Measure of Danger

by Jay Klages

  “We’re out of time,” Morris said. “Why is this taking so long?”

  “Poor signal strength,” EOC said. “The model of phone that Pierce is using doesn’t store the contacts or other information in the cloud where we can grab it. We’re having to go to the actual phone, and the phone has 128-bit encryption on it, which we’re now finally through.”

  After a minute, a diagram of folders appeared on the phone.

  “Okay, where from here?” EOC asked.

  Kade looked at the folder list—five folders titled with the single letters A, E, G, S, and Z.

  “Upload the contacts from G, S, and Z,” he said.

  “Any particular order?” EOC said. “It’s going to be one at a time on the upload, and the phone is almost out of power.”

  “And you need to hurry—that location has been targeted,” Lockwood said.

  Zulus won’t have phones. Sentries are leading the attack.

  “Okay,” Kade said. “Upload S, then G, then Z. Can you look into a contact record while they are uploading?”

  “Yes, I can do that,” EOC said. “Here’s the first one in the S folder.”

  A contact record screen popped up for a Barry Adams.

  “Scroll down, please,” Kade said.

  Kade watched as the screen moved down through the name, phone number, and personal e-mail address fields to a field labeled PIN#.

  “Stop,” Kade said.

  In that field was an eight-digit number.

  “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do,” Kade said. “You’re going to send a high-priority text message to every contact you’re uploading, and that message is going to be the contact’s own PIN number.”

  “I don’t think we have time to do that,” EOC said.

  “You have to figure it out,” Kade said.

  “You’ve got less than ten minutes,” Lockwood said.

  “Find a way!” Morris yelled.

  CHAPTER 71

  Sunday, June 30

  2:56 a.m. (EDT)

  Milton, Massachusetts

  The Camp Walpole D8 Crew bus had avoided I-95, taking secondary roads northeast past Canton to Route 138 and following it north through the Blue Hills Reservation. Five minutes later, the bus turned off the highway and entered a residential neighborhood next to the Blue Hills Golf Club. After weaving through the quiet streets, the bus made a final left turn and headed straight down a row of houses toward a cul-de-sac.

  At four hundred yards out, Robertson and Wolf could see two royal-blue-and-white police cars illuminated under the streetlights, parked in front of the gated residence at 15 Laurel Place. Wolf slowed the bus to less than five miles per hour. After a quick conversation with Wolf, Robertson got on the intercom.

  “Listen up, Crews! We’ve got two Milton police cars at the target, standing between justice and your freedom. So we have a slight change in plan. Crew One, as we come to a halt, your side will be facing the two cars. The team member closest to the window will target both police cars with a full clip of ammo and then stop. Your buddy will secure you an extra clip from the storage bin.

  “Crew Two, when we stop and Crew One is finished targeting the cars, rows one to ten will exit out the front with me, and neutralize the car on the right. Rows eleven to twenty out the rear to neutralize the car on the left. Then proceed as planned at the front gate. Roger?”

  “Roger!”

  “Crew One, when Crew Two is off-loaded, your entire crew will exit out the rear to the lower section of the western wall, with ladders and smoke grenades, and proceed as planned. Roger?”

  “Roger!”

  “Okay, Crew One, drop your windows and wait for my command. I need everyone to be silent.”

  Amidst the clatter of the bus windows sliding down, Robertson picked up the two-way radio on the channel Sentry Severa was monitoring in the trailing SUV.

  “Severa, we’ve got two police cars we’re gonna take out now. Watch our backs in case they’ve called backup.”

  Severa did a slow U-turn and stopped.

  “Roger, I’ve got your back.”

  CHAPTER 72

  Sunday, June 30

  2:57 a.m. (EDT)

  The White House Situation Room

  Everyone’s attention was focused on two screens—a video feed showing a bird’s-eye view of the solitary RV target in the forested park area and a live feed being streamed by the Tomahawk’s own camera in flight.

  “Sir, our Tomahawk operator has one minute remaining to redirect it,” Ridder said.

  “Why would we redirect it?” Greer asked. “We’re looking at the target now, right?”

  “Yes, we are,” Director Hassett said. “But we’re still uploading data from the target area—data that can help us kill or capture more Chapter members. A phone contact list.”

  “How much data do we have?” Greer asked.

  “About half of the directory,” Hassett said.

  “Any idea on how accurate the list is?” Greer asked.

  “No, we can’t say for sure,” Hassett said. “But we’ll have the names to go after.”

  “Assuming it’s accurate, you’ll have to locate all of these people,” Greer said. “And that may take days or weeks, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hassett said.

  Greer folded his hands and rested his chin on top of them while looking at the screen showing the RV.

  “Quick recommendations—hit the target or redirect?” Greer asked, and went around the room for responses. McAlister, Bivens, and Ridder recommended hitting the target. Conroy and Hassett recommended redirecting.

  “Keep the missile on target,” Greer ordered.

  Twenty seconds later, the black-and-white video of the missile showed its precise route threaded through a small clearing of trees right up until impact with the RV.

  The other overhead video feed displayed a billowing dust cloud and shock wave that split, uprooted, and shook all of the trees within several hundred feet of where the target used to be.

  CHAPTER 73

  Sunday, June 30

  2:58 a.m. (EDT)

  Milton, Massachusetts

  At fifty yards from Congressman Seale’s home, Robertson thought he could make out that each police car only had one officer seated inside.

  “I think they’ve got one officer posted outside and their partner posted inside,” Robertson said to Wolf. “I like the odds. This shouldn’t be a problem if we get it done quick.”

  “Yeah, all right, here we go.” Wolf began to ease the bus to a stop.

  Robertson unholstered one of his Sig Sauers. As he reached for the intercom microphone, his cell phone chimed and buzzed with an inbound text message. He could hear the same from Wolf’s phone, sitting somewhere on the console. At this hour, it had to be from headquarters.

  A final message?

  He glanced at the text for a split second, saw it was a number, and ignored it. Wolf also did a quick check of his phone, shrugged, and gave Robertson an annoyed look.

  “Now!” Robertson said over the intercom while pointing toward the police cars.

  Crew One opened an enormous volley of fire on the two cars from the windows. In less than ten seconds, the firing was complete and the cars were pocked full of holes. There was no return fire. Robertson felt an ordinary level of nervousness, but suddenly he felt weird. For some reason, the text message he’d glanced at remained in his mind, like he’d looked at a bright light and the impression was still there.

  “Crew Two, let’s go!” he yelled without the intercom and signaled with his hand for everyone to get up. He opened the bus door and began to head down the stairs, but then staggered out onto the pavement. The eight-digit number still burned in his mind, grew larger, and now he could see it.

  39804772

  He shook his head, but he couldn’t get rid of it. Then the stoplight graphic on the side of his vision turned red and started to blink.

  There was a sharp pain inside his head, and he felt his body hittin
g the asphalt.

  What’s going on? Did I just get shot in the head?

  Robertson saw his crew members gathering around him in confusion as his consciousness began to slip away.

  CHAPTER 74

  Sunday, June 30

  12:58 a.m. (MDT)

  Interstate 50, Nevada

  Over the fourteen-hour drive, the relocation van containing the four Sentries and three Associates traveled from AgriteX through Salem, over the Cascade Range to Bend, continuing southeast into Nevada using small two-lane highways. Bathroom and stretch breaks were no longer than ten minutes every three hours and were chosen in remote pull-off areas. The Sentries seemed to be familiar with the route.

  When night fell at about nine o’clock, Lin and Daniel slept while Walter stayed awake as long as he could. What would this next stage in Nevada mean? What would the Associate program become?

  Everyone had their individual hopes for advancement and reward, but promises had been broken. He was supposed to join a small, elite group of physicians on the headquarters staff, or be positioned for a leadership role at the National Institutes of Health. Daniel would climb the law enforcement ladder. Lin would be a star in American-Chinese business development.

  But Carol had been executed, Hank was probably dead, and if Kade was alive, his days were numbered once he got back on the network.

  And now he was complicit in Kade’s disloyalty. He was trapped.

  The road signs showed their route had merged into I-80 east of Reno and continued for about thirty minutes before exiting and heading south on a Lincoln Highway, Route 50. It looked like Sentry Patrick, seated behind him, was the only Sentry who was awake other than the driver, Bernard.

  Walter had shut his eyes for a few minutes when he heard an almost simultaneous chime of the Sentry phones. This had occurred twice during the drive, and the Sentries had seemed highly interested in the messages. Bernard and Maravar proceeded to check their messages while the other two slept. And that’s when Walter noticed something was wrong with Bernard. Bernard grabbed his head with both hands and cried out in pain.

  The van drifted left, across the center lane stripe to the other side. Walter could feel the vehicle hitting coarse gravel on the road shoulder. He considered unbuckling his seat belt and scrambling to the front to grab the wheel, but it all happened too fast. The van left the road and veered into the desert, bouncing and smashing through brush and running over small boulders.

  “What’s going on?” Sentry Ash yelled from the front passenger seat as he woke up, but got no answer from Bernard. Ash tried to steady the wheel, but there was nowhere to steer at this point.

  Ten seconds later, the van plunged into a shallow wash and everyone was thrown forward as it came to a sudden halt.

  A struggle broke out in the rear seats. Daniel pulled Maravar’s Sig Sauer out of the holster while Maravar looked unconscious, and then Daniel pistol-whipped Patrick with two hard whacks.

  “Run!” Daniel said to Lin as he slid the side door of the van open and jumped out, pulling Lin with him. Walter followed her and they both ran into the darkness while Daniel yanked open the front passenger door. Both of the front-seat airbags had deployed, and Daniel had a gun pressed against Ash’s temple before the stunned Ash could think to draw his own weapon. Daniel saw Bernard was motionless in a tangle of seat belt with his eyes open and glazed.

  “Get out and down on your knees,” he yelled.

  Ash slid out looking stunned, and then stood and turned toward him. “Come on, man, you’re not really gonna—”

  Daniel lowered the pistol and fired a shot through Ash’s knee. Ash crumpled to the ground in agony.

  “I’ve fucking had it,” Daniel said. He checked Ash for any other weapons and found a small hunting knife. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Patrick stepping up to the second row of seats to come out the side door, so he pivoted and fired two shots into the door area.

  “Get out and down on the ground! Now! Hands on your head!”

  Patrick stumbled out and onto the ground. His hand was bleeding from a bullet ricochet.

  “What happened?” Patrick asked.

  “Shut up,” Daniel said. He pressed the gun barrel against Patrick’s knee and squeezed the trigger. Patrick screamed out in pain and never stopped moaning after that. Daniel stood in the glow of the van’s interior light and caught his breath.

  “Need any help?” Walter asked.

  Daniel swung around and pointed the gun at Walter’s head for a split second before lowering it. “Sorry,” Daniel said. He could see Lin now standing at the fringe of the light. “I didn’t see you guys come back.”

  “Should we call somebody?” Walter asked.

  “I don’t know about you,” Daniel said, “but I don’t want to be found for a while. Who knows if the van or their phones are being tracked. We can get some food and water from the van, and we can just walk or flag down a car if we need to. Tie these guys up and leave them with some water. See if they have any cash and ditch the weapons. Then we’ll call in a tip to someone where they are later today.”

  “I saw we’re in Eureka County,” Walter said.

  “We can go call the Eureka County sheriff, then,” Daniel said. “Let’s destroy all of their phones.”

  Lin picked up Ash’s phone from the front seat and gave him a hard kick to the ribs. She looked at the illuminated phone screen.

  “It’s just after one o’clock.” She set the phone down on a large rock and smashed it with another.

  “You both feel good enough to walk?” Daniel asked.

  Walter nodded and looked at Lin, and she nodded and said, “Yeah.”

  “No one’s watching us anymore,” Daniel said. “No more cameras or microphones.”

  Walter’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t believe it. We’re free.”

  “Oh my God,” Lin said, “this is going to be the best sunrise ever.”

  CHAPTER 75

  Sunday, June 30

  7:00 a.m. (EDT)

  The White House Oval Office

  President Darryl M. Greer looked steadily into the camera as his address broadcast live. “Earlier this morning our country suffered one of the most ruthless and despicable terror attacks since 9/11. An American-based organization calling itself the Chapter launched hundreds of attacks in an attempt to assassinate our members of Congress in their home states.

  “At this time we know that three of our members, Senator Jared Scheider of Kentucky, Congressman Steve Gramling of Minnesota, and Congressman Carl Lasker of Louisiana were killed in this unspeakable atrocity and act of evil. Our prayers are with their families.

  “We know that ten more members were seriously wounded. We are withholding names today as we are in discussion with their families. I ask for your prayers in their recovery.

  “We know that four family members of our Congress members were killed and seventeen were wounded. We know that thirty-one law-enforcement personnel have been killed and fifty-seven wounded in doing their utmost to protect and defend our members and their families.

  “As this horrible attack was directed against hundreds of members of our Congress, it was the heroic actions and, for some, the ultimate sacrifice, of our FBI agents, state and local law enforcement officials, and emergency responders that prevented many more fatalities and casualties. Your country has the highest gratitude for your heroic efforts.

  “We will have further details on this attack, the Chapter, and its members as this day and week progress, and we will give you the most accurate information possible. We have already conducted aggressive counterterror operations against the Chapter to dismantle its ability to cause harm.

  “Our citizens and the families of our elected officials can be assured that I will do everything in my power to bring these murderers to justice and ensure that this threat is eliminated.

  “I ask for your prayers today for our Congress, our courageous public officials, and for their families.”

  CHAPTE
R 76

  Saturday, September 28

  3:12 p.m. (EDT)

  Alexandria, Virginia

  Kade left this particular visit for last and decided he’d just show up unannounced. It was worth a shot to see if he was here.

  He walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. A minute later, Jerry Lerner opened the door with a happy, surprised look on his face.

  “Well, if it ain’t Flash in the flesh.” He came out on the stoop with a big smile and lowered his voice. “Took me a sec with the cap and mustache. How the hell are ya?”

  “Good!”

  Kade gave him a hug when Lerner offered a handshake, and the older man seemed to appreciate it.

  “I honestly thought I’d never see you again,” Lerner said. “How did ya get my address?”

  “I talked to Rob after the funeral for Chris Velasquez and he gave it to me.”

  Lerner’s smile faded, and he gave a solemn nod. “Come on in.”

  “I should have called. I’m sorry,” Kade said. “But with everything that happened, I’m pretty skittish about being on the phone.”

  “Not a problem. The missus is out for a coupla hours, so I can suspend my honey-do list. I was fixin’ to have a beer. Want one?” he asked as they passed through the kitchen.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Lerner twisted the tops off two bottles of Rolling Rock and handed him one. “What brings ya back in town? I thought you were going back to Boston after you testified.”

  “Not quite. I have to appear before the House Intelligence Subcommittee on Terrorism.”

  Lerner gave him a fake look of pain. “Sounds like fun.” He picked up a jar of peanuts. “So, are you goin’ in witness protection?”

  “Yeah. Next time you hear from me, I’ll be going by the name Kyle Smith.”

  Lerner nodded. “Kyle Smith . . . That sounds all right. Let’s head out back.”

  They went out the sliding glass door to the deck overlooking a small yard and vegetable garden. Next to it was a spot for a basketball hoop where the driveway curled around the side of the house and stopped. A picnic table was centered in the deck, and they took seats on the benches facing each other.