"That's your grief talking, David. What would Seth want? He'd want you to keep going, to see you on top of the world again like you were in 2004. It's at your fingertips. After twelve years in Afghanistan and countless attacks and casualties around the world, the American public is ready for the kind of change you were offering. The election in 2016 is going to be all about new realities, both economic and defensive. The United States cannot keep playing guardian around the world and it's your job—our job—to push them just a little further and get them to that realization."
Kemiss looked out of the rear windows of the car as it traveled over an arched concrete bridge in the small railroad city of Roanoke. Below the bridge to the left he could see the empty field that once held a World War II era stadium in which he'd delivered many campaign speeches over the last two decades. Now, with only a few mobile goalposts and metal bleachers, the site looked the way he felt; empty, a hollow reminder of his former self. As visions of his past speeches in front of heavy crowds during the 2004 presidential campaign flashed through his mind, he willed himself to look ahead. In the distance beyond the end of the bridge he could see the interstate exit ramp that would lead him to the facility where Seth Castellano's mother and sister were about to officially identify his remains.
"Baktayev killed Seth, Lukas. How can we continue to have any confidence in him? We should bury this animal before he causes us any more problems. We'll move on. Find another way."
"We've got millions invested in this, more than either of us can afford to lose with the situation being what it is. We can't turn back, David."
Kemiss knew that Kreft's situation wasn't all that different to his own. Like wounded animals, they were both striking out in desperation. After a decade of warfare in the Middle East, Kreft had been backed into a corner and his empire was on the verge of collapse.
Oil was the life's blood of Kreft's business and the despotic regimes in the Middle East were its cornerstone. Despite Kreft's careful warnings, the regimes had attacked, riding militant Islam like a galloping steed and finding themselves impaled on a spear of red, white and blue after awakening a sleeping giant. Now their scattered hordes clung to life by a thread and the caliphate they so desperately desired was a fleeting dream without the strong central support of their governments.
With the oil fields of Iraq opened to capitalist competition at the end of Saddam Hussein's rule and the recent instability of the Libyan fields after Qadaffi's death, Kreft's organization was badly in need of a transfusion. His only hope of keeping his expensive organization from snapping like a toothpick was to convince the West that the war on Islamic terror could not be won and to deliver the newly freed, but abandoned, Middle Eastern countries back into the hands of dictators who would return control of the resources to him, a goal he intended to accomplish with Kemiss' help and in return, Kemiss would receive unending financial support for his future political endeavors from American corporations that Kreft owned a significant interest in.
"Baktayev needs to be made to understand who's in charge. Seth would have handled McIver if he hadn't gotten in the way!"
"Baktayev had a personal vendetta against McIver for killing his brother. Seth told you that when he found out who McIver was. I can't say I'm exactly surprised that Baktayev did what he did now that McIver's involvement in this has gone public. Seth getting caught in the crossfire was unfortunate."
"Unfortunate? This whole thing is a first rate screw up with Ruslan Baktayev's name all over it! Whose side are you on?"
"Easy, David, I'm on your side. I want what you want. I'm just telling you that we can't afford to quit and start over. It's this, or we both go into the history books as bankrupt and defeated."
The limousine Kemiss was riding in made a sharp left into the parking lot of a two story brick building with narrow windows and no identifying signage. Kemiss thought for a moment as the car circled around the lot to a rear entrance. Kreft was right. If the status quo wasn't changed in a major way then the next election cycle would see him packing his belongings and leaving Washington with his tail tucked between his legs.
"Fine," he said. "We'll go forward, but this is personal now, Lukas. It might have been Baktayev's bullet that killed Seth, but McIver was the reason either of them were there at all. I want the world to know that one of the finest law enforcement officers this country has ever known was killed by a second-rate backwater terrorist, and I'm not talking about Ruslan Baktayev. He'll get his when the whole of American law enforcement descends on him next week."
"Alright, David, if there's any kind of victory to be had in this it's the fact that there's now a nationwide manhunt for an inmate who killed an FBI agent. McIver can't avoid the country's entire law enforcement apparatus for very long and that's what's going to be after him now. As far as they know, Seth's murder was part of his escape. Do you know who's going to take over the investigation?"
"Yes," Kemiss said, as he looked out of the window and saw a broad man with a balding head standing near the entrance of the building, an FBI badge folded over the breast pocket of his dark suit. "I know exactly who will and I'll make sure he keeps us informed the entire time."
"Great. I'll make sure everything stays sewn up on our Chechen end."
Kemiss ended the call. Wiping his face with a handkerchief, he opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night. Straightening his suit as he strode towards the entrance, he made eye contact with the suited man who stood grimly by the door.
"Robert," he said with a curt nod, as he extended his hand.
"It's good of you to make the trip, Senator," Robert Evers said, as he gripped Kemiss' hand firmly. Evers was the Special Agent in Charge of the FBI's Richmond Field Office, Seth Castellano's direct supervisor and the man who oversaw both the Counterterrorism and Criminal Investigation Divisions of the FBI for the entire central and southwest Virginia region.
"I've been friends with the Castellano family for two decades. How could I not have?" Kemiss asked rhetorically as their hands separated and Evers turned to walk with him into the building.
"We're all shocked and heartbroken," Evers said with a shake of his head, as they walked down a long corridor towards a set of elevators. "Seth was as careful an agent and investigator as there was. The idea of him transporting such a violent individual alone simply goes against everything we knew about him. I just can't imagine what he was thinking."
Here Kemiss had to be careful as he realized that he knew far more about the circumstances surrounding Castellano's death than he should or that anyone else he was about to meet with did.
"Well, he certainly was thorough. He worked in my office for three years while he finished graduate school and I helped him get into the FBI, despite his mother's objections. I can't help but feel partially responsible."
"There's no one responsible but the animal that killed him, Senator. When we find him, I'm going to snap the cuffs on personally and make sure he trips a few times on the way to the squad car."
"Well, put your foot out in front of him once or twice for me, will ya?"
"Yes, sir," Evers said, as they entered the elevator and he pressed the button to take them to the basement.
"How much did Seth tell you about the man he was transporting?"
"Not much, really. He kept me abreast of the investigation's progress, but he and I had an understanding, as I do with all my agents. I trusted him to do his job and didn't get in the way."
Kemiss nodded.
"Apparently," Evers continued, "he was an Irish immigrant with ties to Kafni, which allowed him to get close enough to set up the assassination without looking suspicious. Seth was hot on his case from the moment he set eyes on him. He had a sixth sense about people, he knew he'd found his man, and it was just a matter of time before he ran him down."
"Hmm," Kemiss said, as he nodded again. Evers was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. For a senior G-man, Evers had been eating right out of Castellano's hand and accepting w
ithout question every word the agent had fed him about the assassination of Abaddon Kafni.
The bell on the elevator chimed and the doors separated with a low hum. Kemiss followed Evers as he stepped out into a dimly lit hallway and walked towards a wooden door at the end. As they drew closer, Kemiss grimaced as he read the word morgue on the sign above the door.
"This way, Senator," Evers said, as he stopped at one of several doors that led off the hallway and held his hand out for Kemiss to enter as he pulled it open.
Kemiss stepped slowly into the bleak room beyond and his eyes fell immediately on two women standing side by side, their backs turned to the men, the younger of the two with her head on her elder's shoulder, holding her hand lightly. The two were looking towards a four foot by eight foot window with a curtain tightly drawn over it and either didn't hear or didn't care that people had entered. From behind he knew they were Seth Castellano's mother and sister, not only because they were the only two in the room, but because they each had the same build and hair color as their son and brother. Both Seth and his sister, whose name he was trying hard to remember, had taken after their mother's side of the family in looks and temperament.
"Mrs. Castellano," Evers said in a hushed tone, as he stepped up beside Kemiss. He stood with his hands in his pockets as if he didn't know what else to do with them. Kemiss couldn't imagine having to be the one to deliver the kind of news he was sure Evers had delivered only a few hours earlier.
The older of the two women slowly turned and looked towards them, her eyes swollen and red from crying. At once Kemiss could see the family resemblance and had to fight back a surge of anger. Castellano's mother had the same chestnut brown hair, youthful features and rounded face as her son. He fought hard to keep his face from twisting up in anger as he remembered the way Seth's face had felt as he'd brushed a hand across his cheek after a recent shave.
"Elizabeth," he said solemnly, as the woman's eyes fell on him. The younger woman beside her turned and again he could see the resemblance as he waited for the elder to speak.
"David," she said finally, her voice hoarse, and she stepped away from her daughter to embrace him.
"I'm very sorry for your loss," he said meekly as he opened his arms, his suit making a swishing sound.
"It's good of you to come," she said, as she pulled away and turned sideways towards her daughter. "You probably don't remember, but this is my daughter, Emily."
"I remember," Kemiss lied. "You were what, twelve, thirteen when your brother came to work for me at my office?"
The young woman nodded.
"I remember the two of you and his father accompanying him up the stairs with his things. He was so embarrassed."
The young woman flashed a brief smile that disappeared as the sound of a metal door swinging open came from the side of the room. The party of four turned as a gray haired man in a white lab coat entered, carrying a metal clipboard.
"I'm Dr. Chambers, the Medical Examiner for Virginia's western district," he said, as he stopped and stood near the corner of the window, "you all are the Castellano family?"
"Yes," said Evers, "his mother and sister, and a family friend."
Chambers gave a slight nod and tried to muster a sorrowful look, although it was obvious that this was business as usual for him. "Well, first off, I'm very sorry for your loss. I know this is a very difficult time for all of you."
He waited briefly for a response, but quickly continued when it was obvious that one wasn't forthcoming. "This won't take very long. We need you, as the next of kin, to positively identify your deceased relative for us and to sign off saying that the person in our possession is Seth James Castellano. I'll also need you to sign off on the autopsy that we are required by law to perform when criminal activity was involved in order to determine the cause of death. Do you all understand what I've just said?"
Elizabeth Castellano gave a nod and sniffed away tears as Chambers turned slightly and knocked on the glass window with a knuckle. From behind the glass, an arm appeared around the curtain and quickly pulled it aside, revealing a small rectangular room with white walls and a concrete floor that was just big enough for the hospital gurney that was positioned in its center, a thick white sheet covering the outline of the human being lying on it.
Castellano's sister began to cry audibly as a man in a white lab coat wearing a blue face mask and hairnet positioned himself beside the gurney in preparation for removing the sheet. The man looked out of the window towards Chambers who gave a quick nod.
Kemiss and Evers both stepped forward to stand beside the two women as the man in the room slowly pulled back the sheet and revealed the head and shoulders of Seth Castellano, his eyes closed as though he were sleeping soundly, his hair wet and slicked back with a fine toothed comb, and his skin a chalky white that was in equal parts due to the lighting in the room and the lack of blood circulating in his body.
Both women's distress became audible and Kemiss slipped an arm around Elizabeth Castellano's shoulders, trying to be as comforting as he could be in spite of the emotions that he was feeling, but couldn't show.
Taking the anguished cries as an affirmative identification, the medical examiner made a few marks on his paperwork and motioned for the medical technician in the room to close the curtain. The man obeyed and the room quickly disappeared behind the heavy polyester.
"I just need Mrs. Castellano to sign these two forms for me and you all can go. I know you have a long night ahead of you," Chambers said, as he stepped away from the window towards the group, his clipboard held out.
"Did he suffer?" Elizabeth Castellano asked, as she took hold of the clipboard.
Chambers grimaced as all four faces looked to him for an answer. He shook his head. "I've only completed a preliminary examination. At this time, I really don't know. I'm sorry."
Kemiss gave the doctor a nod of gratitude before glancing towards the clipboard as Castellano's mother scribbled her signature on the two forms and handed it back.
"Let's go," Evers said, pulling lightly on Emily Castellano's shoulder. "I'll see to it that you both get home safely."
"SAC Evers," Kemiss said loudly; everyone stopped and turned to him.
"Senator?" Evers answered.
"I want you to find the man that did this," Kemiss said, wiping a tear from his left eye with his fingers. "My office will make sure that you and your men have every possible tool at your disposal and I want you to keep me informed of any developments every step of the way, and of anything you need, anything."
Kemiss' eyes bored into the Special Agent for several seconds.
"Yes, sir. It's a nationwide priority, he won't get away."
"See to it that he doesn't," he said, as he adjusted his suit and looked at the two women, doing his best to soften his expression. "I'm very sorry for the loss of your son and brother. He and I remained in contact after he left my employment and I promise you that we will capture the man responsible. The United States Government will not rest until Declan McIver is either behind bars or dead."
Minutes later he re-entered his limousine and picked up the phone as his driver closed the door behind him. He dialed a number and waited for an answer. Someone picked up on the other end and he listened as they fumbled their phone. He looked at his watch; it was one o'clock in the morning in Great Britain.
"Simard?" a sleepy voice finally said.
"You'd better have something for me."
"The committee meets first thing in the morning, Senator. I'll have answers for you by the time you're eating breakfast."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
8:19 p.m. Eastern Time – Tuesday
County Route 141
Lake Sherwood, West Virginia
The headlights of the stolen Chevrolet Trailblazer flashed over the roughly hewn driveway that led to his cabin as Declan McIver turned into the property. All he could see as he drove were the crooked branches of the area's many maple trees, the cabin itself being located a saf
e distance away from the road and only visible in the winter months when the leaves were off the trees. As the vehicle bounced over one of the many potholes in the road he glanced up to look in the rearview mirror out of force of habit, momentarily forgetting that he had removed the mirror from the vehicle in order to disengage the OnStar system, which could be used to track the vehicle's location via GPS. The last thing he needed at the moment was a team of FBI agents descending on the rustic hideaway.
Pulling the vehicle to a stop where he had once parked his Mercedes, now in the possession of the FBI, he shifted it into park and looked around as he exited onto the concrete pad that stood between the small house and a tall stack of firewood. The smell of burning wood filled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. Stepping around the side of the house towards the front door that faced the shores of Lake Sherwood, he stopped as a bright light stabbed the darkness from the front of the house and a figure slowly stepped around the side of the log structure.
"It's me," he said, as his wife stepped off the front porch. She walked over the small patch of wet grass that stood beside the house and embraced him. There were no tears and no surprise at seeing him. Along the winding country roads he'd taken to get there, being sure he wasn't followed, he'd stopped and risked a call from a pay phone to the pre-paid cell he'd left with her the day before.
"What took you so long?" she asked.
"Just being careful," he said. It had taken him nearly twelve hours to make a drive that under normal circumstances could've been made in less than three. Along the way he'd travelled in several different directions and had used multiple vehicles. Knowing that the vehicles would eventually be reported stolen and that he had likely been seen at least once, all of his movements had been designed to make his actual destination a mystery.
"The radio said you'd been arrested," she said, holding him tightly. "I thought they'd kill you."
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