by Gordon Ryan
“I’m with you, Kevin. The IRA was no longer recruiting disaffected lads, but other causes were always in the market.”
“True enough. Such lads are needed in many places. Young Sean and some of his mates have worked with another of me associates from the old days, Devlin Hegarty.”
Pug was familiar with Hegarty’s name. “He didn’t lack experience from the old days, did he?”
“Right you are, General. Top marks. Anyway, Hegarty took young Sean under his wing and they’ve been working far and yonder, North Africa mostly, sometimes among the Islamic radicals, working both sides, if you know what I mean. My generation called them wild geese. Soldiers of fortune, I think the Americans call them. Mercenaries by any name perform the same function, regardless the paymaster.”
“Is this going somewhere, Kevin?” Pug asked, his patience growing a bit thin.
“Ah, General,” Donahue said, removing his pipe from his side coat pocket and knocking it against the sole of his shoe, then beginning to fill the bowl, “sure now you should have been born and raised where your grandfather was so you could understand the Irish way. There’s no need to rush a good story. The ending is just as satisfying with a bit of learnin’ along the way. With peaceful joy running rampant on the old sod, what else have I got to occupy my time?”
Pug smiled and nodded his assent. “Sorry, Kevin. In your own time, then.”
“That’s a good lad,” the older man said, putting a match to his pipe. “For the past few years, Devlin Hegarty has been doing the odd job for a private security firm, an American firm, called Strategic Initiatives.”
Pug sat up straighter, his attention now riveted.
Donahue nodded. “Thought that might be of interest. Here’s the kicker, General, darlin’. Some of my old associates tell me that Hegarty has been recruiting from among our younger lot, forming a para-military squad. But he has also been recruiting some of the disaffected Islamic lot in North Africa, promising them the pot o’ gold and a chance to meet Allah. And to meet him on American soil after having dispatched Satan’s followers first. If ye get my meaning.”
“How do the two tie in?” Pug asked.
“Well, my sister is attending a funeral in Derry this week, seeing to her oldest son, the aforementioned young Sean Kilpatrick, after his body was returned from . . . San Antonio. He was the Strategic Initiatives team leader who brought down the terrorist squad. He caught the unfortunate bullet in the head. But from what the grapevine in Ireland says, General, the terrorist lot also worked for Strategic Initiatives. Sean worked for Hegarty, Hegarty worked for Strategic Initiatives. Hegarty also recruited the Islamic lot, both North Africans and American Muslims. Tight little family group it seems.”
Pug was absolutely silent, his mental gears working overtime.
“You mean—”
“I mean, General, that you may be chasing the wrong fox. There’s another point to clarify. The asshole you captured in Indonesia, the illustrious Mr. Wolff—it seems I was supposed to find out about him and to relay the information to the Americans. Someone wanted you to know they were coming. And I was the fool in the middle. Not proud of that, lad, not proud at all.”
Pug remained silent for several seconds, his thoughts ruminating. “You’re saying the terror teams that hit on American soil, even the larger mall attacks, might have been recruited and planned by Strategic Initiatives? That both attackers and defenders were planned by the same group?” he asked, seeking to clarify his thoughts.
“It wouldn’t be the first time in history, lad. Al Qaida is certainly having a field day around the world, but are they the real culprit here in America? Even Al Qaida may not know who set this up. They probably don’t care. Americans are getting killed. Allah is being praised. And World Jihad is getting the credit. Remember, for the most part, these disaffected groups work in independent cells. They might have been duped as well, since the objective meets with their stated goals. But who stands to benefit from this new American legislation? As these attacks on American soil increase, and they will, General, who will provide the tens of thousands of security forces and surveillance equipment throughout America? Who was on the scene immediately when the San Antonio terrorist lot were, uh, coincidentally observed in preparation and then overcome by an attack of lead poisoning? And that’s not the end of the issue, lad. From what I’ve been told, there’s lots more to come, what your military calls ‘blue-on-blue’ engagements.”
Pug thought about the dreaded military term for friendly fire, considering for a moment what Donahue could mean.
“Are you saying some of our own military is going to turn rogue? Attack other units?”
“Probably not active duty military forces. I don’t know the details, but my source seems to feel that some of your federal agencies are in danger of internal attack, most likely from the western militia units. It’s all tied into this growing secession mania out west. And they did attack federal agencies last year in California, didn’t they? He says the militia is also going to start cracking down on illegal aliens, not only Mexicans, but those who they think are of Middle Eastern origin. They feel the growing public support for the secession of western states gives them legitimacy. If they kill a few hundred Mexicans, it will make border crossings a bit more risky.”
Pug thought about that for a moment, accepting the possibility. “You’re confident of your sources in this, Kevin?”
Donahue shook his head. “No, it’s a secret world we deal in, lad, and information is always suspect. I’ve just admitted the fallacy of my prior information, but my source this time —an Irishman well-placed inside Washington, I might add—had no reason to exaggerate or mislead. He’s been accurate in the past. That’s the first story I’ve got for you this morning, my friend. Proving it’s up to you. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d misled you or put you on the wrong track. Wolff seems to have been a pawn to point in the wrong direction. They probably thought you’d kill him rather than take him prisoner. They wanted it to have the look of foreign origin. Al Qaida is your enemy and they probably are behind much of the turmoil, but someone else, someone here, in America, has taken it to new heights. Unless I read it wrong, Strategic Initiatives has simply tapped in to some of the netherworld of terrorist groups and used them to achieve their objectives, and SI’s objectives. Until I received this information, I had no reason to suspect that someone in America was working both sides of the street, so to speak.”
“Nor did I,” Pug replied. “You said that was the first story you had for me?” he added, standing up.
“The second story is shorter. I don’t know much. In fact, I know nothing of the details, but,” Donahue hesitated, again knocking his pipe on the heel of his shoe before standing up to face Pug. “Word is that someone from America has procured a nuclear device. A small, portable nuclear device, according to my source.”
“Has procured, or will procure?”
“Sorry, lad, has already procured,” Donahue repeated.
“Is it in America yet?” Pug asked.
Donahue shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Thank you, Kevin. It’s certainly not good news, but thank you.”
“When this is all over, General, if it’s ever over, come home and see the old sod the proper way. No business, no intrigue. I’ll personally take you down the Ring of Kerry, we’ll play a few rounds of golf, and you can see what your ancestors left when they ran away toward the American dream. God’s blessings on ya, lad. And sorry for the bad news. It seems that double dealing was not limited to Wolff. You’re damn lucky that Wolff is behind bars. You’ve got some ferrets under your own umbrella, it would seem. Given the furor over this new legislation, and what my inside source intimated, the links may go deeper than the security firm, even into the venerable halls of Congress or even the president’s cabinet. It would seem that all Americans are not . . .well, American.”
Donahue watched the younger man for a few moments, then smiled broadly and his voice gr
ew lighter. “You remember how things turned out between our two Irish compatriots, Michael Collins and Èamon de Valera. Politicians switching sides or looking out for number one is nothing new. Never assume the enemy is over the other side of the barbed wire. He might be on your side of the barricade. Oh, and give my regards to your young associate, Carlos. If he’s listening,” he nodded toward the white van parked in the restricted zone about a hundred yards distant, “top ‘o the morning to you, Carlos.” Donahue grinned and gave a gentle wave.
Pug reached to shake Donahue’s hand. “Thank you, Kevin. I owe you another one. A big one, it would seem. Safe trip home.”
Chapter 35
Eisenhower Executive Office Building
Trojan Headquarters
July
Pug reached to turn off the tape and the men in the room sat silent as they contemplated the information that had been provided in the audio and written transcript. Around the table were Pug Connor, Carlos Castro, George Granata, Director of the FBI, Paul Duffield, Deputy Director of the CIA, and President William Snow. The president spoke first.
“When was this meeting, Pug?” the president asked.
Pug glanced at his watch. “Seven hours ago, Mr. President.”
“George, have you or Paul uncovered any corroborative evidence to support this information?”
“No, sir,” Granata responded, “but we can’t afford to ignore it.”
“Granted,” the president nodded. “I want this given top priority, gentlemen. Pug, how confident are you about Strategic Initiative’s connection to the domestic attacks?”
“Mr. President, it’s all speculation at this point, but we can draw some valid assumptions. If only three cities were selected for the Domestic Tranquility pilot program, it seems coincidental that one of the ground attacks took place in one of those cities, San Antonio, and was thwarted, with no survivors among the terrorists. However, that’s pretty thin evidence to confirm their involvement. Mr. Castro has put two Trojan operatives on it and they’re checking with former military associates who now work for SI, supervising some of the troopers they have in the field. No information yet.”
“Do we have any reason to believe, I mean any reason, that the transfer of a nuclear weapon into the U.S. has occurred?” the president pressed.
The CIA director responded. “We’ve not had any intelligence to that effect, but again, we can’t afford not to take it seriously, Mr. President.”
‘Agreed. Take every measure you have to assure we cover every entry point. I know the difficulty. Thousands of containers arriving every day, tens of thousands of trucks on the road across the nation. Just find it, gentlemen. If it’s here, find it.”
“It may take care of itself, Mr. President,” Pug said.
The group went silent. Then the president nodded his understanding. “If SI is involved, they may find it like they uncovered the San Antonio attack to prove how well their program is working?”
“Yes, sir. But I agree with Mr. Duffield—we can’t afford to make any mistakes.”
“That will do it, gentlemen. I need to stay with Pug for a few moments.”
The other department heads left the room and the president took his seat again at the head of the EEOB conference table.
“Pug, I’ve had a heads up from DOJ about some court-ordered action that will transpire tomorrow. As you predicted, without any hard evidence of terrorist involvement, Jean Wolff is going to be released on Monday morning in Illinois.”
“I thought that might happen. I’ll handle it, Mr. President.”
“Do you need any further authorization?”
“No, sir. The Troy designation you gave for the initial capture covered all contingencies. We just need to be a bit more careful here in America.”
“Do you think he’ll leave the country immediately?”
Pug hesitated for a moment before answering. “No, sir. If he knows he was betrayed by Strategic Initiatives, he’ll be looking for payback. He’s not a foolish man, but he just might feel obligated to take revenge.”
“That’s in our favor, right?”
“I don’t know, Mr. President. It’s always helpful if two of our enemies decide to kill each other, but it’s rare. I’ll discuss it with Mr. Castro and my staff. But rest assured, sir, we’ll watch it closely.”
Chapter 36
United States District Court
Northern District of Illinois
Western Division
Rockford, Illinois
July
United States attorney Gail Masterton slid several manila folders into her briefcase, rose from her table in front of the judicial bench, and stepped through the waist-high swinging gate, departing the court room. Judge Marshall Alfred had just ordered the release of a federal prisoner, Jean Minards, AKA Jean Wolff, from his detention at Thomson Federal Correctional Facility, Thomson, Illinois.
The hearing, held in the United States Courthouse on South Court Street in Rockford, had lasted less than twenty minutes. Despite the federal government’s case for retention of a man whom Ms. Masterton claimed was a direct threat to the United States of America, Judge Alfred rejected all arguments, citing lack of substantial evidence and accusing the government of having detained Mr. Minards illegally. Ms. Masterton was grateful the judge had declined to address the method of Wolff’s capture.
Less than five minutes following the judge’s ruling, Wolff, dressed in a solid black suit, white shirt and red tie, had departed the courthouse, entered a black limousine, Illinois license plate VIP 6, and immediately disappeared.
Almost disappeared.
On the east side of the courthouse, Carlos Castro sat in the passenger seat of a black Suburban with Lieutenant Holcomb behind the wheel. Two other Trojan vehicles of different make and color, call sign Baker 2 and Baker 3, enveloped the courthouse, parked against the curb, one of them double-parked. As the limo pulled away from the front steps of the building, Castro’s vehicle fell in behind, radioing instructions to the two other pursuit vehicles who moved to parallel streets to enable switching of their chase vehicle as the limo proceeded.
Six blocks west, VIP 6 pulled into a large parking facility, driving up the ramp to the fourth level. Only one switch had been made in the prior six blocks, placing Baker 3 in close pursuit while Baker 1 fell two blocks behind. Baker 3 entered the garage slightly behind the limo.
At the next-to-top level, a parking attendant stood beside several orange cones, blocking further entrance. As VIP 6 approached, he removed two cones and the car swiftly entered the circular ramp, heading to the top level. The attendant waved off Baker 3, placing a No Entry sign in front of the up-ramp. Baker 3 immediately turned left, stopping in front of the stairwell where Lieutenant JG Gomez, a Navy Seal, exited the passenger side and raced up the stairs. As he arrived and opened the door leading out onto the uncovered parking area, he spotted seven limos parked side by side. VIP 6 pulled into an empty space, second from the end.
Immediately a medium-height male in a plain dark suit, white shirt, and red tie exited each vehicle. They all wore a black balaclava over their heads, and in an orchestrated move, they clustered together, then swiftly jostled between vehicles, one man entering a separate limo, which then departed the top floor, entering the down ramp and heading for the street. Gomez noted that the license plates each read a non-sequential pattern consisting of VIP 3, 5, 6, 9, 12, 13, and 15. All of the vehicles were black with heavily tinted windows.
Lieutenant Gomez raced back down one flight of stairs to Baker 3, entering the vehicle and transmitting to Baker 1 and 2.
“Subject vehicle is exiting the parking facility accompanied by six other limos of identical appearance. Target has switched vehicles with six other men, similarly dressed. Impossible to ascertain which vehicle contains target. Baker 3 will continue to shadow VIP 6.”
Carlos listened to the message from his vantage point in Baker 1, across the street. He watched as all seven limousines exited the parking fa
cility, turning alternately left and right into the flow of traffic. “Baker 2, follow VIP 3 east, Baker 1 will take VIP 13 west. It’s the luck of the draw, guys. Report destination as determined.” Baker 2 and 3 acknowledged Castro’s direction and began pursuit.
In VIP 9 with his balaclava removed, Jean Wolff lost sight of the remaining VIP vehicles as his driver merged onto the highway, heading south on I-39. Six hours later, with several switchbacks and detours, including retracing about twenty miles north on I-39, VIP 9 crossed through Springfield, Illinois. In Springfield’s White Oaks Mall parking lot, Wolff changed vehicles to a dark gray Ford Taurus. As he entered the passenger side of the vehicle, the man behind the wheel nodded to him, started the engine, and immediately left the parking area.
“Welcome back to the world, Mr. Wolff. We’ve got about four hours ahead, including a few detours, then your flight from St. Louis to Spokane. Devlin Hegarty is my name. I’m SI’s field operations director. Mr. Harford sends his regards and said to tell you he arranged for your release. You’ll find ample funds, passport, ID documents and plane tickets in the briefcase in the back seat. Additional funds have been placed in your usual account. Mr. Harford also said to tell you that Bright Point is fully operational. Anything else you think you might need, I’m here to help.”
Wolff was silent for several moments, glancing in the back seat at the briefcase. “What’s the status on the package from Holland?”
Hegarty nodded. “All taken care of. I saw to the shipment myself in Amsterdam. It should cross the border into eastern Washington state in about thirty-six hours.”