his travel arrangements, and fetch his food and water. Indeed, he did those chores and more. As a strategic mastermind, he had opened the channels of communication with the Russians, Iranians, China, and North Korea, because they all had a common enemy.
Even now in Iran he was seen as just a messenger, an ambassador for the AIJB, working and negotiating on behalf of the mystery leader. His scheduled meetings in Iran were set in motion long ago, even before the death of Hasni. It took some work to convince the Deputy Minister of VAJA, Zurvan Shirazi, to stay the course and keep the appointment.
VAJA, otherwise known as the Ministry of Intelligence, the primary intelligence agency of the Islamic Republic of Iran, used Shirazi to work back channels with the Bear—Gavriil Medvedm of Russia’s SVR—and leverage the AIJB with hopes of crippling the US with “darkness,” as they called it. Rasul surmised that they were pooling their capabilities to bring a full cyber assault on the United States’ energy grid and financial infrastructure. He hoped his meeting with the number-two man in the VAJA would shed some light on how the AIJB would fit in.
“Mr. Rasul. Al-salāmu ’alayka,” greeted one of Shirazi’s men.
“Wa ’alaykum al-salaam,” replied Rasul.
“This way, sir. Our car is here. We have a room for you at the Hormoz Bandar Abbas Hotel, located at Enghelab Square.” The man opened the car door for Rasul and placed his small duffel bag in the trunk.
It was a short twenty-minute drive to the Hormoz Hotel, which offered the best views of the Persian Gulf and the city of Bandar Abbas. Rasul stood in the lobby near the large yellow-toned chairs and watched as Shirazi’s man picked up a key from the female clerk dressed in a black uniform jilbab with a matching head covering. Her cloak blended in behind the large, dark-tiled reception desk and its corresponding overhang.
The man handed Rasul his room key and said that he would receive a call on the room phone when Mr. Shirazi was ready to meet with him. Rasul entered the room to find a basket of fresh fruit as a welcome gift on the table and a bed covering adorned with more gold and yellow tones. Outside of his window was a stunning view of the Persian Gulf. This was nothing like the simple accommodations in his native war-torn Yemen.
Rasul situated himself near the window to admire the view. The Lion of Aden waited for the call.
Chapter 4
Counterterrorism Center – Langley
Grumpy was probably an understatement in describing the countenance of Cole Cameron in the den Monday morning. His colleagues avoided getting in his path, and his foul mood filled the air like an overpowering, cheap cologne.
He had enjoyed the weekend with Hannah, Jess, and even Brittany hanging around the house. On Sunday morning, he had gotten up to find Jess, who usually slept in, doing a workout routine in front of the TV with her energetic girl-power music going over the smart speaker. As the song transitioned from “A-Flat” by Black Violin to “Unstoppable” by Sia, she apologized, saying her wireless headset was dead. He nodded for her not to worry about it and watched her work with passion through the routine as he prepared Hannah’s coffee. As SuperGirl and RAIGN’s song “Hero (I Will Survive)” started, Cole thought about the fortitude and strength she possessed.
That afternoon he and Jess had gone to their spot at the Lincoln Memorial as she had suggested. It was noticeable to him that the life-altering events weeks earlier had changed his daughter. She had done years of maturing in a very brief period. They sat on the steps of the memorial that hot June day, licking their ice cream cones as they reminisced, joked, laughed, and shared the moment. It was special.
Cole knew his daughter was now connecting with him as an adult and no longer just his little girl. The shared experience of that horrific night had fused their bond as father and daughter. They had always connected lightheartedly, appreciating each other’s humor, and they would forever have that. But now they were capable of deep, philosophical, and meaningful dialogue. They had both knocked at death’s door and were touched in a way that helped them appreciate life and gave them both a desire for what remained to be purposeful and significant.
Now at the CTC, pulled away from the family and love that invigorated him, Cole stood with his hands on his hips, looking at the giant screens o
n the wall above the pit area that had half a dozen workstations.
“I don’t understand. Why can’t we pin down who this guy is?” he snapped at the room of analysts as he watched another video that had gone viral portraying “death to America” and calling for jihadists to join the movement. The animated Lion of Aden character presented all of it, and his popularity was growing and surpassing that of Hasni.
“OK, Mr. Grumpy Pants, maybe you should take a time-out in your office,” Amy Wiggins retorted.
A few heads turned. Only Amy could get away with that, and Cole knew she was right. They had that particular kind of rapport. They intuitively understood each other and could really say what needed to be said without worrying about the other person’s feelings.
“You’re right, you’re right. Sorry, everyone,” Cole said, getting everyone’s attention in the room. “Amy’s right, I’m an a-hole right now, and I apologize. I violated our team’s personnel policy, and what is our personnel policy, folks?”
“No assholes allowed,” several team members said aloud, some louder than others.
“That’s right, the den is a no-fly zone for assholes,” Cole said just as Capps entered the room. “Well, there is always an exception to every rule,” he concluded, getting a hardy laugh.
“What? What are y’all laughin’ at? Are you laughin’ at me?” Capps became agitated, and once his demeanor changed, the group scrambled back to work, avoiding eye contact with the imposing man who stood next to Cole at the back of the room.
“Cole, what did you tell ’em?”
“Just that you’ve got great timing.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Did you get Sara squared away?”
“Yeah, she’s finishing up her orientation this week and will be field ready next week. That’s a damn good recruit,” Capps said.