The 13: Fall

by ROBBIE CHEUVRONT

  “Aw man, this place is a mess. Whole junction box is fried. Probably going to take a week, at least.”

  “A week!” It was the manager.

  “Sorry, man,” the electrician said. “Someone did a real number here.”

  “We need to get this to an FBI office,” Taylor said to Keene. They can have an analyst try to recover the hard drive and see if there’s anything on it that will help us.”

  “Then let’s do it,” Keene said. He turned to the manager. “We’ll be confiscating this computer. We’ll get you a receipt.”

  “Hey,” the manager said. “You can’t just take that. And what’s going on here?”

  “We can and just did,” Keene said. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

  As he and Taylor stepped outside, Boz was waiting for them.

  “See that, over there?” he said.

  “See what?” Keene asked.

  “That bank,” Boz answered. “See what’s in front of the bank?”

  “The ATM!” Taylor said.

  “Surveillance camera,” Keene said. “That’s good. We’ve got a possible description, if that’s what you want to call it. Maybe that camera caught our guy going in or coming out.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Boz said.

  “Here,” Taylor said, handing him the computer. “Take this back to the truck. Keene and I will go find out about our camera.”

  Boz took the computer and walked back to the truck. Keene and Taylor crossed the street to the bank.

  Inside, Keene found the bank manager and told him who they were. Though the manager had questions, Keene couldn’t tell him much. The manager voiced his reluctance but ultimately gave his permission to look at the ATM footage. It, too, Keene learned, was captured digitally, and the feed came directly to the security suite on the second floor. The manager led them to the elevators, swiped his key card, and escorted them to the security suite.

  “This is Davies,” he said of the suit in the chair behind the desk. “Formerly a detective with the Chicago PD.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Keene shook the man’s hand.

  “What can I do for you?” Davies asked.

  “We’d like to take a look at the footage from the ATM camera over the last couple hours,” Taylor said.

  “Sure,” Davies said. “Let me pull it up over there.” He pointed to a large flat screen on the side wall. It sat in the middle of at least ten other smaller screens. Each one revealed a video feed from somewhere in the bank.

  “Nice setup you have here,” Taylor said.

  “It’s the cost of doing business,” Davies said.

  He punched a couple buttons on the keyboard and the flat screen flicked. In another second, an image of the Internet café across the street came into focus.

  “Take it back to three hours ago,” Taylor instructed.

  The video came up and started moving forward. Fortunately, there were only two ATM customers during the footage. Even then, the camera was situated so as to allow at least partial view of the front door to the café across the street.

  Several minutes of footage passed by in fast motion without any luck.

  But at almost two hours into the time code, there he was. A man wearing a ball cap and a hoodie approached the café.

  “There!” Keene said. “Slow it down.”

  Davies did as he was told and slowed the speed to less than normal.

  “Can you zoom in?” Keene asked.

  “It’s a fixed camera,” Davies answered. “Best I can do is isolate an image and blow it up. And for all the money they’ve spent putting eyes and ears inside this place, they never touched the ATMs. That camera out there is old. And it’s going to get pixelated fast, depending on how big you blow it up.”

  “Perfect,” Keene said. He looked at Taylor. “Just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

  Davies slowed the video down to almost a complete stop. The man in the hat pulled it low down over his eyes and then pulled the hood up over his hat. He stopped before entering and turned his head, as if to check to see if anyone was paying him notice. As the man turned, Davies stopped the camera just as the man’s full face came into view.

  “There!” Taylor said.

  The camera froze on what seemed to be a man in his mid-to-late thirties. He appeared to be of medium build and had a scraggly beard.

  “Go ahead and blow it up,” Keene said.

  “This is actually a good picture,” Davies admitted. “I may be able to give you something here.”

  With a few clicks the man’s face filled the screen. The pixilation indicated the camera’s age, but it was still clear enough to get a good look.

  “You think that’s him?” Taylor asked.

  “I’d bet my life on it,” Keene answered. “Can you print that out for us?” he said to Davies.

  “Also,” Taylor said, “can you e-mail it to me? I have some software that may be able to fill in the pixilation.”

  “Sure,” he said and clicked a few more buttons then handed Keene the image as it rolled out of the printer next to his desk.

  Keene grabbed the photo, shook the man’s hand, and said, “Thanks a bunch. You’ve been very helpful, Detective Davies.”

  Davies nodded and said, “Glad I could help.”

  CHAPTER 22

  The Prophet stood across the street, leaning against the side of a corner market. There were lots of people going in and out of the store, so he wasn’t that noticeable. And he really wanted to not be there, but he was instructed to stay and watch. He was to see who was looking for him. He knew the names but not the faces. This would help him to avoid them until it was time.

  See, that was the thing. At some point, he would come to them. He was told they would need him. And they would look to him for guidance.

  But for now, he was to observe and just be the messenger.

  So he watched as the FBI vehicle pulled up to the café. He observed the two people who got out of the truck. The girl looked to be athletic and capable. The guy looked cold and calculated. Both immediately were aware of their surroundings as they got out of the vehicle, surveying the area, looking for anything that appeared to be suspicious.

  And that’s why he decided to leave. He had seen them. Knew their faces now. And that was enough. But as he pushed off the side of the building to go, another man emerged from the vehicle. This man looked different. He carried himself the same as the first man but was different somehow. This must be the one, he was told, who was the believer. Good, the Prophet thought, they’ll need him.

  Just then the man he had been observing turned in his direction. And it only happened for a split second. But they locked eyes. He froze for a moment, a slight panic coursing through his veins as the man took two steps closer to him, still looking. But then he stopped and turned back to face the café. Keene and Taylor had emerged and were carrying a computer. The three of them had a brief conversation and then split up again.

  That was enough. He should have left minutes ago. Without a second thought, he turned and pulled the hoodie back up over his hat and turned down the other street.

  CHAPTER 23

  Marianne Levy left the White House and headed back to her office at Homeland Security. When she got there, she checked in with her secretary and cleared her schedule for the rest of the day. She went inside her office and closed the door.

  Sitting down at her desk, she opened her laptop, typed the address in the search bar and waited for the site to come up. She entered her secure password and waited for the page to appear.

  The website was an online banking system in Switzerland in which she was an account holder. She scrolled down to the bottom of the page to look at it one more time. It was the fourth time she’d done it since meeting with Ms. Smith. There it was, two hundred and fifty million dollars. Untraceable. In a secure Swiss bank.

  It wasn’t that she hated her government, it was just that she really loved money. And this was a lot of it. A
nd not even all of it. This was just the first payment. And the reality of it was, if one had enough money, governments didn’t matter. And the deal she’d made was going to ensure enough money.

  She was going to need to leave for a while, though. Once it happened, there would be no telling what the fallout would be or how long it would take. That also created a problem. She would pretty much be serving herself up as the culprit. But she was pretty sure that with two hundred and fifty million dollars already, and another one hundred still to come, she could provide herself with some safety. And besides, in just a few days, there would be so much chaos, she would be the least of anyone’s worries.

  She closed the laptop and packed it inside her briefcase. She left her office and drove home to Arlington. She parked the car in the drive and looked at the house, a beautiful historic Georgian, over a hundred years old. She would miss this place. She had spent nearly a decade renovating it. There were a lot of good memories here. She quickly dismissed the thought. Three hundred and fifty million dollars could buy some pretty good memories, she decided.

  She let herself into the house and placed her keys and phone on the table by the front door. She walked through the foyer toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. Time to celebrate. Instead, she was met by an unannounced visitor standing by the counter.

  “Ms. Smith,” she said, startled. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  “Really?” Ms. Smith sighed.

  “Never mind.” She had forgotten, for a moment, Smith’s talents.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were going home.”

  “I’m on my way to the airport. I just needed to stop by and tell you that Mr. Chin called.”

  “And?”

  “And he says they’re going to need more.”

  “What! No! I’ve given that man everything he needs.”

  “He says they do have what they need. For the initial agreement. But he wants to talk about something more involved.”

  “Like what?”

  “He wants to move some things south of the border.”

  “What things? And why does he need me for that? I don’t run Mexico.”

  “I’m not sure. He wouldn’t tell me. He wants to meet with you.”

  “Listen, I’ve given him everything he needs for North Dakota, South Dakota, and Montana. That was the deal.”

  “So what do you want me to tell him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So you want me to tell him no?”

  “No, I want you to tell him nothing. I’ll tell him. When does he want to meet?”

  “A week from today. Same place.”

  “Tell him I’ll be there, eight o’clock.”

  “I’ll give him the message.” Smith turned and walked toward the front door.

  CHAPTER 24

  The sun had begun to set by the time they left the bank. They spent a little time, just showing the photo around to the people in the area. No one had noticed the man, although Boz thought he’d seen someone who looked like that at the market across the street. So they tried the guy behind the counter, but he was no help either. Whether it was the Prophet or not, they decided that he was long gone by now, and so they decided to head to the warehouse—the reason for their Chicago trip. So they packed it up and headed out.

  The FBI Suburban turned north on North Michigan Avenue and headed to West Madison Street, to a warehouse district known as the West Loop. It was decided that Special Agent Graham would take the computer from the café to the Bureau’s field office nearby, while Special Agent Franks would take the three of them to the warehouse.

  On the way, Franks told them the West Loop was, at one time, one of the up-and-coming neighborhoods in Chicago. Several years ago it had been renovated from an industrial area and had, over the years, become a trendy neighborhood—though with the down-turning economy over the last few years, many of the warehouses were abandoned once again.

  The warehouse in question was a small one nestled in between larger buildings, off one of the side streets. It looked to have been a small boutique store. As the vehicle slowed down, Keene spoke first.

  “Taylor, you and I can take the front. Boz, why don’t you and Franks go around back.”

  “Just don’t shoot first, Jon,” Boz said.

  “I’m not going to shoot him. I’m CIA, remember? We torture them first.” Keene winked.

  Keene and Taylor got out of the car, drew their weapons, and proceeded to the front entrance, as the Suburban drove around back.

  “What makes you think he’s still here?” Taylor asked.

  “I don’t think he’s here,” Keene admitted. “But you never know.

  Maybe we’ll at least find something in here that will lead us to him.”

  “Jon, wait.”

  It was the first time she had called him by his first name. A little strange but whatever, he thought.

  “What?”

  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “What do you mean, a bad feeling?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t …”

  “Just stay on my six and keep your eyes open.”

  “Listen to me,” she said.

  Her seriousness gave him a slight pause. Something really was bothering her about this.

  “Megan, look.” He noted that calling her by her first name got no negative reaction, so he continued. “This guy has made a threat against the United States of America. You said he probably did it from here. We have to go in there. Besides, like you said, he’s probably not in there anyway.”

  He didn’t give her any more time for objection. He leveled his gun and opened the front door.

  The place was dark. The front of the building had been outfitted to be an office, so there were walls and drop ceilings. The only light was from the open doorway. Keene reached for his flashlight and clicked it on. The beam illuminated an entryway with a long hallway leading down a corridor. No offshoots were found for the first ten paces or so, but then two doors on either side of the hallway appeared. Carefully, they checked each one only to find small abandoned offices. Continuing down the hallway, they found themselves against another door, this one bringing a dead end to the hallway. Keene motioned for Taylor to go low, signaling that he would stay up as they entered the door. He turned the knob.

  Sweeping left to right, high and low, they moved through the door. Inside they found themselves in the main warehouse area. It was a room about the size of a four-car garage. Probably used for some type of manufacturing in the past. Now it was just an empty shell. But it wasn’t completely empty. In the middle of the room sat a single stool. On it was a piece of paper. After securing the room, Keene took the paper from the stool and read it.

  Mr. Keene and Ms. Taylor, you are seeking the wrong thing. What you look for is not here. Please, Please! Tell the president to do as the Lord has instructed him. He is a good man and knows the truth. And now you need to leave.

  I have rigged this place with explosives. When you came into this room, you triggered the countdown. I have done this because it is not time for you to find me yet. And so I cannot take the chance that I left something behind that would help you. It has been set to five minutes. I tell you this so you can leave, safely. I wish you no harm. Please leave the building now.

  “It’s a bluff,” Keene said, more to himself.

  “I don’t think so,” Taylor said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look!”

  She pointed to a small camera in the corner of the room. It had a little red light on it, signifying that it was on.

  “He’s watching us,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. Now!”

  “He said five minutes. We’ve been in here less than two. Look around for anything quickly.”

  “What! Have you lost your mind, Keene?”

  So much for first names.

  “Fine!” he snapped. “Then you go, and I’ll stay.”

  Keene holste
red his gun and started moving around the room. It was empty. He trained his flashlight beam around the edges of the room, hoping to find anything that may have gotten left behind. There were a couple fragments of newspapers. He remembered that the video of the man showed a wall of computer monitors behind him, confirming the day of the broadcast. But nothing else. But now the place was empty. Next he pushed the light upward along the rafters. Wires. And lots of them. Strung from one beam to another.

  “Look around. There’s nothing here but this stool and this note,” Taylor said finally.

  “And those,” he said, pointing up to the rafters.

  “Okay, let’s go,” she said finally.

  Just then, a beeping sound could be heard. First it started slow then sped up. Rapidly.

  “I think our five minutes just got cut short,” Taylor said.

  “Either that or your watch is broken. C’mon!” he said grabbing her arm.

  He had no idea what kind of explosives this nut job had used on this building or how big the explosion would be. But he had learned one thing in his time as a SEAL. When the beeping got faster, you didn’t stick around to find out. Especially if you weren’t the one who set the charge.

  The beeping noise continued to speed up as he pulled her toward the door of the open room. He reached out and grabbed the handle and pulled it open. Just then the beep stopped speeding up. Now it was a continuous tone.

  “Get down!” he shouted as he pushed her through the doorway.

  First, there was a giant white flash. Then, like a giant vacuum, the air around them sucked back into the room. Then with deafening thunder, the room exploded. The concussion wave threw both of them down the hall as the building went up in flames.

  CHAPTER 25

  President Grant said good-bye to the students as they filed out of the Oval Office. Some fifth graders from Baltimore were cashing in on a contest they had won—part of an initiative the First Lady had started. The pinnacle of the trip, a meeting with the president. This was his last appointment for the day before going upstairs to check on Tess. She hadn’t been feeling well these last few days. He had lost an uncle to cancer when he was young. And now seeing his wife go through this was pure agony. The good news, though, was that the doctors had discovered it in the earliest stages. They had been sure that during the operation they got it all. Now it was just the pain and sickness from the chemotherapy. She was expected to make a full recovery. That didn’t surprise him. Tess was the strongest person he had ever met.