The President just stared back at him. “I’m curious, gentlemen,” he paused, then continued, “what would have happened if our Rogues had, instead of killing these militiamen, turned everything they knew over to us?”
“I’d like to believe, sir, that we would have arrested the eleven men before yesterday,” the Director of the FBI said.
“I’d like to believe that, too. But we now know of four people who don’t have that faith in our bias toward action. And if they’re right and we’re wrong, the people of Houston, L.A., Miami, and Philadelphia owe them a huge debt of gratitude.”
*
That night, or, more correctly, at 3:00 am the next morning, Samms looked at her three colleagues. They were sitting on couches in her safe house. She had just briefed them on the meeting of the Rogues Task Force and everything else she had learned since they had parted company in Albuquerque.
“Any loose ends, May?” she asked.
May shook her head. “I got the rental car back to Colorado Springs without a hitch and both planes were picked up, no questions asked.”
“The guest book?” Cheese asked.
“Burned to ash in an Albuquerque incinerator.”
“We’re going to need to ditch these identities, Samms,” Tom said. “We’ll need more soon.”
Samms nodded. “No problem.”
“Can we visit an old subject, Samms?” Cheese asked.
They all looked at him.
“Sure,” she replied.
“Where’s all the money come from? We’ve agreed from the beginning, no additional people in on this without everyone’s agreement. For example my girlfriend thinks I’m a traveling salesman. But somebody’s bankrolling this operation and it has to be costing a small fortune. And that’s just so far.”
“And this is your business why, Cheese?”
“Because if there’s a fifth person out there, backing us, we each have a right to know who it is. And a right to know if he, she, or it knows who we are. Knows our identities.”
“Anybody else losing confidence in me?”
Receiving no answer, she turned back to Cheese. “I might take this opportunity to remind you that you don’t know the identity of any of us.”
“No, Samms. It’s just this deal works both ways for each of us. We have a right to know and the right to be aware of our risks. You assured each of us when you recruited us that there was no objectionable entity behind our activities.”
“Where’s this coming from, Cheese?”
“Cheese never flew in a private jet before, Samms,” May said.
“Oh.”
“Hey Cheese,” May said, “how do you know that I’m not the money behind all this?”
“All kidding aside, kids,” Tom said, “the money comes from both Samms and me. She worked and saved a fortune before joining the government. I came by mine honestly. I inherited it. There’s no silent partner.”
“Money’s no object,” Samms said. “We put more than enough aside in many accounts. Untraceable to any of us.”
“Good to know,” Cheese said. “May can start dressing better.”
Getting no reaction from May, he plunged on. “And that brings up another question. Tom just let slip that Samms works for the government. And we already knew that Tom does. Do you work together? Same area? This is news.”
“No,” Samms said. “Separate agencies. No direct linkages. Too risky otherwise.”
“More importantly,” May said, “who knew Cheese had a girlfriend?”
Chapter 10
May sat inside the grand concourse of Grand Central Station on the western steps looking up at the windows atop the eastern wall.
She had spent the last hour wandering through the tunnels and shops and concourses looking for all the world like any other tourist. Her mission was threefold. Keep an eye out for the ISIS operator whose multiple identities had led them to call him simply “Osama” and the locations he had identified for his bombs tonight, familiarize herself once again with the layout, and get a feel for the effectiveness of the security.
The only surprise had been with her second objective. Her first time in Grand Central she had been a tourist. There as a young girl with her parents. And either her memory was bad, or the place had dramatically changed with the passage of those almost thirty years.
It wasn’t the hustle and bustle. That still felt the same. The urgency of moving New Yorkers never seemed to change. But she remembered being self-conscious about her family that morning. Whether or not her feelings at the time were accurate, she had felt that morning that the small Asian family, from Burma then, had stood out. Been different in the crowd. A young Asian girl today would not have that feeling at all. The frenetic crowd she was watching today was as diverse as one could imagine. She doubted that even Osama would feel out of place here. Only a few blocks from the UN, Grand Central felt every bit as multi-cultural as that assemblage. And sounded every bit as multilingual.
And only a few blocks in the opposite direction, Times Square had the same characteristics, frenetic, multi-cultural, and multilingual.
And Osama, she knew, was trying to figure out which one to blow up.
She had seen countless pictures of him on his various social networking sites, including Facebook pages, Twitter accounts and a few other social media. Even so, she had no confidence she could spot him in a crowd. Especially a crowd with so many Middle Eastern looking men. But she kept looking, just in case.
As she sat, waiting to spot Osama or to hear from Tom, her gaze played out over the crowd while her mind wandered back to a nicer time in precisely this same spot. At just about this time in the morning over thirty years ago.
Her parents had asked her and her brother to sit on this same step and just watch New Yorkers and Americans as they hurried, always hurried, on their seemingly millions of random paths. It seemed as if even the smells were the same on this morning.
The two children had sat watching the crowds for what seemed like hours. Not talking much, just watching. She remembered that there hadn’t been any machine guns. Or even armed police. She remembered commenting on that to her mother. In America there were no armed soldiers everywhere like there had been in Burma. Her mother had just smiled at her and said something to the effect that that was why they had come to America.
She had no real sense how long her parents had left them alone that morning. She had felt no fear, despite remembering being conscious of being different. She now remembered something long forgotten. A nice girl had come up to them and asked if they were lost or needed help. But otherwise the two of them were left alone with their thoughts on the steps.
It was one of her fondest memories of her early life in America. She remembered being excited about the ice cream her parents eventually brought them, but remembered being disappointed when they had to leave their perch to walk through and then out of Grand Central Station.
“Miss? Can we help you?”
Two soldiers, pistols on their hips, machine guns pointed to her right and left, not a young girl, interrupted her thoughts this morning.
She looked up. Hadn’t seen them approach her. Stupid.
“No. I’m fine. Just reminiscing.”
She turned away.
“Can we look in your backpack?”
May looked from one to the other, then around the room to see who was watching. No Osama. But a couple of police to her right were watching the scene unfold.
“Sure, but why me?”
“We don’t need a reason, ma’am.”
She looked at the verbal one a beat longer than seemed to make him comfortable.
“Our Captain,” the silent one gestured over his left shoulder, “noticed you checking the whole station out, then continuing to observe people from here. You didn’t seem to be travelling anywhere.”
“Maybe I’m homeless.”
“Can we look in your backpack?”
“I don’t even warrant a please?”
“N
o. We can look here or escort you to a room in the back. At this point you’re getting close to losing the ability to choose.”
May shrugged out of the pack and handed it to the talker.
He rummaged through the pack. Then stopped. Looked down at her as he backed up.
“You have a permit to carry that thing?”
“It’s in there.”
“Is it loaded?”
“Yes, it’s loaded. And yes, it’s legal.”
He took out the permit and her ID. Set the pack down. Signaled to the two police who had been watching.
They walked over. Some passersby were starting to watch the unfolding scene.
None of them seemed to be Osama.
The two police looked at her paperwork.
“Why are you carrying a pistol, miss?” the Captain asked.
“I would think it would be obvious, Captain. I’m a woman alone in New York City. It’s perfectly legal. I don’t feel safe here.” She looked from man to man. “You men aren’t there to protect me everywhere I go.”
“Please come with us, miss.”
*
Sitting on his bed in Phoenix, Cheese went through May’s notes for the hundredth time. Had he missed anything? Was there anything left to chance? Looked at his watch. Too late now. Time to check in with Samms and Tom.
He hit Samms’ number on speed dial.
“Hey Cheese.”
“Hey Samms. Tom with you?”
“Yes, we’re both here. We have nothing new from May. You?”
“No. I’m ready to go here, though. It would feel better if May herself could go through one last check on this stuff. It’s her data. Her sources.”
“Can’t be helped,” Samms said. “She’s tied up in New York. Neither of us could even get away from our watchers to help her up there. We’re concerned she’s in over her head with the two ISIS guys as it is.”
“It was inevitable that eventually we’d get simultaneous incidents one day,” Tom said. “And here we are. Unfortunately on a day when neither Samms nor I can get away from D.C.”
“What’d the Phoenix JTTF agent in charge say when you sent her the data on the cartel’s move down here?”
“The same thing the New York SAC told us. We’re wrong. They have that cartel buttoned down and in custody. Our Intel is outdated.”
“And,” Samms said, “as always, they condescendingly offered to meet with us in person to look through our primary source materials.”
“Same offer in New York,” Tom said.
“What time are May’s ragheads hitting Manhattan?” Cheese asked.
“Five thirty,” Samms said. “Yours still planning the exchange late morning out there?”
“As far as I know. But I’m blind since last night without May. They change plans and I’ll never know.”
“You still a hundred percent comfortable with the results of your ground surveillance out there?”
“Yes. I’ve run through it on the ground, checking it against May’s two sources. It all checks out. My only risk is they change the plan while May’s out of pocket. But the JTTF here won’t buy her Intel, so it’s on me. Flying solo.”
Silence at the other end.
“Quick question, Tom.”
“Yes?”
“Haven’t we gotten past this bullshit about me not knowing you? Using the fake cover name of ‘Tom’? Just to keep May in the dark?”
“No,” Samms said. “Absolutely not.”
“I agree with Samms, Cheese. Neither you nor May know Samms’ identity. You don’t even know for a fact that Samm’s knows who I am. And there’s no benefit to May’s knowing that either you or Samms knows.”
“Okay for now. But you two are on notice that it seems like bullshit to me. May and I need to trust each other, and this Batman and Robin shit is potentially in the way.”
“We know,” Samms said. “Each of the four of us needs to trust the other three. We hear you.”
“Look,” Cheese said, “I’m ready to go. In fact I need to move. You guys good?”
“Yes,” Samms said. “Good luck.”
“We’re here if you need us,” Tom said.
But Cheese had already cut the line.
*
The cops had kept May in a back room for over an hour. Security coming in and out. They had left her with one policewoman, one of New York’s finest, who asked her very little. Small talk really. They had taken her Glock 17 and all her paperwork away.
The Captain came back in, told her she could go. He handed her gun and the papers back to her. Gave her back her backpack. He walked her back out to where she had been sitting. Looked around from her previous vantage point.
“How long do you plan to stay here in New York? In fact, where are you staying?”
“A shorter time now than I thought. After this abuse. Frankly this was a very unpleasant outcome, officer.”
He looked at her in silence.
“And I’m at the Sheraton,” she lied.
“Be careful, ma’am.”
“Can I go now?”
“Yes. Take care, though. You’re now being watched.”
You too, she said to herself as she picked up her pack and started walking across the concourse.
*
Cheese fondly remembered the good old days when you could drive around Phoenix without being reminded of L.A. traffic.
No more.
It wasn’t even eight and he was fighting just to get south of the airport.
He took 24th Street past the airport, past Highline Canal, then randomly south and west, crossing Western Canal and heading west, eventually reaching desert near the drop-off area.
After three rounds of reconnaissance, his gut instincts were that the truck would come from the southeast to the drop-off point. The three waiting for the drop could come from any direction of the compass. Impossible to tell.
So he felt the need to stay far, far west of Tempe on his reconnaissance. Too many people and too much risk of random sightings by the two in the truck if they were being cautious and scouting their expected route. No point in taking any risk that they would see him and remember him if they’d seen him earlier when they were checking things out.
He drove past the drop-off point a tick over the speed limit. If it was being watched, a slow drive-by could be a deal killer. Or worse.
He drove around the area, abandoned and used warehouses, and sites for future abandoned and used warehouses. Everything exactly like it had been last night and yesterday. No extra vehicles. Not a pedestrian to be seen.
He parked his rental in a spot that he knew would be in all morning shade, invisible from all roads, behind an abandoned warehouse a half mile from the drop-off point.
He sat and gave it fifteen minutes, just in case. There was no point in being impatient when you arrived at a kill site three hours early. Impatience had no upside.
If somebody had seen him, better to find out now than too late.
Nothing stirred. Not even a desert mouse. He had picked this spot for many reasons. One of them was that there was no evidence it had been used for a very long time. The parking lot was already showing meager vegetation poking up in the cracks. Meager, but very, very hardy. Not much food. Even for a mouse.
Then another fifteen minutes.
Absolutely nothing.
He stepped out, put Samms’ card on the driver’s seat, walked around the car, and opened the trunk. Took out the shoulder holster with the Glock already in it and put it on. He opened the Pelican gun case and took out the M16. He put it in the homemade canvas carrying case and set it aside. Picked up the pack with his water, the extra ammo for the pistol, and the ten M16 magazines, shrugged into it, lifted out the carrying case, closed the trunk, and headed due south.
He had walked this route enough now that he felt he could walk it in his sleep. He could hike through the dry washes and arroyos to the south and the east without being seen by anybody at the rendezvous point. And he felt very
confident that nobody within a mile of that site could see him without him seeing them first.
He’d done this in Afghanistan and Iraq against the best. And these weren’t the best. If he accidentally stumbled upon the three cartel members, they had a chance maybe. But otherwise, he had only one concern.
Well, two...
*
May had walked the three long blocks west to Times Square. Took her time. Taking care to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
Unlike Grand Central, Times Square brought back no fond memories. In fact, no memories at all. Nothing prepared you for the crowds. Her self-image was that she was pretty hard to intimidate, but she guessed that even hardened cops were never quite comfortable with the chaotic energy and randomness that assaulted all the senses when walking into Times Square. She doubted even experienced pickpockets and con artists ever got wholly comfortable with the unpredictability of the people, some alone, some in two’s and three’s, many in large groups.
She hadn’t remembered the red grandstand steps facing southward in the middle of the Square. Tourists sitting, taking pictures of friends, taking selfies. Both uniformed and plainclothes cops mingled with groups of teenage girls, all seemingly oblivious to the chaos around them. The girls excited, having fun, the cops glum, bored.
She sat on the steps to watch, appearing just like all the other tourists, watching the people.
But really to look for the locations that Osama had referenced in his communications with ISIS.
If he was going to choose Times Square, it would be three simultaneous pipe bombs at 5:30 tonight. She looked at her watch. Still plenty of time. If he chose Grand Central, then the bombs would be in packs at the spots she had identified from his decrypted communications.
He had one accomplice. The bombs would be on timers, but could also be activated remotely if Osama decided to go that way.
Her phone pinged an incoming text.
Tom.
“New York JTTF says we’re wrong. We’ve got the wrong Osama. They have the Osama we’re after in custody. Our Osama is clean. Their SAC wants us to come in with our evidence.”
The Point Of A Gun: Thriller Page 6