Stone smirked at the reference to his age. “Look, Jana, if these guys are involved with terrorists, you have no idea what they’re capable of. Ever heard of rendition? You know, a form of kidnapping where the person gets snatched off the street so fast you can’t even react? By the time we caught up to you, it would be too late.”
“Tell me why you said the case had escalated in priority. And, Stone, don’t leave anything out. I know you’ve been hiding other things from me. I’m in this up to my ears and I want to know the truth.”
Stone’s shoulders slumped. “We’ve identified each of the map coordinates sent in the original transmission. As you know, they point to oil-production facilities all over the Middle East. But not every oil facility in those regions is included in the list. These are all either American-owned oil facilities, or those owned by one of our allies. Jana, we don’t know what that means. But the fact that NSA is detecting such a huge increase in chatter between bin Laden’s Al-Qaeda terror cells tells us an attack is imminent. Whatever is being planned is getting close.”
“I can see it in your eyes, Stone. You’re still holding back. I said spit it out.”
“Remember the guy I told you about at NSA? The one I said that FBI Director Steven Latent knew personally? Well, “Uncle Bill” intercepted a particularly disturbing communiqué this morning.” He looked down then said, “Your name, Jana. Your name was mentioned in a communiqué that was sent from Abu Adim Al-Jawary. He knows who you are.”
Jana pulled away. “Why the hell would a terrorist in the Middle East know who I am?”
“It would be part of their mode of operation. Once whatever they have planned gets rolling, they’ll want to erase their tracks.”
“Erase their tracks?” But as the thought played forward in Jana’s mind, she understood what he meant. The terrorists would kill her.
14
Simpler Times
The walk back to the office was not an easy one. The growling in her stomach had stopped, but was now replaced with a feeling of vulnerability. A senior leader in one of the most feared terrorist organizations in the world knows who I am. And Jana knew, if the terrorists knew her identity, they probably know far more about her than that, like where she lived. Suddenly, just the thought of getting on the train for the commute home frightened her. What if they’re watching me right now? No, Stone would know. He’s got eyes on me right now, right? I mean, surely some pair of FBI eyes is always nearby.
She clutched her purse with both hands and scanned in all directions. How would she ever spot someone following her? The streets of New York are filled with humanity at this hour. It would be like finding a needle in a stack of needles. Not to mention the fact that even if she scanned the faces all around her, looking for those of Middle Eastern descent, that wouldn’t help much either. New York is a melting pot—every race and skin tone is here. Racial profiling, Jana thought. This is how it starts. The paranoia creeps in and you start looking for that stereotypical picture of what you think a terrorist would look like. Darker skin, black hair, black eyes, a thick, unkempt black beard, and perhaps wearing a thawb, a commonly worn ankle-length garment, similar to a robe, with long sleeves. It was all starting to sound like something out of a Hollywood movie.
Jana shivered. Her own mind was playing tricks on her and it wouldn’t be wise to allow the racism and paranoia building in her veins to continue. As she speed-walked down the sidewalk, she stopped in the doorway of a small neighborhood market to extract herself from the full-paced walkers all around her, then pulled out her phone. She typed out a text message to Agent Stone.
I want a weapon, and I want to be trained how to use it. And, Dad? I’m not asking.
She sent the text and then deleted it from her list of messages. Calling him dad; I’m sure he’s going to just love that one, she thought as a smile eased onto her face. Not to mention me demanding a weapon.
Once back in the office, Jana found she had trouble concentrating. She logged in to another brokerage account, this one an offshore account located in the Cayman Islands, and shook her head. Offshore, red flag for the SEC. Even if I stop these terrorists, I’m going to lose my broker’s license. She discreetly placed the thumb drive into a USB port on the laptop and recorded the financial transaction complete with date, time, amounts, account numbers, and the institutions involved. She closed her eyes and her thoughts wandered.
In her mind’s eye, she found herself back in the second grade, back in the principal’s office, the sheriff’s deputy telling her that her mother had died. The swirl of emotions that came with the news was overwhelming. That night, she slept at her teacher’s house, and in the morning woke to the smell of freshly cooked waffles. When she went toward the sound of Miss Hancock’s voice, she found that her own grandfather was sitting at the table in the eat-in kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand, and her grandmother was hovering over Miss Hancock, ladling scrambled eggs onto her plate. Jana knew she would go live with them on their farm in rural Tennessee.
She had always loved the farm, and she truly loved her grandparents, but the thought of leaving everything she knew was frightening.
It had been only a month later that her grandmother, too, died. From that point on, it was just Jana and Grandpa. He had become her whole world. Some of the best times in her childhood were suppers spent with her grandfather as they ate on the porch. When she was little, she would sit in his lap as he reached around her to cut her food. Then when she was bigger, they still enjoyed eating on the porch and watching the sun as it dipped below the tree line across the expanse of farmland, then set.
The sun’s amber glow was still strong in her memory. And now as an adult, Jana longed for those days, for their simplicity, their honesty, and the love she felt.
Jana’s world had changed so much since then and she wondered how everything had gotten so confusing. The stress inside her was building toward eventual eruption, and Jana wondered how much longer she could keep this up. She removed the thumb drive from the laptop and tucked it just inside her bra, obscured from view.
“What are you up to, Jana?” came a voice. She startled, then found Jeffrey Dima staring at her. Did he see? she thought as her heart leapt into her mouth.
“Oh, nothing. Just working on your project.” She prayed that answer would suffice.
He walked to her desk and his eyes wandered to what pleased them. “I think you should give me another chance.”
“And why is that?”
“I’m not such a bad guy.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
“You’ve been asking around about me?” he said through a pearly white smile. “See, I’m not so bad. Come on, admit it. You’re attracted to me.”
“I’ll admit nothing of the kind.” It was a flirtatious answer and one Jana would later parlay into accepting his advances. But, she had to get certain things organized before she would willingly set foot in this sleazeball’s apartment.
“Come on, this Saturday night. I’ll cook you a meal you won’t believe.”
“Jeffrey, we’re coworkers. This can never happen.”
“It’s America, Jana. Anything can happen. It’s a date then.”
Jana processed the situation. She didn’t have much time to prepare, but then again, with the timetable on the terror attack closing down, she had to act as quickly as possible.
“No,” she said with innocence in her eyes.
“No?”
“I’m busy Saturday. Make it Friday and I’ll think about it.”
His smile widened and his eyes again wandered across her form. Although Jana was repulsed, she made no outward signs of it.
Now, it was time to give Agent Stone a critical assignment, one that would prepare her for Friday night.
15
The Firing Range
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Agent Stone said to Jana as he positioned noise-canceling earmuffs over his ears. “Now, just like I told you. Keep the weapon poi
nted downrange at all times. That means the barrel never faces any direction other than downrange. Got it?”
The sounds of gunfire coming from the shooting lanes next to them were so loud that to Jana they sounded like cannons. She took a deep breath and adjusted her safety glasses.
“Keep the gun pointed downrange at all times, check.”
“It’s not a joke, Miss Baker. This is a Walther PPK .380-caliber firearm. It would kill either one of us in a matter of seconds.”
The look in Stone’s eyes had changed. She was no longer looking into the eyes of her grandfather. He was serious, deadly serious.
“Whenever you put a hand on this weapon, I want you to picture in your mind that it is firing one time every second.”
“Why is that?” Jana said.
“Because if the gun is firing once per second, you will keep it pointed in a safe direction.”
She took the weapon in both hands and extended her arms. Stone reached around her from behind and put his hands on her wrists to steady them. “With this weapon, you want to keep the thumb on your left hand tucked on the side. Don’t let it drape behind the gun. If you do, it could get popped very hard by the action of the gun when it fires. Now, just pull the trigger and be prepared for the gun to pop in your hand.”
Although she startled after the first round was fired, after that, she settled into it. They spent over an hour at the FBI’s shooting range, and by the time it was over, Jana felt confident.
Stone said, “You did really, really well. And you never shot a pistol before? I’ve got to say, I’m impressed. I didn’t do that well my first time out.”
“Stone, I know shooting is serious business, but I had fun. Thank you for teaching me. Having a weapon is going to make me feel a little more comfortable.”
“Just don’t let your guard down. And always, always remember, double tap, center mass, then one to the head.”
The words reverberated in her head. She hoped she would never have to use them.
16
Determination of Spirit
In the men’s department of J. C. Penney, Agent Stone yelled. “You’re going to do what?”
A woman holding up a business suit to her husband turned and stared.
“You heard me,” Jana replied. “Stone, you and I both know that time is running out. Uncle Bill said it himself. Whatever the terrorists are planning is about to happen, and we’ve got to stop it.”
“Jana, listen to me. You can’t go into that penthouse apartment with him. You’re not dealing with some average schmuck from Brooklyn. This guy is sending up red flags everywhere we look. In fact, when we pulled his fingerprints off a restaurant wine glass, we found no match.”
“So what. Are every human being’s prints in the database?”
“Everyone who has a New York state driver’s license has prints in the database, yes. He has a New York license, yet no prints exist for him. Don’t you find that a bit strange?” The sarcasm hung thick. “That means we’re dealing with a false identity. But it’s much worse than that. Under his current identity of Jeffrey Dima, he has been brought in for questioning by the NYPD Special Victims Unit to be interrogated about the three incidents, the one’s where he was accused of using Rohypnol on young women. No charges were ever filed in those cases due to lack of evidence, but my point is, there’s still no prints in the database. That means somehow they’ve been erased. We’re talking about heavy hitters here. You could get really hurt.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Stone placed his hands on his hips and leveled a stern look. “That’s what those other three young women would have said before he assaulted them. It’s not safe, Jana, and I don’t want you doing this.”
“It’s my safety and my decision. The plan is simple. All you have to do is get me a prescription of Rohypnol. I’ll handle the rest.”
“I still think you’re crazy, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. We might have an imminent terrorist threat, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to let you sacrifice yourself.”
Jana walked closer to him. When she looked into his eyes, she saw emotions forming within. “Stone, what’s going on?”
Agent Stone turned his back to prevent her from seeing his face.
“Nothing.”
“There’s something going on.”
He rubbed his eyes. “She was fifteen years old.”
Jana tilted her head. “Who? Who was fifteen years old?”
Stone swallowed. “In high school. My girlfriend, her name was Alyssa. We were both fifteen. Her nude body was found in a dumpster a few days later. She had been murdered.” He turned to face her and she could see the glistening in his eyes. “They threw her away like she was an object to be used, then discarded.”
Jana did not know what to say and the silence punctuated Stone’s hidden grief.
“I’m sorry,” was the best she could muster. “That’s what led you to law enforcement, wasn’t it? To a career as a federal agent. And now you think the same thing is going to happen to me? Is that what this is about?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I feel responsible for you in the same way I felt responsible for Alyssa. I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”
“Having lost my own father at the age of two, I’ve never had anyone say that to me. But, Stone, look at me. I’m not going to get hurt, all right? I’ll wear a wire and you’ll be listening; you and the other agents. If you hear anything going wrong . . .”
“I know, I know. But Jana, if he finds that wire device on you, he could kill you before we would even know something was up. What you are about to do is extremely dangerous, don’t forget that. Don’t let your guard down for a moment.”
Jana smiled and tension eased from his shoulders. “I won’t, Dad.”
Stone laughed. “I still don’t know how you are going to know where his supply is. If you don’t locate it first, he could drug you, and you wouldn’t even be able to alert us that there was a problem.”
“Just leave that to me,” Jana said.
17
Early Morning Fear
With all the tension of her situation, Jana’s emotions bubbled to the surface. Exhaustion had overtaken her, but she could not fall asleep. The realization that Agent Stone thought of her like a daughter swirled with the feelings of exhaustion as Jana finally drifted off, thinking back to her childhood. Flashes of memories formed into a dream, a dream of Jana’s youth. She found herself again catapulted back to the farm, a place that had become the only stability in the life of a young child whose parents had died. It was supper time and she was seated in her grandfather’s lap on the porch. His warm arms reached around her, a fork in one hand, a knife in the other. He squeezed his arms to hug her at the same time he cut into the country fried steak on Jana’s plate in front of them. He put the knife down and lifted the fork to hold the first bite of food in front of Jana’s little mouth. His free hand found its way to her tiny rib cage and he tickled her. Jana giggled and he said, “Come on, sweet pea. Time to eat. Why are you not eating?” But Jana laughed and laughed at his touch.
“I can’t eat!” she said, squirming and giggling in his lap.
“Why not, sweet pea? Come on now, grandpa says it’s time to eat.”
“You’re tickling me!” she said, roaring with laughter that her grandpa found infectious.
While his tickling and her squirming continued, he said, “These are not the tickles. There are no tickles. Now eat your steak.”
A knock on the door at 5:10 a.m. startled Jana her from the dream and back into a frightening reality, a reality in which she would place herself further into harm’s way. As she rubbed her eyes, the sadness of all the loss she’d suffered in her life crashed against the backs of her eyes, like water rushing through a pipe that suddenly finds itself stopped by a valve. The back pressure was building and Jana strained to push the tears down.
She wanted to call someone; she wanted to speak to a friend. But Jana didn�
�t have many of those. She’d always found it hard to make friends that were women. It wasn’t until her junior year at Georgetown University that her roommate told her why. “They hate you because of your looks,” she had said.
“What looks?” she replied. “I don’t give any of the girls mean looks. I smile at everybody.”
“No, they’re jealous of you, Jana. It’s your beauty, your body. They see you, then look in the mirror as they compare themselves against you. They’re jealous. Then they see the guys swirling around you and it makes them feel inferior. Half of them would kill to get the attention of any one of those guys, but they’re all fawning over you and the girls hate you for it.”
The shock had come like a slap in the face. Jana had grown up in a very quiet, reserved farming town. Boys had always paid attention to her, but it had never gone to her head. In fact, it had never even occurred to her to consider herself superior to anyone else. Her grandfather’s upbringing had taught nothing but love for other people. Jana’s values had been formed during those years, years spent helping her grandpa on the farm, and at church, where he taught Sunday school. No, Jana had no one to turn to in the bleakness of the morning. No close girlfriend she could rely on, no boyfriend she considered to be a soul mate. She was alone, alone with her feelings.
With FBI agents working surveillance around the periphery of her apartment building at all hours of the day and night, she had little fear that the person knocking on the door was any type of threat. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floor and the old oak boards squeaked in protest. She tiptoed to look out the peephole. Agent Stone’s scalp shined back at her, and Jana unbolted the two locks, slipped the security chain off its rail, and pulled the door open.
“Dad, it’s early,” she said through a grin.
As Stone walked into the cramped studio apartment, he said, “You’re really going to call me that?”
Protocol One_A Thriller Page 5