The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology

by Jake Devlin

  "I'll drive the van; you follow, okay?"

  "Sure. I'll check the trunk first. Let me get my gloves on."

  "Cool. Where'd you put the chloroform, JB?"

  "Glove compartment. And the C4 is on the front passenger floor, the electronic stuff in my bag. Holy shit! I think we've got a couple hundred pounds of C4 here, detonators and wires and phones separate. And I saw a laptop on the passenger seat. Jensen'll love that."

  "I think he's going by Johnson this week."

  "And next week it'll probably be Jacobsen. Sometimes dealing with the Company can be a royal pain in the butt."

  "Hang on a second, JB. Deep breath, Howie. Good boy ... okay, they're all out now, Jillybean."

  "Rodger Dodger, Carie Berry. Ready to head out? Oh, geez, this shitbox needs a tuneup."

  "When we're done, it'll need a lot more than a tuneup. And off we go."

  "Right behind you, CB."

  An hour later, Jill picked up an encrypted satellite phone and dialed. "Authentication 4873645. Hi, Amber. We need a helo exfil with a medic and a driver. No, we're fine. East end of Bonita Beach Road, in the woods on the south side ... yup; we'll come out in a white van when we hear you. Two plus three, one kneecapped ... he put up a bit of resistance ... plus two heavy duffels. So not Phyllis with the the Phlying Phantom, Little PP; it's too small. Can you send Mike with the big one, the Woodcock? Soon as possible. Thanks.

  “And you can call Johnson ... Kaiser? Really? Geez ... call Kaiser and tell him we'll drop the three to him in Andorra, usual spot. We've got some good intel, a laptop, encrypted, two low-level and one mid-level AQs; his boys can wring 'em dry. We'll brief him after we've crossed the Pond. One of the jets available? Good. And we'll need to rotate out; we may have been burned by some locals. I think Wayne and Linda would be good, if they're avai- – oh, too bad. Tokyo? Well, Justin and Lindsay, then? Great. They'll probably fit in better than we did, anyhow. And we'll need a full cleanout at the condo. Great; thanks. Oh, you'll love this. Guess whose picture the AQs had on their beach towel? Yup, but how'd you know that? Really; hmm. And there's intel woven into 'em? Okay; we'll take special care of that. Guess that's it. ETA? Fifteen? Okay. Out."

  Half an hour later, Lee County deputies and firefighters, responding to a report of heavy smoke at the east end of Bonita Beach Road, discovered a green 1997 sedan with a yellow beach bag holding some ball bearings, two bricks of C4, detonators, a timer and a cell phone on the passenger seat parked behind a bush on the south side of the road and a pile of green brush burning in the center of the concrete turnaround; the fire was easily contained.

  Forensic analysis of the C4, detonators, timer and cell phone (and fingerprints on the timer and cell phone) matched evidence recovered at bombings on Miami Beach and Fire Island, both at noon on the same day, which claimed 19 lives and caused over 150 serious injuries and for which Al Qaeda claimed responsibility.

  Other than the prints, it also matched evidence found by counterterrorism squads in seven foiled plots to bomb other East Coast beaches on the same date and time, roughly a year after the death of Osama bin Laden. 23 AQs were taken into custody, not counting the Mimosa twins' three, whose further interrogation led directly to the takedown of sixteen AQ networks in the US, Europe and the Mideast, and indirectly to the elimination of 27 other networks over the next eight months.

  Two days after the Mimosa twins had dropped off their three AQs, Amber called to let them know they had each been given a bonus of a hundred thousand euros, as well as a month of free use of a fully-crewed 39-meter yacht moored in St. Tropez, well stocked with their favorite beverage and all provisions, which they enjoyed to the fullest, all the while reacquiring their all-over tans and doing some successful beach-sniffing with lots of French and Italian man-boys, some of whom, to the twins' dismay, engaged in false advertising, stuffing a potato into their tight-fitting swim trunks, except for one Italian guy, Pasquale, who put his in the back. “Ewww,” said Jill, when she saw that.

  All in all, Jill and Carie were glad they'd requested that the freezers be stocked with lots of Neapolitan ice cream and that they'd brought a good collection of feathers and chocolate and strawberry syrup along.

  Monday, May 7, 2012

  8:12 a.m.

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  Justin and Lindsay pulled their hybrid into the Collier County lot, having just bought an annual parking sticker at Veterans Community Park, unloaded their beach towels, chairs and bags and headed out to the beach. They set up just about where the Mimosa twins had sat for the previous several months, plugged in their earbuds and began alternately reading and people-watching while chair-dancing in time with the whisper-soft music in their ears, the recording equipment in their bags ready for Jake and Pam's arrival.

  “Welcome aboard, kids,” a voice in their earbuds rasped. “Nice to be working with you again.”

  “Hi, Sharon. Been what, eight, nine years?” Justin replied.

  “About that. Have fun, but keep your eyes and ears open.”

  -112-

  Monday, May 7, 2012

  8:30 a.m.

  The Oval Office

  Washington, DC

  Gordon Olin Donne paced in front of his desk, glaring at everyone in the room. He stopped in front of the CIA director, who was sitting in the Madonna chair.

  “Grant, how the hell did all those AQs get their bombs built and in position?”

  “Sir, I --”

  “And on our BEACHES!”

  “Sir, the --”

  “20 dead, 150 injured.”

  Donne punched his right fist into his left palm, then took a deep breath, reached out and touched Grant's shoulder.

  “Sorry, Grant. I've been up all night, sorting through all the info coming in minute-by-minute about this shit.”

  Olivia Meredith Gwynn, the FBI director, said, “Gordy, if I may?”

  “Go ahead, Mere.”

  “Grant's people and mine were tracking hundreds of AQ cells, and even though three of them got through, we stopped seven others that were on their way to other beaches, and we're already getting good intel from the scores of AQs we took into custody.”

  “And, Mere, you're going along with my intel-over-prosecution priorities?”

  “Yes, Gordy; no problem with that.”

  “All right.” Donne took another deep breath and began pacing again.

  “Now, let's focus. What happened with the one on Miami Beach?”

  Grant spoke up. “We had those guys under tight surveillance, following them with an eight-car detail, DD877 on their car --”

  John Kelly, the Treasury Secretary, asked, “DD877?”

  “Sorry. GPS tracker.

  “We had cars ahead and behind on the MacArthur Causeway, but when they got to Fifth, they ran an SDR, so we had to do a swapout, and we lost visual on them momentarily. The DD877 went stationary on Collins, so we ran a car past them, and they were gone, probably in a new vehicle. The bomb must have been in the new car, 'cause they did not have it when they left Miami, and they planted it in Ocean Beach Park and disappeared.

  “But they screwed up and drove back to their original car, and we nabbed the three of them there, plus the new driver, put them in the interrogation van and drove around the area. Three of them kept their mouths shut, but one got a little hinky around the park, so we pulled him out of the van and walked him in there with two of our agents, and he went willingly enough, even pointed to where the bomb was and led our agents toward it. But he timed it so that as they got within about twenty feet, the bomb went off, killing him and one of the agents and severely injuring the other one; he'll live, but he probably won't ever walk again. We got them all out of there before the locals showed up, so no exposure there.

  “The bomb went off at noon. Twelve dead, about eighty injured. We still haven't got all the casualty reports in.

  “We've got the other three, including the new driver, prepped for rendition, I think to Andorra, and the forensics guys a
re going over their cars with a fine-toothed comb. We'll break them and go up their line as far as we can.”

  “Shit. One SDR and they're gone,” Donne muttered.

  “Do we know where the bomb came from?”

  “No, sir, not yet. But we will, I guarantee you that. And we'll find the builder and the rest of the guys who passed it to the guys we got. We'll get 'em all to Andorra and break 'em.”

  “And the one on Fire Island?”

  “Same thing, but no other vehicle or driver. Tight surveillance, no bomb in the car, SDR, DD877 went stationary, lost us, picked up the bomb somewhere, planted it, went back to their car and we got them and the vehicle. That one went off at noon, too, and they cheered and praised Allah when we heard the blast. They're going to Andorra, too.”

  “Okay.

  “And what happened in that little town in Florida?”

  “Bonita Springs. A couple of OPUS operatives –“

  “OP-U-S.”

  “Sorry; OP-U-S.

  “A couple of their operatives stumbled onto the bomb there, got the perps, did a quick interrogation and exfil, left the bomb and their car for the locals, and gave us a quick headsup. They're on their way to Andorra with the perps … one's been kneecapped … and we'll have a full briefing from them there and then break the buggers.

  “The bomb is now in our custody, and it matches some of the pieces we've recovered from the other two. We'll know more as the forensics guys dig deeper into that and the car. The locals are out of the loop.”

  Gwynn asked, “What were they doing in … what was it again? … something Springs?”

  “Right, Bonita Springs.

  “As I understand it, they were on a private surveillance job, and just got suspicious and took action.”

  Donne asked, “Did you have that cell on your radar?”

  “No, sir. We just got lucky on that one. Very lucky.”

  Kelly, the Treasury Secretary, asked, “What's OP-U-S?”

  Donne said, “It's a DEI company, one of our – their biggest and best. Private security, high-end, the US division.”

  Grant added, “We've done a lot of work with them. Absolutely the best. And the DD877 comes from DEI, too.”

  Donne said, “Do you have any 878s?”

  “The ones with audio?”

  “Right.”

  “Yes, but not enough of 'em.”

  “I'll call Wes, have him get you another thousand of those, at cost and – no, I'll do it on my personal tab.”

  Kelly said, “Your tab, sir?”

  “Sure. No need to have the government pay for those.”

  Kelly and Grant both said, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Well, one of those would maybe have given you an idea that the Miami guys had gotten out of their car.

  “And I think you may want to develop some additional tailing strategies for high-value targets, some kind of counter-SDR tactics.”

  “We'll work on that, Gordy.”

  “Cody, if you're not too overwhelmed with the China plan, could you get together with Grant and throw in your two cents, too?”

  “Sure, Gordy. I've already got a couple of ideas.”

  “Good, good. Okay.

  “Anything else I need to know right now?”

  Silence.

  “Okay, gang. Thank you all. Keep me posted. And mea culpa for my outburst earlier; I've usually got that stuff in better control.

  “Emily, if anyone here wants a DVD, let 'em have one.”

  “Will do, Gordy.

  “Gentlemen, ma'am, I'll show you out.”

  Once they left, Donne ran his fingers through his thinning fringe, rubbed his face and leaned back in his chair, breathing deeply for a good five minutes, his eyes closed, his body, other than his chest and diaphragm, absolutely still.

  About noon, after his televised speech, which both consoled and fired up the American public, he finally found an hour to catch up on his lost sleep. Rejuvenated, he dug back into the papers in his inbox, finding fewer to be denied than to be approved, and fewer of both.

  -113-

  Saturday, May 12, 2012

  8:13 a.m.

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  ”I hope they're all right. It's been at least a week.”

  “I'm sure they are, Pam. Probably just took a cruise or something, maybe visiting their parents.”

  “It's odd. I was so suspicious of 'em and now I sorta miss 'em.”

  “They sure boosted the EC to AEP ratio on the beach.”

  “The what?”

  “EC to AEP ratio. Eye candy to antique elephant parade. They're nowhere near as cute as you are gorgeous, but you gotta admit, they're definitely eye candy.”

  “God, I haven't heard that in years.”

  “Well, you know, Pam, I'm no spring chicken. I'm so old, I don't even remember what hormones ...” Jake paused.

  “Are? Do?”

  “... sound like.”

  Pam puzzled a moment and then laughed. “Oh, good one. I'll give you a refresher on those later.”

  “Oh, I'd like that.”

  “So would I.”

  “And I'm just figuring out that YOLO thing.”

  “Oh, You Only Live Once, you mean?”

  “Right. Sorta like a redneck's last words, but for the kids.”

  “Redneck's last words?”

  “Yeah. 'Hold my beer and watch this.'”

  “You're in rare form this morning.”

  “That's what she said.”

  “She was me, and that was about an hour ago.”

  “Well, the rare form seems to be ongoing. You, my love, have a lasting effect on me.”

  “Why, thank yuh, suh.”

  “Yes, indeedy, Belle.”

  “Okay. Ready to get back to the book?”

  “I guess so. My brain is running weird today, though.”

  “So what else is new?”

  “Why, thank yuh, ma'am.”

  “Okay, Tex.”

  “All right. What do you have now?”

  “Well, I think we need to set a cutoff date for the beach and the political story, 'cause that just keeps going on and on.”

  “Well, with Donne, most of that political shit doesn't happen, like the primaries and both parties playing chicken, and all the talking heads and books coming out on both sides, just criticizing the other team.”

  “I know, I know. But I mean, do you want to get this actually out at some point? If you do, we've – I mean you've got to decide when to cut it off.”

  “But things keep coming up, like those bombs over in Miami and up in New York last Sunday.”

  “God, those were horrible.”

  “I'd like to figure a way to get those in somehow.”

  “That may be too close, too emotional.”

  “But on beaches? That's outrageous.”

  “I know, I know. But we – I mean you do need to come up with a cutoff date, a deadline, if you ever want to get this thing out.”

  “Well, how about right after the Olympics … or maybe after the conventions?”

  “The Dems and Pubs, you mean?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I've done most of the natural disasters that have come up since December, and Donne's handled those as best he could, and now it's looking like there's gonna be a drought this summer, from what I've seen on the news.

  “And then there's all that foreign stuff, like with Israel and Iran, Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq and on and on.”

  “Sure you want to keep all that stuff in?”

  “You know, I'm not. I'm still rolling back and forth between the two stories, the fiction of Donne and the reality of us and the beach and current events. It's tricky, for me, at least.”

  “You know, as I bounce back and forth, I've gotten used to the two timelines; I think you could probably do away with the 'Six Months Earlier' and that kind of stuff. I'd think readers should be able to follow those time shifts pretty easily by now.”

  “Hmm; maybe I could get r
id of those – no, I'll leave them in for the first parts, then drop 'em. How's that?”

  “Works for me.

  “On the natural disasters, I think you showed how he does stuff with the tornadoes in Kentucky and Indiana in … what ... March?”

  “I think so, but I don't remember how I --”

  “I think it was just a question in a press conference. I think.”

  “Oh, right, right. Yeah, that was it. I guess I'm just more focused on the economic stuff with Donne, trying to figure out how that all works out over time.”

  “And the assassination plots.”

  “Of course. And I'm getting a little more scared, I guess; still a few more death threats in my inbox. I think you were right; I was way too loose in giving out the link.”

  “Well, that's blood under the bridge, Jake. We'll deal with those like we did with that first batch last fall.”

  “Okay. So where are we now?”

  “Well, I have some news. My ex-boss was one of the agents fired over that hooker scandal in Colombia last month.”

  “Really? Raunchy Randy?”

  “You remember his nickname?”

  “Kinda stuck in my head. So how do you feel about that?”

  “Deserved what he got. 'Nuff said.”

  “I think I put something in about him somewhere, maybe … oh, right. It's in the bit after the currency announcement, when Donne talks with you – I mean you as the Secret Service director.”

  “Have I seen that? I don't remember it.”

  “Uh … not yet. Still got some cleaning up to do.”

  “Okay. I'll look forward to seeing it. I hope you made me – I mean her ugly.”

  “Well, sort of; I think I just dropped a hint or two, nothing major.”

  “Speaking of ugly, I'd love it if you could put something in about the primaries; those are sure getting nasty.”

  “Oh, just wait till the general after the conventions. I'll bet ugly and nasty won't begin to describe that one.”

  “The one in '10 was pretty bad … and '08 was awful.”

  “Oh, yeah. And you were on the inside for that.”