The Langley Profile

by Jack Bowie

  Chapter 36

  MI5 Command Center, Leith, Scotland

  Thursday, 11:45 a.m.

  Brooks had taken Slattery up to the second-floor operations center. Unlike the barren, aging rooms on the ground floor, the operations center was a state-of-the-art security facility filled with digital consoles, monitors and huge LCD panels displaying the state of the Summit. The room must have taken up at least half of the building. About thirty agents manned the consoles gathering status and monitoring the movements of the Summit members.

  Brooks led Slattery to one corner area where two agents were huddled over their terminals.

  “I’ve detailed this console to the search team,” Brooks told Slattery. “What have we got, Sean?”

  One of the operators raised his head. “After the alert from the Queensferry PC, we directed the vehicles to High Street, sir. You can see their progress on the map.” He pointed to the monitor hanging from the wooden crossbeams of the ceiling. Two green lights moved together along a line marked “B924.”

  “What about video?”

  “We didn’t have any cameras in the countryside, sir, but we just picked them up in South Queensferry.”

  The monitor flashed and the image split into two parts. The map remained on one side while the other showed a live picture of High Street. The two Range Rovers could be seen approaching the camera.

  “What’s that? Slattery asked.

  “It looks like some cyclists, sir,” the operator replied.

  “We found them,” Slattery whispered. Now if they could only track where they would go.

  The four men watched as the cyclists weaved in and out of the traffic, eventually surrounding the backup car.”

  “What are they doing?” Brooks asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Slattery, “but I don’t like it.”

  The lead car suddenly leaped ahead. The cyclists scrambled out of view and the backup car raced forward. Then the picture went black.

  “What happened?” screamed Slattery.

  The operators typed furiously on their keyboards. “I don’t know sir. The feed seems to have gone out.”

  Slattery looked over at the map. The green lights were gone. “Robert, get another team out there. Now!”

  * * *

  Braxton awoke into a smoky haze. Pains stabbed in his stomach. Had he been shot? Injured by shrapnel? His mind cleared and he realized the pains were something poking him. Then he heard the voice.

  “Adam. Get up. Get off of me!”

  Realizing he was probably now crushing Walker, he climbed onto the seat and carefully raised his head to the window. There was no glass left but their car seemed to be in one piece. Which was more than could be said for their backup. All that remained was a crumpled pile of smoking metal.

  He called out to his driver and passenger. There was no answer.

  By this time, Walker had pulled herself up and was sitting next to him on the seat.

  “My God,” she exclaimed.

  The area looked like a war zone. Stores on both sides of the road were blown out and bodies were strewn across the sidewalk.

  He remembered another explosion in a different time. He had been in a seedy motel in Fairfax, Virginia hiding out from both the authorities and a hired assassin. A bomb had been planted in a laptop computer to eliminate everyone present.

  The only reason he had lived then was because he had run. Run from the police. Run from the paramedics. Run from the assassins. To stay was to remain a target.

  They had to run.

  “Come on.” He grabbed Walker’s arm. “We have to get out of here.”

  “But we’ve got to help—”

  “No. This was a trap. Rockwell’s men will be back. If we stay, they will kill us. You have to trust me.”

  Walker hesitated, then gave him a push. They crawled out of the car and ran toward the nearest alley.

  The devastation was sickening. Braxton had never seen such carnage. Metal, glass and blood were everywhere. The survivors were stirring. Crying out.

  He had almost changed his mind about helping when he saw two white vans pull in behind the backup car.

  “Look,” he said pointing to the vans. “Those are Rockwell’s men. We’ve got to get out of sight.”

  They ran into the alley. Halfway in Braxton realized it was a dead end.

  “Shit! There’s nowhere to go.”

  Walker scanned the alley. “We need to split up. We’re both dead if we stay together.” She pointed to a dumpster on her right. “There. You hide behind that. I’ll go over here.” She ran behind a pile of packing boxes on her left.

  Braxton huddled next to the dumpster and watched as Walker built a nest out of the cardboard. When she was done, all he could see was the side of her head. She would be invisible from the entrance to the alley. He was sure she knew some fancy set of military hand signals to coordinate their actions but they would be lost on him. He’d just have to fake it.

  He listened for what he knew would be the approach of Rockwell’s men. A few minutes later he heard the scratchy buzz of a tactical radio.

  “Checking the next alley.”

  They were coming. He peeked around the side of the dumpster and saw a single mercenary walking toward them. The man was tall and muscular, with broad shoulders and huge hands. His black hair was tied into a short ponytail and an ugly scar ran down the side of his face. He was wearing a Kevlar vest and poking what looked like an AK-47 into the refuse on the opposite side of the alley. If he kept going, he would see Walker in seconds.

  Braxton looked across the open space to the boxes but there was no sign of his friend. She must have buried herself in the stack of cardboard. Which meant she probably couldn’t see her attacker.

  The mercenary kept going, maintaining his focus on that side of the alley. There was no time left. Braxton had to act.

  He leaped from the shadow of the dumpster and threw himself toward the mercenary. But it took too long to cross the distance, and the man saw the motion. Rather than forcing the mercenary down to the ground, the man turned and met Braxton face-to-face. The two fell to the cobblestones, separated only by the AK-47 which still hung around the mercenary’s neck.

  Braxton twisted his body and managed to end up on top. He pushed up and swung a right hand into his attacker’s face. The man took it without a sound and responded by locking Braxton’s left arm in his right. He jerked his arm across his chest and pulled Braxton over.

  Now it was Braxton’s turn on the bottom. He tried to block the strikes but took two paralyzing shots to the side of his head.

  The mercenary pinned Braxton’s arms with his knees and turned the barrel of the assault rifle to his neck. There were only seconds left.

  Braxton saw a flash of light then everything went black. Had he been shot? But he hadn’t heard any sound. For some reason, blindness frightened him more than death.

  He felt his arms release and he swiped a forearm across his face. His vision cleared and he saw his jacket was covered with blood.

  Walker was standing over him, a narrow six-inch knife in her hand. His attacker lay next to him in a pool of blood. His throat was sliced from ear to ear.

  “Pretty gutsy move, Mr. Braxton,” Walker said. “Jumping a killer that way.”

  “No big deal, Ms. Walker. I knew you’d come to my rescue. You owe me from Alameda, remember?” Braxton crawled to his knees. “But where did you get that knife?”

  “This little thing?” She wiped the blade on the soldier’s jacket and slipped it inside her boot. It completely disappeared. “Never go anywhere without it.”

  Braxton heard the singsong wail of European police sirens. He collapsed back on his haunches.

  “Sounds like the cavalry is on the way,” he said. “What do you say we wait them out here?”

  * * *

  “They escaped?” Rockwell was sitting behind his desk in the makeshift office of the B&B.

  His aide-de-camp stood at attention on the
other side of the desk. “We believe so, Colonel. Delta saw two people in the rear of the lead vehicle before the explosion. When the men arrived, there was no one there. Orlov was sent to find them. The team waited as long as they could but he never returned. We must assume he’s been captured.”

  “Or killed,” Rockwell said. “I doubt our Russian would go quietly. Was Delta able to recognize the passengers?”

  “No, sir. She was never close enough. But whoever it was, they must have recognized the threat. The lead vehicle pulled away unexpectedly and Baker chose to attach the device to the backup car. The confusion delayed his escape and he was caught in the blast.”

  Rockwell rubbed his neck. It was as hard as a block of concrete. The pressure of the final operation was taking its toll. “That is unfortunate. Did he survive?”

  “Apparently so, but he is unconscious. We have an asset in the hospital. She’ll monitor his condition.”

  “Good. Be sure Baker is not a liability. Ever. And don’t tell the squad. I don’t want anything to interfere with their performance tomorrow.”

  “Understood, sir. That won’t be a problem.”

  “It was probably Braxton in the car. It would be like Slattery to send out his rabbit again.” Rockwell slammed his fists on the tabletop. “Dammit! We can hope Orlov was able to finish his assignment before his demise.”

  Penrose remained silent, letting his boss work through his demons.

  “Are preparations completed?” Rockwell finally asked.

  “Yes, sir. Keating did a remarkable job on the vehicle. It is ready to go. The teams are prepared. We finish packing tomorrow morning. I have secured a new location west of here on the coast near Ayr. It would not be prudent to cross the border after the operation. We should be able to lay low indefinitely.”

  “Excellent. This will be a glorious finale, William. We will have silenced all of our doubters. The future will be ours.”

  “Thank you, sir. We will meet back here after the operation, load the vehicles and disappear.”

  * * *

  It was nearly dinner time when Braxton completed his interview with MI5. As he had feared, the three agents in the backup vehicle had been killed. His driver and passenger had survived, however, and were being treated at Royal Edinburgh Hospital.

  Braxton had been released first—probably because Walker had been a much better observer—and he had returned to their empty office to wait for his colleagues.

  He still couldn’t get over the horror of the explosion. His time in the Army had mostly been spent in classrooms and computer facilities, not battlefields. But nothing could have prepared him for the slaughter on High Street.

  The stack of descriptions still lay splayed out across the table. The answer had to be there.

  He had to stop Rockwell. Stop the killing. As much for these children as for the President.

  Half an hour later, Slattery and Walker appeared. Walker’s face and clothes were still streaked with dirt, but otherwise, she looked typically calm and composed. Slattery, on the other hand, appeared more tired than Braxton had ever seen him.

  They both took seats and Slattery began his summary.

  “First of all, I need to say how relieved I was to hear you two were okay. The attack gave everyone in the ops center a real wakeup call. Queensferry is one of the worst terrorist scenes I’ve ever encountered.

  “I’m sorry you had to endure the grilling by MI5, but it was necessary. Now there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that Rockwell is here. The Secret Service has been informed and Robert has put out a country-wide alert. Unfortunately, I doubt it will make any difference. This was a calculated trap to get to Adam, or me. They’ll now go to ground until the attack on the President.”

  “What’s the status of the causalities?” Braxton asked.

  “You know about the MI5 agents. Robert is taking that pretty hard. There were three civilians killed in the blast and fifteen injured. One of those killed was a young boy. From a review of the video, we think it was the bomber. We don’t have his identity yet, but we’ll get it soon. I’m sure he’ll be there.” Slattery pointed to the stack of papers.

  “What about Rockwell’s men?” Walker asked.

  “By the time the police arrived, they were gone. The man that attacked you had no identification, of course, but we’re running facial rec to try to get a hit. He did have a cell phone. Robert has his tech guys pulling numbers or GPS coordinates. It may tell us where Rockwell is hiding out.”

  Braxton took all the information in, wondering if any of it would do any good. All they had to protect the President was a cell phone and Rockwell’s comment about “Charlie.” It was looking pretty bleak.

  “Everyone’s tired,” Slattery finally announced. “Let’s call it a day and get some rest. If anything comes up, I’ll call you. Otherwise, we’ll meet back here at seven tomorrow.”

  Braxton felt like he should say something positive but he didn’t know what it would be. So he grabbed his coat and walked out. Walker hesitated, then followed, leaving Slattery alone with his thoughts.

  Chapter 37

  MI5 Command Center, Leith, Scotland

  Friday, 7:00 a.m.

  Braxton, Walker and Slattery arrived back at the command center at seven o’clock.

  “You two feeling okay?” Slattery asked as they settled into their chairs.

  Walker gave a curt nod.

  “Sure,” Braxton replied, shrugging his stiff shoulders. “I just love getting blown up. At least Sydney had my back.” He turned to Walker. “You don’t expect any extra pay for combat duty I hope? Bank account’s a little tight at the moment.”

  Walker smiled. “I’ll let this one pass, Adam. Just don’t make it a habit.”

  “Look,” Slattery said. He didn’t seem to be enjoying the friendly banter. “There’s no way we could have known Rockwell was setting up a trap. I’m sorry you were caught up in it. The important thing is that you’re both okay. And we have some new intel. The mercenary’s phone was encrypted but the tech guys think they can pull GPS coordinates. We may be able to find where Rockwell’s staying.”

  “How is the child?” Walker asked.

  “He’s Kenneth Asher,” Slattery answered. “Fourteen years old, from Robesonia, Pennsylvania.” He glanced down at the floor. “He died of his wounds early this morning.”

  Walker gasped. “How can they do this? Those poor parents. Having a child disappear, be missing for four years, then finding out he has been killed by terrorists. They’ve probably been praying for a ransom note. Anything that would prove he was alive. Then just when they thought this horror might be over, they learn …

  Kidnapping. Ransom. Proof of life.

  “It’s the parents,” Braxton blurted out.

  Walker and Slattery stared at their friend like he was an idiot.

  “What’s ‘the parents’? Are you saying it’s their fault?” Walker’s voice seethed with anger.

  “No. No. But the parents are the key.” He began shuffling through the profiles on the table. Scanning each one.

  “What are you thinking, Adam?” Slattery finally asked.

  Braxton leaned across the table. “Charlie. The video. It wasn’t a death threat. It was proof of life. What would these parents do to get their children back? Anything. What if they could be blackmailed?”

  “My God.” Walker grabbed the profiles and began her own review.

  “Okay,” Slattery answered. “It’s possible. But what could one of these parents do? How could they help with an assassination?”

  “It could be anything.” The pitch of Braxton’s voice rose. He felt his pulse race. “A tech guy with knowledge of intelligence ciphers. An arms dealer. A government employee with inside information on the Summit.”

  Walker looked up from the papers. “Well, there sure as hell isn’t anything here. ChildSafe never collected that kind of information. All we have is the general profession of the parents. Stuff like ‘teacher,’ ‘laborer’ or ‘ma
nager’.”

  “Roger, we have to find out who these people are today,” Braxton said. “Who do they work for? What do they do? We don’t know who Charlie is, but one of these parents is the key to the attempt on the President. How long will it take to find out?”

  “Give me an hour.” Slattery turned and charged out the door.

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later Slattery entered the office and slid a sheet of paper across the table to each of his colleagues. “Here’s the preliminary results. They’re not very detailed, but I told my team I wanted the best they could get immediately. Most of this is public information.”

  Braxton and Walker ran their fingers down the sheet. Braxton was the first to reply. “Vernon Kilmer at Google is a possibility but what’s with Jack Knox? Homeland Security?”

  Slattery nodded. “I noticed that too. DHS was all the team could find out without sticking their nose into secure files. We don’t operate domestically. Remember?”

  “Bullshit!” Walker exclaimed. She slammed her fists on the table. “It’s the life of the President. Are you saying you can’t find out where this guy really works?”

  “Sure I can. But when I do, flags will go off all over Washington. Even I don’t like messing with DHS. We don’t have any proof this is our guy. We don’t know why Knox would be Charlie.”

  “Maybe we do,” said Walker. “I’ve been thinking about something.” She reached across the table, stacked the children’s profiles in a pile and started going through each one. Two minutes later the sheets were again lined-up across the top. “We could never figure out who Charlie was. That’s because it wasn’t one of the children’s real names. It was their codename. Rockwell named the children as they were abducted.” She pointed to each profile, starting on her left. “Alpha, Danny Peters. The first child abducted four years ago. Bravo, Kenneth Asher. The next. Then, Charlie.” Her finger hovered over the profile of Frank Knox.

  Slattery stared at Braxton, then back to Walker. “That’s good enough for me.” He reached for his phone.