The Monroe Decision

by Patrick Clark

  “Yes. He hasn’t left.”

  “Why don’t you make the flight arrangements while I finish up here.” He opened the car door, stepped out, and closed the door behind him.

  Sarah quickly got out of the car and stood next to the open driver’s door. “Aaron, no,” she hissed. “Don’t do this. Let’s just leave.”

  Aaron trotted across the street and stood next to a gate and closely examined the exterior gate jamb for sensors. It was very dark so he used a small pen light and found two sensors, one at the top and a second one in the middle of the gate jamb. The sensors had been disabled by a small piece of plastic taped tightly over the sensor to apply constant pressure.

  Sarah trotted over and stood next to him. “Aaron, please.”

  Aaron looked over his shoulder at Sarah. “The sensors are deactivated.”

  “Let’s just go, Aaron.”

  Aaron pushed the gate open. There was no audible alarm so he walked into the grounds and crept to the side door under the porte-cochere. Sarah trotted over and stood beside him.

  “I thought you were going to make travel arrangements,” Aaron whispered.

  “Shit, Aaron. I’m scared now.”

  “You should have stayed in the car.”

  He turned the doorknob with his left hand and pushed the door open. The M11 was in his right hand and he held it ready to fire as he entered the foyer. Sarah stepped in behind him. Ahead of them was a dimly lit hallway, wider than the foyer. Aaron stepped around the open doorway into the hallway and swung his gaze left to right, alert and ready to pull the trigger if necessary.

  On the right side of the hallway Aaron saw two bodies. “Son of a bitch,” he said aloud, just over a whisper. One man was seated on the floor with his back against the wall. He was in his mid-twenties with long hair, a short beard, and a bullet hole in his forehead. The second man lie face down on the floor, the back of his head splattered on the wall above him.

  Sarah walked into the hallway and saw the bodies. She gasped and brought her hand up to her mouth and turned away.

  Aaron grabbed Sarah by her elbow and slowly walked past the two bodies down the hall.

  “This is all wrong,” Aaron whispered.

  Sarah nodded. “I want to go back to the car.”

  “No,” Aaron replied. “I didn’t expect this.” He looked into her eyes. “We’re safer if we stay together.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Do you have your gun?” Aaron asked.

  “No. I left it in the car.”

  “Stay close.” He led down the hallway past two open doors and darkened rooms. Midway down the hall was a marble staircase. Twelve steps to an expansive platform, then up twelve more steps to the middle of the second-floor hallway. They reached the second floor and Aaron peaked around the corner in both directions.

  At the end of the hallway on the right was a set of double doors. On the left, a much larger set of double doors. Aaron turned toward Sarah and placed his index finger in front of his lips. He crept down the hall to the larger double doors with Sarah close behind. Aaron noticed light beams around the doors. He listened through the door and did not hear any sounds. He tested the doorknob and determined the door was not locked.

  Aaron motioned for Sarah to stand close against the hallway wall and she stood tall, making herself as narrow as possible.

  He turned the handle and burst into the room, then crouched on the floor in a firing position. The room was well lit and furnished with expensive Louis XVI furniture and a plush white carpet. In the center of the room was a king-size bed with a dark wood headboard and gold trim. The colonel from the UAE lay naked in crimson-stained, high-quality silk sheets. His head was on the pillow and his eyes were directed at the ceiling. He had two bullet holes in his chest and one in the forehead.

  Next to the colonel was a young naked blonde woman. She was face down with her head on the colonel’s abdomen and her legs hung over the side of the bed. She had one bullet hole next to her temple.

  Aaron turned farther left and saw a second young blonde woman prone on the floor in a pool of blood on the white carpet. She had been shot twice in the back. Both shots were direct hits to her heart.

  Aaron stood and walked over to the attached bathroom and made sure there was nobody in there. When he stepped out, Sarah stood at the end of the bed and held the colonel’s arm in her hand.

  When Aaron made eye contact with her she said, “His hands. They’re very soft. Just like Abdul-Aziz said they would be.”

  “That’s our guy,” Aaron replied. “The girls were probably hookers in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He walked over and opened some drawers on the dresser and rifled through what was in there.

  “This is all wrong. Whoever did this is a professional. This could be a set up,” he declared as he picked up the colonel’s wallet, passport, travel itineraries, and cell phone. He threw those in his backpack and said, “We need to get out of here fast.”

  “What do you mean, a setup?” asked Sarah.

  “I don’t know, but we’re damn sure not going to wait here to find out. Let’s go.” Aaron grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her along on the same path they had come and hurried back to the car.

  Aaron closed the driver’s side door behind her and he glanced down the street and saw two white Peugeot police vehicles with the distinctive blue lights mounted on the top, slowly coming their way.

  “Sarah get down,” Aaron commanded. “I’ll drive off on the bike. Hopefully they’ll follow me. Then you go straight to the hotel.”

  * * *

  Aaron rode in the opposite direction from the police vehicles. The two Peugeots accelerated and closed to within three meters of Aaron. When he reached the intersection of Rue Lord Byron, Aaron throttled up and rapidly weaved through traffic on the curvy road. The police vehicles’ pulsating sirens followed Aaron as he turned onto Rue Chateaubriand. At the first curve in the road, Aaron turned the bike into a pathway and down a set of stone steps to a wooded area behind the French Industrial Chamber of Commerce.

  As he slowly rode through the grassy, wooded area, Aaron listened for the sirens as several more joined in the chorus. He listened closely to the multiple sirens and wound his way back to the Champs-Élysées while he avoided the patrol cars. On the Champs, he fit in with the moderate traffic of the main drag in this twenty-four hour city.

  When he reached the Marriott, he eased the Ducati into the parking garage and parked it next to Sarah’s rented Peugeot. Aaron took a deep breath. What the hell is going on? And what have I got Sarah into? This out of control. He took the elevator to the top floor and opened the door with his key card.

  Sarah stood on the balcony of the room looking over the Champs. She turned and faced the door with her M11 in her hand.

  * * *

  “Someone followed me here,” said Sarah, wiping a tear off of her cheek.

  “What do you mean someone followed you?” Aaron bolted the door and marched over to join Sarah on the balcony.

  “After you left and the police followed you I sat up and looked around. I didn’t see anyone so I drove off and headed back here.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue. “As soon as I pulled out, this big black car pulled out as well. He followed me to the parking lot entrance.”

  Aaron closed his eyes to visualize what vehicles were parked on the street in front of the colonel’s mansion. I don’t recall any large black sedans at either the colonel’s house or at the parking lot entrance. He opened his eyes.

  Sarah leaned her head on his shoulder. “Let’s go home. I’m getting very nervous.”

  Aaron gently pushed her off his shoulder. “You stay here. Lock and bolt the door after I leave. I’m going to look for a black sedan at the parking lot entrance.”

  “No!” exclaimed Sarah. She held Aaron’s arms tightly and her face flushed. “Don’t you dare leave me alone.”

  Aaron pulled her close and put his arms around her. “You’re right. Let’s just get out
of here and go to Washington. I’ll make the arrangements.”

  PART 2

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  WASHINGTON, DC

  FRIDAY JUNE 24TH

  12:30 P.M.

  Sine’s Irish Pub at Pentagon Row in Arlington was crowded at lunchtime. It was an overcast day but the weather forecast called for a warm and sunny weekend and it looked as though many of the uniformed military and Pentagon civil service employees had started the weekend early.

  Aaron sighted his old friend and mentor at a table for two in the outdoor seating area of the pub. Lee Ellsberg was Aaron’s predecessor at the Council for Homeland Security. He was the first agent the Council had empowered to conduct the specialized missions Aaron was now responsible for. Ellsberg wrote the book on the kind of clandestine operations and assassinations Aaron carried out. When the Council hired Aaron, Ellsberg had taken Aaron under his wing.

  Aaron explained to the hostess he was meeting a friend and she let him pass. He walked to the table and when Ellsberg saw him approach he stood and gave Aaron a collegial hug.

  Ellsberg recently turned fifty-one, but his broad shoulders and narrow waist were evidence he was still a dedicated gym rat. His gray hair was short and he was clean-shaven. He placed both hands on Aaron’s shoulders and smiled broadly.

  “My god,” he said emphatically, “it’s good to see you, Aaron. How long has it been?” Ellsberg placed his hand on the back of his chair. “Sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”

  Aaron pulled his chair back, and as he sat, he replied, “It’s been almost a year, hasn’t it? It doesn’t seem like it was that long ago, does it?”

  The waitress came and Aaron ordered Guinness beef stew and a mineral water while Ellsberg ordered a shepherd’s pie and water with a lemon wedge.

  “First, tell me about this new girlfriend of yours,” inquired Ellsberg, “and then I want to know how things are going at the Council. Man, I miss those days.”

  “Hell,” Aaron answered, “where do I start?” Aaron pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and opened up the photos app and flipped to some pictures of Sarah, then handed the phone to Ellsberg.

  “Dude, she’s beautiful! Congratulations! I hope I get to meet her.”

  “And that’s not the best part,” Aaron answered.

  They talked for more than an hour. Aaron described Sarah and how great he felt when they were together. Ellsberg, for his part, explained his marriage had devolved from strained to downright caustic and they had started the process to get a divorce. He said because of his experience with the Council for Homeland Security, he was offered and had recently accepted a position as the security manager for a pretty large corporation. He felt like his life was getting back on track after the separation and impending divorce. They finished their meals and when they ordered the second round of drinks they each ordered a pint of Guinness.

  “How is your career going?” asked Ellsberg.

  Aaron leaned closer to Ellsberg. “I know you still carry your clearance, but obviously, there are a lot of things I can’t talk about.”

  “Of course,” answered Ellsberg as he leaned closer over the table.

  “I’ll keep it generic,” Aaron answered. “Let’s just say that I’m pushing the envelope in regard to the latitude I’m allowed. I was on an op with dispatch orders for two ISIS operatives. The mission was a success but then it got very complicated. I found some information I followed up on and, well, let’s just say that I kept moving forward and the council has told me to stop.”

  “And you stopped, right?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the trail of ISIS stiffs appearing across Europe that has been in the news over the past few weeks?” asked Ellsberg.

  Aaron nodded.

  “Thought so. It looked like your work. Aaron, I’m in no position to tell you what to do but I do think I know what action the Council might take. I think you need to be very cautious, my friend. You’re venturing into dangerous territory.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CENTREVILLE, VIRGINIA

  FRIDAY JUNE 24TH

  1:18 P.M.

  The weekly summary meeting with the four account managers at Coleman-Brown Corporation began with kudos from CEO David Singer for what was expected to be a banner year for Coleman-Brown employees and investors. Coleman-Brown’s fiscal year ran from July 1 to June 30, and with only one week left in the year, Coleman-Brown’s revenue was expected to close 15 percent above the previous year. Profit was expected to close 18 percent higher.

  Seated around the large, oval-shaped redwood table were Singer and the account managers for Federal Civilian Agencies, Intelligence, and Military Services. On the forty-eight inch-flat-screen television on the wall was the account manager for Europe who skyped in from Stuttgart, Germany.

  “Peter, I know it’s late over there and I appreciate you hanging around, so we’ll start with you. What do you have to report?” Singer asked.

  The account manager reported on new business initiatives and current contracts by reporting a color code for each of the twenty-two projects that comprised the Europe account.

  When he finished his prepared report Singer asked, “What can you tell us about the events in Trieste a few weeks ago? Does this look like a turf war between competing terror networks?”

  “Well, the short answer is no,” replied the European manager as the video feed flickered a few times. “None of my sources inside the US European Command or the US African Command are saying anything directly but it looks like they have received intelligence from their European counterparts that ties the event in Trieste to a similar event in Barcelona a week ago and another event in Paris just two days ago.”

  “What do you mean?” Singer leaned forward in his black leather swivel chair and looked into the camera mounted under the television. “How are those events tied together?”

  “Well, in each case, a Muslim man, or in the case of what happened in Paris, several men, were shot and killed at close range and that was followed by the release of several young girls they believe were destined to be ISIS brides. The details are still very fuzzy about the latest incident in Paris a few days ago but apparently, there were several people killed at an abandoned rail station and a doctor and nurse were arrested and an unknown number of girls were taken into protective custody. My sources at the EUCOM J2 office told me the CIA sent in a cleaning crew and they coordinated a cover with the DGSI.”

  Singer glanced around the table at the other account managers and stopped at the manager for Intelligence.

  She shook her head and said, “First I’ve heard about any of this.”

  The EUCOM manager continued. “On the same evening the Paris police took custody of the girls at a railroad warehouse, a mid-level diplomat from the UAE embassy was also murdered.”

  Singer drummed his fingers on the table.

  “The EUCOM intelligence officer I spoke to at the J2 directorate speculates that all of these incidents were planned take-downs executed by the same agent or unit. And my contacts have told me that whoever this guy is, he’s a ghost.”

  Singer stood and walked toward the camera. “Are you saying this was done by a government agent?”

  “Yes. That’s the speculation. But, as I said, nobody knows who.”

  “An agent of the US?” asked Singer.

  “I don’t know, sir. He’s a ghost. It could be an agent from another country.”

  “Europe is one of our main business thrusts,” Singer spoke as he returned to his place and stood at the head of the table, then turned and gazed at the faces in the room. “We have a lot invested in operations on the continent. Now, I have account managers for Europe and Intelligence here.” He shifted his gaze between the camera and the Intelligence account manager. “If there is a US agent operating in one of my main business areas, that could impact our bottom line. It could be good or it could be bad. Either way, I want the two of you to find out what the hell i
s happening and find out fast!” Singer sat and leaned forward. “And make no mistake, there is no room for speculation. I expect facts and answers.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  WASHINGTON, DC

  FRIDAY JUNE 24TH

  3:20 P.M.

  Aaron and Sarah were in rhythm with the steady thump of their footsteps on the pavement. Sweat beaded on Aaron’s forehead as they turned off DuPont Circle and headed northeast on New Hampshire Avenue. Aaron pushed a little harder and Sarah kept pace, step for step. Another hundred yards! His throat ached for water yet he pushed harder and Sarah matched him stride for stride. Finally, he passed the entrance to his condominium and he broke stride and began to walk.

  They both breathed heavily as they walked another fifty steps. Then Aaron stopped. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees and inhaled deeply. With his head up, he gazed at Sarah. She was walking in small circles with her hands on her hips, taking deep breaths. Aaron made eye contact with her and they started laughing.

  “You ran like you were possessed,” Aaron quipped.

  Sarah stopped walking and stood facing Aaron. She leaned her forehead on his shoulder. “I don’t like to get beat.” Her shoulders heaved as she panted, then she smiled and took a deep breath.

  He stood and they walked slowly, hands on hips, back toward the front door to Aaron’s condominium.

  “How much longer could you have lasted?” Aaron asked.

  Sarah grinned but didn’t answer.

  The three-story brownstone was built in the 1890s but had been renovated within the last two years. The foyer of the brownstone condominium had vaulted ceilings and a hardwood floor. The foyer led to a large family room with a fireplace that had been converted to natural gas and faux logs. Beyond the family room was a large and well-appointed modern kitchen. A polished wood staircase from the foyer led to two bedrooms on the second floor and a third floor Aaron had converted to a fitness room.

  Sarah collapsed on the couch and Aaron went to the kitchen and returned with two cold bottles of water. He handed a bottle to Sarah and sat next to her.