by Hawk, Nate
Suddenly a broader awareness came flooding back. He remembered that he hadn’t been there alone. Where had Jennifer and Brady gone? Wait… It was coming back to him now. He had seen them up ahead, leaning on a crowd control barrier near the finish line. Jennifer had her hair down and was smiling. She had waved through the crowd at him with Brady standing on the railing, by her side. They had looked so peaceful together, a photogenic sight for his tired eyes after running so far. Determined to find them, Kelly rolled over on his belly and tried to summon the strength to stand up. He gave it his full effort but couldn’t get up past crawling on his knees.
Everything hurt. Worse yet, his body wasn’t listening to his brain’s commands.
He tried not to look at his foot as he screamed out, “Jen… Jen!!!”
His heart was racing. I had just seen them, he told himself. They’re OK. He was in excruciating pain and becoming more light-headed with every second, but yet he continued crawling towards the first blast site. He willed himself just to get to Jennifer and Brady. Inch by inch he crawled, wiping blood and tears from his eyes as he slowly progressed down the ruined scene. Even if they were hurt at least the three of them would be together.
Like the previous 18 months, which felt like a lifetime to him. They had spent as much of their extra time together as their schedules had allowed. Perhaps the best days were the rare occasions like today had been when work and school responsibilities were overlooked in order to be with each other. He had put the years before meeting Jennifer away in a silent and hidden part of his mind. Surely after all of his losses, he had paid dearly enough already. Surely the indifferent bastard known as fate would allow him to retire from the violence he had perpetrated and endured. Kelly took a thoughtful look towards the battered corpse that he had noticed earlier with a new understanding. He puked the remaining water from his stomach and contorted in pain.
Now Kelly knew that his dreams weren’t to be. He realized there was no fairytale life in store for him. There never had been. His adult life would end as it had begun, with more agonizing loss. He felt his consciousness faltering and he fought it valiantly with another deep breath. He focused on one second at a time, vowing not ever to quit. Not ever. He would make it; he knew he would. If I can just find…, he started to think to himself as his arms gave out and his face smashed down onto the debris-strewn roadway.
Although Kelly would see nothing else that day, he subconsciously picked up on the action around him. What he heard was the undying human spirit. He heard strangers that he had never met and that he would never know afterwards, rushing to his aid. They rolled him over and cleaned the gravel off of his naked body. They checked his vitals and then began performing the necessary first-aid procedures that medical staff and event volunteers are trained for. Due to the nature of his injuries, he was triaged and quickly became one of the first victims removed from the scene. All the while, strangers stayed with him. They assured him that he would be OK, even when they didn’t know if he could hear them or not. They kneeled and crawled in the debris themselves, shredding their own knees in the process. The responders worked elbow deep in the blood of victims that they did not know. They continued on, knowing secondary devices designed to kill first responders could have begun going off at any moment.
These heroes did not waver nor hesitate. Instead, they sprinted into action, diligently fighting the evil forces at work in that Boston Street and forever immortalizing positive images of the human spirit. They were images that Kelly had seen before in war but not on his own city streets. As he wove in and out of consciousness, his thoughts culminated in one final and linear determination. No matter how long it took, when he could walk again, there would be hell to pay.
***
Chapter 11
Most days the FBI field offices are bustling with the banality of administrative paperwork and varying levels of corporate style ass kissing. When it comes to the real work, there’s a lot of inflow. A lot of filtering and reorganizing. Then, a small amount of interesting, follow-up work. But on special event days, it’s all hands on deck and everyone’s busy.
Being tasked as the organization responsible for deterring terrorist activity in the United States is not something the Bureau takes lightly. At any significant regional event there is an FBI presence. The agents may be undercover or the Bureau may show off its mobile command center. That day they had both and then some.
There were three notably different areas of operations where the Bureau had spread its agents in an all-hands-on-deck approach. The Boston Field Office was abuzz with its usual intensity. Many of the Bureau’s analysts were stationed there, scrutinizing the information feed that rolled in endlessly. The Special Occasion Command and Tactical Operations Center had been deployed. Its intimidating presence permeated from a barricaded area near the racecourse, as if providing a visual reminder that the event was under control. The mobile unit housed various high-tech gadgetry that was constantly supporting its field agents on site. Perhaps the most appreciated assistance it provided was that of hot and strong coffee for its agents and the mental break they could have relaxing for a few minutes while hidden from public view. Thirdly, all remaining agents that worked from the Boston Field Office and many other agents from across the US were working the crowds.
Newly appointed, Assistant Special Agent in Charge (ASAC) Steven Lynch and Supervisory Special Agent (SSA) Royce Shelly had been in and out of the command vehicle all day. Lynch was essentially in charge on the ground level as his boss had taken several personal days that involved some type of a closed-lip family trip to Australia. There was talk of a dying relative that she’d not elaborated on. Anyway, who questions the boss?
Her parting words to her new ASAC, Steven Lynch, were, “This is a big career opportunity for you Steven. You’ve worked countless events. Pay attention and make sure protocol is followed to the letter.”
Steven had assured her that he wouldn’t let her or the Bureau down. He’d assured her that she could handle her personal affairs knowing that everything in the Boston field office was running flawlessly.
ASAC Lynch had personally selected SSA Shelly to perform liaison duties between the Special Agents on the street and himself. To stay connected and informed, the ASAC had preferred not to stray too far from the mobile command unit, where all the information and therefore action seemed to be. Besides, it was better than sitting around in the field office all day.
ASAC Lynch’s subordinate agents appreciated his level of uniqueness. He didn’t fit into any social category. He generally displayed the introverted qualities of a formidable intellectual but that could change in flash when a more aggressive approach was required. His demeanor and thick black glasses had earned himself the nickname of Clark Kent. Although almost nobody had the nerve to use the label in front of him, the ASAC had secretly grown to appreciate it.
That day, command center had been a revolving door for several different types of agents. A couple of FBI Bomb Squad members had made an appearance and had been received with almost celebrity status. Several of the best information analysts that the FBI had to offer were also on hand. The coffee had been hot and strong, the conversation was OK and ASAC Lynch privately wished that the weather had been a little warmer, so that the skirts would be a little shorter.
Oh well, at least things have been relatively quiet around the city, Steven reflected.
In an attempt to break the monotony, he stepped out of the CTOC and took a breath of fresh air. As he looked around, the nearby birds gave a millisecond notice that something wasn’t right. As if they feared the man that had just materialized from the doorway of the boxy vehicle. They chirped and flapped and hadn’t quite cleared the ground for takeoff when it happened.
ASAC Lynch heard the loud explosive detonation, followed by a slight tremor under his expensive black Louis Vuitton wing tips. As his priorities quickly changed, he tossed his once revered coffee and climbed back up into the command vehicle. He flashed into action
as if a new man emerging from a phone booth.
“Talk to me people. What the heck was that?”
He moved in closer to a monitor showing a live feed of the race course, as the younger and much more attractive, Special Agent Lisa Schwartz began relaying the requested information.
“Sir, this monitor here is showing some movement on Bolys…”
She was immediately interrupted, 12 seconds after the first explosion, by another one that seemed even closer. The noise echoed around and shook the command vehicle as if it had been struck by an IED.
“Awe, geeze,” the ASAC said nervously, adjusting his glasses. “All right, folks, we are code red clearly amidst an unfolding terror event. I want all available assets converging on… Where was…?” he prompted SA Schwartz, who’s knee length skirt now offered no interest to him.
“Boylston Street, Sir,” she quickly answered.
“Right, converging on Boylston Street… damn, the finish line!” ASAC Lynch noted, as his mind raced through the necessary protocol. “I want a full situation report yesterday, people. Start analyzing the Boylston security tapes so we can identify some faces. Shelly, notify the Behavioral Science team to get a file started on this. Get Langley on the phone as well as the DoD, in preparation for activating the High-Value Detainee Interrogation Group (HIG). I want the team immediately ready to deploy upon the capture of any persons of interest.”
ASAC Lynch was referring to the controversial U.S. intelligence-gathering group created by the President in August 2009. The group was established as a means to question terrorism suspects immediately after or during terror events. The controversy resided in the details of suspending constitutional rights of due process. The other side of the argument was that immediate information could allow the Feds to prevent unfolding terrorism plots and quickly track down accomplices, before more violence was perpetrated.
It was a hectic scene throughout the field office and the command vehicle. Lights were flashing, buzzers were beeping, security footage was being collected and analyzed. Nearly everyone was on and off the phone with important people relevant to the ongoing terror event. The command vehicle was bustling with incoming reports and amidst the chaos and ongoing confusion; all of the agents knew it was going to be a long month.
***
Chapter 12
When the chaos in the city started, Niko knew exactly what had happened and who had perpetrated the terror. If there had been any doubt, certainly no imagination was needed after the second explosion.
It was reminiscent of waking up on that September morning to hear that an aircraft had hit the World Trade Center. Accidents were plausible, but after the second airliner struck, it was clearly a deliberate attack. Niko had about twelve seconds to wonder if the first explosion was what he thought it was. The second explosion quickly confirmed his suspicions.
Niko knew those two careless brothers in his pseudo-sleeper cell had done this. Bekhan had become consumed with hatred. He was obsessed with Jihad to the point that it blocked out any ability to think clearly. The younger one was different though. He was sheepish, without his own spine and always striving to impress his older brother. The brothers had been so foolishly eager to engage in an attack that they had clearly acted out a smaller one, themselves. Niko knew that the full weight of law enforcement would soon bear down on those two idiots. Worse, Niko knew that they would eventually talk.
In fact, they’d probably talk right away and lead the authorities right to Niko. He knew that his future pivoted on that potentiality. Niko saw the world in ways that most people do not. He had a notably high IQ but it was hidden behind a level of social awkwardness. He didn’t mind his mannerly ineptitudes; he embraced them. He preferred to keep his intelligence hidden.
Many thoughts were racing through Niko’s mind. He immediately understood that the life he’d had in Boston was quickly becoming a memory. He had to leave the city.
Niko also saw that the situation had turned quite ironic. He had known that any acts of terrorism, that he was directly involved with, would likely result in him having to go on the lam. But having to run due solely to someone else’s actions? Then there was the irony of the marathoners that he despised so much. Now, he was the one running.
Niko’s Boston neighborhood was rough but it had benefits. One of them was the proximity of everything. Niko typically walked to his gym when the weather was nice enough and that day had been. Another benefit was that people mostly minded their own business. Niko was walking quickly and he remained conscious of the Makarov pistol that was on his side. He didn’t want to be picked up by the police because they saw his sidearm poking through his shirt. Ultimately, its small size meant that it had been easily concealed.
Niko knew that his mentor Abbas was the only person to call under the circumstances, even if he was an old-timer. Abbas had enough pull within the organization to get Niko out of his current situation and to help him disappear. So Niko took a slight detour in search of a prepaid phone. After finding one, he quickly activated it and dialed a number from memory. Abbas, who also used a prepaid phone, had been watching the news in anticipation of Niko’s call.
Abbas answered the call from Jamaat Al Fuqra’s Red House, Virginia compound. He had recently been assigned there, after his predecessor had been shot to death during the FBI raid. So after a quick conversation about the who and what of the Boston attacks, Abbas insisted that Niko arrive in Virginia in four days’ time.
“Ah, those idiots! Damned fools! They do this in their own city? You drive slow… We not need more problems!” Abbas had said in broken English.
Niko understood to drive slowly and to make sure that nobody was tracking him. Despite his frequent annoyance at Abbas, he had no intention of getting him in trouble over this if it could be avoided. Abbas’ instructions were clear. Once Niko was sure there was no public manhunt for him, he would arrive at the compound.
Niko continued walking and turned west on Greenwich Street, now only steps from his house. The neighborhood was an eclectic mix of old and new with a rough Boston feeling to it. Some homes were nice and some were hidden under a veil of modesty. His house happened to be one in the latter category. Upon arrival, he quickly put together a bag of necessities and a couple changes of clothes. No more than thirty minutes and he knew that he had to go. Some of the steps that he had smartly taken prior to that day were going to work to his benefit after all.
Niko arrived and climbed the three steps up to his door. He had a typical bachelor pad with mismatched furniture and appliances. There was a large TV and a worn out couch. The dirty bathroom went unnoticed, as Niko didn’t care, nor did he have visitors. He never had any female companionship other than the stack of Hustlers on top of the toilet tank. Niko hoped Allah didn’t mind but his faith had waned over the years anyway. The food in the pantry and fridge was a mix of old and new. He knew better than to dig too deeply into either.
Niko procured a screwdriver from a kitchen drawer and went over to what looked like an ordinary four-plug electrical outlet. He didn’t bother turning off the power, as there was no need. He carefully removed the plastic cover and the inert outlets. He used the hidden cavity as a cache to house fake documents and cash.
Niko procured a falsified driver’s license, social security card and a library card that he would begin using. He didn’t have illusions of checking out any literature but the document did add another layer of believability to his new ID. Then he removed all of his real identification from his wallet, put it back into the wall cache and carefully closed it up. He began a methodical effort to pile his gear by the back door. I’ve got to move faster, his instincts told him, as he thought through his next steps.
Niko was smart and he sure as hell didn’t plan on being the bagman for his two associates’ poorly executed misdeeds. Even considering his intellect, his foresight and patience may have been his two best qualities. The combination had helped him survive his difficult past and he was sure it would help him ag
ain. He figured the Feds would make the connection between those moronic brothers and his gym. Would anything come out of it? He wasn’t sure but he didn’t want to be around to find out.
So after collecting all of his gear, Niko went outside to an abandoned GMC Typhoon SUV. It had been parked by his landlord the year before and completely forgotten about. To be sure, the vehicle had seen better days. This one was black and although not rusted badly, some of the paint had faded and begun to peel. It didn’t have OnStar so Niko knew he wouldn’t be tracked. Due to its age, the ignition was easily bypassed. There was a set of ground effects that he didn’t like. They’re too damn distinctive, Niko thought, as a solution quickly popped into his mind.
The floorboards, however, weren’t yet soft and the it seemed to be in good shape for a twenty year old vehicle. The landlord mentioned he wouldn’t be driving it. The man had plans to hold onto it due to its perceived rising value. Niko wasn’t sure about the rising value of a decades-old vehicle sitting outside in the elements and not being driven. Regardless, Niko had taken a special interest in it. In fact, he had a knack for seeing potential.
Niko had taken the wheels over to a tire store where he had paid to have the tires replaced with similar ones. The newer ones had a modest amount of tread and were only one year old. Niko’s landlord wouldn’t realize they were newer but the issue of dry rot had been eliminated. Then Niko could count on reliable treads if he ever had to use the vehicle. He had inspected the belts and replaced a few. He had tested the starter and decided to replace it, the starter solenoid and the battery. Then Niko added a fuel stabilizer. He had to make sure the motor would power up if he needed it. Niko had rigged the ignition and moved the vehicle around once per month to make sure it would operate properly on short notice. But he had no intentions of standing around, stroking his ego and patting himself on the back.