Black Flagged Apex (22 page)

"I guess this is goodbye. No tears, please. Look at the positive side of my departure. One less smelly body driving around Europe in a rental van," Petrovich said.

"And just as I was starting to get used to you," Farrington said.

"My infectious charm rubs off on everyone," Petrovich said, extending his right hand.

The two men shook hands vigorously.

"Take care of this guy. He's Sanderson's protégé," he said to Hubner and Klinkman.

"That's a relief. We were worried you might be his protégé," Klinkman said.

They all laughed at Klinkman's rare display of humor.

"What now, Mr. Petrovich? Sounds like there's plenty of unfinished business back in the States. You might be better off vacationing somewhere else. Plus, you're a little overdressed," Farrington said, pulling Daniel's left collar.

"Rest and recuperation. Jessica's choice. I'll follow her wherever she chooses. Gentlemen."

He exchanged firm handshakes with Hubner and Klinkman.

"Don't drink the water," Hubner added.

"That's what you say for Mexico," Klinkman said.

"Not anymore," Hubner replied.

"I'll stick to bottled water for now," he said, turning to Farrington.

"Good luck with the German comedy duo. I foresee long, painful car rides in your future," Petrovich said.

"See you around," Farrington said.

"No offense, but hopefully not."

Farrington smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. "I hope you're right."

Petrovich nodded to the group and made his way to the door leading to the private terminal's lounge. He fought the urge to glance back at them, as if doing so would catapult him back into Sanderson's world. He had been disturbed to learn that Farrington, and presumably Sanderson, knew where he was headed. He had booked the Gulf Stream V with his own funds and had expected his destination to remain a secret. Maybe Farrington had taken a stab in the dark. If so, he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book and confirmed the destination. Then again, if Farrington had been fishing for information, he'd have to assume that anything Daniel said would be a subterfuge. He could go on and on with this logic, until he came full circle.

He couldn't wait to be out of this business. He'd spend a week or two relaxing with Jessica on the beach before they started to make plans to vanish again. This time, they'd fully cover their tracks. Daniel and Jessica Petrovich would cease to exist in the eyes of General Terrence Sanderson and the rest of the world, leaving them at peace to live normal lives. The kind of normal that more than thirty million dollars can buy.

He took a seat in the empty lounge and stared out of the window at the shiny, sleek Gulf Stream V taxiing to rest fifty meters beyond the glass. Roughly eight hours from now, the jet would land in Charleston, South Carolina, where he would meet Jessica and drive to a rental villa on Fripp Island, just outside of Beaufort. He couldn't imagine that Al Qaeda had any plans to poison the water supply of a private beach resort community on the South Carolina coast. He checked his watch. It was still a little early to call Jessica.

She had arrived in Charleston yesterday afternoon, promptly checking into a suite at the Charleston Place, the most luxurious hotel within the city's historic downtown district. He'd call her from the aircraft and coordinate his arrival. He'd rented a four-door, soft-top Jeep Wrangler for the upcoming weeks. He couldn't wait to drive through the warm Atlantic air with the top down, taking in the simplicity of the low country with Jessica.

They had spent a considerable amount of time vacationing in Hilton Head while they lived in Maine, taking full advantage of the warm weather and southern hospitality. For this trip, they had opted to steer clear of their usual resort in Hilton Head due to their recently erased celebrity criminal status. They had become regulars at some of Hilton Head's finest restaurants, similarly establishing their presence in nearby Savannah. This time, they would explore new territory in Beaufort and Charleston, while anonymously enjoying the same ocean on Fripp Island. Two weeks to enjoy one of their favorite stateside refuges for the last time. They'd make the best of it, before Daniel reached out to some of his past acquaintances. Acquaintances in the business of finding new identities for wealthy clients.

Chapter 17

5:03 AM

National Counterterrorism Center

Washington, D.C.

Special Agent Sharpe finished giving his pep talk to the exhausted task force personnel and started to make his rounds to all of the stations. Special Agent Mendoza would start making arrangements to have the personnel rotate through mandatory rest periods, where they would make use of the limited on-site sleeping quarters. NCTC designers had assumed correctly that certain operations might keep watch floor users tied to the building for several days; however, they had grossly underestimated the possible size of these groups. Sharpe would likely have to authorize the use of several rooms at a nearby Marriott.

The investigation's pace had picked up over the past few hours and would likely build more momentum as the day unfolded. They now had full access to Hamid Muhammad's mosque and apartment. Both qualified as federal crime scenes when Agent Janice Riehms found three dead bodies in the middle of the prayer hall. Riehms had carefully crafted her request to enter the mosque on the premise that the Imam's sudden departure more resembled an abduction than an escape. Two men pushing another man into the back of a van at midnight. Sharpe authorized her to search the mosque for signs of foul play, which they immediately discovered. In many ways, the loss of the Imam opened investigative avenues previously blocked by the Justice Department's restrictions.

The biggest break came from the "anonymous" tip that led to the successful capture of the missing terrorist cell. Four virus canisters had been recovered from a cooler in one of the bedrooms. From what Homeland's bioweapons team could tell, each of the canisters appeared to contain their original payload. Removing four canisters from terrorist hands signified a major win for Task Force Scorpion; however, fifty canisters still remained at large, which was not a comforting thought. Sharpe figured he'd better have someone make the Marriott arrangements immediately. They had just scratched the surface of this investigation.

He could feel Callie Stewart's eyes following him as he worked his way through the last few stations. So far, she had proved to be unobtrusive, simply observing the action from her perch. He had expected her to frequently descend the stairs to share her thoughts, but she only seemed interested in pestering him with text messages about putting undercover agents in the mosque. Those messages had mercifully stopped after the Imam's spectacular escape.

**

Callie Stewart watched Special Agent Sharpe disappear under the catwalk. She was a little nervous about what General Sanderson wanted her to do. Sharpe might arrest her on the spot, though he had no real charges to levy against her, or he might simply ban her from NCTC. Either option would render her mission incapable. Even if she were to convince him to follow Sanderson's plan, he might change his mind at any moment and exercise his options to have her removed.

Her boss felt confident that Sharpe would bite at the proposal. This wouldn't be Sharpe's first walk into the gray area. He'd taken a step out onto that ledge earlier tonight, when he had authorized Agent Riehms to enter the mosque. Sanderson had assured her that the FBI agent had other skeletons hidden in his closet and fed her the lines she would need to sway Sharpe. He expected her to improvise the rest to earn her exorbitant fee for this job.

She made her way down the stairs, drawing a few stares from both NCTC and task force personnel. She could sense a combination of enmity and pure attraction. She locked eyes with Special Agent Mendoza and flicked her head, hoping he would understand this subtle gesture. She needed him in the room with Sharpe when she made her proposal. If Sharpe went along with it, she needed Mendoza's approval to seal the deal among the rest of the task force. A one-on-one meeting would raise too many suspicions, especially with Special Agent O'Reilly.

Sanderson's cyber team had already defeated several attempts by O'Reilly to electronically eavesdrop on her office. She didn't blame the agent for her suspicion and anger. Sanderson's operatives had severely wounded three agents assigned to Sharpe two years ago, including O'Reilly. She had spent several weeks in recovery, trying to regain full use of her left arm. A 5.56mm bullet had separated the forearm muscle from the bone. From her perch on the catwalk, she could clearly see that O'Reilly had not fully recovered; she frequently removed her left hand from the keyboard, continuing only with her right hand while she gave the left forearm a break.

Stewart reached Sharpe's door, which was open, and knocked on the frame. Agent Mendoza closed in on her from behind.

"Come in," Sharpe said, without looking up.

She stepped inside his office, and when he finally lifted his head, she could tell that he wished it were possible to rescind the invitation. Agent Mendoza squeezed by her without any sort of pleasantry and stood near the left front corner of Sharpe's desk. Mendoza swept his right hand back slightly, clearing enough of his jacket to ensure quick, smooth access to his service pistol.

"How may I help you, Ms. Stewart?" Sharpe asked.

"May I close the door? You can keep the windows transparent, so O'Reilly doesn't get too worried," she said.

"Sure," Sharpe conceded.

Once the door was shut, she wasted no time getting to the point.

"Now that you've more or less neutralized the Al Qaeda side of the threat, we need to focus on the real problem. True America…"

"We? The task force is doing just fine without your help. We'll let you know when Congress, the Department of Justice, the Supreme Court and the president have authorized us to ignore the laws of the land, thereby approving the methods your organization might employ. If that's all, I'm a little busy processing all of our new leads."

"No word on the warrants from Justice?" she prodded.

"I don't need the warrants anymore. The mosque is a federal crime scene."

"That's right. The Imam was abducted," she said flatly.

"We found three bodies inside the mosque. Arabs. Turns out one of them was on the watch list with ties to known Al Qaeda operatives in Europe."

"But you found them after you conspired with Agent Riehms to classify the Imam's departure as an abduction."

"Agent Riehms applied sixteen years of FBI experience to reach that conclusion. I trust her judgment."

"Especially since it allowed you access to the mosque you've been begging Justice to let you enter. And I'm sure Agent Riehms had every reason to make a sound, objective assessment, given the fact that she just lost the primary focus of the task force's investigation. Put the two together, and it sounds like a compelling reason to break a few rules."

"That's your interpretation," Sharpe said.

"Let's just hope it stays that way."

Sharpe simply stared at her, shaking his head. "I'm really not worried about it."

"Which is exactly why you need to hear what I'm proposing, Agent Sharpe. You've made some gains stepping over the line, but you'll have to do it again to break into True America. We need to start working our way up their human network; capture personnel on the ground. Right now, all you have is a tenuous link to True America with Julius Grimes. He's disappeared, and I can guarantee that you'll never see him again."

"The Imam made contact with True America at some point to coordinate the specifics of the delivery to Harrisburg. It looks like Al Qaeda was keeping their end of the bargain, so there's bound to be more. I guarantee we'll find something at the mosque or in his apartment that will give us the jumpstart we need," Sharpe said.

"You won't. Our people have scoured his computer and the mosque. There's nothing useful in his apartment either. And Al Qaeda had no intention of keeping their end of the bargain. I can give you an address in Middletown, Pennsylvania, that contains five decomposing Middle Eastern men. This was the hit squad assigned by Al Qaeda to recover the Harrisburg delivery. Both of these organizations were running a double cross from the start," Stewart said.

"Really? And exactly how do you know this?" Mendoza interjected.

"Because we have the Imam."

Agent Sharpe rose swiftly, and for a brief moment, Stewart thought she might have to physically defend herself. Mendoza's hand flashed to his gun, pulling it three quarters of the way out of its holster.

"You're in way over your head here, Ms. Stewart. I hope you're fucking with me right now because if you aren't…I'll have your ass dragged off in handcuffs."

"Sanderson wants to use the Imam to draw True America into the open. Whether you arrest me or not, the Imam will start placing calls this morning to his True America contacts," she said.

"He'll never be able to convince them to come out of hiding. True America is done with Al Qaeda."

"Maybe. According to the Imam, True America tipped him off about the FBI raids," Stewart said.

"This morning's raid?" Mendoza said.

"No. He claims to have received a call at about 3:30 in the morning, on the night that most of his teams were hit by True America. He was told to go into hiding at the mosque, where the FBI couldn't touch him," Stewart said.

"This doesn't make a lot of sense. How confident are you in the Imam's information?" Sharpe said.

"His babysitters are fairly certain he's telling the truth, though I agree that something doesn't add up."

"Either way, Ms. Stewart, by now True America has to realize that Mr. Muhammad uncovered the truth. I doubt very much that they would agree to meet with him," Sharpe said.

"You're absolutely right," she said and paused before continuing. "He's not going to try and set up a meeting. He'll threaten to expose Al Qaeda's collaboration with True America. The Imam hasn't coughed up any big picture details, but I think it's fair to assume that True America had a hand in funding this operation from the very beginning. He can use Grime's name to establish some credibility. Say that he has additional assets that have managed to track some of their operatives. You'll release news of the last cell being captured, so the Imam's desperation will make sense. He has no more virus in his possession, so he'll expose them if they don't give him ten canisters to continue his mission against the Infidels. Something convincing like that."