by Ken Fite
“They know, Blake.”
We kept moving, and when we arrived at the fourth floor, we jogged down the labyrinth of hallways. I kept one hand on my Glock, not knowing what to expect and still trying to make sense of the whole thing.
I found the security office I had passed earlier in the evening and tried to open the door. It was locked. Through the window, Jami and I could see a man in his early twenties wearing a blue blazer. He walked toward us and stopped at the door. I flashed my badge and he let us in.
“FBI? That didn’t take long. Glad you’re here.”
I looked at Jami and she nodded at me.
“My name is Blake Jordan. This is Agent Jami Davis.” I looked around the room before continuing.
There was a bank of sixteen video monitors above his desk, two rows of eight stacked on top of each other. The top row streamed real-time video of inside the arena, and the monitors on the bottom row showed the outside. The video on each screen toggled every few seconds to another camera to give security the ability to see coverage of the entire inside and outside areas of the building.
“We need to know what you saw,” I said.
“There’s two men dead at the south exit. I didn’t see it happen. I was watching the stage where Billings was speaking and monitoring the crowd.”
“Show us the footage. I want to see what happened and who did this,” I said.
The young man hesitated. “I can’t do that. I just monitor, I don’t know how to work the controls.”
“Figure it out,” I demanded.
The man walked over to a monitor I hadn’t noticed before. He punched a few buttons on the control board, and video from one of the outside cameras appeared on the screen. He tried something else, and video from the half empty convention floor displayed. A few more adjustments and the guard isolated the feed from the camera where McGovern and Flynn were killed.
It showed the men on the floor, the three onlookers, as well as paramedics and two police officers, who I assumed were called by the man on the cell phone when he discovered the bodies.
“I need you to rewind it,” I said while Jami and I stood behind the security guard. His shaking hands flipped switches and punched a few more buttons. The video stood still, then started to rewind. Thirty seconds later, we saw the two agents talking with each other. “Play it from there,” I said to the man.
We watched McGovern and Flynn talking to each other and then stop when a janitor entered the room. He walked in backwards, pulling a large crate inside with him.
Once he got through the door, he turned around. The agents looked at each other like they were confused by what they were seeing. Then the janitor pulled out a firearm and gunned them down.
“Stop the tape,” I said.
Jami and I looked at the man on the still frame of the video footage. The image was too grainy for us to see the face clearly. A few seconds later, Jami put her hand on my back and pointed at one of the monitors.
“Blake, they’re here.”
NINETEEN
I LOOKED TO my left, back at the rows of monitors, and watched the one Jami was pointing at. The young man working the control board turned his head and saw what we were seeing.
The men entering the arena were wearing black bulletproof vests with the initials FBI in the center. I realized that calling for DDC backup would be pointless. The FBI was here to take control of the situation.
“Show me the area just outside the exit where the killer would have walked out. Maybe we can get a better shot of the guy’s face,” I said.
“Wait,” he replied. “If they’re FBI, who are you?”
We were running out of time. “Do it!” I yelled.
“I’m not doing anything until I talk to the FBI.”
“They’re off camera,” said Jami, letting me know she didn’t have eyes on the agents any longer. I grabbed my Glock and aimed it at the young man. “Blake?” Jami asked, expressing her dismay at how I was handling the situation.
I was frustrated that this punk kid stood between us and a clue we desperately needed to find the senator. “Son, I believe the man we just saw kill two of my agents was carrying the body of Senator James Keller in that case he was pulling. Every second counts, and right now, I need you to show me the footage of the exit so we can figure out who did this and rescue the senator. Do it now.”
My gun was still in my hand and I lowered it to the floor as I watched him work the control board again. He switched the view to the camera just outside the exit, and we saw a live feed of additional agents walking in and stepping over the bodies of McGovern and Flynn. “Rewind the tape. Hurry,” I said.
“Blake!” Jami yelled, and before I could take my eyes off the video, I heard a voice behind me.
“Drop your weapon!”
I bent down, rested my gun on the floor, and put my hands behind my head. I slowly turned around.
“My name is Blake Jordan, DDC Chicago special agent in charge.” I nodded at Jami. “This is Agent Davis.” I slowly reached into an inside jacket pocket with my right hand, leaving my left hand behind my head. I pulled out my badge and flashed it at the man aiming a gun at my chest. Jami did the same.
His eyes looked us over before lowering his weapon. Two other men outside the room relaxed and holstered theirs as well.
“I’m Agent Bill Landry, FBI. What are you doing here?” he asked, looking around the room.
“Agent Davis and I were here to work security for Senator Keller.”
Landry’s eyes returned to me. “Well, you did a damn fine job, didn’t you?”
I paused before continuing. “We were looking for a clue to find his kidnapper. The guy who killed two of my men.”
Landry’s tone changed from sarcastic to understanding. “And you?” he said to the man running the control board. “What’s your story?”
“This guy pulled a gun on me,” he said, pointing at me.
“I told him I needed to see what happened. He wasn’t cooperating. We got him to replay the footage of the kidnapper shooting my men dead, but we couldn’t get a clear shot of his face.”
“Come with me, both of you,” said Landry.
Jami and I glanced at each other as we followed him out. He asked one of the agents waiting in the hallway to follow us. Landry walked us down to a conference room and stopped before turning around to address us again. “This is our jurisdiction. We’ll take it from here.”
“I don’t think so. This is my operation,” I responded.
“Operation? You have two dead agents, and the nominee for President of the United States that you were supposed to be protecting has been kidnapped. On your watch,” he added. “Agent Mallory will debrief you and then you can be on your way,” Landry said before walking back toward the room we had left.
Mallory gestured for us to walk inside. “Please have a seat,” he said and held his hand in the direction of the conference room.
“We can run this as a joint operation between our agencies,” I yelled at Landry as he left Jami and me. “We’re running out of time, and you could use our assistance. Please let us help you with this.”
“You’ve helped enough, Agent Jordan,” Landry yelled back from down the hall. “The FBI will handle the recovery efforts for Senator Keller.”
TWENTY
WE WRAPPED UP the debrief with Agent Mallory about half an hour after we entered the conference room. These things seem to go quickly between agencies. I could have pushed back and asked to do this later, but the truth was I had no real leads.
Maybe there was video of the kidnapper from a different angle, but I wasn’t sure. Mallory said he’d be in touch if he had any further questions. I had plenty of my own. How would I be able to find Jim Keller with the FBI now taking over the case and insisting that DDC not play a part in the operation?
“Let’s head back to DDC,” I said to Jami as we walked out of the conference room.
I called Morgan Lennox as we walked. The Australian-born DDC
agent was my best data analytics guy and had a background in tactical surveillance.
“Morgan,” he said when he answered the phone at his workstation.
“Hey, it’s me. I need you to do me a favor.”
I heard Morgan sigh. “What’s the favor, me?” he said sarcastically. Morgan could be a pain in the ass to work with most of the time, but I did appreciate his tell-it-like-it-is attitude.
“Are you all monitoring the situation here?” I asked.
Morgan said they were and that Chris Reed was doing a bang-up job running the place while I was gone.
“Morgan, listen. McGovern and Flynn are dead. Keller’s kidnapper gunned them down on his way out of the building.”
“You’re kidding. How’d that happen?”
“There’s a camera at the southern exit of the United Center. I need you to try to tap into their system and see if you can access the feed to that camera, pull up the archive, and go back ninety minutes.”
“Fine.”
“One more thing. There’s a building across the street. It’s between Wood and Honore. I noticed cameras on the northwest side; try to access them and see if they picked up a motorcycle heading east right behind the arena before turning south on Wood.” We had stopped in one of the hallways for me to have the conversation with Morgan so the call wouldn’t drop on our way out of the building.
“Got it, mate,” Morgan said and hung up.
I saw that my dad had tried calling again and I decided I’d call him when I got back to the office. I slid the phone in my pocket and we headed outside. Jami and I didn’t speak on our way out, but she broke the silence once we got inside my SUV.
“So did you decide to work in the field on the Keller assignment because you didn’t trust me? You didn’t think I could handle the job because I’m new here?”
We were pulling out of the parking lot reserved for arena staff and slowed down as we got to Damen. I flipped on my police lights and drove onto the street after making sure that all oncoming traffic had stopped for us to get out, and I chirped the siren once before turning to Jami.
“I told you, Jim Keller is a friend. I run the office. It’s my discretion to go into the field.” After about thirty seconds of silence, I continued. “After my mom died, Jim was there for my dad when I couldn’t be when I was stationed overseas. I couldn’t even go to her funeral. I couldn’t be there for my dad. But Keller was there. He kept an eye on him and made sure he held up okay. I owe the man a lot. That’s why I was there tonight.”
It wasn’t a long drive from the United Center to DDC. The field office was five minutes south of the arena. Not long after the Department of Domestic Counterterrorism opened an office in Chicago, the FBI relocated their building from the heart of downtown to right down the street from us on Roosevelt. The running joke was that they wanted to keep an eye on us. I didn’t think it was much of a joke.
“So he trained you and then you got into the SEAL program. Where were you stationed?”
Those details couldn’t be researched, I thought before responding, “I was part of SEAL Team Three. Stationed at Camp Rhino in Afghanistan during Operation Enduring Freedom before leaving the service.”
Jami looked at me. “What was your expertise?”
I slowed down as we approached headquarters before answering, “I was a sniper.”
“Impressive. Taught by Keller?”
“No. His training got me in. Once I was there, I tried different things and found that I was good with guns. I guess I’m a pretty good shot.”
She didn’t say much for about a minute. “I overheard you mention to Keller that you lost your wife. I’m sorry. I was married once,” Jami said as we pulled into DDC and parked.
“I know,” I said. “I’ve done my homework, too.”
TWENTY-ONE
WHEN JAMI AND I got out of the car and started walking into DDC, she pulled out her cell phone and noticed a breaking news alert from one of the local Chicago news stations. She played the news segment recap for us as we walked.
“Breaking news tonight, the Mitchell Wire is reporting that Senator James Keller has been kidnapped. Jennifer Hughes is live at the United Center. Jennifer, do police have any idea how this happened?”
I stopped walking and stood next to Jami, and both of us watched the video.
“Amanda, shortly after eight o’clock, Senator Keller was supposed to speak at the convention here at the United Center to accept his party’s nomination for president, but the senator never showed up. Initially, we were told that he was delayed because of traffic. Then former Tribune journalist David Mitchell dropped a bombshell, announcing on his website that the senator had actually been kidnapped.”
The anchor back at the station asked the reporter on location what more information she might have.
“I just spoke with Chairwoman Debra Stewart, who confirmed that Keller had refused Secret Service protection and that local DDC agents were running security for the senator. Now two of their agents have been found dead, and the senator’s missing.”
The video stopped. “Blake,” Jami started, “I spoke to Stewart after we split up. She cornered me. She knew something was wrong, that the senator wasn’t delayed by traffic.”
“So you told her that he’d been kidnapped?”
Jami put her hands up in front of her, as if to say stop right there. “She was getting in the way. She was worried about maintaining order if something had happened to him. She was right. I explained what happened and she helped set up a perimeter with arena security.”
We started walking again. I swiped my keycard, passed through a checkpoint, and entered DDC.
As we did, the staff of just over thirty stared at us. Some of them stood. Others hung up their phones or stopped whatever conversations they were having midsentence.
I walked out to the middle of the floor and Chris Reed joined me. I decided to bring him up to speed along with the rest of the staff working late.
“Listen up,” I said and waited for the team to gather around me. “Senator Keller has been kidnapped, and Agents McGovern and Flynn have been killed. The FBI has taken over the operation. Officially, we’re not supposed to be interfering.”
Reed spoke up. “And unofficially?”
I stared at the man who I had appointed assistant special agent in charge shortly after being promoted to my position. “We’ve been asked not to interfere, so we won’t interfere. That’s all I know right now.”
The team, consisting of guards, analysts, and a few programmers, went back to work. Agent Reed stayed back. He had some questions for me.
“Blake, how did this happen? Do you realize how bad this makes us look?”
I turned to Jami. “Give us a minute,” I said, and she walked to Morgan’s desk.
“Chris, the kidnapper was in the room before we got there. He was hiding in the wall, waiting inside an air return grille that he pulled the senator through.”
Reed slowly shook his head.
“He stuffed Keller inside a crate. Walked right out and killed two of our guys in the process.” I paused for a moment and looked to the side as I took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m gonna get this son of a bitch.”
“Blake, they told you to stay out of it.”
I held my hands up to stop him midsentence. “I’m getting him back, Chris. And I need your support.”
Reed thought for a second. “I don’t support this. I thought you were a by-the-book kind of guy. I’ve never seen you break protocol. What’s wrong with you?”
“This happened on my watch. I screwed up. Two of my men are dead. You’re telling me you wouldn’t do the same?”
Reed looked out onto the floor and watched the crew answering phone calls and clicking away at their computers. “You realize we could lose our jobs, don’t you?”
“I’m betting I’ll lose my job anyway. Base is probably sending someone here this very minute to look into what happened tonight.”
“I’ll be
in my office,” Reed said and left.
I stood there for a second before walking over to Morgan’s workstation to join Jami and find out how much progress Morgan had made so far.
TWENTY-TWO
AT THE ABANDONED warehouse somewhere on the south side of Chicago, Victor Perez was monitoring the news stations. He flipped his TV between FOX News and CNN to understand how much the media knew, if anything. He knew firsthand that government agencies withheld information and sometimes even leaked misinformation whenever they were closing in on a suspect.
He kept the TV on mute and turned on a police scanner. The Chicago Police Department would need to be involved to help set up a perimeter should one of the other agencies find his location. He knew that if he heard a 10-97, the police code for arrived at scene, anywhere near his location, he’d have to move fast.
Perez saw that CNN had a scrolling banner at the bottom of the screen. It read SENATOR KELLER KIDNAPPED, AUTHORITIES LOOK FOR GETAWAY VAN.
Getaway van? How do they know that? he wondered and turned up the volume on the TV. An anchorman mentioned a website, the Mitchell Wire, as the source. That wasn’t one of the websites he was monitoring.
Perez went to the site and read the headline, “Senator Keller Kidnapped in Chicago—Developing.” He clicked on the link and read the short article, which explained that the senator hadn’t been delayed by traffic. He had been kidnapped.
It described his van perfectly. Just as he finished reading, the web page auto-refreshed and read Update: Keller’s kidnapper is a man in his late thirties, the driver of the black Ford van that took the senator. He’s wearing all black and was last seen at Wood and Monroe, heading south. This story is developing, additional updates will be added here as we get them.
Perez wondered where the website was getting the information. How could the person who wrote this story know so many details? Was I seen by the author of the article?