Designated Survivor

by John H. Matthews

  CHAPTER 30

  The morning light came through the east window of the third floor of Building 18. Arash Abbasi was already awake and going through the day’s plans in his head. It had only been two days since he considered leaving the contract behind and getting on the next flight out of the country. In his opinion the mission had gone according to plan. He’d been hired to infiltrate the United States Capitol and plant the explosives that would be used to bring the House of Representatives to the ground. He wasn’t hired to kill the president or Congress or the Supreme Court. His job was done. He’d handed the code to the detonator to his client in person. He stayed with his team in D.C. only to confuse the investigation that would follow. The first thing the FBI would do was search airline manifests for any foreign nationals that had left the country in the days and weeks preceding the explosion.

  But his client didn’t see it the same way and 50 percent of the money due to him was still in a holding account in the Cayman Islands. Nothing else would be transferred to him until the client was satisfied. The rules were changing and he had no choice but to follow if he wanted the rest of his money. He had eight men left that he had to pay, though he’d several times considered killing them and keeping the money for himself. It would be safer, cleaner. Eight men is a lot of opportunity for secrets to be spilled.

  He heard heavy footfalls running up the cement stairs. He stood up from his blanket spread on the cold, linoleum floor to be ready for whatever news was so important to bother him. Efraim Khouri came to the door along with Ormand Baasch, a German mercenary Abbasi had come across while working a contract in Russia two years earlier. They stood outside the doorframe, waiting for him to speak first.

  “What is it?” Abbasi said.

  “We found something,” Khouri said. He glanced to the tall man beside him. “Ormand found something.”

  “And what did you find, Ormand?” Abbasi said.

  The German’s English was flawless, having perfected the accent in his teens watching American television shows. The team came from six different countries so they spoke English to each other. “A bug. It appears to be a microphone hidden inside a taped up box.”

  Arash Abbasi turned and looked out the window, multiple layers of dirt and grime filtered the winter light. He had seen the shadow on the stairs the night before as his men talked and laughed and ate their pizza and the non-Muslims drank their beer. He had seen the shape of a head looking out over the edge of the stairs at them, the light from their electric lanterns casting enough of a glow to silhouette the shape against the slanted stairwell ceiling behind the figure. At the time he wasn’t sure if it was a vagrant looking for his sleeping place for the night, a respite from the cold D.C. sidewalks, or something more nefarious. The thought had crossed his mind that it was the man who had taken his second in charge, Efraim Khouri, but he believed if it had been that man he wouldn’t have come in and left quietly. Guns would have been fired and blood would have been shed.

  He’d not alerted his men to the intruder, truly believing it had been one of the District’s many homeless and not wishing to kill a man already at the lowest rung of the society in this country. To him it was better to leave alone the counterpart to the excess that America craved, an eyesore to the luxury car driving heathens. Though he didn’t consider himself an Iranian anymore, choosing instead to relate as Persian, he did find truth in some of the Ayatollah’s rhetoric.

  “Thank you,” Abbasi said. “Speak quietly to the rest of the men and inform them to keep their voices low. I’ll be down in a moment.”

  The men left, confused at the lack of concern over being bugged. Abbasi had more important things on his mind. Breaking with every unwritten rule of their trade, he was to meet, face to face, with his client again. It was not something he wanted to do but it had been made clear it was a requirement of receiving the rest of his funds. Abbasi intended to demand more money if there was to be another act to their mission. If the increased fee was refused, he had decided to kill the client right there and be on an airplane out of the country within an hour. He grew restless, as did the men who followed him, sitting in hiding.

  He turned from the window and went down the stairs where the men were staring at the small, duct taped box that sat on the floor beside the top of the stairwell to the next level down. Abbasi motioned to Khouri who joined him directly above the bug, and spoke in Farsi, a language he knew he had in common with Khouri.

  CHAPTER 31

  “Have you been up all night?” Grace walked into the workroom to find Ben Murray sitting at his desk, a row of empty paper coffee cups lined up to the edge.

  “Most of it,” Ben said. “I started getting the signal from your bug. Picked up several voices. I listened for a while but they weren’t talking about anything of interest so I set up a voice activated recorder to kick on whenever there was anything other than ambient noise.”

  “Did it get anything?” Grace said.

  “Shows activity a few times then more consistent at about six o’clock this morning for 20 minutes,” Ben said. “But it sounded like Farsi so I haven’t listened to all of it.”

  “Get it on a drive and I’ll review it,” Grace said. His training with the NSA and CIA had given him a level of comfort with understanding Farsi though he couldn’t speak it well at all.

  “I got ID’s on a few more of the faces from the video, too,” Ben said. “Their backgrounds are all in line with what we already have.”

  “I doubt you’re going to find any tax accountants on there,” Grace stopped to look at the faces matched with the details of their pasts. “That one,” he pointed. “Saw him last night. Maybe some of the others. It was pretty dark.”

  A red light began to blink on the wall by the door and was accompanied by a buzzing sound.

  “We have company,” Grace said. “Pull up the exterior cameras.”

  Ben tapped some buttons and brought up the feed from the security system on the outside of the building. A black GMC Yukon was coming down the dirt drive from the street.

  “That’s unexpected,” Grace turned and left the room and went down the stairs and hit the red button to open the garage door. The GMC pulled in and he closed the door behind it. With his hand on the grip of his Glock he stood behind the SUV as the back right door opened and Derek Arrington stepped out. Grace let his gun go and walked up to his boss. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you, too,” Arrington said. “I needed out of the ETTF for a while and wanted to see what you’ve come up with. Looks like you haven’t done much with the place.”

  Arrington began to follow Grace and saw Holden and Avery cleaning and packing weapons into large black cases.

  “What are they up to?” Arrington said.

  “Moving day is coming,” Grace said. “Can’t stay here anymore.”

  “Why?” Arrington said.

  The men went upstairs and Grace and Ben briefed the NSA director on the events of the last 24 hours, the men they had identified and the infiltration of their building by the terrorists.

  “Arash Abbasi was in this building?” Arrington said. “And you let him go?”

  “Yup,” Grace said. “That’s why we gotta leave Buzzard Point. The building is burned.”

  “Abbasi is wanted on at least a dozen charges in six countries,” Arrington said. “And is obviously behind the attack on the Capitol, and he just walked in and out of your building?”

  “He did,” Grace said. “But we tracked him and have eyes on him as well.”

  “You should have apprehended or killed him,” Arrington let his usual coolness fade while he paced the room.

  “That would have slowed things down, not stopped them,” Grace said. “If he’s still here, and still has as many men with him as we think he does then there’s another act. If we’d nabbed him yesterday we’d still be in the dark about what’s happening. A man like Abbasi doesn’t talk.”

  Arrington shook his head, his back to his to
p operator. “What have you gotten?” he said.

  Grace knew Arrington was under pressure to show progress to the president.

  “I was just about to listen to this morning’s conversations, but what I do know is we have at least eight terrorists all holed up in DC. I don’t know if they’re awaiting orders or have already implemented them.”

  “Just find out,” Arrington said. “Langley is at least ten steps behind you. We have a chance to shine on this one. Richard Graham is breathing down my neck and keeps pushing the president to shut you down.”

  “What? Why?” Grace said. “Did I ruffle his feathers that badly?”

  “No idea. I think he’s just trying to stay visible in the commotion to be noticed for a better placement in the future. I overheard him pushing to get read in on all security updates.”

  “You think he wants the CIA?” Grace said.

  “CIA?” Arrington said. “Leighton is doing just fine.”

  “Yeah, but he’s looking to retire by end of the year,” Grace said.

  “Where’d you hear that?” Arrington said.

  “He told me a couple months ago when I was having dinner at his house,” Grace said. “His wife wants them to relocate down to the coast in North Carolina.”

  “You had dinner at his house?” Arrington said.

  “Sure. The salmon was incredible,” Grace said.

  Arrington just stared at Grace then moved on. “I don’t know what Graham wants, I just know he’s annoying the hell out of everyone.”

  “The Explorer is moving,” Ben said. Grace and Arrington stepped over to watch the tracker on the large computer screen.

  “What are you up to now?” Grace watched closely then dialed Netty’s phone and she answered. “Anything else going on at the building?”

  “The SUV left. Looked full,” Netty was sitting in the Honda with Holden watching Building 18. “Several other guys left on foot and got in a white work van that was parked a block up Georgia Avenue.”

  “Sounds like everyone is on the move,” Grace said. “If you can, follow the van and keep us updated. We’re tracking the Explorer. If you even begin to feel like they’ve spotted you, abort and get the hell out of there as fast as you can.” he hung up.

  “So we have at least eight terrorists driving around Washington DC right now,” Arrington said. “With no idea what they’re planning.”

  “I call that job security,” Grace said. “And I don’t want to be sitting here if something goes down. Ben, get on comms. We’re going mobile in the van.” He turned to leave the workroom.

  “Hey,” Arrington said. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Nope. Can’t put you in a situation that might turn dangerous,” Grace said. “You should get back to Herndon.”

  “It wasn’t a request,” Arrington said. “You’re in charge. I just want to be there.”

  Grace turned and looked at him. The man’s black suit was tailored to fit perfectly. “Then you’d better change. Hit Holden’s locker, you’re about the same size.”

  The van left ten minutes later with Avery at the wheel and Corbin beside him. In the back sat Grace, Levi and Netty on the first row. Behind them Derek Arrington sat in green combat pants, shirt and bulletproof vest with his two security agents sitting on either side of him in their black suits.

  “Well, this is fun,” Grace said. He turned in his seat to talk to the men behind him. “If anything goes down, you three stay back. I don’t care what your training was—this isn’t what it was for. You two stay with him,” he pointed at Arrington. “And keep him safe. Anything happens to him and I’m coming after you.”

  “I know how to handle myself,” Arrington said.

  “I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying you’re not going to have to handle yourself on my watch,” Grace said. “This is self-preservation. I don’t want to break in a new boss.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Avery listened to Ben over his earpiece and worked the van through the city to get within two blocks of the moving Ford Explorer. After the event that took the life of Chip Goodson he had no intention of putting the large black van where it could be spotted and targeted. Netty and Holden were staying well behind the work van, which was on a different route than the Explorer but headed the same direction.

  “They’re going to converge somewhere,” Grace said. “And I’ll bet you it’s the target. No other reason to put them all in the open at once.”

  Ben’s voice came through the earpieces they each wore. “The Explorer stopped on Connecticut. Netty reports the work van is on Beach Drive. They’re on opposite ends of the zoo.”

  “Weird time for sightseeing,” Grace said. “Avery, cut down Cathedral.”

  “The Explorer is on the go again,” Ben said. “Traffic camera at the crosswalk showed two men exiting the vehicle and walking towards the zoo entrance.”

  The van turned sharply as Grace checked his pistol then grabbed a Seattle Seahawks jacket from below the seat and pulled it on over his bulletproof vest and zipped it up.

  “Seahawks?” Arrington said.

  “Yeah. Nobody pays attention to a Seahawks fan,” Grace said. “If I wear a Redskins jacket then I look like a local. I wear a Cowboys jacket and I just look like an asshole.”

  Avery turned left and pointed the black van into a no parking zone as Grace jumped out the side door. “Stay moving but nearby.” And he turned and jogged towards the zoo.

  “What’s he going to do without backup?” Arrington said.

  “How long have you known Grace?” Avery said.

  Grace slowed to a quick walk as he entered the zoo and watched the tourists ahead of him for signs of Arash Abbasi. Even in the middle of winter the free attraction brought in plenty of foot traffic during the day, which gave him enough people to blend into, but also made it harder to find someone.

  “Grace, Netty said two men got out of the van at the other end of the zoo and are headed in,” Ben said. “According to the tracker, one of them is Khouri.”

  “Thanks,” Grace said.

  “He knows what you look like,” Avery’s voice came through.

  “Yeah, I know,” Grace said. “The more the merrier. It’s easier to spot four grown men walking around the zoo together than two and at least we have the location of one of them. Just keep an eye on the tracker.”

  “I can be there in three minutes,” Avery said.

  “No, you stay with the van and Arrington. I don’t want to draw any added attention,” Grace said. Ahead of him he saw two men disappear around the bend in the main walkway of the National Zoo. “I think I have visual.” He went into a jog to close the distance since he knew the two men couldn’t see him.

  He got to the bend and regained a sightline to the two men and fell in 50 feet behind them, ready to stop if they turned to check if they were being followed. As he passed the next trash can he paused and looked in and pulled out a zoo map a tourist had thrown away then continued walking while holding the map in front of him.

  Anyone paying attention would notice the two men walking along Olmsted Walk through the zoo without ever stopping to see any of the animal enclosures along the way. But everyone else there was too busy watching the zebras and elephants to see Arash Abbasi and his fellow terrorist. Grace kept up with them and closed the distance to thirty feet just as the two men made a left down one of the trails off the main route.

  “Ben, where’s Khouri now?”

  “Still showing him standing still at the entrance to the zoo,” Ben said.

  “Good. Let me know if he moves,” Grace said.

  Abassi and the other man turned right onto the sidewalk that led into the great cats exhibit, the only entrance and exit for that area. Grace moved forward quickly to see which way they went around the circle then followed them to the left. He was now 20 feet behind them and stopped at each enclosure to lean on the railing and look at the lions and tigers as they were sleeping among the trees, showing no interest in entertaining the visito
rs. He would glance at the animals then to his left and keep moving.

  More than halfway around the circle he saw the two men step into the small cat-themed café. Grace kept going to get to the corner just as they stopped at a table where a man wearing a hat sat with his back towards the entrance.

  “Hey, asshole.”

  Grace turned at the voice behind him to see Efraim Khouri and another man standing there. The other man grabbed Grace’s left arm as Khouri took his right and turned him away from where Abbasi was and walked him back the way he’d come. A hand went up inside his Seahawks jacket and pulled the Glock from its holster. He felt the barrel of the gun jam into his ribs.

  “Come on, guys. I just wanted to see the tigers,” Grace said. He struggled to keep his feet under him as they dragged him. A few tourists slowed down to look then kept moving.

  “Trust me. You’re gonna see the tigers. Shoulda killed me when you had the chance,” Khouri said.

  The man shoved Grace against the low wall of the tiger enclosure. A metal and wire screen was built up over the cement wall to avoid having people fall into the animal’s area as had happened at several zoos around the country.

  Khouri pulled Grace’s hands behind his back as the other man grabbed his feet and they raised his 190 pound body and dead lifted it to head level then pushed him over the top of the screen. Grace grabbed the wire with his left hand as he fell, his feet dangling 15 feet above the water that separated the wall from the tiger’s home. Khouri began to walk away and Grace noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes, his thick grey socks dirty from the asphalt paths within the park.

  The other man still stood facing him and pulled a knife from his pocket and jammed the point of the large blade into the back of Grace’s hand. His fingers opened and Grace fell down into the dirty, freezing water. It was deeper than he could stand up in and his clothes and jacket were quickly absorbing water and pulling him down. He pulled the jacket off then swam the dozen feet to the cement edge and pulled himself out of the water and rotated to sit on the bank just as he heard the first scream.