by David Spell
The young woman’s face fell, clearly disappointed. This is going to be easier than I thought, Saleem told himself.
“But, if you can stick around, I’ll make it up to you. We could go out for an early dinner and you can interview me as we eat. How does that sound?”
“That sounds very nice, Senator. I’d like that,” she smiled with relief.
Bashir had promised to be back in an hour, allowing Julie Henderson/Jennifer Hughes to stay in his office. As soon as Saleem left the room, Jen went to work. She withdrew the thumb drive that Stephen Chan had provided, quickly inserting it into the side port of the former senator’s Samsung laptop. Hughes then activated the small switch on the end of the device.
The thumb drive was much more than it appeared to be. As soon as Jen turned it on, it began copying all of the contents of Bashir’s computer. Hughes’ phone vibrated with an incoming text.
“Is everything OK?” Team leader Jay Walker asked.
“The device is in and working.”
Walker was parked half a block away, having listened to the entire conversation between the young spy and the former senator. Hopefully, between what Hughes got off of the laptop and what Chan got off of his home wifi, they would get some answers. Bashir was dirty. There was no doubt about it but, up until this point, he had covered his tracks very well. Maybe they could finally pull the mask off of this snake.
After eighteen minutes, the device beeped softly, letting Jennifer know that it was finished. She withdrew the thumb drive and tucked it into her purse and sent a quick text to Jay, letting him know that she was on her way out. Thankfully, she was able to slip back out the rear door without seeing Saleem or any of the club staff. The young woman looked forward to finding out what dirt she had recovered from Bashir’s computer.
Saleem stopped the interview at the one-hour mark, telling Meadows that he had another appointment. He hurried back to his small office, only to find it empty. Where had Julie gone? He walked the halls of the Democrat Club and checked the parking lot. No one had seen her leave and he slumped behind his desk in disappointment.
I was so sure that she would stay, he pondered. A sudden thought occurred to him and he checked his computer, his leather briefcase, and the drawers of his desk. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. Relieved, he gathered his things to leave, his work for the day finished.
PALMER WOODS, DETROIT, FRIDAY, 1625 HOURS
Palmer Woods had the feel of a gated community even though it wasn’t one. The gray van with the AT&T magnetic placard on the side pulled down the driveway of the address on Gloucester Drive. The elm-lined streets and the large brick and stone mansions spoke of old money.
“Okay, Stephen, do your thing,” the van’s driver called over his shoulder.
In the cargo compartment, CIA analyst and computer expert, Stephen Chan, was already working, his fingers flying over his powerful, custom-built laptop. Chan had left the Agency under Maxwell Sterling’s purge, working briefly at Century Tactical. When Kevin Clark had accepted the position as director of operations, the former Ranger had invited Chan to come back onboard as his chief IT guru. Clark had also invited Vargas, but she had declined, preferring to stay in the private sector. Gabby still took contract jobs, but enjoyed her freedom.
Vargas and Chan had become close friends, both learning from each other. If asked who was the better hacker, Stephen would have said that it was him and Gabriella would’ve said that it was her. In reality, they were both world class at their craft.
Former SEAL Chris Norris was clad in blue work clothes, playing the part of an AT&T technician. As Chan focused on hacking into Saleem Bashir’s network, Norris stayed in the driver’s seat of the van, keeping watch out the windows and mirrors. Their intel told them that no one should be home, with Bashir at the press conference forty-five minutes away. For this incursion, they were taking the indirect route. Instead of breaking into the house, Chan would break into his wifi.
Stephen quickly found Saleem’s wifi signal. While a number of commercially available software programs were available to help someone crack into a computer network, Chan had written his own. In three minutes, he had Bashir’s password and was exploring the politician’s digital footprint.
Norris watched a black SUV with a flashing white strobe bar on top drive slowly past the house. It then stopped, backed up, and turned into the driveway behind their van.
“We’ve got company,” Chris told his partner. “Looks like the security company.”
“I just started downloading. See if you can stall them for a little while.”
Chris observed a muscular white guy with a shaved head exit the SUV and start towards him. Norris pushed open his door and climbed out, nodding and smiling at the Threat Management security officer, meeting him at the rear of the van, clipboard in hand.
“Hi, Officer, how you doing?”
Palmer Woods employed Threat Management to patrol their community, reducing crime to almost nothing. The private security officers all wore black BDUs and body armor but were unarmed. The yellow name tag on the officer’s uniform showed “Larson.”
“I’m fine, sir. Thanks for asking. What do you have going on here today?”
Chris held out the clipboard for Officer Larson to see.
“We got a new service request for this address. Looks like they want to change over from whoever they’ve been using to us. I always call when I’m on the way but didn’t get an answer. I was just about to go knock on the door.”
Larson took the clipboard and examined the AT&T document carefully before handing it back with a nod.
“Well, you’re at the right address. Residents in Palmer Woods usually alert us when they’re having any kind of service call at their residence. I guess he forgot to do that.”
Norris shrugged sympathetically. “Sorry about that, Officer Larson. Do you know this guy?” He made a point of reading from the clipboard. “Uh, his name is, uh, Salem Bashir?”
The security guard gave a slight smile. “It’s Saleem. Do you not know whose house this is?”
“I guess it belongs to Saleem Bashir, but who’s that?”
“He’s the guy who almost got elected president. You must not keep up with the news.”
“Oh, that guy! Now, I recognize his name. He had that pervert for a running mate. Didn’t that guy kill himself after he got arrested?”
“Something like that,” Larson nodded. “What are you going to do if he’s not home?”
“I’ll just go on to my next appointment and Mr. Almost President Bashir can wait another week until another slot is available,” Chris laughed.
“You have a good day, sir,” the security officer chuckled, heading back to his vehicle.
Norris walked over to the front door and rang the bell, praying that there were no surprise guests inside. After ringing the bell again and waiting several minutes, the former SEAL ambled back to his van, waving at Officer Larson who continued to watch the AT&T technician. Chris climbed back into the driver’s seat.
“You done?” he spoke over his shoulder.
“Just about. Take your time backing out.”
Only after Chris put the van in reverse did the Threat Management SUV back out of the driveway, allowing the AT&T van to leave. Norris sat in front of the house for a couple of more minutes holding his cell phone to his ear as if he was calling his next appointment.
“Okay. I think I got everything,” Stephen said, finally looking up from his computer screen.
The gray van was soon on its way across the city. Norris placed a call to their team leader.
“Hey, Chris,” Jay Walker answered. “How’d it go?”
“Stephen said he got everything he could get. We’re heading back to the hotel so he can pick through the files. How about you guys? How’s it going with Jennifer?”
“She’s good. That bastard has already asked her out for dinner.”
“Good deal. We’ll check back in later or as soon as Stephen fin
ds something.”
After stopping behind a shopping center to remove the AT&T signs and for Chris to change out of his work clothes, they returned to their hotel near the Windsor International Airport. Stephen immediately went to work, digging through the data that he had downloaded from Saleem’s network, his cloud account, and his Dropbox.
The computer expert wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for but he had also served as an analyst for the Agency. He understood how to sift through information quickly. Before setting up search filters, Chan started with a cursory examination of the computer files, starting with the most recent.
He popped open an energy drink, his fourth of the day, taking a long swallow as he read through Bashir’s speech notes that had been created that morning at 0830 hours. He had then emailed a copy to someone at 0915 hours. The receiving email address was just a set of numbers with a Gmail account. The response back to Bashir was short, “This is very good,” but it gave Stephen an IP address to work with.
“I’ve got something,” Chan said excitedly a few minutes later. “His contact is in Philadelphia.”
CIA HQ, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA, FRIDAY, 2010 HOURS
After receiving Chan’s information earlier in the day, OPs Director Kevin Clark, his assistant Ricardo Gonzalez, and team leader Tu Trang Donaldson met with representatives from the Science and Technology Directorate in his office. After finally managing to hack into Bamya’s phone, they were ready to brief the three men on their results.
“This encryption software is some of the most sophisticated that we’ve ever seen,” Tech Analyst Jerry Singh said, excitedly. “The Chinese have really upped their game.”
Singh was a slim Indian-American. His partner, Tom Reynolds, was a heavyset white guy with thick glasses, thick hair, and tattoos up and down both arms.
Reynolds echoed his partner’s praise. “For sure. We had no idea how far Chinese technology had advanced.”
“Got it,” Kevin interjected, wanting to speed things up. “The Chinese are good. What did you get out of the phone? Give me something that we can use.”
“We cracked the software and have access to everything,” Jerry answered, handing a thick folder to the director. “Here’s hardcopies of what looked like the most pertinent documents. The contents of the hard drive and SIM card appear to be coded. For example, the contacts list only gives a set of numbers where the person’s name would normally go.”
“This guy also regularly deleted texts, emails, etc,” Tom added. “On a regular smart phone, we’d be able to pull all of those messages back up. The operating system on this device actually seems to erase whatever you delete. A standard smart phone doesn’t do that.”
Clark thumbed through the file that he had been handed. He knew that eventually the CIA team would crack Bamya’s code and identify everyone in his contact list. That might take some time, though, and time was not something that he had.
“Is it possible for us to ping the numbers in the contact list to get a location for them?” Donaldson asked.
Before one of the tech wizards could answer, Kevin leaned forward holding several pieces of paper.
“These are recent texts and calls to that phone that weren’t deleted, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Reynolds nodded.
“This is significant. These texts and phone calls came in this morning from the same number. What were you asking about pinging a number, Tu?”
“We did that when I worked for the Secret Service. You can ping a suspect’s cell number to get a set of coordinates that are going to be within a few hundred feet of where they’re located. Can you guys do that?”
Singh nodded. “We can. Like you said, it brings you in close, but in a densely populated area, two or three hundred feet can make a lot of difference.”
“What about if we asked the NSA for help?”
“They could probably get us much closer,” Reynolds answered, nodding his head.
The ops director looked at the tech experts, speaking with the authority of a man used to ordering other men to dig deeper.
“Find out where these calls and texts came from. The IP address indicates Philadelphia. That’s a big city. I want something more specific. Narrow it down and get it to me ASAP. If you have to call in help from the NSA, let me know and I’ll arrange the needed authorizations. Get it done, gentleman.”
Jerry and Tom both jumped to their feet, sensing the importance of their mission.
“We’re on it, sir,” Singh said, over his shoulder as they started back towards the other side of the large building.
When the three of them were alone, Kevin looked at his two friends.
“What now?” he asked.
“Why don’t we get McCain and his team to Philadelphia in the morning?” Donaldson answered. “Those tech guys should have something for us soon. I can take my two new guys and join them in Phillie.”
“That’s right,” Clark smiled. “How are our newest employees going to work out?”
“We all worked together at the CDC office here in DC. LeMarcus and Terry are both pros. They were bored out of their minds at the CDC since there are no more zombies to kill. LeMarcus was a recon Marine and Terry was an Air Force parajumper before that. They could’ve taught all those courses they just went through out at the Farm.
“There’s a few others that just completed their training that I’ve got my eye on. Until I’ve personally trained with them, I’ll hold on taking them out on anything big. Also, let me take Hollywood. That would give us a team of four and we could hook up with Chuck and maybe take out some terrorists.”
“Good call on taking Hollywood,” Kevin nodded. “I’m sure he’s jonesing to get back into the game.”
Clark leaned back in his chair and sat silently for almost two minutes, processing the information and intelligence that he had been given, before turning to Ricardo.
“Gonz, can you make that happen? Call Chuck to get him and his guys in motion? I know we’re asking a lot of them as contractors. Let him know that I’ll reimburse anything they spend and I’ll try to keep the wolves away. Put one of the Lear jets at their disposal so they don’t have to deal with airport security.
“Also, touch base with Walker in Detroit. For now, have them hold since we suspect that there’s a cell there. If we need them in Phillie, they can hop a plane and be there in two hours or less.”
“Got it, Boss. Can I go, too?” Gonzalez asked with a grin.
The ops director laughed. “No, Gonz, you can’t go. Aren’t you a senior citizen now? I think the AARP revokes your card if they hear you’re out killing terrorists.”
“Ouch! I’m not that old. I just turned forty-nine.”
“Yeah, for the second or third time,” Clark grinned.
The former Army first sergeant excused himself to go make some phone calls, leaving Clark and Donaldson alone.
“One more thing, Colonel,” the former Green Beret said.
“Spit it out, Tu.”
“This is an unusual operation. I know we’ve done stuff in America before but it was all under the radar. These attacks are high-profile. If some reporter gets wind that the CIA is involved in taking out terror cells there’s gonna be hell to pay. I don’t particularly want to spend twenty years in a federal pen and I sure don’t want see any of our people in there with me. Is there anything you can do to run interference for us?”
Kevin nodded. “I’m on it. As soon as we’re done, I’m going to call Director Purvis and see if we can get a meeting with the president in the morning. He already knows we’re involved. Hell, he ordered DHS, the FBI, and us to find those responsible for the attacks and to bring them to justice. It’s just that our method of justice is a little different from that of the Bureau and the DHS.”
“You’d have been a good Green Beret, Boss,” Donaldson grinned. “It’s a shame that you wasted all your talent in the Rangers.”
Clark laughed and motioned to the door with his thumb. “Get to work, Master S
ergeant. We’ve got some terrorists to find.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
NORTH OF PHILADELPHIA, SATURDAY, 1035 HOURS
By 2150 hours the previous evening, the CIA’s tech wizards had provided ops director Clark the coordinates of where the cell phone used to text and call Abdallah Bamya was located. It was in the Philadelphia suburb of Belmont Hills, north of the city in a business park that bordered the Schuylkill River. The NSA had worked their magic and even helped to narrow it down to the exact building in the industrial center.
After landing at the Philadelphia International Airport on Saturday morning, McCain rented two Toyota Sequoias. Squad A was composed of Chuck, Andy, and Gabriella. Squad B was Jimmy, Scotty, and Chloe. They immediately started for the address that Kevin’s assistant, Ricardo Gonzalez, had provided them. Normally, every detail of an operation would be planned out and even rehearsed. The successful snatch of Abdallah Bamya had been meticulously organized and the result had been exactly what they had hoped for, minus Chloe’s injuries.
The situation in Pennsylvania, however, was fluid and they were going to have to improvise and adapt as they went. The cell phone had been pinged the night before and at 0715 hours this morning. It indicated that their target was still stationary, or at least his smart phone was. That could change at any moment, however, and they needed to find out who Bamya’s contact was and take him into custody, if at all possible. The other option was to eliminate them, but it was hard to interrogate a corpse.
The GPS showed that they were ten minutes away from the target warehouse. Fleming drove as McCain studied satellite maps in the passenger seat. The big man’s phone vibrated with an incoming call from Tu.
“Hey, Tu, we’re almost there. Where are you guys?”
“We’re fifteen minutes behind you. Take a look at those satellite maps. Do you see that construction site south of the industrial park on Flat Rock Road? It looks they’re building some apartments or something.”