Black Flagged Apex (51 page)

"We don't keep that kind of firepower stateside. Seriously."

"How the fuck am I going to check out a dozen weapons?" he snapped, suddenly raising his voice. "I'm still getting bent over my desk for the Kazakhstan mess. You know what? I'm going to change your name on my phone. Every time you call me, the screen will read 'BOHICA.'"

There was silence until Berg spoke. "BOHICA? Enlighten me."

"Bend Over Here It Comes Again," Jackson said.

"Very funny. So you'll do it?"

"Yes. I'll do it. But there better be drink service on that airplane."

"I'll make sure they have something you'll like. And a nice bottle for Cheryl," Berg said.

"Don't even go there. If she finds out about this, we're both screwed."

Chapter 45

11:42 AM

Columbia Metropolitan Airport

Columbia, South Carolina

Daniel followed the signs for Hertz and turned the minivan into the designated parking lot across from the terminal. He found a parking space marked for Hertz returns and stepped out of the vehicle. They had no bags at this point. Everything had been stashed in a dumpster outside of the Ramada in Lexington immediately prior to their departure for the airport, including Benjamin Young's computers and disassembled phone. Sanderson's cyber techs had taken everything they needed from his equipment.

Young had been surprisingly cooperative throughout the evening, due to a combination of outrage and fear; he was both indignant over True America's betrayal and intimidated by Jessica's presence. He eagerly rolled over on his former clients and provided a wealth of information and connections. Young's "soft" interrogation lasted until three in the morning, when Daniel finally zip tied Young to the bed and turned him over to Munoz and Melendez. Jessica and Daniel retired to a separate, adjoining room and collapsed. The two of them had spent the morning at the Columbia Center Mall, buying casual clothes for everyone, while Munoz made everyone's travel arrangements.

Young was headed to Dallas to meet his family and fly to Buenos Aires. He'd spend an indefinite amount of time at Sanderson's training compound, safe from True America's reaches and immediately available for questions. His family had left their house in Buckhead before police arrived and travelled to the Hartsfield-Jackson Airport, where they boarded a late night flight to Tampa, Florida. The flight continued to Dallas at 6:25 in the morning. They would be waiting in the airport when he arrived.

The rest of them would catch the 2:25 PM flight to the Wilkes Barre/Scranton Airport in Pennsylvania. Both Daniel and Jessica had been too tired to argue with Sanderson when he called to present his case for their continued participation in the mission. On a deeper level, neither of them wanted to argue. They had already accepted the fact that Sanderson was still their most loyal and potent ally. They would see this mission through to the end and leave him on good terms. Solid terms. When Daniel spoke into the phone, repeating Sanderson's request, Jessica simply nodded her approval.

He opened the door and helped Young out of the van. Daniel had spent a few thousand dollars at Banana Republic to outfit everyone, including Jessica, in some variation of khaki slacks with an untucked shirt. This suited Young just fine, though he complained about wearing the same shoes from the previous night. Only Jessica received new shoes, since she was still barefoot from last night. Her feet had taken a beating on the streets of Atlanta.

"This is where we say goodbye. I'm sure you'll miss us," Daniel said.

"That's an understatement," Young said.

"Make sure to follow directions precisely in Buenos Aires. All right? They'll make sure nobody followed you off the plane and remove any irregular local law enforcement attention. Follow the script, and they'll reach out to you when the time is right. Do everything they say. You will not be allowed to see the final route to the compound, so be prepared to have a bag placed over your head, or something to that effect. Kids too."

"Jesus. Come on. This sounds crazy," Young said.

"You want to head back to Atlanta?" Jessica said.

Young shook his head.

"Follow the script. You'll like it out there. Plenty of hiking, fishing, clean air. Lots of family time," Daniel said.

"No cocaine, though," Jessica added.

Young looked at Daniel. "She's a real treat."

"You'll be staying in our place, which will afford you some luxury out there."

"The two of you are married? I knew it. I feel sorry for you, man. Holy shit."

Daniel cocked his head slightly, which changed Young's expression instantly. He went from cocky to scared shitless in the blink of an eye.

"She's pretty nice to be around, unless you're an arrogant cokehead that spends more time with hookers than your own wife and kids. Be careful what you say in Argentina. My wife is a legend around that compound."

Young stared at him for a second and quickly averted his eyes like a submissive dog.

"Take out as much cash as possible in Dallas, and use the cash to purchase as many prepaid credit cards as possible. Keep a few hundred on you for transportation. Do this right before your flight. Use these cards once you arrive in Buenos Aires. You won't need money at the compound. Now get out of here. Your flight leaves in forty-five minutes. I don't want to see you again."

Stumbling with haste, Young nearly fell over, barely regaining his balance in time to turn and walk briskly toward the walkway leading into the terminal.

"You're welcome, fuckhead!" Daniel said.

Young turned nervously and started to open his mouth, but thought better of it. He scurried across the parking lot. Once he disappeared into the terminal, Daniel turned to the rest of his crew. They were still reclined in their seats, trying to gain any rest possible before the flight.

"Now what?" Melendez asked.

"We eat something and try to catch some sleep in the terminal. Sounds like we have another long night ahead of us."

"Like last night?" Jessica said.

"We don't know yet. Fayed should know more when we arrive."

Tariq Paracha and Aleem Fayed had already left for Pennsylvania with one of Sanderson's "electronic warfare teams." The general loved to pick dramatic-sounding names. He supposed it was better than "cyber geeks." Fayed and Paracha would pick them up in Scranton and take them to Honesdale, where Sanderson had arranged a secluded rental on a nearby pond. They had a shipment of equipment arriving at the airport later in the evening, which would require their attention, along with some late-night planning based on Sanderson's intelligence. For all Daniel knew, they might go right into action against True America tonight.

"Let's give Young a few minutes to get through check-in. I can't stand to look at him. Thanks for the compliment. I didn't know I was held in such high regard," Jessica said.

"I would have punched him in the nose again, but that would have been counterproductive. He'll be lucky if it doesn't start bleeding again on its own during the flight," Daniel said.

"I would have loved to see that punk take another smack," Melendez said.

"We all would. Do you think he'll make it?" Munoz said.

"I don't know. He seemed genuinely worried about his family, so I give him good odds. This could be a cathartic experience for Mr. Young," Daniel said.

"But instead of Dr. Phil, he gets to experience Dr. Sanderson," Jessica said.

"Sounds like a reality TV show in the making," Melendez said.

Chapter 46

2:53 PM

Loring Terrace Apartments, Apt 2A

District Heights, Maryland

Reggie Taylor struggled violently for a few seconds and settled. There was little use. Any time he tried to stand, at least two pairs of hands held him down and another punched him in the stomach. They'd barely said a word to him since throwing a bag over his head and pulling him into the van. It happened so fast, he barely resisted at first.

He'd been walking down Loring Drive, trying to convince the Popcorn Shrimp Combo from Long John Silver's to stay down. He'd overdone lunch again, which hadn't come as a surprise. His new work schedule at the National Counterterrorism Center had wreaked havoc on his sleep and corresponding appetite. He normally worked the 4:00 PM to midnight shift, which was bad enough, but recent events had increased staffing requirements, splitting the security section into two twelve-hour shifts. He'd spent the past three days working 8:00 PM to 8:00 AM, which had been miserable. He'd take the bus home, eat some cereal and pass out, only to wake up starving a few hours later. It was hard to break those natural biorhythms.

He never heard the van pull up. Traffic was common on this street, and the school buses were due to arrive at the Loring Terrace complex soon. Hundreds of kids would be dropped off at various points around the vast network of three-story buildings, transforming the well-manicured area into a busy neighborhood. District Heights didn't have the best reputation as a D.C. area neighborhood, but he had never felt threatened walking around during the day. Some of the areas were fairly sketchy at night, but the Metro bus dropped him off at the entrance to his apartment complex. Loring Terrace was peaceful and quiet after midnight.

Getting jacked in broad daylight had never crossed his mind, which was why he didn't offer much resistance until his face had been pressed into the metal floor of the van. Suddenly realizing that this was far more serious than a mugging, he went haywire for a few seconds, which earned him a brief but severe beating. He'd calmed down long enough for them to tie his hands and duct tape his mouth, before rampaging to little avail. He struggled again, until one of his captors slipped a garrote around his neck and pulled tight for a few seconds. He got the message.

They drove for a few minutes and stopped the van, pulling him onto the pavement somewhere nearby. With the garrote around his throat, they quickly guided him through a door and up a set of stairs. He recognized the smell through the thick bag over his head. Musty wood paneling. His suspicions were confirmed when they walked him down a hallway and pushed him through another doorway. The faint scent of his wife's perfume penetrated the bag, followed by all of the familiar smells of his home. That's when he lost it. They had brought him back to his apartment, less than twenty minutes before his kids were due to arrive. He had to get out of here to warn them. He had to do something. He tried, but it had been useless. Even with the garrote removed, he couldn't build up any momentum to stand. Instead, he wobbled on both knees in the middle of his living room, thinking of a different strategy. Someone yanked the hood from his head, and he stared in disbelief. He had been jacked by two white guys, a Mexican woman and a Jamaican. What the fuck?

"Mr. Taylor, this brings me no pleasure, but I need to show you something," the Jamaican said.

He pointed at an open laptop computer on the coffee table and nodded at the woman. Fuck, they weren't wearing masks. They planned to kill him. The Hispanic woman pressed a few buttons, and a digital feed started playing. His heart sank. They had his wife and two children. How was that even possible? He watched and listened in horror as someone placed a mean-looking, stainless steel knife against each of their throats as they whimpered. Rage welled up within him momentarily, replaced quickly by a sense of hopelessness. Who were these people? He mumbled, "What do you want?" through the duct tape. The Jamaican said, "Enough," and the woman stopped the recording.

"Your family is fine at the moment. We contacted the kids' schools and your wife at work about two hours ago. You'd been hit by a car, and they needed to come immediately. We even sent an unmarked police car to round them up. Sometimes I shudder to think how easy it is to take an entire family off the streets without raising an eyebrow. We need you to do something for us. It's a very simple task. We'll release your family upon completion of the task. I promise you that. If you refuse…we'll tell you where to find their remains. You'll probably be late for your next shift. Can I trust you not to scream if I remove the duct tape?"

He nodded. Screaming hadn't crossed his mind. He'd follow their rules and pray to God that they were telling the truth about not hurting his babies. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for his wife, Danni. She was in the same room with the kids. For Reggie, it was real enough seeing the digital file, but she could probably feel their breath in the dark, scared out of her mind that these might be her last moments with them. One of the white dudes ripped the duct tape from his mouth, searing his lips.

"What do I have to do?" he uttered breathlessly.

"Look the other way for three seconds," the Jamaican said.

"At the center?"

"Yes. You look the other way, and I release your family. It's as simple as that."

"You want me to let someone into the Operations Center? What are they going to do?"

"You don't need to worry about that. All you need to do is focus on your family. I promise you they will be fine if you follow our instructions. Three seconds of inattention, and you don't say a word to anyone. That's it."

Taylor thought about the consequences for a few seconds. He didn't like the idea of letting someone off the street into the operations center, but what choice did he have?

"The place is locked down tight. I can try to slip someone through my checkpoint, but there's a good chance they'll be stopped inside the center. Another guard might stop them right there if they don't have a badge. My checkpoint is for internal NCTC traffic only, people already cleared to be in the building. You can't bring someone in from the outside and hope to get them through my station without attracting attention."

"We're not using someone off the street. You'll recognize the person, and so will the rest of your crew. He's a regular around there, but he doesn't have access to the operations floor for the current operation, so we need your help. Just three seconds of your time. If you do as we ask, your family will be released, regardless of the outcome. Can you do this for us?"