All Necessary Force (38 page)

While the vans were cross-loaded, Keshawn and Rafik took the woman into the woods, Keshawn assuring her that they were just going to tie her up like the others. She blubbered and sobbed, but walked in front of him to her death. Rafik could not understand why. He had seen it before when executing prisoners. They went meekly as kittens, preferring
to believe the paltry lie they’d been told instead of the truth staring them in the face. It was why Islam would always defeat the infidel. When faced with overwhelming odds, the
kafir
simply didn’t have the strength of faith to fight back.

Keshawn told the woman to kneel with her hands behind her back. Rafik saw that his eyes were watering, and wondered again about the man’s own strength of faith.

The woman, only now beginning to realize her fate, began to wail, begging for her life. A hitch in his voice, Keshawn said, “I’m sorry for the sacrifice you must make.
Allahu Akbar
.”

Keshawn pulled the trigger, the small caliber of the.22 punching a pencil-size hole in the woman’s forehead. She toppled over with a look of surprise on her face, as if she still couldn’t believe he would kill her.

63

S

itting inside the underground parking garage in Clarendon outside of Washington, D.C., Jennifer and I had to wait until Buckshot successfully badged in through the key-card access on the first door, followed by Retro or Decoy using the retinal scan at the second door, before we could sprint through the double barrier, using their precious seconds of authorization to get inside.

It had taken longer than I’d wanted to get back home. Waiting to transfer the captured pilot, we’d been forced to spend a night in Shannon, Ireland, which would ordinarily have been an opportunity to kick back a little, but this time it felt like I was giving the terrorists an edge with every passing second. I was itching to see what Kurt and the Taskforce had learned while we were twiddling our thumbs over a Guinness, which is where this building came in. The parking garage ostensibly serviced a firm called Blaisdell Consulting but in reality was the headquarters for the Taskforce. A block long and four stories tall, it housed the brain trust of all Taskforce activities, from the hackers and analysts we leveraged while conducting operations, to the headquarters of the commander himself.

Since I was no longer an active-duty member, I technically wasn’t allowed inside, but since I also used to be a team leader, we figured I could sneak in without anyone freaking out. At least, that’s how I’d convinced the team to bend operating procedures. Stretching it further, I figured Jennifer had heard enough stories about the place that actually seeing it wouldn’t be a breach. Jennifer, of course, felt like I had an elastic sense of the rules.

Sitting in the Suburban, moments before we entered, she said, “Pike, there’s a reason I’m not cleared for this. I don’t mind staying here.”

“Fuck that. Come on. You’ve earned it.”

I saw Buckshot open the first door, allowing Retro inside to the second door and the iris scanner. Decoy signaled us.

“Let’s go. Stick right behind me.”

Buckshot began a hand countdown, then swiped the card reader again. Hopefully, Retro was synchronized inside, or we’d be caught. Buckshot opened the outer door, and I dragged Jennifer through, seeing the second door held open by Retro. We made it into the hallway beyond and waited for the three to catch up.

Minutes later, we entered the Ops Center, looking for Kurt. I found him talking to a couple of analysts. Or more correctly, he saw me and went ballistic.

“What are you doing in here? You can’t be associated with this place!”

“Hey, calm down, sir. The G-4 has a history of flying in and out of Dulles. I couldn’t simply take it to Charleston as part of my company. We need to figure out a seasoning schedule. And the rest of the team was coming here anyway.”

My company had nothing to do with Blaisdell Consulting, and thus if anyone was tracking me, I could potentially cause some questions that shouldn’t be asked. Since nobody was tracking me, and we had a badass terrorist on the loose inside our borders, I figured the risk was worth it.

Kurt shook his head, glaring at the active-duty operators. Decoy said, “Well, we need to unload the kit and get it sorted out. See you, sir.”

I watched them beat a hasty retreat. Before Kurt could realize Jennifer was standing in the background, I said, “How’s Knuckles? Is he up and moving?”

Looking like he was going to tear into me again, Kurt was brought up short by the question. “He’s getting better each day. He’s not out of bed yet, but he doesn’t believe it. He refuses to use the bedpans and tries to walk to the bathroom.”

I let out a breath, realizing I’d been afraid of what I would hear. “Thank God. What’s his status? How long’s he out of commission?”

“Doc’s saying six weeks no activity, then another six months of physical therapy. Should be good as new. Now you need to get the fuck out of here. In fact, go see him.”

“I will, I will. Later. What did you find out about the imam? Did law enforcement locate him?”

“No, not yet. We’ve had an event that overcame the hunt. Someone broke into Fort A.P. Hill and stole a bunch of C-4, blasting caps, and claymore mines.”

“Come on, sir! That’s them. I interrupted their transfer of explosives in Europe, so they stole explosives here. The imam is at the heart of this thing. We shouldn’t be slacking off, we should be pressing forward.”

“It’s not your group. The people who did it had inside knowledge of the post. No way is it a bunch of Arabs from Egypt. The police also found some literature inside the vehicle they used that points toward a white supremacist group inside Attica prison.”

“Literature? What’s that prove?”

“It was an underground newspaper for something called the Phoenix Order, run by a guy named Cyrus Mace. The police found five examples of the number eighty-eight and two examples of the phrase ‘remember the fourteen words’ encrypted in the text. No fucking way would an Arab be able to duplicate that. It was genuine.”

“Why’s that genuine? You lost me.”

“Eighty-eight, as in the eighth letter of the alphabet,
H
. As in
H
–
H
, or Heil Hitler. Or the eighty-eight words from
Mein Kampf
where Hitler proclaims the master race. Take your pick. The fourteen words come from the original terrorist group The Order. It’s basically a statement of racial purity, but it’s shortened in communications to simply ‘the fourteen words.’ Trust me, an imam isn’t going to know about that. Also, the people who robbed A.P. Hill killed some mentally handicapped and African American men on a cleaning crew to get inside, which is right up The Order’s alley of racial purity.”

“Well, maybe they were hired. Stranger things have happened. Remember how the PLO hired the Japanese Red Army to kill all those folks at that Israeli airport in the seventies? Maybe they’re in partnership with the Arabs now.”

“Pike, the group’s called the Phoenix Order, as in the resurrection of the original terrorist group The Order. That group went on a killing spree in the eighties trying to overthrow the U.S. government, with a bunch of crazy talk about starting a new society in the Northwest of the United States. This group’s founder, Cyrus, was just a member of the Aryan Brotherhood until 9/11. Since then, he’s gone toxic, spouting the same shit as the original Order, only this time against Muslims. Trust me, he’s not in cahoots with any Arabs.”

I tried to come up with some other valuable reason to focus on foreign terrorists, but simply sputtered, “We need to find the imam. The Arab from Egypt is a killer, and he’s here. Our only contact is that imam. Explosives or not, if we don’t press, we’ll lose them. They’ll be safe to regroup.”

“Pike, you interrupted their attack. I agree they’re a threat, but the Phoenix Order is just as violent as the Arabs. Maybe more so, since they understand America and they want to overthrow the government. They’re a clear and present danger, and they’ve got everyone on a high state of alert. The police are taking it personally, since they’re going to be a primary target. We’re not going to get them to shift priorities.”

I rubbed my face, frustrated. “Okay, sir. I get it. Hopefully, our actions in Hungary will keep the terrorists from blowing up the Statue of Liberty. Maybe, maybe not.”

Kurt stood with his hands outstretched. “Not our fight, Pike. We don’t do domestic. We have enough going on as it is.”

He then poked me a little to let me know he wasn’t blind. “Best course of action is for you to get that woman in the back of the room, who’s pretending to be an analyst, out of here. The one who looks remarkably like Jennifer—but I know it’s not her, because even you wouldn’t be that stupid. Get back to Charleston and let me know your plan for the seasoning of the G-4.”

“All right, all right,” I lied, “we’re going.”

I took Jennifer out of the Ops Center and gave her directions to the team rooms one floor up. I needed a place we could hide out for a few hours, and figured Kurt wouldn’t be traveling up there any time soon.

“What are you going to do?”

“I have some questions I want answered. Won’t take but a minute.”

She looked at me like I was keeping something from her, which I was, but she proceeded up the stairs to the fourth floor.

I went down the hall from the Ops Center, stopping at an unmarked door. I entered without knocking, seeing the two people inside whirl around.

The female spoke first. “Pike? Pike Logan? Long time, no see. Where the hell have you been? You finally going to pay me the twelve-pack you owe me?”

“Hey, Holly.” I turned to the other person, a man. “Hey, Vic. How’s the secret cell?”

The office here housed one of the most sensitive aspects of Taskforce operations, even if it was just purely analytical. Holly had first served as a Maryland state trooper, but ended up as a terrorist analyst in the Washington, D.C., police department before leaving the police for our lucrative pay. She was a five-foot-five blond spitfire dedicated to getting the job done.

Vic was retired from the FBI. He’d served as an agent, a LEGATT in an embassy overseas, and a member of their Hostage Rescue Team, which is where I’d met him originally. He’d taken an IED strike in Iraq years ago and was medically retired.

Now they both worked for the Taskforce as our pipeline into domestic law-enforcement agencies—something that wasn’t advertised and wasn’t well known even within the Taskforce, given that anything smacking of domestic operations was anathema to us, which is why I jokingly called it the secret cell.

Given their experience, together they understood cop talk and all of the myriad different law enforcement databases in place. Their job was simply collating information, trying to put the pieces together to help us in our mission. They ostensibly worked for some bullshit department in Homeland Security, which allowed them to ask the questions they needed to ask. Because it dovetailed neatly with their primary job of data mining, they were also in charge of our internal biometric database. They were the people who got the data from our biometric scans of the dead Arabs in Prague and Budapest.

Vic said, “Going about as well as always. A lot of work for very little payoff.”

Vic hated being behind a desk, but since he’d lost most of the use of his left leg, he was stuck with his fate. Both were officially retired because Kurt and the president felt it a bridge too far to actually recruit anyone who was active in law enforcement, from the Justice Department on down. Both thought it a travesty to have an officer who was supposed to catch lawbreakers support an activity that subverted the Constitution, the supreme law of the land. Made me feel a little bit like a whore.

I said, “Hey, you guys get the word on that imam from Canada? The one on the no-fly list who flew to Baltimore?”

Holly gave a short laugh. “Oh yeah, that caused a stink, but everything stopped after the A.P. Hill attack.”

“I need to find him. In a bad way. Can you guys collate everything that was done before everyone was pulled off?”

“Sure, that’s easy, because it was basically nothing.”

I decided to push the issue. “Well, can you scan everything from the Baltimore area and pull up any arrests or spikes relating to Muslims?”

Vic spoke up. “On whose orders? We’ve got our plate full with ongoing operations overseas.”

Holly heard the exchange and tossed her head. I could tell she didn’t agree with Vic’s pissed-off attitude. She and I got along well, with her constantly flirting with me even when my wife was alive. I threw in my cards, looking at Holly as I spoke.

“On my orders. Nobody else’s. I get that some neo-Nazi group is running around with C-4, but there’s a terrorist cell here, and it’s tied to that imam. I’m asking as a favor. Please. You only have to stick with Baltimore, where he flew in. Just cover the last four days. Maybe something will give me a handle on the guy.”

Vic said, “You can’t do anything domestically anyway. What’s the point?”

“Just do it, please. Nobody else is looking, and you guys have the experience. I understand it’ll cost some time for a team overseas, but this is important.”

I saw both of them look at each other, mulling it over.

Holly said, “We can give you the rest of the day, but we can’t do anything more. Sorry.”

Vic scowled, saying, “Bullshit. You want to do that, you’re on your own. I’ve got enough work.”

I broke into a grin. “Thanks, Holly. All I want to do is get whatever you find into the law enforcement system. You find some links, and they’ll do the work. Nobody’s looking right now because of A.P. Hill, and that imam’s the key to something a hell of a lot worse than a bunch of redneck racists.”

64

R

afik watched Carl load the dummy EFP with clay and set the blasting cap, then duplicate the sighting procedures, exactly as he had been taught by Farouk. His military experience was paying off, since he already knew about the dangers of the blasting cap and how to use the M57 firing device.