"It's apparently always like this. Great weather if you're from the northeast like I am!"
They drove up and up into the mountains until they reached a massive fence with black iron gates held open by two armed men who waved their vehicle through. Brian noticed security cameras at the gates and there were more along the lane they were on. Suddenly the jungle ended at a broad expanse of lush green grass and an attractive ranch-style house, a rambling white one-story nestled into the side of a hill. There were broad patios with umbrellas and pool furniture that overlooked the ocean far below.
Nicole commented dryly, "Maybe I should have packed a swimsuit."
"No problem. I think you'll find everything you'll need is here."
Everything I'll need? For what? We're actually going swimming? I'm damn sure not doing it! This is no vacation. We're virtual prisoners, after all, "in the interest of national security."
The Jeep pulled up in front of the house. Another armed man in shorts came through the front door. Pope said, "I'll handle your bags. This is Agent Moore. He'll take you from here and I'll see you inside."
They could feel a warm sea breeze and smell the salty tang of the ocean. The place was gorgeous, with flowers and palm trees everywhere. If this was a private residence, Nicole thought for a second, then it belonged to someone with very deep pockets.
The agent offered a handshake and said, "Wesley Moore, United States Secret Service. Good afternoon and welcome. I hope your flight went well. Come in, please."
Brian glanced at Nicole, a question on his face. Secret service? Here? Why?
He led them through the front entrance of the massive house. In the sudden transition from glaring sunlight to dark shadows, their eyes had to adjust for a moment. Someone was walking down a long hallway toward them, but Brian couldn't make out who it was.
Then he heard a familiar voice. "Welcome, you two. Thanks for coming."
What? How could this be? What the hell is he doing here? What's going on?
Former senator Henry Harrison walked up and hugged Nicole. Then he took Brian's hands in his own and squeezed them tightly. "Thanks for your friendship, Brian. I'm glad you're here, both of you. We're all glad. I apologize in advance for everything, but now it'll all make perfect sense."
Brian was totally confused. "Senator? But you're supposed to be . . . are we in the Mediterranean?"
He laughed. "No. That was a fast jet you were on, but it wasn't that fast! Come on in and let's explain things."
The former President's father led them down the hallway. A pleasant breeze wafted through huge double doors at the far end. Past them was what appeared to be an expansive, screened-in veranda. They could see the ocean out in the distance as they walked through the wide-open doors.
Out on the porch there were smiles, laughter, squeals of youthful delight and warm, sincere greetings from a small group of people who had been anticipating their arrival.
Nicole broke into a wide grin, but Brian looked around in disbelief.
What's happening? This can't be true!
He felt himself teetering unsteadily, and suddenly he collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Brian woke to a hodgepodge of concerned faces – familiar faces – gathered around him as he lay on the tile floor. Nicole was kneeling beside him. She saw his eyelids flutter open and said, "He's awake!"
There was another voice. "Brian! Are you okay?"
He recognized it immediately. But how could it be?
"Harry? Where am I? You're . . . you're dead, aren't you?"
There was laughter.
"Not quite yet," the First Lady quipped. "Come on, Nicole, help me get him up off the floor. We should have expected the surprise would give you guys a shock. I just didn't think someone would hit the deck!"
He and Nicole sat on a long couch on the veranda, and a man dressed in shorts and a T-shirt served them tea. Suddenly the President's girls Lizzie and Kate rushed over and plopped themselves between Nicole and Brian, snuggling up to them.
Kate kissed him on the cheek and said, "Hi, Brian! They didn't tell us you and Nicole were coming! I hope you guys will swim with us! We have a great big pool. We're having a secret adventure, and now you're part of it too!"
Brian looked at Harry. "I'd say adventure is an understatement. Boy, I have a lot to figure out here. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see people before. Especially since Nicole and I were in Oklahoma City for your . . ." He paused. Maybe the kids didn't know people had attended their funerals.
"Yeah, that's the part I regret most," Harry admitted. "Especially having to put Mom and Dad through that part." He glanced at his mother, who shook her finger at him disapprovingly. "Once we explain everything, you'll see why all this had to happen."
So even Harry's parents didn't know. What the hell was this all about?
He looked around the room. He was surprised to see the Vice President and Secretary of State. He'd never met either but here they were, which meant that the 747 hadn't crashed either.
Nicole saw a dozen people indoors having lunch at a long table. She asked Jennifer who they were.
"That’s both crews and our Secret Service agents. There are twenty-five of us, plus Special Agent Pope, who was here when we arrived. I'm sure you heard that number a thousand times on the news. Twenty-five Americans were killed in the two crashes."
"So there weren't crashes at all? What happened to the planes?"
Harry replied, "I want your questions answered as much as you do, but it's better to start from the beginning. I'll let my Chief of Staff give you the details this afternoon, and you can ask me anything you want afterwards. First, how about lunch? We have sandwiches and all the trimmings."
They walked inside and Harry introduced their new guests to the others. "This is my best friend," he said with a tear in his eye as he put his arm around Brian's shoulders. "Just like all the people back home who love you guys, both of these people thought we were dead. I'm so sorry it has to be this way for all of you. What we're doing is for the good of our country. You all know that already."
Brian and Nicole could see everyone was on board with whatever was going on here. They laughed among themselves and appeared very comfortable with each other and their surroundings. Brian, Nicole, Harry and Jennifer filled their plates from a sideboard loaded with food, picked up beers and went outside to eat. They caught up during lunch; then Harry turned them over to Bob Parker.
They signed the same confidentiality document every person here had executed, the one with federal prison as its penalty for violation. The lawyer in Nicole wanted to read it, but she knew it was wasted energy. There was no negotiating anything at this point.
Parker started by saying that all of this, from the disappearance of the planes to the secret location here, was part of a mission called Operation Condor. As they listened to how things had unfolded, Brian was astounded at the boldness of the terrorists. Nothing even approaching this had ever been carried out before. By all appearances two planes were down, the top two leaders plus a cabinet secretary were dead, and the United States was in fear once again.
As remarkable as the jihadist operation had been, as earth shattering as the disappearance of Air Force One and Two, the other side of the coin was far more incredible and audacious. The countermeasures dreamed up by a small secret cadre of United States government officials were brilliant. Bob Parker said Operation Condor would someday be called one of history's most daring missions.
He explained that they were on a private island a few hundred miles from the US Virgin Islands. Its owner, a billionaire from England, had rented it lock, stock and barrel to a CIA shell entity a year ago. The island had a paved airstrip, the main house, a dozen outbuildings, and everything they needed to be self-sufficient for months.
"But Vice President Taylor and the Secretary of State are here too. Is the 747 here somewhere?"
"No. Some things just wouldn't work. Right now the 747
's on an uninhabited four-square-mile island in the Pacific called Palmyra Atoll, thousands of miles from anywhere. It's sitting inside a rusty hangar from the Second World War. That's where it landed after the terrorists thought they detonated the bomb. Everyone from that plane came here on a private jet the CIA sent. They'll deal with getting the 747 back when this is all over."
He said that the Gulfstream – Air Force One – was still parked at the end of the runway where they had landed earlier today.
Nicole was surprised. "I never saw it."
"Good. That means the guys have done their jobs well. It's covered with mesh netting and jungle camouflage, and it blends in perfectly with the vegetation. You'd never see it from the air. Don – the CIA director – sent a couple of recon planes over the island, and everything looks perfectly normal. We look like guests on a private island enjoying a vacation."
"How long do you think you all can stay hidden here before someone finds out?"
"Probably not that long. Word's bound to leak with an operation this complex. Every one of us had to endure the pain of putting friends through funerals that weren't real and suffering grief and mourning for people who weren't actually dead, including the President of the United States and his entire family. Until President Harrison brought his father and mother here, even they didn't know. It was killing them, he knew, so it was killing him too. He made that decision and Director Case agreed. But with that said, the more people who are here, the more chance there is of someone figuring things out. If a sailboat or a large yacht happened to stop here, they'd run into armed men patrolling the shores and they'd be told to leave. I'm sure guards and privacy are common occurrences with very wealthy individuals, but we're trying to be careful not to create a situation that could bring attention to us."
"What about the Internet?"
"The house has Internet and satellite TV. The television helps pass the time, but connectivity doesn't matter. We have no one to contact because we're all dead. None of us has a device that can send messages anyway. We turned in our cellphones when we got here, and they're locked up so no one accidentally makes a mistake. All of us have modified Kindles. People can read anything they downloaded before they came, but they can't connect to Wi-Fi. We have every comfort here except the comforts of home. The crew and security people were selected for the mission specifically because they have no immediate family to grieve for them. But we all have close friends. That's the hardest part, but it'll be worth it once the CIA figures this out."
Brian asked why the two of them were suddenly being brought in on the secret.
"That happened because some events are unfolding that involve you. Both of you. President Harrison issued the order to bring you here for your safety."
That alarmed Nicole. "What events are unfolding? What are you talking about?"
"That's something for you to discuss with the President. For now, let me continue the story. In addition to the twenty-five of us who were on the planes, there are only three other people who knew what was going to happen. Three people in DC know we're alive now, hiding somewhere in an undisclosed location. Those people are CIA Director Don Case, the chief justice of the Supreme Court, and Michelle Isham, the Majority Leader of the Senate. That's important for you to know. Our entire mission, including all of us sitting here today on a private island, happened so the CIA could find out who wanted to kill the President and the Vice President, and why."
"But now everyone knows, correct? The Falcons of Islam took credit. Are you saying it wasn't them?"
"It was the Falcons, but that's not the information President Harrison and the CIA are looking for. They want to know who within the United States government is involved."
"There are traitors within our government? Is that what you're saying?"
"I'm not authorized to discuss that aspect, but you may certainly ask President Harrison. He can explain more, I'm sure."
Months before, intelligence services had picked up chatter from Syria that indicated a secret initiative had begun. Although there were snippets here and there about operatives inside the Great Satan, there was nothing concrete or specific. The information was cataloged and crosschecked against new intelligence as it came in.
Since the reopening of a suburban DC mosque after 9/11, a worker there had provided the CIA with solid information on terrorist activities in the United States. Two of the mosque's members, who used the names Ali and Mo, had spoken once about recruiting an American citizen. Ali and Mo were affiliated with the jihadist group known as the Nusra Front or al-Qaeda in Syria, one of the world's deadliest terrorist organizations.
The CIA mole didn't know the American's name or much about him. As far as he knew, the man had never been to the mosque. The operative recently heard that Mohammed al-Joulani, leader of the Nusra Front, had contacted Ali and Mo. He didn't know the reason.
A few days later a portion of a phone call from Syria to the mosque was recorded and sent for analysis. It was a short clip in Arabic; the caller advised that a man had the package. The CIA had no idea what it meant, but it could involve the two terrorists.
Joulani and the American Muslims had been extraordinarily cautious, but the mole in the mosque kept his eyes and ears open. He heard about a meeting that would be in a park in suburban Baltimore. Ali and Mo would be there.
The CIA rushed into action, positioning men and women, young and old, joggers and bench-sitters, all over the park. A couple of days later the meeting took place. Spotters hidden in dense foliage snapped photos of three Arab men sitting on a secluded park bench and talking in whispers for twenty minutes. They knew the Syrians Ali and Mo, but the third man was their target today. They wanted to know who he was.
They followed as the man drove to a salvage yard. An hour later operatives at Langley were analyzing everything they could find about Yusuf "Joe" Kaya, a first-generation American who owned a chain of junkyards. They briefed the director, who was keeping a close eye on this critical breakthrough.
Parker explained Joe Kaya's background; then he paused and asked if they wanted a cup of coffee and a restroom break.
Ten minutes later the briefing resumed. Within hours the CIA had copies of Kaya's personal and business tax returns. They knew everything about his education and service at the embassy in Baghdad, and they knew he was a convert to Catholicism who never missed Mass on Sunday.
Joe Kaya seemed to be an ordinary American. But, as these agents knew well, that could be the most dangerous kind of all. If he was a sleeper terrorist embedded in American society, a man born and raised in the USA, he could be the perfect agent for jihad.
Director Case communicated with President Harrison daily, Parker said. When Harrison was told about Kaya, he brought in the Vice President and Secretary Clancy. Everyone – the CIA in Washington and the supposedly dead leaders here – had the same questions. Who was he? Why was he meeting with known supporters of terrorism? The Syrian caller had said there was a man who had a package. Was that Kaya, and what was the package?
They couldn't move in yet. For now, agents would keep the three individuals under constant surveillance.
It took the CIA very little time to link Kaya with two high-ranking noncommissioned officers in the United States Air Force. More importantly, these weren't just any career military men – each held a sensitive position requiring a top-secret security clearance.
One was Command Chief Master Sergeant James Perkins, the highest-ranking NCO at Andrews Field, from which most of the flights carrying the nation's leaders departed. Perkins ran the show at Andrews and was considered a highly capable individual. He was a decorated twenty-year veteran and his service record was without a blemish.
The other was forty-one-year-old Master Sergeant Jeremy Lail. Also a twenty-year veteran, he was the senior line operator at Andrews and reported directly to Perkins. Part of his job was to inspect the planes just before takeoff and put his signature on the final checklist. Without Lail's sign-off, a plane wouldn't depart, peri
od. Like his boss, Jeremy's service record showed no issues.
Brian interrupted to ask about the timeframe. They knew who Jeremy Lail was, of course. His name was as familiar to Americans as that of another traitor – Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh. The story Parker was telling them today was a prelude to events that had already reached a partial conclusion. Master Sergeant Lail had fled the USA after the planes disappeared, and Syrian terrorists filmed his beheading.
Correct, Parker confirmed. The CIA was quietly gathering information without raising suspicion. Agents talked to friends of friends and found out that Kaya, Perkins and Lail played cards at Jeremy's house every other Saturday night. To the uninformed, it was as American as tailgating. Seven people, at least three of whom were bachelors, got together for some beer, some lighthearted conversation and a friendly game of poker. One night Ali from the mosque had come along too.
People in law enforcement couldn't afford to jump to conclusions. When dealing with terrorism in the United States, the CIA considered every possibility, no matter how much it might stretch the imagination. Finally they started connecting the dots.
Names of the players were displayed on a whiteboard in a conference room at Langley. At the top was Mohammad al-Joulani, a known terrorist and leader of the dangerous al-Nusra Front in Syria. He had contacted two men nicknamed Ali and Mo, who attended a mosque outside Washington.
Joe Kaya, an American salvage yard owner who was the son of Iraqi immigrants, had met with Ali and Mo – not at a Starbucks or a bar, but on a bench in a quiet park in Baltimore. Were they simply nature lovers? Did they enjoy the outdoors? Or were they ensuring no one saw them get together?
The story got more interesting with the addition of Joe's poker buddies Jim Perkins and Jeremy Lail. By now the CIA was certain one or both of them was a traitor. Director Case ordered extensive background checks and learned that Lail considered Kaya his best friend and mentor. Kaya was giving the senior line operator at Andrews lots of advice and counsel.
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