by Brian Shea
“Quiet here. I haven’t seen any sign of him. The Bureau guys assigned to my family are pretty green. I’d be better off doing this on my own. Just my humble opinion.” Richards laughed. Picking apart tactical shortcomings was second nature to him.
“They all can’t be bold and spicy like a Steak Sauce guy,” Declan jested. The two men chuckled softly at this.
“Keep me posted. I should be on the ground in Texas in a couple hours. I briefed you on the lure he used on Hook’s son at the balloon festival. Keep your eye out for anything that seems out of the ordinary. Especially regarding your children,” Declan reminded him.
“Nothing so far on my end. If something comes up, you’ll be the first to know.” Mason paused. Continuing in an anguished tone, “I can’t believe that Khaled would come after our families.”
“The Bureau guys are looking at the bus and balloon attacks. Nick said that the devices used had some advanced tech. If their guys run into a roadblock, would you be willing to apply that big brain of yours to the problem?” Declan asked, knowing that Mason had gone off the grid after his military time ended. His willingness to help a government agency was questionable.
“Normally, I would tell them to go screw, but this is different. Anything I can do to help.”
“Thanks. I’ll pass it along. I hope to have a better handle on this once I meet with DJ. Until then stay safe. Hopefully, I’m not wrong on this.” The implication of that statement did not require Declan to elaborate. If he was wrong, then Mason Richards was in serious trouble.
“Don’t worry about me. My little compound is well protected.” Mason said this with confidence, referring to protective measures designed into the construction of his home in Virginia.
Declan was sure that his old commander’s home defense was a maze of countermeasures that would rival the best operatives.
“See you when I see you. Steak Sauce out,” Declan said.
He returned to the plush seat of the small aircraft. Nick and Izzy were brainstorming conceivable target locations in the Austin area.
“Steak Sauce. What’s that supposed to mean?” Izzy asked this as Declan returned to them.
“Eavesdropping?” Declan raised an eyebrow in mock suspicion.
“Hard not to in this little space,” Izzy retorted sheepishly.
“It’s a reference to my former unit’s call sign,” Declan explained no further. “Did you guys come up with a list of possibilities?” he continued, diverting the conversation.
“Yes. The problem is the Translator’s unpredictable target selection. If he was operating in the traditional fashion then we could harden some prime landmarks, but he’s random,” Nick answered, sounding exasperated. The two agents had obviously reached a frustration point with the topic.
“Let’s start with the obvious first. Then we can look at the more obscure ones,” Declan said.
“Okay. Sounds good,” Nick reaffirmed his receptiveness to Declan’s input. “I just want to have something to give HRT when we land.”
Declan had a knack for breaking down seemingly insurmountable tasks into workable equations. The solutions to these were usually at a catastrophic loss to his enemy. It didn’t seem that Nick took his input as an attempt to usurp his authority. Thankfully, because the last thing he needed was to butt heads with his new team.
32
Khaled had navigated the Georgetown Independent School District’s Athletic Complex with ease. He wore the tattered coveralls of the custodial staff. The uniform fit loosely. It gave his wiry frame more bulk. The donor of the uniform had been out sick for several days. Khaled knew that Alfred Humble would never return to work.
Humble had lived alone in a modest apartment. Little evidence of family adorned his bare walls. It did not appear that he would be missed by many. At least, not before it would matter. Death came easily to Khaled. Humble’s unremarkable life ended simply. His body rested in his porcelain tub. The large groundskeeper’s bodily fluids would go down the drain rather than seeping into the floor and into his downstairs neighbor’s apartment. The air conditioning set the room temperature to forty degrees. Decomposition would be slowed. After removing the evidence of his presence, Khaled used Febreze plug-ins in every room. Several buckets of bleach and ammonia surrounded the tub. The low concentration mixture released chlorine gas. A clean smell to mask his rotting flesh. All done to buy time. Everything was on schedule.
His credentials clipped to the front breast pocket of the faded gray shirt, Khaled, or Larry Jenkins as the name tag indicated, an interim custodian, moved about the stadium. A large black plastic bag was slung over his shoulder, a trash grabber in his left hand.
Khaled walked the bleachers of Birkelbach Stadium, a massive expanse of metal and concrete that seated thousands of fans. Over twelve thousand at max capacity. The Williamson County Sun, the local paper, listed the upcoming game as one of the most important of the season. The Georgetown Eagles would face off against the Hutto Hippos. Both teams were potential contenders for this year’s title of State Champion. How trivial a thing. He’d learned that in Texas, football was second only to religion.
Khaled looked different. Nothing like the image plastered on the news. A thick goatee distorted his jawline, changing his face’s dimension. His head shaved. The Beats headphones added to the intended illusion. The cord extended into his pocket but wasn’t attached to an MP3 player. He needed to hear if someone approached. It gave the appearance that he was listening to music and thus would discourage unwanted conversations from other employees in the area.
Two devices were planted on the home team’s side. The magnetized boxes containing the explosives clicked into place under the metal lips of the bench seats. Khaled bent low, ensuring that they were not visible. He then crossed the Astroturf field, the crunch of the artificial grass uniquely different from any surface he’d felt. He made his way to the visiting team’s bleachers. There, he placed the third device before exiting the stadium. There was more to do. But that would have to wait.
He threw the black trash bag into one of the large bins located at the stadium’s side exit. Khaled walked directly to his Honda, now bearing valid Texas license plates. He drove off toward his safe house. His mind raced, double-checking his plan.
Finding that Morales’s sister was staying at his house meant that the FBI had tracked him to Texas. He had planned for this possibility and had a contingency in place. Khaled did not fear his own death. In many ways, he welcomed it. He had died with his Sonia years ago.
33
“Mike Haggerty, HRT Team Leader.” He gave each a firm handshake. His eyes were an intense shade of blue with flecks of gray. His chiseled physique exposed by the tightly fitted under armor shirt. Modesty appeared to be a foreign concept.
“Good to meet you. I’m sure you’ve been briefed. We’ll fill you in on anything the leadership may have left out,” Nick said. There would be no secrets among them. No holding back.
“I never take what the big wigs say as gospel. I’d rather hear things from the boots on the ground,” Haggerty responded.
“Glad to hear that,” Nick said. A slight smile accompanied his words
“I wouldn’t trust a damn word that comes from a former squid,” Declan snapped, stepping from behind Nick. He moved toward Haggerty as if he were going to pounce. An uneasy tension immediately settled over the two agents.
Haggerty boomed a contagious laugh. “You son of a bitch! Declan Enright! What in the hell are you doing here? Been a long damn time.”
“Too long. You look like shit. Don’t they have any gyms in Quantico?” Declan poked Haggerty in the chest, goading him. The backhanded compliment of hard men.
“You know the saying: A good soldier makes a fat civilian.” Both Haggerty and Declan laughed at this.
They walked the tarmac away from the jet. Nick leaned over to Declan and asked, “What was all that about?”
“Hags was a couple classes behind me at BUD/s. We spent a little time
together on Team Two before I was reassigned. He’s a solid operator.” Declan vouched for Haggerty’s ability. And Nick was confident that the tactical side of the mission was in good hands.
Haggerty brought the three over to a black Chevy Suburban with heavy tints. Nick was glad. Anything to reduce the relentless Texas sun.
Nick laid out everything they had to Haggerty. The potential target list was extensive. Everything was hypothetical. Bad odds if you were a betting man. They drove to Leander. A small city, ever-growing in population due to Austin’s urban sprawl. It was home to Declan’s former teammate, Alex Morales.
Declan paused as he exited the SUV. He stared at the large house belonging to his longtime friend. Impressed. Compared to Declan’s it was a mansion. Hard not to feel slightly envious of his friend’s situation. The thought of his family crammed in the one-thousand square foot colonial with one bathroom. Their planned extension never built. Maybe it was time to move but their financial downturn had put that on hold. He then thought about the money secured under the flowerbed in his wife’s garden. Buried treasure. Maybe after this was over it would be time to move. All these thoughts dissipated the moment the door swung open.
Alex “DJ” Morales stood on the front porch, arms wide. He shouted, “Declan Enright! You sexy son of a bitch get over here and give me some sugar!”
“Way too long brother,” Declan said. The two embraced followed by some hearty back-slapping. Declan turned to the agents standing behind him. “This is the team. Nicholas Lawrence and Isabella Martinez of the FBI.”
“Agents,” Alex said, shaking hands.
“Just Nick and Izzy. No formalities here.” Nick spoke as Izzy sized up Alex. His bronzed skin and thick muscles were clearly visible under the white linen button-up. Nick shot a glance at Izzy. She stood star struck. He understood how this guy had earned the nickname of Don Juan. Girls must throw themselves at him. He suddenly felt insecure. He was angry at himself for caring that Izzy had noticed him. They were partners. Nothing more. He was aware that this was becoming something that he had to convince himself of more and more lately.
Declan continued, “You remember Hags? He’s our chauffeur.” He thumbed in the direction of Haggerty. “He’s now with the Bureau’s HRT. He’ll run tac ops for this thing.”
“Well, we’re in good hands then. Come in and meet my sister, Cassidy. She’s pretty upset by all this so try not to overwhelm her.” Alex said this last part quietly as they walked into the kitchen area.
Cassidy was attractive. Her dark shoulder-length hair gave way to gentle features. Her hands were tightly wrapped around a cup of coffee. She gazed out through the French doors into the expansive backyard, lost in thought.
“Cassie, this is the crew,” Alex announced as they approached, startling his sister.
She regained her composure and stood awkwardly. “Thank you all for coming. I hope that I can help in some way, but I have to be honest with you. I’m terrified. Not for me, but for my children. Alex told me that it was better they stick to their routine, but if this guy is planning on hurting them then shouldn’t they be in protective custody or something?” Cassidy rattled off her concern. No time for small talk. Everyone felt the pressure. Especially with her children’s lives at stake. Her initial meekness gone. She was a lioness. Nick was impressed by her assertiveness. He guessed that having a Navy SEAL for a younger brother probably had something to do with her lack of timidity.
“I totally understand your concern. But, your family might be one of the last possible opportunities to end this. We have some very good people keeping a distant eye on your kids. The last thing we want is for any harm to come to them,” Izzy responded. She was good at disarming people. She spoke with a gentle firmness. Her voice was calming, while simultaneously instilling confidence.
“We’re going to need your children’s schedule. Are there any big events coming up? Anything that you can think of that may help?” Nick asked. They needed a plan. A focal point to direct assets. Something to give them traction in this manhunt.
“There’s a football game this Friday. I’m sure Alex told you that we live in Georgetown. It’s not too far from here. Both of my children go to high school there. Mitch is in his senior year and Mandy’s a sophomore. Mitch is on the football team. Football is a big deal around these parts.”
“He’s pretty amazing. He could give us a run for our money,” Alex said to Declan with the pride of a father.
“Mandy’s a cheerleader,” Cassie continued. “I guess that’s the way of things in Texas. Boys play football and girls cheer.” She chuckled to herself. “That’s how I met their dad. He cut tail and ran after life got too real.” Her face grimaced at this last disclosure. Nerves acted as a truth serum to some.
“Okay. That is definitely a start. Where’s the game being played?” Nick asked, avoiding the pitfall of digging into Cassidy’s failed marriage.
“Georgetown has a huge sports complex. It’s really impressive. This Friday is a home game. So they’ll be playing there.” She paused. She looked at Alex, concern on her face. Her flicker of confidence dissipated. “Do you think this guy would attack a bunch of kids at a football game?” Cassie regretted asking. The silence by the others in the room only compounded her growing fear.
“That’s why we’re here. To be honest we’re not sure where he’ll strike next. That’s why this conversation is so important.” Izzy stepped in to ease her tension.
“We received this in the mail yesterday,” Cassie said, holding up a large envelope. She handed it to Nick.
Nick read the contents of the glossy card stock. It was an invitation addressed to her son Mitch. A voucher for a river cruise. Scheduled for Saturday afternoon. Valid for up to ten persons.
“Did you call the number?”
“Yes. I spoke with someone from Capital Cruises. He said the voucher was purchased by a booster club member who wished to remain anonymous.” Cassie’s voice quivered. She was overwhelmed by the stress. Anyone would be. A trained assassin had potentially targeted her children. Her world.
“We’ll have to consider the football game as a possibility too, but I think our efforts should be concentrated on the boat,” Haggerty interjected. Hard decisions came easily to him. And he made them with unquestioned authority. It was no surprise that he led the FBI’s elite tactical unit.
“I agree. This sounds very similar to the lure he used with Wilks’s son. Get a surveillance team to the cruise company’s docks immediately. Find out how many boats the company uses, and which ones are going to be in operation Saturday.” Nick’s mind was at full throttle. It felt good to have a solid lead for the first time. Before there were any more bodies to add to the count. Before another message from The Seven. Nick knew what rested on his shoulders. He bore its weight dutifully.
“I’m on it.” Izzy stepped away from the table and punched the cruise company information into her phone.
“My guys will make a soft approach and look for any signs of him. I’ll hit you up if we find anything. I’ve got a bomb guy in our unit that was a former Delta. If something’s there, he’ll find it,” Haggerty said.
“Soft approach?” Cassie posed this question to the group. The terminology was foreign to her.
Declan answered, “They’re going to blend in. They’ll make themselves look like dock workers or employees of the boat company. This way if the bad guy is watching, then he won’t know that we are onto him. We don’t want to spook him. He’s unpredictable enough without making him nervous.”
“Don’t worry. A protection team will remain assigned to your children. I can’t afford to be wrong.” Nick let this statement hang in the air before he continued, “Did you tell the cruise company that you’d be going on Saturday?”
“I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what to do. Do you want me to?” Cassie was eager to help. A need to feel useful. The lioness and her cubs.
“Yes. We need him to think that your children will be going.”
The group made their way to the door. The oppressive heat of the afternoon Texas sun was a brutal contrast to the interior of the house.
Alex whispered to Declan as the two lagged behind the others, “Let me know when you need me.”
Declan nodded. “Will do.”
Dirt kicked up as the black SUV pulled away with Haggerty at the wheel. A lot of work needed to be done before Saturday.
34
“What else do you need?” Jim Fitzgerald, the ASAC in charge of Austin’s satellite office had welcomed the newcomers and was already up to speed on things.
“I think we’re good for now. I really appreciate the support. The HRT guys are already on site. They’re searching the docks. They’ll hopefully be checking in soon with their assessment. The anonymous booster was a dead end. He paid in cash. The manager doesn’t have any surveillance cameras in his ticket office. We’re checking the area for other possibilities. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get him on video, buying a soda at a gas station. Nothing so far. And I’m not hopeful,” Nick said, rapidly pushing this information onto his acting supervisor. Nick knew that Fitzgerald could keep up. Past experience taught him that he was a sponge with new information and very rarely needed it repeated.
The quick debrief completed, Nick shook hands with his former boss and headed out the door.
“Keep me updated,” Fitzgerald called out to Nick.
“Of course.” Nick said this over his shoulder, never breaking stride. Izzy and Declan were in tow.
“And Nick. It’s good to have you back. Even if it’s only temporary and under these conditions.” Fitzgerald didn’t expect a response. Nor did he get one. But the message was received.
All three pulled out their cell phones, almost in unison, while standing outside of their newly assigned government vehicle. A light wind gave a brief reprieve from the heat, giving promise of cooler evening temperatures.