“Who’s here? Are they read in on me?” Grace’s status within the SCS was top secret and only known to a handful of people. His role within the agency was technically not even on the books.
“I sent word ahead that I’m bringing in a special operator from a cross-agency task force,” Arrington said. “We’ll give them the details when we need to.”
“Nothing I like better than having a bunch of agency heads know my identity,” Grace muttered.
They entered the building. Even at the late hour there were still people working on several floors. From the main atrium they took the elevator three levels below ground and exited into a lobby with cement walls and a steel door with two armed guards. An armed guard checked Arrington’s credentials then turned and swiped an access card across a sensor. Once the sensor beeped approval the guard placed his right hand on a glass panel and a red light scanned his fingerprints, body temperature and pulse. The scanner turned off and after a moment the magnetic lock on the door released. The guard stepped over and quickly opened the door for the director of the NSA, his arm flying up into a salute.
“I’m not military,” Arrington said. “You can put your hand down.”
The circular room was large and lined with monitors wherever they could fit along all of the walls up to the ceiling creating a barrage of flashing images that rivaled Times Square. The entire room was a media display of every news channel covering the events at the Capitol from domestic and international news broadcasts. The desks surrounding the center of the area were mostly empty except for one analyst that had been hand picked.
“This is the new operations control center for the Executive Terrorism Task Force. It wasn’t set to go live for another two months, but right now it’s the best place for us to run this thing from,” Arrington said. “From here they can access any satellite, any transmission from a United States or ally airplane or ship, and command a drone strike anywhere on the globe.”
“But somehow somebody just stole the US government,” Grace said.
Arrington grimaced at him as they approached the group sitting around a conference table in the middle of the room.
“You said Executive Terrorism Task Force?” Grace said. “This different from the Joint Terrorism Task Force?”
“Yes,” Arrington. “The JTTF is buried in paperwork, red tape and more than 5,000 employees. The ETTF was created by the president and answers only to her and the Joint Chiefs. It’s streamlined and efficient, designed to be run with minimal staff and even less oversight.”
“Cool,” Grace said. “They hiring?”
Arrington again threw a frown at Grace then turned to the people at the large conference table in the center of the round room.
“Grace, you know CIA Director Bernard Leighton,” Arrington said.
“Of course,” Grace said. “How’s Betsy?”
“She’s doing wonderfully, good to see you Grace,” Leighton said.
“Betsy?” Arrington said.
“The director’s labradoodle,” Grace said. “I dog sit for him occasionally.”
Arrington turned and stared at Grace before continuing.
“This is Amanda Paulson, assistant Director of the FBI,” Arrington said.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Paulson,” Grace leaned across the table and shook the woman’s hand.
“It’s Ms.,” she said. “Pleasure’s mine.”
“And this is . . . ” Arrington said.
“General Vic Darby, of course,” Grace said. “How’s life in Florida?”
“Good, until today,” Victor Darby had been confirmed as the commander of Special Operations Command, or SOCOM, six months earlier. Grace’s SCS team worked closely and covertly with the Navy’s SEAL teams under SOCOM command when they need assistance with infiltration and exfiltration beyond their normal means.
“We’re in DHS’s house but they have nobody here?” Grace said.
“The Deputy secretary is at the Capitol,” Arrington said. “Congress has yet to confirm the new secretary.”
“Great. So where do we begin?” Grace said.
“Let’s watch some TV,” Leighton said. “If you will, Mr. Murray?”
The analyst sitting at a desk ten feet away stood up and tapped on a tablet with one finger until all of the screens surrounding the room changed. Video began to play showing the inside of the Capitol building.
“This was taken at 8:14, just as President Abrams was beginning her speech,” the analyst said.
They watched a series of security camera footage of a line of Secret Service officers in tactical gear and holding assault rifles. One of the officers turned and began firing at his team, taking down two before any other shots were fired. More officers behind him began to fire until everyone was down. Capitol Police were seen entering and putting bullets into the heads of any survivors, until they reached the original shooter leaning against the wall. After the body fell over, the shooter turned and aimed up at the camera and fired. Then the feed went black.
“That’s some shit,” Grace said.
“Please, some respect,” Arrington said.
“No, he’s right, that is some shit,” Amanda Paulson said. “And we need to get to the bottom of it. Our leaders are being held hostage and men in our uniforms are helping.” Paulson was a rising star at the Hoover Building. Not only was she the first female assistant director, but also the youngest at 39 years old. Her Georgetown undergraduate work then Yale law degree had put her in contact with a circle of powerful people with any law firm in the country ready to hire her. She chose a life of civil service, starting in the Attorney General’s office straight out of school then moving to the FBI when the new director pulled her over.
“Are we sure everyone is still alive in the Capitol?” Grace said.
“We have no video from the building anymore, but we’ve moved an NSA satellite into position and are getting some infrared images that shows plenty of heat signatures,” Arrington said.
“What about helicopters?” Grace said. “Can we get in any closer with a muffled Apache to try to get audio?”
“We can’t take the risk,” Admiral Darby said. “With what we saw from inside the building, we don’t know who’s been compromised, especially to send an armed bird in the air over the building. That could be exactly what they want.”
“Exactly what who wants? Who are we dealing with? ISIL? Al Qaeda?” Grace said. “Putin? The ghost of Timothy fucking McVeigh?”
“We don’t know. It’s been 91 minutes since the attack. Nobody’s claimed credit yet,” Arrington looked over to the leadership sitting at the conference table then back to Grace. “That’s why you’re here. We need an operator. We have some of the greatest military and law enforcement minds at our disposal, but we’re all useless without insight into the terrorist. No offense to anyone present, but we’re the people who say ‘go.’ You’re the person who goes.”
“We still have a clearance issue,” Grace looked around the table then back at Arrington. “Not everybody here is read in.”
Arrington stared at Grace for a few moments then leaned over to CIA Director Leighton and spoke in hushed tones. After a short discussion Arrington stood and turned.
“In light of the events of this evening and our need for transparency and cross agency cooperation,” Arrington said. “We’ll be disclosing sensitive top-secret information.” He paused to look at Grace then continued. “Grace is the lead operator in the Special Collection Service. His experience is greater than anyone else at either agency involved with the team. When I say that Director Leighton and I put our trust in him, it is with full confidence we do so.”
“So that’s out there. Any questions?” Grace said.
“The SCS is real?” Amanda Paulson said. “I thought it was just one of those Beltway rumors.”
“It’s very real,” Grace said. “And the fact that the assistant director of the FBI didn’t know we were real is a testament to how seriously we take our clandestine st
atus.”
Grace turned and looked at the darkened screens. “We need to establish who on the inside was compromised,” he said. “Can you roll that back to the first officer who fired?”
The images began to roll backwards as the analyst controlled it from his keyboard. The screen froze on the moment just before the first shots.
“Zoom in, enhance, whatever you can do,” Grace said. “Can we get his name?”
Moments later the video enlarged and the analyst scrolled until the patch with the officer’s last name was visible.
“Long,” Grace said. “Start with him.”
CHAPTER 3
Jared Long’s service record was displayed all around them on the screens, detailing his history dating back to high school, ROTC in college then straight into the military.
“Six years in the Marines, five years so far in the Secret Service,” the analyst said. “Married, has a daughter.”
“What’s your name?” Grace turned to the analyst who stared blankly for a moment.
“Ben,” he finally said. “Ben Murray.”
“Who do you work for?” Grace said.
“Uhh . . . ”
“CIA? Homeland Security? NSA?” Grace pressured the man. “Look around the room, Ben. You don’t have to worry about your security training.”
Employees of the top-secret intelligence community are trained and taught to not disclose their occupation or employer to anyone but those closest to them, and even then only with great discretion.
“Department of Homeland Security, sir,” Ben Murray said.
“Great. We’re getting somewhere,” Grace said. “How long have you been with DHS?”
“Six years,” Ben said. “I’m the lead analyst helping get the Executive Terrorist Task Force Command Center ready for operation.”
Grace turned to the leadership at the conference table. “We need more like him,” Grace pointed at Ben Murray. “We need them to go through the records of every officer on that assignment.”
Arrington nodded.
“Ben, I need you to handpick six more analysts to get in here immediately,” Arrington said. “The best, the fastest, most trustworthy.”
“Yes, sir,” Ben said.
“Get me a list,” Arrington said.
“And what are they going to be looking for?” Admiral Darby said.
“Terrorists,” Grace said.
“In the Secret Service?” Darby said.
“And the Capitol Police, and any other law enforcement that was in or around that building at 8:14 tonight,” Grace said. “That’s why we need a team of Bens in here going over the service records of every officer and agent in that building. We need Homeland Security analysts who are used to looking for profiles that are too perfect.”
“Average grades in college, recently married or single, no kids, rented apartment, military then on to the Secret Service or Quantico,” Arrington said.
“That sounds awful vague,” Admiral Darby said.
“That’s the point. It’s supposed to be so bland you never look at it twice,” Assistant Director Paulson said. “Nothing stands out. They’re clean enough to pass the background investigations to get hired.”
“But Jared Long doesn’t fit that profile,” Darby said. “He has a long military record and a family.”
Grace was looking up at the screens showing the Marine’s record. “I know. I think there’s something else at play here. I just don’t know what yet. But if the Secret Service and Capitol Police were infiltrated, we start with the standard profiles. We’ll figure out Jared Long as we go.”
“I have some names for you,” Ben said. “I know several of them personally and the others by reputation. All of them are assigned or are on the list to be assigned to the ETTF, so they have highest clearance and access.”
“Thanks,” Arrington said.
Grace stepped over and reviewed the list with him and they marked six of the ten names based on nothing more than gut feelings.
“Can we get a car to go pick them up without alerting them first?” Grace said.
“I’ve never seen you this cautious,” Arrington said. “Sure. I’ll get my driver to make the rounds and get them.”
“Make sure no cell phones come with them,” Grace said. “Who do we have on the ground at the Capitol?”
“I’ve activated all available agents, FBI SWAT and the Hostage Rescue Team,” Assistant Director Paulson said. “HRT is actively trying to get communications up with whoever is inside the building but no land lines are being answered.”
“We have SEAL Team Four at Quantico standing by,” Admiral Darby said. “And a couple hundred troops ready to bring in.”
“Great. What about CIA, Director Leighton?” Arrington said.
“We don’t have anybody on site but can offer any intelligence assistance. Langley is on high alert,” Leighton said.
“Fine,” Grace said. “This may come down to finesse over firepower anyway.”
“I hate to be the one to suggest it,” Leighton said. “But should we retrieve the designated survivor?”
“What for?” Grace said.
“Accountability,” Leighton said. “Deniability. We technically answer to him right now. If this all goes pear shaped, we can at least try to avoid standing in front of a congressional hearing if he gives the approval to move.”
“You mean this hasn’t gone pear shaped yet?” Grace said. “Who is the designated survivor anyway?”
“Richard Graham, secretary of transportation,” Arrington said.
“Shit,” Grace said. “Couldn’t it at least have been somebody from education? So who knows where Graham is?”
Director Leighton looked around then raised his hand. “I’ve been briefed by the president,” he said.
“What about security detail, do you know who’s covering him?” Arrington said.
“Standard protocol for the designated survivor,” Leighton said. “A couple dozen Secret Service, secure location outside the Beltway.”
“Is the secretary’s family with him?” Grace said.
“He’s single, but I think he brought a, well, a companion,” Leighton said.
“Great. America is being taken by terrorists and our acting President is holed up with his girlfriend,” Grace said.
“Not exactly,” Leighton said. “More like his boyfriend.”
“Oh, okay,” Grace said. “And is this public knowledge?”
“No. He maintains he’s an available bachelor about town and has been seen with several high profile women in D.C.,” Leighton said. “While he’s been with the same partner for 12 years.”
“All right. Good for him. So we need to get to Graham and bring him back here,” Grace said.
“Here? Do you think that’s safe?” Paulson said.
“I really don’t know,” Grace said. “I just want to get him moving to see if it puts anything else in motion. They may be watching for him to appear so they can attack again.”
“We’re going to use him as bait?” Leighton said.
“You have a better idea?” Grace said.
CHAPTER 4
The screens showed detailed maps and live satellite views of the countryside outside Charlottesville, Virginia and the Blue Ridge Mountains. Grace stared at them as he moved the maps slowly to see everything nearby.
“We have Darby ready with the SEALs,” Arrington walked up to him. The rest of the group was talking at the table.
“I want my own guys for this,” Grace didn’t move his eyes from the maps.
“Definitely not. This is the acting president,” Arrington said. “We can’t have your group of shooters going in to get him.”
“They’re the only ones I trust to go with me,” Grace said. “You saw those Secret Service guys turn on each other.”
“I’ve given you free run since this started. You’re the best asset the NSA has. Hell, you’re better than anyone the CIA and FBI have combined. But this requires a bit of diplomacy. Plus
there’s a dozen Secret Service agents protecting him. How do you think they’d react to your long haired goons knocking on the door?” Arrington said. “SEALs need to be first in.”
Grace turned to Arrington.
“Fine. But let Darby know I’m in charge,” Grace said. “And make sure the SEALs know that.”
CHAPTER 5
It had been barely two hours since the attack on the Capitol as Grace and Arrington rode the elevator up from the sublevel of the Homeland Security building to the sixth floor, then climbed a set of stairs and opened the door to the roof. Grace stopped and looked to the west as the glow of Dulles airport lit the sky. A Boeing 777 airplane dropped down behind the trees to land on the nearest runway.
“Stick to the plan, Grace,” Arrington said. “It’ll be clean and simple.”
“You know me, Derek. I like simple.”
“Since when?” Arrington said.
The downdraft of a helicopter coming to land on the roof hit them as the sound of the engine drowned out any more conversation.
“Just stick to the plan!” Arrington yelled.
Grace put his hand to his ear then motioned like he couldn’t hear his boss and turned to board the Bell 407 helicopter that had touched down.
As he pulled the seat belt on in the back seat of the chopper Grace turned to see Master Chief Petty Officer Murphy beside him.
“Are you it?” Grace said.
“No sir, I’m SEAL Team Four leader. I came ahead to pick you up. The rooftop pad couldn’t handle the larger birds,” Murphy said. “We have a short hop to a secured runway where my team is waiting with the larger aircraft. If you’d like to brief me then I’ll convey orders and get us airborne again as quickly as possible.”
“Sounds good,” Grace said.
Murphy tapped the seat in front of him and the pilot lifted the white helicopter off of the roof and began to move forward.
Arrington watched as they lifted up off the building and headed south to loop around the busy airport. He turned and closed the steel door behind him.
Designated Survivor Page 2