A picture of Cassie appeared on the screen. It was her Ranger school graduation picture. She was thin with short, stringy dirty blond hair. Her cheeks appeared hollowed out from lack of food during the rigorous two-month training course. The rolled-up sleeves on her army combat uniform hung loosely around her muscled arms. The smile was disarming, and Cooper commented on that.
“Here is Captain Bagwell. Nobody knows where she is right now. Is this the face of a murderous traitor or a gleeful graduate of notoriously tough military training? More to follow on that,” Cooper said.
“Wish they had used a different picture. Let’s see what Faux News is having to say,” Zara said. She pressed some buttons on the remote and Bret Baier’s face filled the screen.
“An unbelievable development of events in the last twenty-four hours. The president, vice president, and Speaker of the House all assassinated. Former presidential candidate Senator Jamie Carter, now president, seems to be the benefactor of all of this bloodshed. Is this a coup staged on behalf of the Resistance or a foreign terrorist attack? Already the Russian and Chinese governments have made public denouncements of the bloodshed, but what does this upheaval in American politics mean for the safety and security of the country? And to add to the confusion, we have a leaked document that claims to be a credible intelligence report asserting that Jamie Carter’s name is on some alleged ‘hit list,’ meaning she was supposed to go down in the carnage. Is it real or fake intel? Is it possible that this was a coup orchestrated to benefit one of two people, Jamie Carter or General Kinnear?”
“Good use of passive voice. Note, he doesn’t accuse Jamie of anything,” Zara said.
“I’m more concerned about his description of the document,” Wise said.
“Surely, you know that these people are going to assume the worst. You did leak it.”
“I do know that and yes I did. It’s just unnerving to hear it laid bare like that.”
“Well, better steel up for what is surely to come. There’s a lot more coming at us,” she said.
On cue, Baier continued: “We are just receiving reports that the goddaughter of Jamie Carter is the lead suspect in the assassinations that have rocked the nation. Recently returned from combat in Iran, Captain Cassie Bagwell was being treated at Walter Reed Military Hospital in Bethesda for gunshot and shrapnel wounds, traumatic brain injury and post-traumatic stress. The Army has made no statement yet regarding Captain Bagwell. Most striking, though, is her connection to the now-president Jamie Carter. Is this a major coincidence, or could Captain Bagwell have led what would be tantamount to a military coup? An active-duty member of the military killing the three highest-elected officials in the country is nothing short of a conspiracy on the level we haven’t seen since Confederate sympathizer John Wilkes Booth assassinated President Lincoln, believing that his co-conspirators were executing their part of the plan. Captain Bagwell’s fingerprints are allegedly at both crime scenes. Did she take matters into her own hands, as Booth wished he had done nearly one hundred and sixty years ago?”
Fox News showed a different image of Cassie. It was a picture of her as a lieutenant at her father’s promotion to four-star general. She was smiling, but it was not the same generous grin that she was offering post–Ranger school. The picture also showed then-Senator Jamie Carter standing next to Cassie’s mother.
“In this picture, we clearly see the closeness of then-Senator Carter to the Bagwell family. Our sources tell us that Captain Bagwell’s mother and Senator Carter were college roommates. That relationship led to the Bagwells asking Jamie Carter to be the godmother to Cassie Bagwell thirty years ago.”
“This has a spin I don’t like,” Zara said.
“What do you expect. It’s Fox?”
“Still, the undertone is that Cassie killed for her godmother. That’s counterproductive.”
“Jamie was nowhere near anything that was happening. She’s clean. There are no communications between her and Cassie. There’s no trace of how she got to DC,” Wise said.
“I’m sure we stayed as much off the radar as possible, but still,” Zara said.
Zara’s mind spun. Who might have seen her with Cassie? There was the driver that picked Cassie and her up at the airport. Then there was whoever might have seen two dark figures in the night near the CIA compound where the president and vice president were killed. Had anyone seen them in the elevator to her place, coming or going? She had intentionally left Cassie behind at Daingerfield Island so that she could kill the Speaker with the signature of Team Artemis. Had anyone connected that Cassie was the drowned rat coming into the condo building and heading up to her place?
“Okay then. No spinning our wheels on this. Who else should be on the Committee of Public Safety?” Zara asked.
“Well, just you and me now. I’m not sure we need to broaden the aperture too much. We’ve got a lot of borderline stuff going on.”
“Please, the media will eat this up and put stiff winds behind our sails.”
“Maybe. That’s actually a good thought. Which of the mainstream-media personalities would you like to pull in? An established figure or give some newcomer a break?” Wise pondered.
“I’m thinking that hot, new chick on CNN would be good. Who did you give the tip to?”
“Great minds think alike. You’re talking about Rae Lantini, who was more than happy to run with my story,” Wise said.
“Okay, good. She’s always bashing Smart, getting thrown out of the press pool trying to be the new Acosta, and just emotional enough to work inside for us, I think. I used to leak to her during the campaign. Trial balloon info. Jamie Carter is thinking about lowering taxes on middle class, for example, and then we’d watch the reaction on Twitter and other social media,” Zara explained.
“Add her to the list. She trusts me. But being on the committee means making decisions to kill people. Think she’ll be okay with that?” Wise asked.
“More than okay. She’s pretty rabidly anti-Smart. SDS, the whole works.”
Smart Derangement Syndrome.
“Tread carefully. Dealing with the media is like petting a shark, holding a snake by the midsection, whatever dangerous creature metaphor you want to pick.”
“Got it,” Zara said, flipping through her phone, looking for Rae’s contact information.
On the computer, the algorithms spit out the results of Cassie’s likely path, which led to either the Anacostia or Congress Heights Metro.
“Let’s start there.” Zara pointed.
“Got it. Sending alert now,” Wise said. He typed a brief sentence that was digitally transmitted like a text message to all Artemis team members: Patient 17 at Anacostia Metro. K/C.
“Kill or capture?” Zara asked.
“Yes. You have a better idea?”
“Why the capture? What good is she to us? She’s already implicated in the assassinations. Alive, she can only hurt us. Dead, she can only help us.”
Wise nodded and typed: Correction. Patient 17 at Anacostia Metro. K only.
CHAPTER 17
MAHEGAN, OWENS, HOBART, AND VAN DREEVES HUDDLED AROUND O’Malley’s computer in the CIA safe house near Nationals Park stadium. With all of the new construction, the CIA had wisely purchased an end-unit row house in a mixed-income community that had a two-car garage and a basement.
A designer had appointed the home with Colonial-style furniture. Lots of antiques and hardwoods. Bookcases lined the study, one of which was a trapdoor to the basement. The basement was reinforced with steel plates in the walls, which allowed it to double as a holding cell. Heavy mauve drapes covered the Lexan bulletproof and blast-resistant windows. Biagatti had a Lexan glassed in cell built for purposes of holding detainees off location, should the need ever arise. The 15’ by 15’ cell jutted out from the far right corner about thirty feet from the stairway.
“Look, this might sound wild, but I’ve been tracking unusual comms traffic in the DC area. I’m able to weed out ninety-nine percent of the no
rmal bullshit, like routine phone calls and texts, and look for new systems or networks. I’ve got something that looks weird. See these blue dots, about fifteen of them in Southeast DC?”
His finger nearly touched the MacBook screen. There were three blue dots near the Anacostia Metro, with two more closing in, with another two blue dots near the Congress Heights Metro. Not far to the north was a red dot, and there were another eight blue dots scattered elsewhere throughout the city.
“What is it?” Mahegan asked. He thought he might know, but wanted to hear O’Malley’s assessment. Also, based upon Cassie’s latest communication, he believed that this was some type of force closing in on Cassie.
“Honestly? It looks like Blue Force Tracking. What every army combat unit uses to provide real-time situational awareness.”
Mahegan left the study and walked along the hall filled with pictures of famous landmarks around DC. The Washington Monument. Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Lincoln. Jefferson. He entered the family room and pressed the Band-Aid on his mastoid bone behind his ear. An audible beep told him the line was still operational.
“Go,” Cassie said. She was breathing heavily.
“You’ve got five at Alpha and two at Charlie Hotel.”
“Roger.”
“Need help?”
“Send me their locations.”
“Roger. Stand by.”
Mahegan walked into the study and said, “Sean, send Cassie the locations on her BLEPS.”
O’Malley looked at Mahegan, then turned and entered some commands into the computer. From the rustling sounds, Cassie was apparently digging through her rucksack, looking for her ballistic eye protection, or BLEP. As part of the communications upgrade, Mahegan’s team had an advanced form of Google Glass and the heads-up display could be shown through either glasses or contact lenses. Cassie had both, but he guessed that since Cassie was in a combat scenario, she would opt for the clear-plastic eye protection.
As O’Malley was working, Owens said to Mahegan, “Why can’t we have Sean just hack it and issue a stand-down order?”
O’Malley overheard and said, “I can probably do that—”
“No, don’t,” Cassie interrupted. “This is my decision. We need to have them all exposed.”
“A lot of risk,” Mahegan said.
“And then what? They go in hiding and they’ll keep coming after me.”
“Stand-down order and go public,” Owens said. “Could work.”
Hobart and Van Dreeves stood watch from the side of the window and front door, respectively.
“No. Again, this is my decision,” Cassie said. “We do this my way. I’m the one taking the risks. Put me on with Sean.”
“No need, Cassie,” Mahegan said. Then to O’Malley: “Don’t give any orders. Just provide the locations.”
After a few more seconds, O’Malley turned and looked over his shoulder and said, “Okay, she should have it. Three-D terrain and whatever tracking devices they’re using.”
“Got it, Cass?”
“Just a sec,” she said.
The tension in the room had grown tenfold. All eyes were on Mahegan, thinking about Cassie, the mission, and maybe even their relationship. Cassie was surrounded and on the run. The world believed that she assassinated the president, vice president, and Speaker. The stakes could not have been higher.
“Yes. I’ve got it. And . . . thanks.”
“We need you back. You’re the only one who can pin this on Zara and Jamie.”
“Love you, too.”
“Roger. Be safe.”
“Out.”
Mahegan didn’t like the odds of seven to one, but respected Cassie’s intuition. The intel feed should help, but still. She had done well so far, though. Her bruised body and mind had endured chemical torture imposed by Zara at the Valley Trauma Center. The only reason Mahegan and team had not raided the center was the age-old dilemma of developing enough intel to actually know what was happening versus acting too soon and potentially making the wrong call or planning the wrong type of operation. Cassie had actually suggested her infiltration to the Valley Trauma Center when Jake had visited her one day at Walter Reed.
“We’re getting intel that Resistance members are training in the Blue Ridge,” Mahegan says.
“What kind of training? Where?”
“Reports of firearms training and hand-to-hand combat. Someplace called the Valley Trauma Center. It’s part of a conglomerate owned by a billionaire who supported Senator Carter’s bid for the presidency.”
“Who are they recruiting?”
“Seems that the women are athletic, intelligent, and young, like you.”
“And their mission is what?”
“We don’t know that yet. Just some chatter about training. We’ve got voices on signals intelligence. Have matched a few. Moles within the government appear to be working with the Resistance outside the government.”
“So it’s an attack? What?”
“We’re not sure. We need more intel.”
Cassie pauses, thinking. “Get me there. If they do brain injury stuff.”
“It doesn’t work like that. You have to be invited there.”
“Jamie Carter is coming to see me tomorrow. Maybe she can help.”
“Be careful. Think this through, Cassie.”
They had done their best to think through the second- and third-order effects. The plan was simple. Get Cassie into the Valley Trauma Center and let her report out to Mahegan on what she was seeing and hearing. They had not expected the extreme drugging, but it made sense in retrospect. Zara Perro was a psychiatrist who had experimented on a range of post-traumatic stress therapies. Once they had identified her as a central player in the VTC, the end game became clearer: this was going to benefit Jamie Carter, whose campaign Zara had worked for.
Cassie’s plan to get into the center had worked, but the ultimate success remained to be seen. She was presently outnumbered seven to one in Southeast DC. Could she continue to flee, drawing out the Resistance fighters? As the rabbit, her mission was to keep running until they made a mistake.
Of course, to keep running, she needed to stay alive.
Mahegan pulled out of his thoughts when O’Malley said, “Look. They have a kill order out on Cassie.”
“Who is they?”
“I’m pinging the IP address right now. It’s pretty well-disguised, but I’ve found a way in, I think.” Then after a brief pause, O’Malley’s eyes grew wide. “Holy shit, the mother ship. This is an FBI protocol coming from Zara Perro’s apartment less than two miles from here.”
“Okay, saddle up, guys. Sean, you and Patch stay here and monitor Cassie. Be prepared to react at my command. She’s near the Anacostia Metro. Hobart and VD, you’re with me.”
“Roger that,” they all seemed to say in unison. Finally a mission they could sink their teeth into.
Mahegan made a quick trip upstairs to check on Biagatti. She was in the bedroom, fully clothed, lying on the bed with her hands clasped on her stomach as if she were in a casket.
“Yes?” she said, opening one eye.
“We’ve got a lead we’re going to follow,” Mahegan said.
“You sound like Magnum, PI. What’s your intel?”
“Zara Perro is operating a command-and-control operation out of her apartment here in DC,” Mahegan said.
“What is she commanding and controlling?”
“Looks like about fifteen assassins,” he said.
“Let me know how it turns out. I’m resting for now.”
“Roger that.” Mahegan turned, noticed two cell phones on her nightstand, and departed.
Running back down the steps, he bolted into the garage, where Hobart and Van Dreeves were waiting. They sped out in the Panamera, loaded with weapons and intel.
CHAPTER 18
CASSIE STOOD ON A METAL LADDER AND PUSHED AT A MANHOLE cover. She managed to move it to the side. To her front, left, and right was a fence. The manhole cover was ne
xt to a public restroom, which was directly behind her. The stink of urine permeated the tunnel, the restroom, and now her clothes.
She thought of Jermaine and how the run-down tenement led to his private tunnel, which connected to this culvert. Jermaine had helped. She looked at him and hoped he was okay.
The reception on her BLEP heads-up display improved dramatically once she popped her head from the tunnel. Immediately, she saw the blue Metro sign lit up like a beacon. Inside her BLEP, the heads up display showed blue images moving in on her location. There was one red image that was stationary. She imagined that was the woman she had killed. The blue moving pieces were trying to box her in. As Jake had told her, there were five dots moving toward the Anacostia Station and two toward the Congress Heights Station.
As she studied the lens, three of the dots were lined up, one behind another, nearly directly behind her; then they disappeared from the BLEP display.
The assassins were in the tunnel, coming in from behind her. The same way she and Jermaine had fled.
“We’ve got to move. Do you know your way around?”
“I take the Metro to school some days,” Jermaine said.
“The women trying to kill me are in the tunnel behind us.”
“Let me up. I have an idea,” Jermaine said.
Cassie kept her eyes on the field in front of her, knowing that half the threat was in front of them. She climbed out of the hole and slid onto the nasty concrete pad outside of the brick restroom. Cigarette butts, condoms, and beer cans littered the ground.
Jermaine popped from the tunnel and ran in the opposite direction, backpack slung over his shoulder. “Be right back,” he called.
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