Rick came to work the same as he always did. Early, way early, to get ahead, have his first two cups of coffee before anyone else distracted him. As he walked through the door, Travis greeted him with two Starbucks cups. Rick held two in his hands as well.
“Damn. I’m not sure I could suck more,” Rick said with a grin.
“You don’t have a chance, uh, Boss.” They both laughed at that.
Rick put one cup aside. He’d save it for later. Not too much later as he didn’t like cold coffee, so he took bigger swigs more quickly from his first cup. It was Monday, but this was his eighth consecutive day at work.
It still felt like a Monday.
“What do you think Travis? Would anyone have gotten us anything between yesterday and today?”
“Maybe when FBI guy rolls in, he’ll have something, but everyone else probably threw their taskers into the queue to get addressed first thing this morning.” Travis picked a terminal and logged in.
“Did you mean to say that?”
“What?” Travis mumbled, frustrated as he typed his password a second time.
“FBI guy rolls in because he’s round like a donut,” Rick said.
“FBI guy rolls in! I get it. That’s a good one Rick! Don’t say it out loud, though. Remember, you’re in charge. Gotta keep the morale up and all that.”
“But you said it first,” Rick said, confused.
“Bangers and mash!” Travis yelled. The team members from the night shift jumped, finally realizing that someone else shared the room with them.
“You are a complete lunatic, my man. Thanks for the coffee, by the way.” They both turned to their terminals and were soon lost in emails and new reports.
At 7 am sharp, Rick called for a meeting to review the status of the collection plan. He looked over the room. There only seemed to be about twenty-five people total standing around, when he knew the number read-in to the program blossomed over the weekend. He looked from face to face, realizing that these were nearly all worker bees, analysts like himself. The overweight FBI agent was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Eddie Davis?” Rick asked. No one moved. “Who’s from the FBI?” A hand went up from an older man standing behind the group. Rick waved him forward. He took one step and stopped. Rick pursed his lips and blew out his cheeks as the rage tried to seize him. His calming technique wasn’t working. He opened his mouth to rip into the man when Travis stepped forward.
“Do you know the status of the task he was working on?” The man looked back with a blank expression. “Recruiting efforts, whether at area mosques or elsewhere. FBI produces a daily report. Eddie was asked to consolidate the past couple weeks’ worth and look for any step up in radical recruitment, new strangers frequenting the area, something that could point us toward him – the faceless stranger. We have to have that report first thing. It could give us the tip we need. Right now, we’re looking everywhere for everything, and you know how well that works.”
“I was the first one in at the main office, and they told me to report here. I’ve been here a total of twenty minutes and been read-in to Thorny Rose for all of five minutes now. But that’s no excuse. I’ll get right on it.” The man made to move to the terminal with a hand-written sign over top of it, “FBI Liaison.”
“Wait. What happened to Eddie? He worked on this for a full day, and you shouldn’t have to recreate his work. We don’t have time to waste.” Rick asked and explained, trying to sound reasonable, while inserting himself back into the conversation.
“He called off sick, I guess.” Someone close to the older agent snickered, drawing a harsh look from the man.
The younger liaison pointed to a DHS sign over a terminal. “Sorry, man. I thought he was going to keel over and die right here yesterday after the Deputy gave him both barrels.” The new agent nodded almost imperceptibly. Travis walked through the crowd, shook hands with their new FBI liaison, and retreated with him to the man’s workstation.
After a second, everyone returned their gaze to Rick.
“I’m sure he’s not the only new person here. It’s Monday. Let’s run through introductions. I’m Rick Banik, and I guess Deputy Bridges from DHS made me the ringleader for this effort. I’m a lead analyst with EPEC but chopped to CIA for the duration of Thorny Rose. Bobbie Mac?”
Bob McClendon introduced himself and two other representatives from the CIA. Introductions continued around the room. Rick was happy to see Becky from the Department of Justice. The National Security Council representative was new, but they didn’t have any collection assets. This person’s job was to report to the National Security Advisor. Rick needed to make time to get to know this person better.
Rick already had too many adversarial relationships. As Shakespeare would say, he did not suffer fools gladly. He had no time for anyone who thought their job was to keep a seat warm. He had an unfortunate tendency to call those people oxygen thieves. To their faces. In front of other people.
Sometimes that was really unfortunate.
Rick didn’t let it bother him, for too long anyway. Too many people spent their lives getting coddled. Here in DC, so many people brought energy and intelligence, only to have their ambitions dashed by those in charge, who were threatened by the new blood. The mantra was ride the stallions but always keep them reined in. That way, after the stallions run away screaming, only the oxygen thieves remain.
He told himself he was good with that, but he wasn’t. He didn’t understand why people tolerated such a half-ass work ethic, such as the first report before Thorny Rose came to fruition. In Rick’s mind, someone should have been fired for that. He suspected the first report writer was probably one of those working in the Fusion Center right now.
Another oxygen thief. Why couldn’t people just do like they were supposed to?
“Penny for your thoughts?” Travis asked, nodding suggestively toward the group of people. Rick hadn’t seen him return. The rest looked at him, wondering if they were still having a meeting.
Rick looked over the mostly eager faces. “I tell you what. Take a look at the collection plan, and see where your agency has an action. Find out where it is, its status, and I’ll be around shortly to talk with each and every one of you. I need to get to know you all better, and hopefully, you’ll see what drives me.” People started to move, but Rick held up one hand stopping them. He pointed to the faceless caricature on the whiteboard. “Find. That. Man!”
Bob and Travis pulled Rick aside to get the first slice of his time.
“You have to calm down buddy. We can’t go to war with every one of the agencies. Understand this right now. Every one of them and every one of these people is going to let you down. Some sooner and some later, but everyone will. Embrace that, be ready for it, and have a backup plan ready. That’ll make you great. If you tee off on everyone who fails you, you’re going to get yourself fired, and then who will lead this merry band of misfits?” Bob shook his head before continuing. “If you don’t do it, we won’t find the faceless man. We won’t stop the attack, and when Congress learns that we were onto the bad guys, but didn’t find them in time? Heads will roll, no matter we gave it our best effort, working sixteen hours a day, seven days a week.”
Rick prepared to fire back as very few put in the long hours, but that was beside the point. Bobbie Mac was right. If Rick failed himself, he failed them all.
“Bobbie Mac? You’re making it hard to not like you. I won’t forget that you still work for the Company. I also won’t forgot what you did with my initial report, although I appreciate the comeback when they stood up the War Room.”
“Well, Rick, you make it easy to not like you,” Bob said with a smile, offering his hand. Rick accepted, and with a short handshake, he started looking over those working on the computers.
“I think I’ll start with FBI guy. What’s his name?”
“Jordan. Jordan Speaks and he seems to be a good Joe. He’s cranking on the tasker, so maybe let him go for a bit, then gi
ve him some loving,” Travis suggested. Rick nodded. “I’ve got to dig up some stuff for the Generals, hold them at bay. Do you think there’s anything DoD can contribute?”
“Besides the loyal Captain Sargent?” Rick asked innocently.
“She’ll be in later today. I believe she’s been assigned as my alternate on the night shift.”
“Good deal, Travis. I wondered if DoD was going to give us anyone who could carry their own weight…” He let that linger as Travis pointed his finger at Rick, making an angry face. He excused himself and sat at an empty workstation to log in and prepare his report.
“I think the Deputy from DHS and DDI are both going to stop by sometime today. Here’s an old guy tip for a young guy. Find someone or something that their agency is doing right and be ready to tell them. They like sound bites, something along the lines of, the Agency is singlehandedly driving the efforts to secure Washington DC from the creeping evil of radicals. What do you think about that?”
“I think that I need to tell them not to let you retire because there isn’t anyone else there worth a damn,” Rick said, eyebrows raised in emphasis.
“And I think you need to work on that a little bit,” Bob said with a smile. Then he looked at the floor. “This is my last hurrah, Rick. We have to win this one. It’ll be easier to retire knowing that good people are doing the right things to keep us safe. The problem with the IC? We know too much. The only thing I ask for Christmas anymore is ignorance. It would be nice if I didn’t know about the terrible people in this world. It’s wearing me down. We don’t even go out to dinner anymore. I don’t want to expose my family to the threat, the one I see in almost every face, in every dark corner. I think the paranoia finally got me.” Bob’s eyes glistened as he looked up, but he blinked away the tears before they could fall. Without another word, he turned and retreated to his workstation.
Rick didn’t know what to say. Every intelligence professional distrusted their fellow man. It was necessary for the job. It got to some before others. When it did, then it was time to go. Many left before getting incapacitated by it. Others made it to retirement, and then lived shallow lives afterward.
It wasn’t PTSD. It was truth, without being placated by the ninety-nine out of every one hundred who were good people, going about their business without bothering others. The IC focused on that one person, the one desiring to sow hate and discontent.
And there was one out there right now. The faceless man could be at the Starbucks just down the road. How could they know it was him? Rick came back to himself, deciding to start with Becky, see if she had any leads on traffic violations from legal visa holders.
A Tip
“Hi, Rick! I’m Jordan Speaks. I’ve heard great things about you. It seems you have some fans,” the older man smiled warmly.
“I doubt that Eddie is one of them.” They both laughed. It seemed that Agent Davis was abrasive everywhere he went. “I appreciate you stepping up, and I’m sure you didn’t volunteer for this, but keep in mind, the verb ‘volunteer’ does not have to start with the word ‘I.’ It doesn’t matter. We’re all in this together and right now? There’s no more important work in DC.”
Jordan nodded. “And that’s what I want to tell you. It looks like we found an active recruiting operation. One individual, Ahmed al-Suqami has been kicked out of the Islamic Mosque and Cultural Center of DC.” He looked around and leaned close before continuing in a low voice. “We don’t even watch that one. It’s not radical and doesn’t tolerate the screamers. Like this guy. They ran him off and he’s been trying to recruit staff at a couple different Middle Eastern restaurants. We’ve had a tail on him for just a few days, but he might be your guy.”
“Interesting. I didn’t envision him as a screamer, more as the subtle Gucci-model looking guy. I hope I’m wrong, so let’s see. Show me what you have.” Rick looked for a chair, settling for one from the conference table in the middle of the room, and rolling it next to Jordan’s workstation.
“A young man, but not too young, 28 years old. Mohammad Atta was 33, and the rest of the 9/11 hijackers were in their twenties. I think that stays within the profile. He came here with his family as refugees when he was in his teens. From Iraq, he’s now a naturalized citizen.”
Rick spiraled his finger, signaling for Jordan to continue.
“We have him under visual surveillance as well as a tap on his cell phone. We haven’t gone into his apartment yet because he shares it with his family, and there’s always someone home. But it’s only been a couple days.” Jordan added when he saw the disappointment on Rick’s face.
“Do we know if he has any contacts in the Middle East? The communication that started all of this was between Da’esh. This guy sounds more like a lone wolf to me. We’re looking for an attack directed from over there.” Rick furled his brow and rubbed his face as he usually did when he thought about something.
“At this point, we don’t have any information to say that he isn’t in contact with someone from over there.”
“Thanks. We can look for those independently, now that we’ve got a starting point. Next steps?” Rick had never served in a direct action unit, so he had a limited idea what to expect. His usual role was to determine the intelligence value and turn it over to the operators.
“We watch for him to tip his hand, then we go in. I doubt he’s building bombs in front of Mom, so there must be another place, a storage unit, the backroom of a sympathizer. We need to watch until we see something damning, and then we’ll drop in on him like the in-laws at Christmas!”
Rick chuckled at the visual and slapped Travis on the back. “At this point, that’s the lead we’re looking for. Becky!” She looked up, startled, as Rick waved her over. When she joined them, Rick gave her his chair as he prepared to leave. “Jordan, this is Becky, a lawyer from DOJ. She’s thirty-five years old, but uses Neutrogena. Share what you have on Ahmed so she can run him through the locals, see if he has a speeding ticket or something.”
Jordan started running through the information again and watched, pleased as he Becky leaned in with purpose. Never let a genius sit idle, his dad always told him. At the time, Rick always thought it was his old man’s way of buttering him up before giving him yet another chore, another garbage job that his brother wouldn’t do. But Rick did the jobs, to the best of his ability, and was doing the same thing for his kids. The military tested Rick’s IQ and came up with 153. Maybe he was a genius.
But passing the Bar on your 18th birthday? Unfathomable. He stood in the shadows of giants. It was his job to show them the way, nurture their gifts, and then turn them loose. He’d catch up when they let him.
Rick stayed true to his word, moving from desk to desk, getting updates and offering encouragement. Much of the time he invested was getting to know the good people in his charge. By the end, he was emotionally spent. As an introvert, he burned a great deal of energy in talking with people outside his very small circle of family and friends. He worked hard at what extroverts did as easily as breathing. Where he finished exhausted, they’d finish exhilarated. He never understood how people could be that way.
He needed more coffee.
“Is there anyone on this planet who likes coffee from a silver bullet?” Rick asked no one in particular. He found a certain solace in talking with himself, especially if it meant he could gripe in peace. At one time, the 30-cup percolating coffee pot may have been cutting edge technology, but no more.
“Bobbie Mac!” Rick yelled across the room. Bob jumped, looked for Rick, and nodded his head when he saw him. He got up and walked over. Never look rushed, an old boss told him once, advice he took to heart. The boss told him that it panics the troops when their leaders run.
“You didn’t have to come over, but then again, I am the boss,” he needled the older man, who shook his head, exasperated. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m running down the road for some good coffee. Do you want anything?”
Bob shook his head. H
e was saving for retirement, so he swore off five-dollar cups of coffee two years ago.
Rick grabbed Travis and they headed for Starbucks.
D Minus 17 – Running on Empty
Clay received instructions from Mohammed about how to misdirect anyone who might be following. He took buses he didn’t usually take, connecting at odd places, only to jump on the subway, and then get on one final bus. Clay was worn out thinking through the instructions which he memorized before burning the paper. It didn’t help that he’d only managed two hours of sleep after the night shift before embarking on his tour of the city.
Two bus rides from his apartment, he found himself in Herndon, and he needed something otherwise, he’d fall asleep on the bus and get lost. At that point, asking for directions was probably well outside of Mohammed’s approved methods for getting from one place to another.
He spied a Starbucks within easy walking distance and made a beeline for it. He thought about walking at an angle then coming back, but this wasn’t a person. He would probably look odd walking in a circle to get to Starbucks. He was tired and looked it. No one would question his need for coffee. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he had plenty of money. A pumpkin spice latte with two extra shots of espresso would hit the spot.
As he approached, he noticed that this was the high rent district with Mercedes and Jaguars in the parking lot. A Ford minivan pulled in from the street and parked up front. A man in a nice suit without a tie accompanied an Army soldier, also wearing what looked like a military suit, green jacket and trousers, light green shirt, with a tie, ribbons and badges.
Clay hesitated, but the two were deep in conversation and like him, were in a hurry to get a coffee. He shrugged. Clay was too tired to do anything else besides getting in line. As he stood behind the pair of men, the one in the suit looked at him, then looked closer.
“Excuse me, did you play for James Madison?”
People Raged: and the Sky Was on Fire-Compendium (Rick Banik Thrillers Book 1) Page 9