Roaches Run

by John Wasowicz

  Suleiman strapped a backpack over his shoulders. Pena did the same. They both went downstairs and outside. Together they proceeded to their destinations.

  “Where are you supposed to go?” Suleiman asked.

  Pena said the southwest corner. He said he was instructed to go to the northeast corner.

  “We should keep in touch with one another,” Suleiman said. “If something happens, we can alert one another. And, once we figure out what this is all about, we can meet and compare notes.”

  Pena said that was a good idea but she had been unable to find her mobile phone before heading out this morning.

  “You don’t have a phone?” Suleiman asked, incredulous.

  “It wasn’t where I always put it and I didn’t have time to continue searching,” she explained. He gave her his phone number. They agreed to meet back in the park at 6 in the evening.

  “Hey,” Suleiman said suddenly. “Maybe it’s not a good idea for us to walk together. We should probably split up and go in different directions.” Pena was hesitant. She would have been more comfortable walking to the park with him. But he was already pulling away from her, giving a little wave goodbye.

  The sidewalk was wide and filled with people. Throngs moved in every direction. At intersections, masses filled the curb waiting for the lights to turn. There were singles and couples, groups of students, parents pushing baby carriages and holding the hands of small children, and multigenerational families with grandparents proudly carrying their young grandchildren. Everyone was going somewhere to celebrate the holiday.

  Suleiman was glad he was just a decoy and not a person carrying explosives. He imagined the carnage that would have occurred. Limbs would have been torn from bodies; shrapnel would have pierced arms, legs, and faces; and the joy and carelessness of the day would have been shattered forever. Carrying books was innocuous, but odd.

  Pena felt the same way. She was spared the recrimination she would have felt if she had actually harmed people or property. Yet she could not understand why in the world she had been groomed to carry books to Lafayette Square on Memorial Day weekend. It really didn’t make any sense.

  **

  THE NINTH FLOOR of the GreyStone Hotel consisted of two wings separated by heavy sheets of plastic. One wing, containing Rooms 901 to 909, was in use, although only two rooms were currently occupied. The other wing was under construction, and because of that guests avoided staying on the ninth floor. Rooms 910 to 919 were gutted. Every piece of flooring, wall, and ceiling had been tossed down the wide mouth of the plastic construction chute that descended through a window to a huge dumpster in the alley below.

  Following the purchase of the GreyStone last year by a hotelier with deep pockets, the grand old edifice was in the middle of a construction project to restore it to its nineteenth century grandeur. First, the lobby was renovated, with massive chandeliers, ornate ceiling tiles, lush carpets, and walls composed of glass, wood, and polished brass. Then the guest rooms underwent construction floor by floor. Everything was torn out and replaced with expensive antiques, state-of-the-art electronics, plush bedding, and luxurious baths. If COVID-19 had not set back the renovation, the work would have been completed last year.

  Only one wing of the ninth floor remained to be finished.

  The glitz of the GreyStone rivaled Washington’s best hotels and went toe-to-toe with such popular destinations as the Madison, the Mayflower, and the Willard. The GreyStone was built during the Gilded Age, when Carnegie and Rockefeller were the titans of industry, McKinley and Teddy Roosevelt made up the winning presidential ticket, and Manifest Destiny was the guiding principle of the republic.

  When the Depression descended and Hoovervilles dotted the nation’s landscape, the hotel lost its luster. By the dawn of World War II, it was a fleabag destination for hobos and tramps. In the early 1960s, it was a shooting gallery for drug addicts and a hook-up joint for prostitutes.

  In the 1980s, the hotel was bought by a national chain and was slated for a major renovation. But the chain went bankrupt and the renovation never happened. Since then, it changed hands twice, including last year’s sale.

  Over time, much of the original façade had been plastered over. It bore scant resemblance to its original self, like facial reconstruction gone awry. Architects and historians studied every nook and cranny as part of the current renovation. No expense was spared to replicate the graceful and elegant sandstone structure that was once the gem of Farragut Square.

  Three H-Pack backpacks sat on the dusty floor of the wing under construction. To a casual observer, they might have been construction workers’ day packs, loaded with lunch and thermoses of water or coffee. But no one was working in the hall or in the rooms. The construction crew was off for the weekend. Tools lay on the floor. Cups, water bottles, soda cans, and sandwich wrappers were swept into a corner. A thermos stood against a wall. Exposed light bulbs lit the deserted rooms. There was not a sound in the corridor. It almost seemed serene.

  Suddenly, the entire hotel rocked as though an earthquake had shifted the ground under the building. Windows shattered in offices across the alley. Bricks and plaster jettisoned through the air and dispersed on the ground nine stories below. Pieces of the façade splattered on the cement alleyway. A gargoyle toppled from the rooftop. A plume of smoke filled the air. When the debris finally settled, a hole the size of an interstate billboard could be seen on the side of the building.

  Without understanding what had happened, hotel guests ran out of the lobby. Pedestrians on the sidewalk spilled into the streets. Drivers reacted in a variety of ways; some pulled to the curb while others gunned their vehicles and ran red lights. Cars smashed into one another at intersections filled with people fleeing in all directions.

  BREAKING NEWS

  This is a developing story

  A bomb has exploded on one of the upper floors of the historic GreyStone Hotel at Farragut Square, sending pedestrians rushing for shelter.

  The explosion came on the heels of an incident on the train trestle over the Potomac River parallel to the 14th Street Bridge. That incident was reported to have involved an explosion as well, although that fact is now disputed.

  These explosions occur less than five months after a vicious attack on the U.S. Capitol when a mob of thousands, protesting the outcome of the November 2020 election, breached the Capitol, invaded the Senate chamber, and ransacked House and Senate offices.

  Federal and District law enforcement have arrived at the scene of the hotel bombing. The entrance to the hotel has been cordoned off. The hotel was recently renovated and the top floor is still under construction. The few guests who have ventured back to hotels since last year’s pandemic were rewarded by being forced to evacuate the building.

  Evacuations are underway at a number of retail and commercial buildings in the surrounding area, where windows were shattered from the force of the bombing. Due to the holiday, most offices in the buildings are unoccupied.

  Passers-by were stunned by the explosion.

  “It was like a mini-9/11,” said one man. “I didn’t know whether a drone or small aircraft might have struck the building. In fact, I’m still not sure what happened.”

  Another passer-by equated it to the Capitol attack. “I felt as though the domestic terrorists had returned,” she said. “Our democracy is under siege.”

  According to authorities on the scene, the entire hotel will be swept for explosives.

  No one has claimed responsibility for the blast. At this time, authorities do not know whether it is an act of terrorism or related to the construction itself.

  “Right now, it could be a disgruntled employee for all we know,” said one official.

  **

  THE WHITE HOUSE and Eisenhower Executive Office Building were evacuated. Metro lines serving the area were shut down for fear of a bomb at either the Farragut North or Farragut West stations. The likelihood of a bombing squared with the information that Stone had provided l
ast night to law enforcement officials. She based her information on the files found on Landry’s computer. An APB had been put out for Landry, but he had not yet been located.

  The streets around the hotel were caged in total gridlock. The whereabouts of top government officials were confirmed. Security details were doubled. All of the D.C. monuments were closed. A hockey game scheduled for that evening was postponed. The Mall became a gathering place for thousands of people who had nowhere else to go.

  Television stations raced reporters to the area. Counterterrorism experts assembled in cable network studios expressed concern that a massive soft target was forming in the heart of the city.

  In response to Stone’s alert, a robust police force had already been assembled for today’s expected festivities. Now, that force was augmented with security personnel, canine units, and police. Security was tight everywhere, including Lafayette Square and Black Lives Matter Plaza.

  BREAKING NEWS

  This is a developing story

  Law enforcement officers are fanning out across the city in response to a bombing at the GreyStone Hotel and reports of potential attacks at Metro stations.

  “We are on guard against a possible terrorist plot,” said one law enforcement officer who spoke on the condition of anonymity. “There’s been no corroboration of the report, but we aren’t taking any chances.”

  The explosion on the top floor of the GreyStone Hotel occurred in an unoccupied part of the hotel undergoing renovation. There were no fatalities, and all guests have been accounted for, according to a spokesperson for the hotel.

  The explosion reverberated through Farragut Square, creating chaos and confusion among the throngs of people gathering in the area for the holiday. Minutes earlier, a train was stopped on the trestle bridge across the Potomac River running parallel to the 14th Street Bridge.

  Reports of a bomb exploding on the train have proven to be false. However, a man fell from the train and drowned in the Potomac River. His body has been recovered by a rescue team launched minutes after he plunged into the water.

  No other fatalities or injuries have been reported from the train incident.

  NATIONAL TERRORISM ADVISORY SYSTEM (NTAS) ALERT

  The regional threat level for the Washington, D.C., metropolitan area has been raised to “elevated” effective 11:15 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.

  Metro riders and residents living in proximity to Metro stations are requested to be on alert for pedestrians carrying orange H-Pack backpacks at Metro substations.

  This “elevated” alert is provisional. It does not constitute a verified terrorist threat. This warning is NOT imminent. It does not mean there is a verified, specific, and impending terrorist threat against the United States.

  NTAS alerts provide timely, detailed information to the public, government agencies, first responders, public sector organizations, and others.

  All changes, including the announcement that cancels an NTAS Alert, will be distributed the same way as the original alert.

  **

  THE NTAS alert was emailed through DC Alerts, Facebook, and Twitter. The information was immediately relayed via online news feeds, radio, and television. The news popped up on phones, laptops, and tablets. Commuters were asked to avoid the Metro stations until further notice.

  “Have you already put out your analysis?” the Chronicle’s editor-in-chief, Alice Caraway, barked over the phone to Mann.

  “Just now,” Mann said.

  Mann’s agreement was to hold the inside story until something developed. He kept his promise. Up until now, he played it straight, including a piece publicizing Stone’s role in the events. The NTAS alert issuance was the development that justified releasing the story. With the click of a finger, the article posted to the Chronicle’s website and was pushed to media outlets around the country.

  BREAKING NEWS

  11:30 a.m.

  The Washington Chronicle

  Analysis by Tom Mann, city editor

  An elevated alert warning was issued moments ago by the National Terrorism Advisory System to guard against a possible terrorist incident engineered by Philip Landry, director of security operations for the Department of Homeland Security. Associates described him as a discredited and disgruntled employee.

  Although the likelihood is remote that an actual terrorist-related incident is underway, there is a hint of danger in the air. It is the sort of danger that arises when a child brings a loaded gun to the playground for a game of cops-and-robbers.

  According to this reporter’s examination of files obtained by the Chronicle, Landry enlisted three individuals to carry backpacks to Metro stops.

  Those backpacks are possibly filled with incendiary devices.

  Law enforcement officials place a low probability on the likelihood that any explosives will be detonated in the D.C. area. The purpose of the operation is not to actually detonate explosives, according to law enforcement, who say that the operation is intended to create the appearance of a crisis so that Landry can defuse it.

  The identities of the three individuals enlisted to carry out the operation are unknown.

  “This sort of Machiavellian enterprise is standard operating procedure for Landry,” said an official on the condition of anonymity who was not authorized to comment on the ongoing investigation.

  Two years ago, Landry orchestrated an apparent terrorist-related incident on the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, the source said.

  The official version of that operation was that Landry was part of an elite cadre of antiterrorism experts who foiled a plot to bring surface-to-air missiles into the District.

  The reality, based upon interviews conducted by this reporter with sources who prefer to remain anonymous, was that Landry had manufactured the whole thing in a vainglorious effort to advance his career.

  It is also believed that Landry was sympathetic toward the mob that attacked the U.S. Capitol in January. According to informed sources, he opposed efforts to arrest and prosecute the people who participated in the mayhem.

  The Wilson Bridge plot culminated in the downing of a helicopter and a firefight with would-be terrorists. Several individuals died in the mayhem.

  Following that incident, Landry was rumored to be a strong contender for secretary of Homeland Security.

  But as the truth about his operation leaked, his candidacy for the position lost its luster. He was sidelined to his current position.

  Today’s events bear an uncanny resemblance to that earlier plot.

  While it is believed to be unlikely that the backpacks will be detonated, no one is taking any chances.

  Security has been increased around all Metro stations and an all-points bulletin has been issued for Landry.

  Security officials have expressed concern about innocent people who are walking around this morning with H-Pack backpacks, the type carried by the people Landry is believed to have enlisted.

  “I hope no one takes the law into their own hands and confronts anyone wearing a backpack under the mistaken belief that they’re stopping a terrorist from carrying out an attack,” said one official.

  “If any one of them gets shot, it’s going to be a tragedy,” the official added.

  **

  STONE’S EYES crawled across the iPhone’s screen studying the article that the Chronicle had just published. She stopped at the line that read: The operation is intended to create the appearance of a crisis so that Landry can defuse it. Stone muttered out loud, “Wrong, Tom. That’s what he wants you to believe. The operation is actually intended to kill the messengers. It’s all about inflicting pain. The son of a bitch is turning the tables on us.”

  **

  THE CHRONICLE EDITOR called Mann back. “Great stuff,” she said. A half-hour later, she was in the office, having hurried in from her home off Rock Creek Parkway. Caraway was tiny physically, but steely, with wire-rim glasses and short blonde hair. She was dressed in a T-shirt and yoga pants. Her face glowed with satisfaction
and approval.

  “You’re back, Tom. Full throttle. This is going to be a huge story for us. I couldn’t stay away. I had to come down to the newsroom. This’ll get people to take us seriously and give us a fighting chance of competing against WaPo. Stay with it.”

  He nodded. “I will.”

  “By the way,” she said. “When did you first learn about this? I mean, there was a lot in that story. It didn’t all materialize this morning.”

  “I got a tip the other day,” he said. “I promised not to run with it too soon.”

  “No doubt from that policewoman you wrote about in that puff piece earlier this morning,” she said.

  He smiled. “Plus, I wanted to be sure of the facts, for the paper’s sake if not for mine.”

  “Are you’re sure you’re sure?”

  “Yeah,” he answered. “It comports to all the facts I’ve uncovered.” He studied the look of concern clouding her face. “Don’t worry. I haven’t allowed personal feelings to seep into my reporting. I’m playing it straight.”

  She gave him a hard look.

  Eight Years Ago

  MANN WAS RADIOACTIVE. He was no longer a Woodward or Bernstein of The Washington Chronicle. Questions had arisen about his exposé on the Pena Inquiry. There were rumors Phil Landry had manipulated him. The stories destroyed Pena. At the same time, they took the heat off Landry.

  If the rumors were true, Mann had unfairly destroyed a good man’s reputation and enabled a bad guy to escape justice. As time passed, the truth became evident. Landry had indeed duped him. The allegations bore no resemblance to the truth. At one time the Chronicle’s golden boy who won a Pulitzer for the Pena articles a year ago, he now faced the possibility that it would be taken from him. It was akin to relinquishing a World Series ring or having your name removed from a university building.

  Where would he go? What would he do? As unsettled and angry as he was at himself, he felt nothing but disdain toward Landry. He had been tricked, plain and simple. He had discarded one of his prize attributes — skepticism — and promoted a storyline that not only failed to tell the truth but that inadvertently told a lie.