The Monroe Decision
Page 22
Aaron leaned toward Ellsberg and said, “Before this ends, I will kill you.”
* * *
Aaron followed Ellsberg out of the barbecue restaurant and into the blazing hot parking lot. Almost immediately, a black Cadillac Escalade SUV with blacked-out windows came to a sudden stop. The passenger side front and rear doors opened and two thugs in suits and long shoulder length hair emerged and pushed Aaron into the back seat. Ellsberg sat in the front passenger side and the two thugs sat on either side of Aaron. He glanced left and right and confirmed they each had a Smith and Wesson trained on him.
The driver accelerated as Ellsberg told the others, “He has an ankle holster. Get that gun and search the rest of him.”
The thug on the right reached down and removed Aaron’s Sig Sauer. They patted him down and groped him in areas where nobody would carry a weapon and then declared, “He’s clean.” They followed up by pulling his arms behind his back and restraining his wrists with a plastic zip tie.
Aaron glared hatefully at Ellsberg. “What the hell happened to you?”
Ellsberg turned sideways and glared back at Aaron, then said angrily, “Look, I told you a long time ago not to get involved with the ISIS network in Europe. You told me you were onto something and I told you to let it go. I told you that you were in over your head. That what you wanted to do was too dangerous. But you didn’t listen.” Ellsberg turned away from Aaron and faced forward.
Aaron tried to keep track of where they were headed. The Prince George’s County Library flashed past the windows on one side and the circuit court building flashed on the other side.
“Buddy, you caused a lot of trouble for our boss and he’s looking forward to meeting you. You disrupted an organization that took years to build and we had to intervene.” Ellsberg turned back to face Aaron. “I bet even you were a little surprised when you returned to kill Colonel Malik and found you were too late to the party. Our people did that because he had become jittery and we thought he would have easily broke and would have told you too much. It was pure coincidence we were there at the same time you were scaring the shit out of our doctor.”
“The men you killed in London were friends of ours,” interjected the thug to Aaron’s right.
Aaron shot him a disgusted glance, then returned his angry gaze to Ellsberg. “Why are you doing this, Lee? You’re a better man than this.”
“Look. I took this job with Coleman-Brown for one reason and only one reason.” He spelled, “M-O-N-E-Y. When I left the job you now have, my marriage was a mess and I was in debt with a broken down body, a small IRA, and zero balance in my checkbook. I had gotten pretty used to living quite well on the government’s dime. I didn’t want to give that up.”
“C’mon, Lee, there are better ways,” Aaron replied.
“Yeah, like hooking up with a beautiful woman that has more money than Fort Knox. No, Monroe! That could have been your out, but it wasn’t in the cards for me.”
Aaron looked out the window and saw a sign for state highway four flash by. “Where is Sarah?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about her. She’s with us.”
“What do you mean, she’s with you?” Aaron asked
One of the thugs placed a sack over Aaron’s head, which was followed by a hard knock on the back of his head. Then he lost consciousness.
* * *
Aaron woke as he felt the SUV decelerate and eventually come to a stop. His wrists were still bound and he still wore a dark sack over his head. He heard car doors opening, then recognized Ellsberg’s voice as he told the driver to take Monroe to the facility.
The driver responded, “Yes, sir.” Then Aaron heard the metal crack and felt the simultaneous air compression of car doors closing. A few moments later, he felt the car in motion again. He sensed that he was alone in the back seat and slowly moved his shoulders and legs around to feel for the presence of another rider.
Aaron heard several electronic beeps that he recognized as the sound of someone entering location data in the SUV’s onboard GPS navigation system. Two men in the front seat spoke to each other.
“Fastest route is three hours and forty-five minutes.”
“Yeah, well you never know what traffic will be like.”
“He’ll wake up eventually.”
“He won’t be a problem. He’s restrained. Besides, we got guns and he don’t.”
Aaron moved his legs and sat up.
“How’s your head, Monroe?” asked the rider on the passenger side before he chortled. “Better not try anything stupid or you’ll have more than a headache to deal with.”
Aaron listened to the sound of the wheels rolling rapidly over the pavement and noted the vehicle maintained a fairly constant speed. He determined that he was on an interstate highway and he analyzed what he had learned. Ellsberg, old friend and mentor, has sold out for money. He works for Coleman-Brown, who if I’m not mistaken is a large government provider with multiple contracts in support of the global war on terror.
What about Sarah? What did he mean when he said, “She’s with us?”
Aaron was determined above all else that he was going to find Sarah and kill Ellsberg.
If I can get to the vehicle’s navigation system, I can figure out where Ellsberg got out of the car and that’s a good place to start.
“You’re pretty quiet back there,” said the passenger in the front. “Don’t forget, dickhead. I got my gun aimed right at your head.”
Too bad for you bud, cuz to get to Ellsberg, I’ll have to go through you and that doesn’t bode well for your future. Aaron actually felt like he smiled for the first time in several days.
* * *
Aaron sat quietly in the back seat and listened as the driver and passenger talked about the Washington Nationals in the pennant race, a drought and heat wave on the West Coast, and the progress of the trainees at the place they referred to as the facility. Several times, Aaron heard the words “Mr. Singer won’t be happy about that.” Mr. Singer must be the head man in charge. He also listened carefully as the navigation system provided verbal directions in a clipped, electronic, yet pleasant voice. He knew they were on highway fifty so he assumed they were on the Delmarva Peninsula headed southeast.
Seated with his hands behind his back, Aaron managed to claw his hand enough that he was eventually able to slip one hand out of the zip tie.
“I gotta piss,” the driver said and Aaron felt deceleration and heard the crunching sound of gravel beneath the SUV tires. “We might as well get gas while we’re here, too,” said the driver. Aaron heard a car door open, then the driver said, “Keep an eye on this prick while I go take a leak.”
“No problem.”
Then Aaron heard the rear door open. “I just want to check your bracelet here, dickhead.” He chuckled, then said, “Make sure you’re still comfortable.”
The driver put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder and pushed him forward. Aaron quickly reached over and grabbed him by the neck and pulled the driver into the back seat with his body shielding Aaron from the passenger who still wielded a gun. The passenger reacted a moment too late and when he pulled the trigger the round hit his partner in the back of the neck.
Aaron pulled the bag off of his head and pushed the wounded driver forward over the seat and pinned the passenger against the dashboard. The passenger attempted to reach the gun around his wounded partner and shoot at Aaron but Aaron held his wrist and forearm and twisted the barrel of the Magnum back toward the gunman. After a short struggle, Aaron slipped his finger on top of the man’s finger and squeezed a round that hit the passenger in the jaw. His resistance immediately went limp. Half of his head was splattered on the passenger door and window.
The driver was slumped over the front seat. He moved his hand as though he were reaching for a gun inside his jacket so with the magnum he took from the passenger, Aaron aimed and placed one more shot in the man’s chest at the exact location of the pulmonary trunk of his heart.
 
; Aaron pushed the two bodies out of the SUV and onto the pavement with his feet. At the Shell station he saw a panicked crowd of bystanders. Most were running away from the SUV but Aaron noticed one skinny man wearing overhauls had pulled a shotgun out of his truck and was running toward the SUV. He slid over to the driver’s seat and sped away before the man had a chance to fire.
CHAPTER FIFTY
WASHINGTON, DC
TUESDAY, JULY 26TH
2:30 P.M.
The daily classified intelligence briefing for the Senate Judiciary Committee on Terrorism was held in a small, secure conference facility in the basement of the Russell Senate building. Five of the seven senators that made up the committee were present and seated at a polished horseshoe-shaped table. The room had maroon colored walls, blue carpet, and no windows.
There was a forty-eight-inch monitor on a wall that faced the open side of the desk used to present graphic, or in some cases photographic, support for the designated briefer. As the ranking member of the committee, Senator Walsh sat at the head of the table.
A young man presented the brief from the Office of the Director of National Intelligence. He wore an immaculate blue suit, white shirt, and red tie and was an articulate speaker.
Senator Walsh leaned close to the senator to his right and whispered, “This kid doesn’t look old enough to be out of high school, but he’s the best briefer we’ve had.”
The briefer ended the discussion of ongoing efforts to combat terrorist and foreign fighter travel and began the section of the brief dedicated to ongoing FISC activity.
“A most recent development occurred this morning. The attorney general authorized an emergency electronic surveillance of financial transactions related to what I can only describe as an attempted assassination of a United States covert agent.”
Walsh couldn’t believe what he had heard. He leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on the table.
The briefer continued, “The NSA did a preliminary query of stored financial records and red flagged multiple transactions.”
Walsh wet his lips. His throat was parched and he felt his heart beat pound a little harder.
“The red flag prompted a fast track application for a surveillance warrant to wiretap communications of a US corporation called Coleman-Brown Industries.”
Walsh rubbed his hands together. They were clammy and he felt his forehead begin to sweat. “I have to excuse myself,” Walsh cleared his throat. “I must have had something at lunch.” He stood clumsily and headed for the door. “Not feeling well.” He rushed out the door and closed it behind him.
Walsh slogged down the narrow corridor. He laboriously trudged up the marble steps and stopped several times to catch his breath while he leaned against the wall. I have to stop this surveillance on Coleman-Brown or we’ll all go to jail. He decided he would hoof it to the US District Court of the District of Columbia and confront the current sitting FISC Judge.
Normally a ten-minute walk down Constitution Avenue to Third Street, Walsh plodded along for close to twenty minutes. He felt sick to his stomach and stopped in the triangular park across from the courthouse entrance and sat on a bench for a few minutes. How did this happen? This is worse than my worst nightmare! My legacy will be as a traitor, not as a patriot. My only hope is to stop the surveillance at FISC. He took a few deep breaths and shuffled across the street to the oval entrance of the historic E. Barrett Prettyman United States Courthouse.
The sitting FISC Judge was the Honorable Malcolm Davis, a graduate of the US Military Academy and a Rhodes scholar with a law degree from the University of Virginia School of Law.
Walsh passed through security easily with his credentials and entered Judge Davis’ outer office where an assistant greeted him. Walsh felt the perspiration seeping into his shirt as he sat with Judge Davis.
“Sir,” Walsh started, “you are aware of my position on the Judiciary Committee on Terrorism. In that capacity, I must protest the surveillance warrant that was recently rushed through the court at the behest of the administration. And I am requesting the warrant be rescinded until such time as the Judiciary Committee has had a chance to review the case against Coleman-Brown.”
“Senator, albeit the process was fast-tracked, and in that light, I understand your concern, but the administration has made a fundamentally sound case for the execution of this warrant. Senator, I must tell you that you have given me no reason to doubt the decision of the court to authorize the warrant. But senator, I feel obligated to state that your rather unusual request has raised a level of skepticism regarding your motivation.”
When he heard the judge’s admonition, Walsh began to sweat profusely and felt like he was going to vomit. He stood and said, “I’m not feeling well, judge. Thank you for your time but I must leave. I think I need to stop at a CVS and buy something for my stomach.”
“Senator, let me call you a cab. You look positively ill.”
Walsh hastened out the door and past the judge’s assistant. As he scurried down the corridor to the exit, Walsh looked over his shoulder and saw the judge and his assistant in the hall. Judge Davis was animated as he spoke to the assistant before she quickly stepped inside, no doubt to call security in case the senator had a medical emergency.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CENTREVILLE, VIRGINIA
TUESDAY, JULY 26TH
2:45 P.M.
Ellsberg sat on a leather office chair in the CEO’s office at Coleman-Brown headquarters and waited for Singer to return from a business meeting with a competitor to discuss a subcontracting arrangement. Merideth, Singer’s executive assistant, stood behind him and massaged his neck and shoulders. Occasionally, she bent far enough to press her breasts against his back and kiss his cheek.
“Mer, we need to be careful. Singer should be here any minute and he might not be too happy if he finds you rubbin’ all over me.” Ellsberg looked over his shoulder toward Merideth.
“Yeah. Well, baby, I don’t really care anymore. I think I’ve spread my legs for him for the last time. No more wham, bam, thank you ma’am for me.”
“Just a few more months, baby. Once we unleash our trainees across America, this company’s stock will go through the roof. Then we can cash out, and between us, we’ll have more money than we can spend. I’m thinking about a nice little place in Palma.”
“I’m with you, baby,” Merideth ran her hands over Ellsberg’s chest and placed her chin on his shoulder.
Ellsberg glanced through the narrow window in the office door and saw Singer approaching.
“Straighten up baby, here he comes.”
Merideth stood straight just as Singer opened the door and glanced their way. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he asked sarcastically.
“No, boss,” Ellsberg replied, “We were just looking at the sun go down over the Blue Ridge. I never get tired of watching that.”
Singer walked past them and behind his large mahogany desk. He set his briefcase on the floor under the desk and sat in his large black leather executive chair.
“How did it go with that little prick, Monroe?” he asked.
“Well, the bottom line is that we have him in custody but he surprised me again.”
Singer arched his eyebrows and cocked his head, “And how did he do that?”
“He already knew that I had Sarah.”
“How the hell? Ah, doesn’t matter. Where is he now?”
“I left him in the back seat of the Escalade with two of our best enforcers. Hands tied behind his back and a sack over his head. That was two and a half hours ago, so they should be about half way to the Bloxom facility by now.”
Singer stood and walked over to the window. “Speaking of the pretty Ms. Nejem, if we have Monroe, then she has served her purpose, so I’ve thought of a little something extra for her. We have Monroe at the facility now. So we’ll go there tonight and take care of him. Then when I’m done with his girl, perhaps we’ll let some of our trainees spend som
e time with her.”
Ellsberg glanced sideways toward Merideth and said, “Boss, I don’t really think that’s necessary. I think we should just stick to the plan. Make it look like they have an accident together. It’ll be over. Quick and easy.”
“Perhaps I’ll let Monroe watch our trainees enjoy Sarah’s charms before you kill him,” Singer said
“I don’t like it.”
“Whatever,” replied Singer. “You just need to get ready by six o’clock. We’ll take the helo and fly there tonight.”
* * *
Soon after Aaron pulled out of the gas station, the SUV’s navigation system alerted him he was traveling in the wrong direction and every five hundred yards advised him to make a U-turn. Aaron tapped the icon on the dashboard screen that was labeled current destination and the screen projected a map with a red dot highlighting an open field on Muddy Creek near Bloxom, Virginia.
That must be where the facility they were talking about is located. Good to know, but I want Ellsberg. He tapped the icon to show the current trip origination. The screen projected a map with a blue dot centered over the headquarters building of Coleman-Brown Industries.
The road passed through farmland. Visibility was good in all directions so if a state patrol vehicle approached from ahead or behind Aaron would have time to react. He maintained a pretty steady speed around ninety miles per hour as he travelled north on Highway 50. Traffic was light.
Soon after he made the turn to head west and merge with the Blue Star Highway, the volume of traffic increased. I have to ditch this boat. There’s probably an APB out on it anyway. As he approached the small town of Wye Mills Aaron noticed a sign pointing to Chesapeake College and he smiled wryly. College kids and motorcycles. Crotch rockets. Just what the doctor ordered.
Aaron was surprised by how large the campus was as he pulled the SUV into the expansive, circular parking lot that surrounded six buildings on campus. He drove about three quarters of the circumference before he noticed a lot designated for motorcycles. Jackpot!