by Terry Keys
Dari tapped Sally on the shoulder and leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “Sally, is there any way I could use your phone to call Marty? I think you were right, I am feeling kind of sick.”
“What’s wrong? Is all of this a little much for you? It’s okay. They’re just regular people too. Just picture them all naked. That’s what I do.”
Dari smiled. “I will try.”
“You still want to call Marty real quick before the food is served?” Sally asked.
“Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Sally fumbled in her pocket for her phone. She pulled up Marty’s number and handed the phone to Dari.
Dari took the phone and whispered a thank you to Sally.
She stood up and hit Send on the phone.
“All infidels must die! Allahu Akbar!”
The call connected and Dari’s backpack exploded.
Chapter 50
I disconnected with Fingers and turned my radio on.
“What’s going on now?” DeLuca asked in a slight panic. I was certain she could see the fear grip my face.
“I don’t know yet.”
I tuned in to 740 AM and turned the volume up.
“We have a developing story. We now have confirmation that there has been an explosion inside the White House. Right now we don’t know if President Wilson was in the White House or if there were any casualties. But we have people on the ground who have confirmed there was indeed a large explosion inside the White House. Witnesses are reporting that a significant portion of the White House is now up in flames.”
“Oh my God, David!” DeLuca yelled.
If hell was real—and I believed it was—this must be what it felt like. My body was numb. The truck was moving toward Fingers lab, but I didn’t know how. My vision blurred, and I felt sick to my stomach.
I tossed my phone to DeLuca. “Go to my contacts. Find the number for President and call it.”
She picked up my phone, and a few seconds later it was ringing in the truck speakers.
“C’mon, pick up, damn it.” The phone rang and rang but no one answered. “Call it again,” I said, a little more agitated. Again the president’s phone rang but no one answered.
This can’t be happening, I thought. How had these guys gotten close enough to the White House to detonate a bomb?
“If the president . . . we may have to head to DC tonight,” I said.
Deluca nodded. “I know.”
It sounded like another update was coming through on the radio. I flicked the volume up with my thumb.
“President Jackie Wilson, General Rodney Tsakaris, Secretary of State John Pfleger, and Speaker of the House Ryan Neil have all been confirmed dead. United States intelligence is now working to identify the remaining bodies. The wives of General Tsakaris, John Pfleger, and Ryan Neil were also in attendance and are believed to be dead. President Wilson’s half-sister, NY Times journalist Sally Kincer, has also been confirmed dead. Sources are also investigating someone who they are now calling a person of interest. We are hearing the unidentified person may have been a guest of Kincer’s, but reports are still sketchy.”
I swallowed hard. Just like that, President Wilson was gone. I’d just spoken to her a few hours before. It was a surreal moment.
“So that means Vice President Brown assumes office now,” DeLuca said. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this.”
We pulled up to the lab and went inside.
“Other countries are going to all but demand that we send their leaders back. Hell, by military convoy if we have to,” I said.
“Can’t blame them,” Fingers chimed in. “We couldn’t keep our own president safe. How the hell are we supposed to protect theirs?”
“I’m flying to DC tonight. DeLuca, I need you to stay here with Fingers. Until you hear differently from me, work Paul’s case. Find him.”
My HPD email was connected to one of Finger’s computers. It chimed and we all stared at the monitor.
“Well, open it,” I said to Fingers.
The message contained one line: “Our guy for your guy.”
“So they want Rael in exchange for Paul? If that’s the case, email them back and make it happen,” Deluca said.
“Could be leading us right into a trap,” I snapped.
“Or it could be the only way we see Paul again,” she said, her voice noticeably louder.
“Getting Paul back does us no good if we all go down in a gunfight. And they’ll kill Rael the first chance they get.”
“So this Rael’s life is more important to you than Paul’s?”
“It’s not a contest. We are all hurting, but let’s not do something foolish and compound everything even more. Find Paul and bring him home.”
Chapter 51
I grabbed my newly replenished emergency travel bag from my back seat and rifled through it. Everything I needed seemed to be in place.
Now came the hard part. As I drove toward Hobby Airport, I phoned Miranda and the girls.
“Oh my God, David! Have you seen the news?” Miranda said as she came on the phone.
“I’ve seen it. That’s actually why I called. I’m heading to Hobby now. I gotta get on the ground there in DC.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“C’mon, say something,” I said.
“The girls need you around more. I need you around more.”
I listened but there was really nothing I could say.
“David did you hear me?”
“Yeah, loud and clear. I’m sorry, but . . . you know I have to go. I’m the only one who has all the pieces. I just need to figure out how they all go together. After this is over, we’ll finish that vacation. I promise. I love you.”
The last thing a cop wanted was to be fighting a battle on two fronts. Miranda was right, though; I needed to be home more. Those precious moments I was missing with my kids could never be replaced.
A few short hours later, I touched down in DC. The city was in chaos. Security had been heightened to a level I had not seen in my lifetime.
U.S. Secret Service had a car and a small group of bodyguards waiting for me.
We rode along in silence. My brief encounters with these guys in the past told me it was just how they liked it.
“Detective Porter?” one of the service men said.
“Yes?”
He took off his dark sunglasses so I could see his eyes. They were puffy and bloodshot.
“Look at my eyes, Detective. Do you see that?”
I nodded. “I do.”
“The tears, the pain . . . every day we put our lives on the line to—”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “I know. It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything else. I’m going to catch these guys.”
He got right in my face. “If you don’t catch them, we could all be looking at a very different future.”
The agent put his glasses back on and sat back in his seat. No one else spoke for the remainder of our short trip to the White House.
When the car turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue, the magnitude of it all settled in a little deeper. Helicopters hovered. Police and military vehicles lined the streets. And there were news vans—lots of news vans.
The area around the explosion had been roped off. I’d told a few of the men that I wanted to visit the morgue later to view the bodies. Everything about this scene was surreal. I couldn’t believe I was standing in the middle of an explosion site at the White House.
The Secret Service crew that had been working the night before had been sequestered. Each agent was being questioned. It was vital to get any information we could from them as soon as possible. Two of the men died during the explosion, while two others suffered injuries that were severe enough to require hospital stays.
I needed to learn everything I could about the president’s dinner guests the night before.
I spent another thirty minutes trying to commit as many details as I cou
ld to memory. It was a gruesome scene. The media pictures that shot out around the world would bolster the terrorist community.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out and looked down to identify the caller.
“What’s up, DeLuca?”
“How bad is it?”
“Worse than I imagined. The White House is a worldwide symbol of freedom and democracy. You can bet the terror groups around the world are on cloud nine right now. They outsmarted us and killed the most powerful elected official in the world.”
When DeLuca didn’t say anything, I continued. “I’m about to head out to visit with the Secret Service agents who were working last night. I need to know everything about the guests. But you called me. Is something up?”
“Yeah. We got an anonymous tip regarding a possible location on Paul.”
“You got the chief, Mullinski, and everyone in on it?”
“Roger that. The whole team’s getting along.”
“Okay. I gotta run. Keep me posted.”
I disconnected with DeLuca and took one more walk around the crime scene.
“Excuse me,” I said to one of the agents. “I’m all done here. Can we go see your other guys now?”
We got about ten feet away from the car when I heard someone calling my name from afar.
I turned around, circling in every direction until I zeroed in on a contingent of black-suited men heading in my direction. What the hell was this about?
As the group got closer, I noticed the former vice president, now President Brown, sandwiched between them.
She extended her hand to shake mine. “Leslie Brown.”
“David Porter. Pleasure to finally meet you, although I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Me too, Detective. Listen, Jackie trusted you. She believed that you would find these guys and end this madness. Was she wrong for believing in you, Detective?”
I stood there, staring at her for a moment before speaking.
“I’m going to catch these guys. You do remember how long it took the U.S. government to capture Osama bin—”
“Yeah. Well, you don’t have the luxury of an eight-to-ten-year mission, Detective. More like eight to ten days.”
“I won’t let you down,” I said, trying my best to sound confident.
I wasn’t certain if I was trying to convince her or myself.
Chapter 52
The agents took me to the place where they held the two Secret Service men that had survived the attack on the White House.
As I went into the small building, I found a small couch and had a seat.
Ten minutes later the agents came back survivors in tow.
I stood to greet the visibly shaken men. “My name is detective David Porter. You know why I’m here, don’t you?”
He nodded. The other man stood behind and didn’t say a word.
“What’s your name?”
“Greg Tasso.”
“Listen, Greg, you aren’t in any kind of trouble here. You’re a credible witness. That’s why they’ve got you here. Do you understand?”
He nodded again.
“One day we may need you to sit in a court of law and testify under oath about what happened. But first things first. I have to catch these guys, and I need your help.”
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
His mood suddenly changed. He squinted his eyes at me.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
“Well, I could do that, but I think it’d make a whole lot more sense for me to just tell you what I believe happened and how.”
I frowned. I didn’t understand how he could be so certain, but I played along.
“Okay, that works for me, Greg.”
He straightened up in his seat. “I recognized everyone at the dinner last night except the girl.”
“What girl? The president’s sister’s guest?”
He squinted at me. “Yes. I knew something was off with that little girl from the moment I tried to take her backpack.”
I had been taking notes, but that stopped me in my tracks.
“Backpack? What did this guest look like?”
“Little Middle Eastern girl. Hell, I don’t know, fourteen or fifteen maybe.”
“Did you happen to overhear why this girl was joining the president for dinner?”
“No, sir. I was wondering the same damn thing.”
“What about this backpack?”
“Well, when she got out of the limo with the president’s sister, she had the backpack on. At least two times we tried to take it, but both times she pulled away. I did hear the president’s sister say we should give the kid a break. Apparently all of her worldly possessions were in that backpack.”
“This isn’t making sense to me. No one insisted that the bag be checked?”
“It was a damn kid! A teenager. Like I said, we tried but the girl wouldn’t let us. The president herself waved us off the last time. And now look.”
“I’m going to have a sketch artist come by. Do you think you can give her an accurate description? We need to see what this girl looks like and find out why the president’s sister thought bringing her to the White House was a good idea.”
I got Fingers to send me Kincer’s address. Her apartment would be my next stop. I’d also asked for her cell phone records to be sent to me.
The apartment manager, an older black man with graying hair and hardened eyes, gave me a key and let me go up to Kincer’s apartment without much resistance. I keyed the door open and went inside. It was a sparsely furnished, cozy little place. A bit messy but comfortable nonetheless.
It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for—a computer. Kincer was a journalist. I wanted to see what she’d been working on.
I called Fingers.
“Got a run-of-the-mill Dell laptop. Need it cracked,” I said when he answered the phone.
“That it?”
“I know this is child’s play for you.”
“Not even.”
I called out the numbers he needed from the machine. Less than a minute later, I was in.
“DeLuca and crew just headed out on the tip they received on Paul.”
“Good. Thanks. Gotta run.”
I had the laptop open in front of me, and when the blackness left the screen, Kincer’s Yahoo mail popped up. The last email she’d received was from someone name Charles O’Keefe. I couldn’t read the entire message, but the preview said, “Holy crap! This story is amazing.” I accessed it. From: Charles
To: Sally
Subject: Re-edit and show this to no one.
Hoy crap! This story is amazing. I’ll get right on the edit.
Charles
_____________________________________________________________________________________
From: Sally
To: Charles
Subject: Edit and show this to no one.
You read the subject—story is attached. Midday release tomorrow.
Sally
I wondered if I was chasing a rabbit down a hole or if this had anything to do with the bombing at the White House. I double clicked on the attachment and waited for the document to load.
Chapter 53
Religion, Politics and War by Sally Kincer
“War is continuation of politics by other means.” The Carl von Clausewitz quote has been used in speeches, written in books and recycled by Hollywood ever since the words were spoken hundreds of years ago.
In today’s world, politics has infiltrated every aspect of our lives. The world news you watch is often slanted, with broadcasters strongly leaning one way or the other rather than simply reporting the news. A person’s religious background is usually determined by what religion their parents are and what part of the world they’re born in. Religion is faith based, not fact based. If there were solid, undeniable facts to support the major religions of the world, quite frankly, you wouldn’t need faith.
Two of the la
rgest, most followed religions on the planet, Christianity and Islam, dominate the United States and the Middle East. Decades of government corruption and disputes over oil, land and other natural resources have pitted many countries against one another, turning them into bitter enemies and further complicating international diplomacy.
As I write this story, it is even hard for me to type religion and war back to back. It should be incomprehensible that a religion would find itself at war with another religion when most religions teach love, peace and tolerance. Knocking on unchurched people’s doors with join-our-religion-if-you-want-to-kill (you fill in the blank) seems like a huge oxymoron.
For many reasons, America and the countries in the Middle East have been at odds for many years. Most Americans consider themselves Christians, although many do not consider themselves religious. And many do not have a regular church home where they attend. Meanwhile, people who live in the Middle East are mostly Islamic.
Multiple factors play a role, but the United States has invaded, or bombed many Middle-Eastern countries. This has landed them many supporters in parts of these countries but it has also created many enemies for the United States. A term that has helped fuel the flames of war is the Arabic word Jihad which simply means one’s struggle or exerted effort. If you asked most Americans what the word Jihad meant the answer that you would most often hear is holy war.
The years of war and the poor distribution of wealth in most of these Middle Eastern countries have left many of the impoverished feeling hopeless. Extremists use this hopelessness and despair to help with recruiting.
Today I met a young girl from the Middle East. In all my years of investigative journalism, I have never been so deeply moved as I was by this young woman’s passion. Her story is one that, given the circumstances, cannot be unique. American bombings have killed many of her friends and loved ones, while local extremists claimed the lives of many others. She was recently captured by one of those extremist groups, but she managed to escape captivity.
As I read the rest of the article, it suddenly hit me. I didn’t believe in coincidences, and I was staring directly into the face of one. Rael’s daughter was shown on a video being raped and beat up. And now a girl sneaks into the White House and kills the president of the United States. Had Rael played us? Played me? Was this girl his daughter? Had the video all been a ruse? Had it been shown to Kincer? And who had connected the girl with Sally Kincer?