Perspectives, An Intriguing Tale of an American Born Terrorist (36 page)

“To see if Runyan is alive.”

Mary gave him a warm hug. ”I love you,” she said.

Jonathan absorbed the affection, because it was the first time she had said “I love you,” since the attack.

She asked, “Do you think there are more tracks?”

“There are always tracks,” answered Jonathan. “And I’ve found him. Look at this.” Jonathan handed Mary the response to the email she sent the day before. And look at this,” he continued. He showed her a document dated February 3rd, from the Director to Alex Moore.

“This was just last week,” said Mary as she struggled to bring her eyes into focus. She reached over and snatched his reading glasses from his head and started reviewing the document. “What does that border mean? It looks like hieroglyphics.”

Jonathan explained that the numerical coding on the top border of the memo meant that this was official correspondence on an active project and interpreted the code for her:

PriorityOne;Security:SC4;WilliamReedDirectorAJCX4

“This is a top secret document. SC4 means that it has Presidential authority.”

Message:

We are near conclusion. The F-18 will be made ready as part of Capitol Hill counter terror and is available at Andrews Air Force Base. The mission is to take out target and return to base and then resume normal operation. The President will brief the nation at SOU.

“Okay, you’ve got my attention,” said Mary.

“Now look at this.” Jonathan opened a list of agents’ names cross referenced to their code identifiers. “Mary, this is the most sensitive security document in the world! It shows every agent and every alias.”

“You’re on the list,” smirked Mary as she scanned down the names. “So they haven’t erased everything about you. This would be worth millions on the open market. It identifies every agent in the world! Do you think we should sell it? It would serve those bastards right!”

“Mary, don’t even talk like that.”

“And look here,” said Mary. “AJCX4 is agent, Alex Moore, and down here AJCX4 is also Bob Runyan.” Jonathan explained that each agent was assigned only one alphanumeric name that was used with each new identity and the agent took an oath never to share the code with anyone. Agency policy called for agents who were active in an operation to be identified in correspondence only by their coded name.

“Can you sort that file by code?” she asked.

“Already done,” answered Jonathan handing her another sheet. Jonathan showed Mary one of Bob’s aliases from a previous assignment in Beirut. That alias was also coded AJCX4. “I’ve checked out the numeric border of the file and verified that it is genuine.”

“Explanation?” asked Mary smugly.

“It appears that the Director is communicating with Bob.”

“So you agree that as of February 3rd he was alive?”

“It appears that he’s alive,” grunted Jonathan. “Jesus Christ! What in the hell is going on?”

“Jonathan, there’s some kind of conspiracy and it’s all around the July 15th attack. Why would he lie to you and tell you he was in the building and what was that whole charade about with the funeral? What do you think about the note?”

“Well, they obviously assigned him to another project.”

“Do you think it could be related?”

“To what?”

“To July 15th? Do you think that there’s going to be a repeat of what happened on July 15th?”

“I don’t know, I’m worried.”

“Do you still think I was reaching when I told you he was alive?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Let’s go through it. The President is going to brief the nation about a mission, so SOU has to be the State of the Union Address. Mary, what date is the State of the Union address this year?”

Mary pounded the keys, “Next Tuesday.”

“I thought it was usually at the end of January.”

“Got pushed back because of an international summit.”

“Well Bob is definitely in charge of something that’s going to happen next Tuesday and the President is going to speak to us about it that evening.”

“Why F-18s?”

“On the night of the State of the Union Address our entire Government is under one roof, so you can imagine the security. No one can get near the Capitol by ground and they protect the airspace with a fleet of specially equipped, fully armed F-18s. I’m guessing that these are the planes that the Director is referring to in the note. When I say fully armed, I mean laser guided bombs, maverick and tow missiles and maybe even tomahawk missiles. They’ll also have some specially designed stealth panels that will make them nearly impossible to detect on radar. Since 9/11 they’ve used 10 - 12 of these F-18s to protect the Capitol as intercept aircraft and they always originate from Andrews Air Force Base.”

“But what is this other mission before the President speaks?” said Mary.

“It could be anything. It looks like they are going to use one of them to take out a target that same day.”

“The President would have to know about it, if he’s going to address it in his speech and so would his speech writer.”

“Like I said, he would have to authorize it!” said Jonathan.

Mary became real quiet and started to tremble. Her hands shook and her face became contorted as if she was reliving some horrible event.

Jonathan put his arm around her. “Mary are you okay? You need to breathe. Let me get you a drink.”

“They’re planning another attack, what else could it be?” she said. “And how perfect is that; to have an act of terror on the same day as the State of the Union? The President will still continue with his speech because he will not want to display weakness to the terrorists. No one will argue with him when he takes control of this country through the military.”

“Mary, please get a grip on yourself!”

She turned and looked at him with hollow and tired eyes, “Tell me what else it can mean.”

“Mary, it can mean about anything. The plane could be test firing a new missile, they could be testing a new counter-terrorist radar. Between the CIA, the NSA and the Secret Service there’s a million combinations. Mary, you have to understand, they’re not going to use a military aircraft to perform an act of terror.”

“What if it’s stolen or hijacked?”

Jonathan could see that she was becoming more and more irrational. “Impossible, there’s so much security around those bases that no one can get within a mile of those aircraft.”

“But Bob, he could fly it, couldn’t he? He has a pilot’s license.”

“No, he was just a single engine private pilot, big difference.”

Mary began to get frantic, “But they may have trained him and then he would be authorized and would be able to take the plane without question.”

“Mary, they have military pilots, who are specially trained to fly those planes. They don’t just let anyone hop into the cockpit of an F-18, especially an F-18 that is dedicated to the Secret Service.”

Mary continued rambling, “And he could drop a bomb or shoot a missile from miles away. They would never even know that it came from a military aircraft. It would just be an explosion.”

“You’re not listening to me Mary. Even if Bob did take an F-18, this is America. Someone would see it, hear it or film it. The President is not going to authorize an attack on this country with one of his own military jets.”

Mary turned to him with a raised voice, now with a sharp and sane focus in her eyes, “Then why all the secrecy over Bob’s death? I can’t believe you can’t see it! I’ll say it because you won’t. They killed Matthew and now they’re going to kill more innocent people.”

“Mary, what you’re saying isn’t real. You need to get some rest.”

“It’s too real and we are going to find out exactly what is going on.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“You are going to bring Mr. Runyan to us and we’re going to ask him.”

“How am I going to do that?”

“You are going to create a memo from Bill Reed to Bob Runyan using all that fancy letterhead and all that fancy hieroglyphics and we’re going to meet him.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Don’t call me crazy! You called me crazy last night and now I’m not looking so crazy am I? If he’s not alive and involved, okay. But don’t you want to know?”

“You’re right,” he answered.

Jonathan adeptly copied the format and letterhead from the top secret memo and wrote:

Change in plans due to unforeseen events. Meet me at VIP’s in Langley at 4 p.m February 21st
.

He sent it to the same email address with a tag that would send any response back to a new EarthLink account which he would destroy immediately following his answer.

“Now we just wait for confirmation,” said Jonathan.

Jonathan and Mary waited in the shadows, out of sight, in front of the VIP Lounge for Alex Moore aka Bob Runyan to arrive. Carly waited in the back seat of their rented Buick playing with her animals. The confirmation had come by email at 11 a.m. that he was flying in from Lexington, Kentucky, on a company plane. It was a dreary afternoon with a light mist that couldn’t decide if it wanted to turn to snow or simply puddle the ground. Jonathan had studied the picture from the CIA database. There was only one valet managing the lot. He was in a continual sprint, parking a car and then racing back to keep the flow moving. Jonathan timed the process and noted that the round trip took him about three minutes, more than enough time for what he needed to do. The valet was a tall skinny red headed kid, probably still in school, who was wearing a bright orange VIP t-shirt with a suggestive silhouette of a young naked girl on the back. Each patron handed him a buck or two for retrieving their car, with all of their big money being stuck in the crotch or garters of the girls inside. But even with the small tips, Jonathan calculated that over the course of the day, especially at night when the place got busy, the kid was making a pretty good living. Jonathan gave the kid $50 to let him keep the Buick out front running so he could keep an eye on Carly and be positioned for a quick escape. Mary nervously looked at her watch and kept reminding Jonathan that Alex was late. “Be patient,” said Jonathan over and over. After about 30 minutes Jonathan spotted Bob through the side glass of a 2012 burgundy Corvette convertible with a tan top. Bob stepped out of the car and the valet slid in. He looked exactly like the CIA photograph. The valet was still breathing hard from his last jog from the parking lot. Bob was dressed in designer blue jeans, a white dress shirt, a tan sport coat and lizard skin cowboy boots.

As soon as the attendant drove away, Jonathan and Mary stepped from the side of the entry way and Mary said in a hard sarcastic voice, “Hi Bob, or should I say Lazarus. I guess you weren’t expecting to see us”.

Startled, Bob spun around and looked for the valet or any angle of escape but there was no way out. Jonathan shot him with a M18 Taser at point blank range. The darts stuck into his chest like tiny tentacles each emitting 18 watts and over 500 volts of electricity. Bob swatted at his chest as if he was covered with a hive of bees and then collapsed, still twitching, to the ground. Jonathan and Mary dragged him to their car and tossed him into the trunk. When the attendant returned, Jonathan, Mary, Bob and Jonathan’s car were all gone.

As they headed back to their home in Occaquan, the only noise in the car was the occasional whoosh from the intermittent wiper and several thumps from the trunk. Carly was playing patty cake with Bruiser in the back seat, but sensed by her parents’ actions that they were upset. “Why did you put Uncle Bob in the trunk?” she asked looking suspiciously at the back seat cushion that didn’t seem thick enough to provide adequate separation between her and the thrashing man only inches away.”

“He’s a very bad man,” answered her mother sharply. “And we need to ask him some questions.”

“Uncle Bob isn’t a bad man. He was always nice to me.”

“Sometimes people fool you.”

“Daddy says you can feel if a person is good or bad, if you listen to your heart.”

“That’s right sweetie, but you also have to watch what they do,” answered her father. “Good people do good things and bad people do bad things. Good people tell the truth and bad people tell lies.”

“Did Uncle Bob do bad things and tell lies?”

“Yes he did, he killed your brother,” answered Mary.

“Mary!” yelled Jonathan. “What is wrong with you?”

There was a long period of silence, but surprisingly Carly wasn’t upset by her mother’s words. She held Bruiser up to her ear as if he was whispering something to her, “Bruiser says that Uncle Bob didn’t kill Matthew.”

Mary was afraid to hear the rest, but that was all that Carly said.

A myriad of thoughts flooded Mary’s mind as she thought of questions she wanted to ask Bob. “Oh my God, what do you ask the murderer of your child?” she blurted out. “I want to look that mother fucker right in the eyes and ask him why he murdered my baby!”

“Mommy you said a bad word,” said Carly.

“Sorry sweetie.”

Jonathan could sense that she was ready to implode, “Mary, calm down, you need to let me handle this. We need to unravel him slowly so we get all the answers we need. You need to behave. Promise me that there will be no more antics.”

Mary sat silent.

When they arrived home, Jonathan told Mary to take Carly into their bedroom which was upstairs and far away from the kitchen and to turn the volume up loud on their Bose surround sound system that was integrated into their 42 inch Plasma television. “There’s nothing here that we want her to see or hear.” He pulled one car out of the garage and pulled the rental car in, then he positioned himself behind the car, as if he was opening the lid of a lion’s cage. He popped the trunk with the remote entry on the key chain. The lid flew open and he stood facing a very angry animal. Alex Moore rose to his knees and stared at the barrel of a loaded Glock 7.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Alex screamed pretending not to recognize him. “I’m a federal agent.” He held up his badge. Alex had removed all the darts from his chest on the ride over and the front of his shirt was peppered with tiny spots of blood.