Outside in the parking lot, a fight broke out among some teenagers and security stepped in to keep them in line. Everyone was so engrossed in their smartphones, taking pictures or videos of the altercation, that no one paid attention to the two men who were wearing light beige coveralls pushing a metal crate into the theatre’s maintenance room.
*****
“We’re driving around in circles,” Viktor spoke over speakerphone. “Do we have any updates from the Albermarle County PD?”
“Nope. The witnesses couldn’t get a clear view of the man,” Nathan replied.
The Guardians were slowly making their way back to DC. Viktor was riding with Marissa in her Ford Escort clunker. He had wanted her to ditch the vehicle in a junkyard, but she had refused. She insisted on driving it back herself, much to the other Guardians’ relief, but Viktor wasn’t happy about riding in the sorry-ass excuse of a car with her.
About an hour ago, Tim had alerted them of a traffic stop gone bad in the Charlottesville, VA area. Witnesses said that a blue van was flagged down by ACPD. The driver shot the cop and took off. The license plate checked out to a stolen vehicle reported in Chesapeake, WV. An APB had been issued for the car after the attempted homicide.
“This is a university town,” Viktor said grimly. “If Reed decided to test the nerve gas here, it would strike deep into the homeland.”
“Threatening the children would guarantee immediate retribution,” Marissa agreed, both of them remembering the numerous school shootings that had gripped the nation over the years.
“Retaliation will be swift if the blame falls on Syria,” Viktor replied. “Kwon would get his war.”
Marissa nodded. The agreement to dispose of the chemical weapons was dubious at best. The CIA suspected Syria wasn’t upfront with their cache. And then adding a third party that wanted a war for profit, the whole scenario was setting up for a perfect storm. Viktor had seen it before, greedy corporations manipulating world politics and conflict. He didn’t want to bring it up with Marissa, but the CIA had its own finger in some of the mess. How many times had the agency instigated regime change?
“Don’t know about you two, but we’re starving over here,” Nathan announced. “There’s a drive-through up ahead.”
Viktor heard Marissa whisper something like “Thank God.”
Twenty minutes later, they were munching on fast food burgers and fries while monitoring the police scanner. They were in a strip mall parking lot, discussing plans for heading straight to Richmond and taking I-95 north to DC from there, when Tim buzzed Viktor a 911.
“Yeah,” Viktor barked into his phone.
“They didn’t ditch the vehicle. I was reviewing a traffic video and the computer flagged the car. It made a right on Dunbar into the Cinemaplex.”
Expletives exploded all around.
“You guys are five minutes out. Get back on the main road, which is Broad Street. Dunbar is the third right,” Tim added.
Everyone jumped into action. Marissa pulled out of the parking lot and turned on the main road.
“There’s a midnight showing of Vampire Chronicles 4. Theatre is packed with teenagers.” Tim informed them.
Viktor cursed. “Step on it, Iz.”
As they were turning into the theatre parking lot, Tim’s voice became urgent and panicked. “Pulled up the theatre cams. A man fitting Logan's build, maybe fifty-percent on facial match. He’s with one other unidentified person.”
“Bottom line it, Tim,” Viktor growled.
“They brought a cart into the maintenance area.”
“Goddamn it!” Viktor roared. “Call 911 and get every fucking ambulance and unit to the theatre.”
“Copy that.”
When Marissa zipped in front of the theatre, Viktor bolted out before the car fully stopped. The black Explorer pulled in behind them. Viktor met the other Guardians behind the SUV and began to suit up.
A security guard rushed up to warn them about parking illegally. Viktor ignored him. When he yanked out a gas mask, the guard drew his weapon.
Losing patience, Viktor moved like a flash and disarmed the man, ejected the magazine from the gun, and emptied the chamber. He shoved the gun back to the security guard and said, “There’s a credible threat to the theatre. Everyone needs to be evacuated now.”
“I—I—”
“NOW!” Viktor shouted into the man’s face.
An additional security guard appeared, his hand on his weapon.
Emitting a frustrated growl, Viktor, flanked by the two Guardians, walked up to meet the newcomer.
“Sir, we’re warning you . . .” The man faltered as he also drew his weapon. Viktor noted the fear in his voice and assessed the situation with trained eyes. The lobby of the theatre was empty save for the staff. A man dressed in a suit, presumably the manager, was approaching cautiously.
Viktor moved in front of the gun pointed at him, his chest abutted with the muzzle. The guard’s eyes widened and his gun hand shook.
“Your safety is on,” Viktor told the guard dryly. “You guys need to clear—”
There was screaming. It was faint at first, but then it got louder and louder.
Viktor pushed past the security guard in time to see a trickle of people stream out of the theatre on the left.
“Oh, my God! People can’t breathe!” one of them wailed.
“She’s choking. Help!”
“My sister!”
Viktor saw a young woman trip over. He moved to her quickly and dragged her out of the way before a stampede of more panicked people spilled out.
“It’s starting from the theatres on the left!” Viktor shouted. “Stark. Manning. Get the right side of the complex clear. Use the back exits. Prevent a bottleneck!”
Viktor saw Marissa trying to make her way to him. He shook his head.
“Stand back, Iz! Manage the first responders! Tell them what the victims need!” Marissa nodded and turned away.
Chaos reigned. Bodies fell. Some just dropped, and others started to convulse.
Viktor put his mask on and entered the first theatre, already empty of moviegoers. Some victims were sitting by the corner gasping and some were flat on the floor. He picked up a young girl, who looked no more than ten, who was already drooling profusely. He carried her out the back exit to get her some fresh air. He took out his stash of atropine injections and stabbed one straight to her chest.
An EMT approached him warily. Viktor yanked his mask off.
“It’s nerve gas, but I’m hoping we keep this under the radar to avoid a mass hysteria,” he informed the first responder. “I’m going back in. Are you guys stocked with atropine?”
The EMT nodded.
“Good,” Viktor said as he affixed his mask. He turned around and ran back inside.
*****
Marissa sat on the tailgate of the Ford Explorer, watching agents from FBI and DHS, including local law enforcement, manage the scene now classified as a terrorist attack. Viktor and the Guardians were forced to wear FBI jackets to define their jurisdiction. Herself? She was invisible. The CIA always was. But Yeager already informed her that since she was seen on the news directing emergency personnel that she was an agent for the DHS. At least, that was how it was going to be played.
There were eleven fatalities and about twenty were taken to the hospital—majority of them under the age of twenty. The attack was going to have some serious backlash. The news agencies already caught wind that it was a nerve gas attack, and all speculations were pointing either to Syria or Al-Qaeda. Wouldn’t everyone be surprised that the attack was carried out by men who had once sworn to protect the country?
The only evidence was the video of a man fitting Logan's build going into the maintenance room where the FBI hazmat team had found the nerve gas canister. No link to Owen Reed meant no connection to Stuart Kwon. All connections to Kwon were all through HUMINT, which would carry no weight with DHS and FBI given that the mess with Al-Qaeda was still fresh, and the ev
idence to them more tangible. It would be interesting how the agencies were going to spin this to both the President and the people.
Viktor was bringing the agents-in-charge from DHS and FBI up to speed. And from their expression, Viktor wasn’t holding back any punches in telling them how to do their job. After a few minutes, he returned and braced a hand against the side of the SUV, leaning into her.
He rubbed his face with his other hand in frustration. “They’re taking the lead for now, which they should have done in the first place. It isn’t the job of the CIA to pursue domestic terrorism.”
Marissa shrugged. She agreed, what else could she say?
“I told them to stop depending primarily on open-source intelligence because the enemy is bypassing digital and analog footprints, preferring human assets to move intel via courier or face-to-face meetings,” Viktor said. “Most of our leads come from informants, Matsuda and Morgan. Hell, we wouldn’t have known about Owen Reed if Morgan didn’t tip us off on that.”
“That was a lucky break.”
“Yeah? We might not have more of those,” Viktor said. “That’s why I told them to get their heads out of their asses, keep off the donuts, and do some legwork. There’s information out there, they just need to know where to look.”
“Wish they had more people like Tim.”
Viktor smiled wryly. “Yeah, Burns is the shit.”
“So,” Marissa said, eyeing Viktor seriously. “What was that crazy move you did? Putting yourself in front of the barrel of a gun?”
Viktor quirked a brow in amusement.
“What the hell was that?” Marissa half-yelled into his face.
“Calm down, kitten,” Viktor murmured. “His gun’s safety was engaged.”
“And how sure were you?”
Viktor huffed, sounding offended that she would question his judgment. “I could see the red dot on his gun. I’m familiar with that model. It wouldn’t have fired.”
“Still, that was pretty suicidal,” Marissa mumbled.
Viktor, in a departure from keeping it professional while on the job, pulled her head to his chest. She punched him on the side. He grunted, but didn’t say anything else.
“Though I’ll admit,” she continued, “that was pretty badass.”
*****
Owen Reed stood in the shadows of the Cinemaplex parking lot. Most of it was cordoned off, but he blended well with the curious onlookers that gathered around to observe the crime scene. He and his men had to lay low for a while, probably even alter their appearance. He had credit cards and covers already set up so it wouldn’t be too difficult.
His eyes drifted to the Ford Explorer parked in front of the Cinemaplex. The first to arrive. He wasn’t surprised to see Marissa Cole. He figured when Fletcher and Tyrell didn’t show up at the rendezvous that they must have gotten caught. What surprised him was the more than friendly relationship between Baran and Ms. Cole.
Owen Reed filed this information for future use.
*****
Memorandum #1573737
To: President, United States of America
From: National Security Task Force
Subject: DC and Virginia Terror Attacks
Background:
The increased attacks on the homeland this year have measurably exposed our vulnerable security infrastructure. The most damaging of these attacks were the two suicide bombings carried out at the FBI satellite office and the main Metropolitan police headquarters. The subsequent attack on the leadership of this country at the Hudson Building only escalates this clear and present danger of a future attack on Washington DC. Al-Qaeda has claimed responsibility for the above.
The perpetrators of the nerve gas attack on the Cinemaplex in Charlottesville, VA remain unknown. Several agencies have evidence that this may point to domestic terrorism, while others believe Syria is responsible as retaliation for United States support for the opposition to the ruling party. No one has claimed responsibility for this attack.
Assessment:
Another attack on the nation’s capital will prove debilitating to the psychological well-being of the nation and will cause economic backlash.
There is insufficient information sharing between the agencies, especially between the DHS, FBI, and CIA.
Proposal:
The DHS will work more closely with the FBI and CIA to merge data that will uncover and prevent future attacks. It was suggested that the current enemy is evading digital technology and is employing a network of couriers to communicate. The agencies will start gathering Human Intelligence (HUMINT) assets as sources of information.
CIA will report on the situation in Syria regarding the stockpile of chemical weapons and the political climate, as well as determine if Al-Qaeda is gaining a foothold in Syria.
cc:
Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation
Director, Department of Homeland Security
Director, Central Intelligence Agency
Secretary of State
Secretary of Defense
Senator A. Robinson
Senator L. Goodman
*****
Marissa scanned the fluff memo from the National Security task force. It had been three days since the nerve gas attack. The President of the United States had issued a statement immediately after the incident to reassure a jittery nation that the agencies were on top of the situation. There had been daily briefings with all the directors of the agencies including several senators that were on the security and intelligence committees.
One of the senators, Senator Goodman, was very vocal about pinning the attacks on Syria. Though not public knowledge, the CIA knew that the senator had interests in several defense industries that would profit should the U.S. go to war with Syria.
Marissa had crosschecked information between the senator and Kwon just in case a link would uncover any red flags, but so far, she turned up nothing.
The DoD had released the nerve gas Antoxin and made it available to DHS, FBI, and some first responders in the Washington DC area. Antoxin was mandatory for all military units operating in hot zones like Afghanistan and Syria. Antoxin was not classified as a vaccine but an anti-chemical therapy. It was a molecular biology application of nanotechnology that protected recipients against the long-lasting neurological damage caused by nerve gas exposure. Together with the timely administration of atropine, a toxic gas victim could make a full recovery. Marissa had taken Antoxin when it first became available because she could be deployed to Syria at any time. Some of the Guardians, including Viktor, took the anti-chemical therapy when Matsuda divulged the probability of SK nerve gas attacks in the U.S.
The hunt for Owen Reed and his crew had been assumed by the FBI. Marissa was keeping tabs on Stuart Kwon’s whereabouts, but so far the man had been appearing in plain sight—most recently at a fashion show in Paris. The picture of him in an Armani suit escorting a famous supermodel hit her inbox first thing this morning, courtesy of Allison. Jiro Matsuda and his wife were in temporary protective custody and would be given new identities if this mess with Kwon couldn’t be resolved. There was reason to believe that Matsuda’s source, who Marissa now knew worked in Kwon’s household, had been assassinated. Allison had hacked Kwon’s personal computer network several times, but all his correspondence and money transactions were legit. Owen Reed did not appear on his payroll at all. But these kinds of transactions were easy to hide anyway, especially if they were in the form of cash or bonds.
So now, she was drawing a blank on the stack of papers before her. The tallest pile was Allison’s brief about the surge of Al-Qaeda in Syria. This information was also shared with the FBI and DHS. The rest were five other cases that were lower priority.
“I can’t believe I’m actually leaving before 5:00 p.m. on a Friday!” Allison announced as she stopped by Marissa’s desk. “So what’s on your agenda this weekend?”
Viktor had left for Las Vegas the morning after they had returned from Charlottesville, V
A. He had not been pleased about it, but he was under pressure by the ATF director to lead an op against rival motorcycle clubs that were running guns. Viktor had called her a few times, brief conversations to check up on her. Marissa knew Viktor was reluctant to leave because of the near rape she had experienced at the hands of Fletcher and Tyrell. But she assured him that she was fine. For the most part. Though not the first time she’d been in such a situation because of her job, this had been an extremely close call.
Shuddering at the memory, Marissa forced herself to focus on Allison’s question. “Heading back to Dupont Circle. Make sure that my house is in one piece.”
“Sell it and move in with Baran.”
“Uh, aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Allison? We’ve only been together for what? Four weeks?”
“You’re right. But your man is so intense.”
“How would you know?” Marissa retorted.
“You pulled your disappearing act, remember? Did you know he threw a chair against the wall in Yeager's office when our director wouldn’t tell him where you were?’
“He did WHAT?” Marissa exclaimed, mortified.
“Yes. Yeager warned me not to tell you. Men.” Allison rolled her eyes. “But you know, being in the sisterhood and all, I felt it was my duty to let you know how crazy your man is about you.”
“Oh, my God.” Marissa buried her face in her hands. He was intense. Did she expect anything different? With how hard Viktor had fucked her when he found her, she was thankful he had let out some steam beforehand. Otherwise, he would have made good on his promise of her not being able to sit or walk afterward.
Smoke and Shadows Page 21