Custos: Enemies Domestic

by Jake Aaron

  “Barb, have I told you how smart you are today? You really belong in the FBI. I have some friends…”

  “Knock it off, Admiral,” Barb quipped. “I’m trying to get serious here. One of my mentors wisely said, ‘I’m all for getting along. I’m also for getting it done.’ Oh, yeah, that was you…”

  “Your memory is not too bad either.” Zach had to smile. “Okay, got it. I’ll even drink your coffee.”

  Barb: “I’ll bring my special coffee later. Right now, though, think with me. Like any case, we have to winnow the ocean of many fish down to a pool of a few. Let’s do a reverse Sherlock Holmes and look at the probables. Speaker Johnson’s trip to Disney World made the news on January 7 at 9:00 A.M. The family left for Florida at 8:00 A.M. — an hour earlier. The family returned, leaving their Orlando hotel at 8:00 A.M., January 10. All the agencies involved in the trip kept a very tight lid on the trip, its timing, and preparations.”

  Zach: “So we have a timeline. From what we know, if acting alone, unlikely that the motorcyclist — Mag Bomber — was in Orlando already. If Mag Bomber was in the DC area, he did not have much time to react to the after-the-fact announcement of an unexpected trip of his prey, assuming no leaks. So modes of transport: trains, boats, planes, cars — motorcycles. Did I leave anything out?”

  Barb didn’t miss a beat, “No, you’re with me. We can get agents to review activity, say from January 7 at 9 A.M. through, say 2 A.M. on January 10 on trains departing within 75 miles of the the Capitol and connecting south to the Orlando area. Check out boat rentals and charters from this area arriving near Orlando. Look at car rentals heading for the Orlando area. View highway surveillance footage on motorcycles leaving this area and going downrange on I-95 S. For now, forget the backroads. Probably begin looking for returns to this area departing Orlando, say from January 10 at 8:30 A.M.”

  Zach nodded in agreement. “You set out an ambitious plan…”

  Barb signaled with an open palm, “I’m not finished. The airlines are a possibility. TSA would not be an impossible hurdle for the motorcyclist. But why would he try? Uses up disguises and identity papers, can’t haul much. Shipping an assembled motorcycle would stand out. In parts, not as much. Need to check flights with heavy accompanying baggage… The motorcyclist could fly commercial and ship the cycle in whole or parts via separate cargo haulers. We’ll ask the techie gurus about cash-pay airline tickets over the relevant time interval anyway. Now a charter or rental plane, that makes more sense. Little notice. Fast. From smaller airports, less screening.”

  “So you’re thinking like a perp. I like it, Barb. I’m sure the charters get a lot of cash-pays. Nevertheless, a great place to start.”

  “Zach, if we start looking back at the airport in Potomac, promise you won’t give me any lessons on aircraft power control!”

  “Barb, it’s really pretty simple. You set the power, wait to see how the aircraft…”

  “Zach, enough already. Why don’t you get the ball rolling on all those fronts: planes, boats, trains, etc. You have the manpower to do it. I’ll go get that coffee I promised you.”

  “Barb, one other thing: We can’t rule out RVs, SUVs, and large cars…”

  Barb: “Leave it to the cowboy!… Good catch.”

  Zach: “Yeah, to go on, a truck, a truck and trailer, or van to haul a high-performance motorcycle from the DC area to Florida would do the job. We need to include those in the equation.”

  Barb smiled, “Zach, I’m going to get you a platinum MENSA card.”

  “You make me feel good about catching that,” Zach looked pleased. Then, he became straight-faced. “Unfortunately, it makes me wonder what else we might have overlooked.”

  “I’ll get you some of my special coffee to stimulate that cogitation,” Barb joked.

  _______________

  “Barb, when you said the coffee was hearty enough to stick to my ribs, you made me think… Stick — magnet. Let’s look at that magnetic bomb again. Yep, the side of the bomb that adhered to the metal of Speaker Johnson’s SUV was from a flexible magnetic vinyl sheet. What did we find in Pfister’s trash bins? A roll of magnetic vinyl sheeting! I’ll get the lab on it, if they haven’t thought of it already — see how the magnetic sheetings compare.”

  “Could be more evidence against him. While he was locked away during the attack on the Speaker, he could still be the kingpin or accomplice.” Barb spoke as she made notes on the white board.

  “Makes you wonder about the castor beans, doesn’t it? Is ricin the next weapon of choice?”

  Chapter 51

  January 14

  FBI Headquarters

  “Barb, the lab came back saying the vinyl sheeting of the magnetic device stuck on the Speaker’s SUV is the same material as that from Pfister’s garbage. Not only that, the device’s magnetic material is a cutout from the vinyl sheet found in the garbage bin — fits like a piece in a puzzle.

  “The evidence is really lining up on Pfister as a major player in this Custos case — a real break… Speaking of breaks, we needed this coffee break from the case,” Barb began.

  “So I’m drinking your coffee, you’re relaxed, and all is well with the world. I think you were going to tell me about your almost getting married.”

  “As you kept saying about your prenuptial history, Zach, it’s boring. Yours was not. Mine is.”

  “No, no, no! You didn’t let me get away with that. Come on…”

  Barb exhaled with a long sigh, “Zach, I was engaged to be married three years after graduating from the Air Force Academy. I was working in intelligence. Shane Collins was a classmate. He flew F-16s… I lost him to a training accident. I don’t like to talk about it at work. I get emotional…”

  “Barb, I am very sorry for your loss. I mean that… Thanks for sharing… I know it wasn’t easy… I had wondered. Someone like you — looks, smarts — obviously has not been without offers… Shane Collins?… He wasn’t CIA Director Beau Collins’ son, was he?”

  “Yes… yes, he was. Director Collins checks in on me now and then. It’s bittersweet for the family and me to make contact. We get along well, but it always opens old wounds.”

  “I’m surprised Collins didn’t try to recruit you”

  “In fact, he discouraged that. He said, ‘When you’re young and idealistic, most government agencies are all right. But, when you get older, rewards in government are slim and you tend to start wanting more rewards — better income, perks, and so on.”

  “When he realized I was intent on public service, he added, ‘Politics becomes increasingly a disincentive the longer you serve. At least with the Secret Service, though, you’ll know who is stabbing you in the back,’ he counseled. I guess politics is pretty tough in the CIA. Much backstabbing at the FBI?”

  “I thought it was a just a bad massage until you mentioned it,” Zach scoffed. “In fact, politics is the biggest complaint of field agents in the FBI. Most special agents find the work itself is rewarding — challenging, stimulating, and a public service. The politics of the bureaucracy — too challenging and overstimulating. But I know a guy who knows a guy who can get you on our prospect list,” he kidded.

  Chapter 52

  January 14

  FBI Headquarters

  “You know, Barb, with the magnetic vinyl material used on the magnetic bomb perfectly matching the cutout from the material found by Pfister’s business, I’m feeling good about the investigation. I think I will knock off on time for a change.”

  “So where does that leave me?” she challenged.

  “I’m just trying to make you look good — you know, your staying late after the boss leaves. That’s impressive. Just think: If the Director calls, he’ll know how really dedicated you are.”

  “He already knows that. I’ll race you out of the parking lot!”

  “Good decision, Barb!”

  _______________

  In the parking lot, Barb was about to start her Prius to go home. She paused and sig
hed. The mention of Shane Collins earlier in the day brought back waves of memories and streams of tears. She still missed Shane the “bad boy” fighter pilot. In an unexpected self-revelation, she became aware of a common thread in her romantic relationships. Barb the “good girl” had a history of dating “bad boys.” Like most women, she found their cocky arrogance attractive. She liked their independent machismo and confidence. Her parents had been disturbed that their highly intelligent daughter could not see the self-destructiveness of these relationships.

  Did she really want the emotional abuse of a partner who looked out always for himself, who had little niceness in his character? No, she was too smart for that. Barb realized that in high school. However, she liked the shock value of dating “bad boys,” since her parents and teachers tended to consider her “Miss Perfect.” That also helped her fit in with her group-minded peers. To another end, she knew she was not going to marry any one of these characters because she had serious academic and career goals that took precedence. When she started a relationship with one of these “bad boys,” she had a built-in reason for ending it. These guys were playing checkers. She was playing chess.

  Shane was the typical fighter pilot. Highly-self confident and aggressive, he represented another step on her ladder of “bad boys.” He would definitely have been a refinement, though. Unlike her previous boyfriends, he had worthwhile goals and enjoyed intellectual stimulation. As she wiped away tears, she had to question at a very deep level whether she would have really married him. While he was the first decent guy she had dated, that was not a great reason for lifetime commitment.

  She unsuccessfully fought the idea of comparing Shane and Zach. Zach had a mid-America goodness to his character, ignoring the juvenile prank humiliating her with the Glenn Curley visit. He had an ever-present sense of humor that kept her engaged in verbal sparring. He was big enough to acknowledge others. Zach was strong enough to stand up to her, and she knew she could be a handful. Zach was not bad, all things considered. Perhaps her verbal repartee with Zach had been more than a match of wits.

  Barb felt a great relief at her personal insight. The tears stopped. It was time to get past this immobilizing grief — a grief that was probably not grounded in reality at all. She realized that the time spent grieving had not been a waste. The process has let her intellect, emotions, and will to get in synch. Now it was time to get on with life.

  Chapter 53

  January 14

  The Capitol

  Hap Johnson’s weekend had been one of personal turmoil. Recurring thoughts of his family huddling in fear of a bomb in Orlando four days ago haunted him. Repeated nightmares woke him several times again last night. Part of his cycling was to rehash the Custos note. The meaning was clear. The threat was real.

  The threatener — the motorcyclist — had great credibility. Custos — solitary assassin or conspirators — had claimed responsibility for the deaths of four congressmen: Zimmer, Paige, Kelly, McClain. Hap cringed. Custos had proven he could reach Hap’s family anytime. He had penetrated the security detail’s best efforts to protect Hap and his family with the magnet device. The threatener reinforced his credibility by getting the envelope into his grandson’s hands without the federal security detail’s knowing — with a clever diversion and disguise.

  Stonewalling his family and not reporting the stranger’s accosting his grandson delayed tough choices. Too involved himself, he was unaware that every minute procrastinating biased his decision more in favor of complying with the threat. He had destroyed evidence when he had his grandson shred the threatener’s envelope and contents. The longer he waited to tell his family and the FBI of the threat, the harder it would be to explain his actions.

  Hap remembered a technique a fraternity brother taught him. He retrieved his lucky nickel from his left trouser pocket. Heads, I come clean with the family and the FBI about the threat. Tails, I comply with the threatener. Hap flipped the nickel two feet in the air with a flick of his right thumb and caught it in his right hand. Without looking at the coin, he finished the ritual, turning it upside down on top of his left backhand.

  Hap looked at the result: heads. He felt a wave of nausea at the ramifications of telling his family and the FBI of the secret envelope’s contents, as well as daring Custos. The technique worked. Now he knew how he truly felt and what he must do.

  Maybe Congress should change its ways, he rationalized. Regrettable to do so under duress, but perhaps this was the excuse he needed to lead in a different direction. By afternoon, he had a course of action that began to relieve his post traumatic stress disorder symptoms. He had his chief of staff call a momentous press conference for the following day.

  Chapter 54

  January 15

  The Capitol

  “Fellow Americans, as Speaker of the House, I come to you this morning to discuss our most pressing national priority. The recent near-catastrophic global recession has highlighted a need to take a long, hard look at where we are and where we are going as a nation. We are not full of ourselves, but we indeed have the world’s economic fate in our hands. For those who are aware, this is a watershed in our history. To use a trite but appropriate phrase, the ongoing economic plight we are experiencing is a wake-up call.

  “When we go back in time to the aftermath of any major disaster, the gnashing of teeth and forehead banging cries of ‘If only we had known’ and ‘If only there had been a warning’ inevitably arise.

  “Well, we, as a nation, do know. We are at an inflection point. We have had our warning. We just don’t like it. We cannot deny it. Denying the warning is neurotic, wishful thinking. Ignoring the warning is irresponsible. We simply do not have the economic wherewithal to continue to spend the way we have in the past. Things have changed. Accordingly, we must change with them.

  “Despite the inability to pay for programs with current tax revenue, we continue to demand increases in domestic entitlements. We continue to give foreign aid as well. Even doves cry for us to go to war to save countries they can’t find on a map. Well-intentioned humanitarians demand our righteous intercession against bad actors in distant foreign lands. We do all these, or at least debate these, while borrowing money from abroad, chiefly from China. My fellow Americans, Fantasyland is not just a Disney creation. Because we have lived there for decades does not make it real or sustainable.

  “My recent short vacation away from the surreal maelstrom of Washington, DC, brought me a great awakening. Spending time with my grandchildren opened my eyes. What kind of legacy are we leaving to them? Onerous debt, decreasing job opportunities, and a diminished standard of living! This was not the plan of our Founding Fathers, nor should it be ours.

  “We must change our world view. We must learn to view not approving new discretionary spending as a positive. We need to view legislating new programs not as progress, but as shooting holes in the hull of an already leaking ship of state. We need to focus on streamlining current programs and laws, to conserve the precious dollars in the treasury. We need to be responsible now with our legacy.

  “I ask for your forgiveness and understanding for the belatedness of my epiphany. The public’s sacred trust in Congress demands better. I propose that beginning this day, we change our spending habits. Worthwhile change is always hard, but this change is for the better. It renews the vision of our nation as a leader. It promises a brighter future. l will lead the Congress in this direction… I myself am not enough, however. I need your help every day, in every way, to get this ball rolling and to keep up the momentum. Use social media to inform your friends. Write, call, text, and e-mail your representatives at every level of government. Never give in! And you have my word, I will never give in! Congress must stop overspending.”

  _______________

  The Speaker had his press secretary fend off questions — for good reason. Hap Johnson appeared composed before the cameras, but he was physically shaking following his performance. His staff formed a physical barrier aro
und him to insulate him from the press. He briskly made his way to his private office to be alone. He told his personal assistant to hold all calls. He used three disposable alcohol wipes to mop his forehead. Then he sat alone in his office with three fingers of 12-year-old Balvenie Doublewood scotch straight up in a Baccarat glass.

  As he began to relax, he realized he had, for all intents and purposes, eliminated known physical threats against him and his family. Relief swept through his body as the majority of 650-plus muscles lost tension. Alcohol dilated his capillaries, pleasantly warming him throughout. Now, though, he realized, he had a new problem. He needed to flesh out the details of the broad brush strokes he had painted for future congressional actions. One door closes, another opens; no rest, for the weary.

  Congress must stop overspending, he mulled. Life would be — must be — very different for him, his colleagues, and the Nation.

  Georgetown

  The motorcyclist heard the Speaker’s press conference. Involuntary tears formed in his eyes. He knew that a continued “war” lay ahead, but he had taken another “hill” in the battle to push back excessive government spending. Physically spent, he knew he had given his all. He had not felt so sapped since finishing Ranger training. During that two-month Army school, the intense physicality of functioning with minimal sleep and sparse rations had taken its toll on his health, not to mention the sprained ankle he ran on for a week to avoid being recycled into the next class. He knew then that the Ranger regimen would have killed him if the graduation date had been even a day later.

  Graduation from Ranger training was a great analogy, he realized. Despite declining health, he felt good about what he had done, but not great. He reached a monumental personal goal. Like most of his many triumphs in life, this one did not bring the elation he had expected. There were no cheerleaders, fanfare, or trumpets. Perhaps his career choice had turned him somewhat anhedonic. No matter, he had done his best.