Measure of Danger
Page 26
Morris shut the door. “Ready to get started?”
“Think so,” Singleton said. “Waiting on Chris?”
“No,” Morris said and then sat down. The new liter bottle of Diet Coke on the table in front of him hissed as he unscrewed the cap and took a large sip. “We’re going to conduct a full, thorough operational debrief, but due to a current urgent situation, we need to skip out of sequence and ask a few targeted questions.” Morris looked at Kade.
“So, Flash, let’s review what you told me earlier for the team’s benefit. You never reached the extraction point on Kidders Butte because you ran into a number of armed men in the forest.”
“That’s right, I think somewhere between eight to twelve men. I heard them speaking Spanish. Sounded like Mexican Spanish to me, but I couldn’t swear to it.”
“Where did you run into them?” Lerner asked over the speakerphone.
Kade found Kidders Butte on the map, traced it with his bandaged finger, and made an imaginary circle.
“Somewhere along the south side of the butte, around here, I think.”
“And you think they were cartel?” Singleton asked.
“I assumed so. They uh—” Kade paused suddenly for five seconds.
“They what?” Morris prompted.
Kade shifted in his seat. What should he say? He’d most likely killed that guy in the forest. He stalled by coughing and drinking out of one of the two bottles of water he had with him. He drank it down halfway.
Attorney general’s guidelines.
“Sorry,” he said. “My throat’s still messed up from the smoke and everything. These guys had decent equipment. And they had uniforms. At least one guy had night-vision goggles, and I assume his rifle was an AK. I saw the lead guy right at the slightest glimmer of morning light and made out the wood rifle stock and receiver piece. The group saw me moving out and opened fire on me. I got out of there quick. I didn’t see any of them after that.”
“They shot at you?” Carla asked.
“Yes.” Duh, isn’t that what I just said?
“Were they wearing body armor?” Morris asked.
Kade shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He remembered he had dropped his Glock at gunpoint in the forest and wondered if it would ever turn up.
“How about while you were inside AgriteX—anything related to cartel activity there?” Morris asked.
“Yeah, earlier this week there was a major incident. I think the Chapter was worried there was a cartel source inside. All of the people in my group, the Associates, were called in for questioning on the lie detector, and they asked me a few questions around my possible involvement. They concluded that one of the Associates, a Carol Ries, was some kind of cartel informant, and they killed her on the spot.”
“How do you know?” Morris asked.
“I was there when they did it.”
Kade remembered something—he reached down to his hiking boot and got out the camera/recorder device and set it on the table. “There should be some photos and some audio of it on here.”
Morris looked at the tech.
“Greg, you want to process what he has on there?”
“I’ll get started on it right now.” Belmont scooped up the device and left the room.
Morris looked back at Kade.
“Nice work.”
“Hopefully the pictures came out,” Kade said.
“Do you know anything more about this Carol Ries?” Singleton asked.
“No, except that she was very smart,” Kade said. “Chemistry background, she said. Seemed kind of cold. All business.”
The room was silent, and he could sense all of the brains around him in overdrive. He just wasn’t sure if they were driving in the right direction and on the shortest route.
“Look,” Kade said. “I don’t know what the cartel is up to with AgriteX. Seems like a turf war or something. But I think the Chapter is up to something much bigger and more dangerous than that right now. They’re planning something on a large scale. The whole environmental program is just their camouflage.”
“Duly noted,” Morris said and checked his watch. “But first things first. Okay, Marquart is going to be here in a few minutes. We’ll reconvene when the debriefing is concluded. Questions?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“Okay, thanks everyone.”
Morris left the room, strode through the hallway, and took the stairs down instead of waiting for the elevator. SAC Caldwell and he would brief the assistant director at FBI headquarters in Washington, DC, on the situation over a video link in ten minutes.
CLEARCUT was now elevated to twenty-four-hour watch operations at the Strategic Information and Operation Center, or SOIC, at FBI HQ, and the Critical Incident Response Group had been engaged. The team would now get additional analyst and intelligence resources, and could share information at the national level more effectively with the DEA and Department of Homeland Security.
And in a little more than an hour, the SWAT team would go pluck Agent Jenkins off the top of Kidders Butte.
CHAPTER 55
Saturday, June 29
3:29 p.m. (PDT)
AgriteX
Looking through his high-power binoculars, Sentry Sheeley continued to scan the area for ground activity from the top of Chapter Hill, a magnificent spot and the highest point on AgriteX property, about a half mile north of the headquarters building. Thirty yards behind him, the towering three-bladed AgriteX wind turbine spun and hummed.
Sheeley had climbed Chapter Hill a number of times before, usually running as part of Sentry team training. Today he was alone, tasked to the hill as an observation post because it offered a panoramic view to the east.
He’d just given his eyes a short break from the binos when his ears picked up a noise—a vibration separate from the wind turbine, combined with a whirring, swishing sound. Seconds later, he saw a black helicopter emerge from the northeast and halt at a hover over Kidders Butte, a half mile due east of his position at about the same elevation. Sheeley raised the binos again and recognized the helicopter as a UH-60M Blackhawk, confirming it on the laminated identification sheet in the notebook next to him.
Sheeley had been given one of the new two-way radios with strong encryption prior to assuming his post, and he yanked it out of his cargo pocket.
“Base, this is Sheeley,” he said.
“This is Base. What’s up?”
“I’ve got a Blackhawk helicopter over Kidders Butte. Two people coming down on a rope. One already on the ground. Total of three on the ground now. You copy?”
“Roger.”
Then the voice over the radio changed.
“Sheeley, I want you to take out the helicopter,” Marshall Owens said. “Understood?”
“Roger that,” Sheeley said. “Out.”
Sheeley dropped the radio and leaned inside the pop tent right next to him. He picked up the SA-7 Grail, positioned it on his shoulder, and put the helicopter in the sight. After activating the launcher, he partially squeezed the trigger until he heard a buzzing sound. He tilted the tube back at a forty-five-degree angle into the sky, made sure his legs were in a firm stance, and squeezed the trigger the rest of the way.
The missile exploded out of the tube in a high arc, trailing gray smoke, then dropped toward the helicopter. Sheeley put down the launcher and picked up the binos again.
Five seconds later, he saw the missile impact. A small orange fireball erupted from the side of the craft and the helicopter careened and fell to the butte surface.
“Gotcha.”
CHAPTER 56
Saturday, June 29
4:04 p.m. (PDT)
FBI field office, Portland, Oregon
Morris and SAC Caldwell sat facing the camera on the opposite wall of the thirty-by-thirty War Room, a dedicated meeting room in sub-basement two. Caldwell was in his midfifties, shorter than average, and his stack of forehead wrinkles compressed and expanded like an accordion depending
on whether he was talking or listening. He was wearing a charcoal suit with the coat draped on the chair behind him.
Four monitors were positioned in front of them on a wide conference table, and at this moment, both agents were focused on the one farthest to the left, which displayed a link to the SWAT tactical operations center located at an annex adjacent to the PDX airfield.
On the other end of the link, Assistant Special Agent in Charge Bruce Warren had a grim look on his face.
“The aircraft crashed and we’ve lost communications with the pilots,” Warren said. “The last transmission over the radio said they had an inbound rocket.”
Morris thought of Velasquez and everyone else on board, made the sign of the cross, and said a silent prayer.
“Oh God,” Caldwell said. “How bad is it?”
“We have a Shadowhawk over the wreckage area now. The two SWAT agents who roped in, Pickney and Creviston, are okay and are with Agent Jenkins. Creviston managed to call in a report from his phone. They were getting Jenkins into his harness when the craft was hit, and the three of them were able to get out of the way as it came down. They ran back to the wreckage and managed to pull one person out—Agent Marrone.”
Warren paused and another video came up on the third monitor.
“Okay,” he said, “you can see them on the drone feed right now, zoomed in. Marrone is backed up against the tree and has a serious leg injury. They’re going to have to move again soon—the fire’s spreading.”
Caldwell and Morris could see the group of four now sitting about one hundred yards away from the burning helicopter.
“And the others?” Caldwell asked.
“It doesn’t look good,” Warren said. “It looks like the three agents on the ground tried to get the others out of the wreckage, but they could only pull out Marrone due to the intense fire.”
“Jesus,” Morris said, and took a deep breath. “How are we getting these four out now?”
“We have a second SAR mission underway,” Warren said. “A Blackhawk from the Oregon National Guard aviation company out of Salem is picking up another SWAT team and will be en route. We couldn’t get another aircraft here quick enough. We’re lucky to have a good relationship with that Guard team—their Blackhawk has flare countermeasures, unlike the one that went down.”
“I thought the butte area was clear of any hostiles,” Caldwell said.
“It is, as far as we can see,” Warren said. “There’s no visible activity on the ground except for our four agents. Once we have those four clear, Joe, we’ll look to you and headquarters for guidance on recovery. We’ll plan on continuing the drone surveillance support through the evening.”
“We need to be patient and observe the situation before further action,” Caldwell said in coarse monotone. “I don’t want agents caught in the crossfire between these cartel soldiers and the AgriteX militia if they’re gearing up for a battle. If they’re going to slug it out, it’s in the middle of the forest, and we can contain it there.”
Caldwell turned to Morris. “There’ll be a few others from the CIRG showing up here to support us. An agent from the Communications Exploitation Section and another behavioral analyst should be here shortly.”
The Critical Incident Response Group (CIRG) was an on-call FBI team used to support the Bureau during a national crisis. Morris knew he was losing control of his operation, but the way things were going, he was happy to have the national-level support.
“Okay, we’ll get them up to speed,” Morris said.
“We’ll need to work with Oregon state and local police on providing security for the closest residential areas,” Caldwell said. “Try to find out from your source how many employees were at AgriteX round the clock at the time he left. Having to evacuate people from that AgriteX building is the scenario I’m most worried about.”
Morris nodded. “Okay.” Caldwell’s plan wasn’t aggressive, but after losing four agents in the crash, the ongoing safety of agents would be in the spotlight.
And knowing that Chris Velasquez was one of the four dead made Morris feel like his guts were getting ripped out.
CHAPTER 57
Saturday, June 29
7:29 p.m. (PDT)
Tillamook State Forest
Except for Messia and Sandoval, who sat next to each other inside their tent, the members of Team Echo were spread out on Hill 2230, northeast of Kidders Butte, with digital camouflage space blankets draped over their heads to reduce their infrared signature from aerial detection. A light rain had started ten minutes ago, and that made Messia feel a little more comfortable.
At Messia’s direction, Sandoval called the teams over the radio in sequence and finished with Team Delta.
“Hey, the guys are hungry so we’re moving up dinnertime,” Sandoval said to Alvarado. “We need you to pick up the pizza at eight. Any problems with that?”
“No, that’s cool,” Alvarado said.
“Okay, we’ll see you later tonight,” Sandoval said.
Sandoval listened to the rain patter on the tent’s fabric above his head. He wished he was with one of the lead teams, but Messia had become accustomed to having him close. He turned to Messia and said, “They’ll do better with a bit more daylight left. They haven’t had enough training in the dark.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Messia said. “And now we’ve got some rain, which will make it harder for drones. We’ll be done before we need to use any vehicle headlights. It’s going to take the feds some time to get their shit together, but they’ll be back.”
When Messia, Sandoval, and several members of Team Echo saw the Blackhawk crash on Kidders Butte, Messia concluded it had to be a DEA or FBI bird. His teams all responded that they hadn’t fired at the aircraft, thank God. To his surprise, there was no swarm of local law enforcement following the incident that his teams could see. Another helicopter appeared on the east edge of the butte for about twenty minutes and then departed. There was still a fire burning on the butte, but it had gotten smaller.
This whole event, in Messia’s mind, ended his worry that AgriteX was collaborating with the feds. Owens was now trying to scare him off. Shooting down the helicopter seemed suicidal, but then again, Marshall always seemed to have a death wish. Messia thought he was right to trust his instincts and move his command and control off Kidders Butte. Marshall had to have known Messia’s team was on the butte and wanted him to get bogged down there.
Sandoval received a text message and turned to Messia.
“Ramos says his observer is now in position. And I already checked on the mortar team. They’re ready to go.”
Messia nodded. He was confident in the targeting data since he’d personally taken the GPS reading in the AgriteX lobby last Monday during his visit.
“Great, let’s walk the mortars right through their front door.”
CHAPTER 58
Saturday, June 29
7:49 p.m. (PDT)
AgriteX
Positioned in the center of the 120,000-square-foot AgriteX building roof, Owens and Guardian Stone heard the message come over one of Owens’s radios. It was barely audible above the rooftop hum of ventilation units and their large fans. The drizzle had also picked up in the last few minutes, creating more background noise.
“This is Branson, Team Two. We’ve got some movement. Five or six people out there. Movin’ real slow and wearin’ camouflage. Got another eight hotspots on the thermal.”
Owens’s ten Sentry teams were regrouped into five teams of double the size, and they were fanned out around the outside of the headquarters, about three hundred yards into the forest. Owens looked at his ruggedized Samsung tablet PC, which showed views from the exterior cameras. He toggled between the camera views but couldn’t pick out any movement from his perspective.
“Any other teams see anything?” Owens asked.
“This is Osterweis, Team Four. I’ve got people out there too. Think I can pick out two more on the thermal.”
There were eight Sentries on the rooftop, two per side. One Sentry per pair was set up with an M24 bolt-action sniper rifle and lay in position at the edge of the wall on a perch built out of two-by-four lumber with cushioned mats draped over the top. The other Sentry acted as a spotter and had an M240 machine gun ready for engaging targets closer to the building.
“So are these FBI or cartel targets out there?” Stone asked Owens. Stone was now the lone Guardian remaining at AgriteX, and Owens had picked him because of his strong performance and top Knowledge and Loyalty Index scores.
“I’m almost certain they’re cartel,” Owens said. “The FBI wouldn’t be coming in this quick. We don’t have hostages, and even though we took down one of their birds, they’d take more time to plan before coming in. I’m sure they’re watching us at this point, but that’s okay. If their attention is here with us, that’s a good thing.”
Stone nodded. “I’ll give the L-FAC a heads-up that—”
At that second, a deafening crack-thump thundered thirty yards away. Owens and Stone collapsed into a ball and tried to cover their heads. There was a three-second pause. Owens grabbed the roof channel radio. He knew what that sound was.
“Take cover, we’ve got mortars inbound!”
In the next two minutes, which felt like fifteen, explosions ripped through the building around them. Stone dragged Owens inside the roof exit and shut the thick steel door behind them. Owens wasn’t counting, but the building violently shook from around twenty explosions. Then, at once, they stopped.
“I’ve got to get you down to the vault before there’s more,” Stone said.