Finch’s
chest tightened as he stood up.
“What do
they want?”
“They
said they had search warrants, and a warrant for your arrest!”
“Activate
Omega Protocol.”
“Yes,
sir!”
He heard
a beeping alarm over the intercom system, and looked at his computer screen as
the hard drive began to wipe, overwritten with a series of ones and zeroes
repeatedly until stopped, there being no way any data would be able to be
retrieved. The building vibrated slightly as he felt the massive incinerator
kick in. He grabbed all the files on his desk and walked over to the wall and
opened the door to the incineration chute. Dumping the files inside, he opened
his desk drawers and pulled out everything that might have data on it,
shoveling it all in the chute as he knew employees throughout the building
would be doing, all elevators and stairwells now locked down.
This
building had been designed for warfare, as a demonstration to foreign clients
of security features that could be built into their government and embassy
buildings around the world. He had never dreamed they would need to use the
features here, but so be it. There was no way he was going down without a
fight.
His
phone began to vibrate and he pulled his Samsung Galaxy III S out of his
pocket, activating the security app. A panel of mostly red displayed, but green
squares were starting to appear as each cleared office changed the status
switch mounted on the wall. Red indicated the office still contained classified
information, green indicated all materials destroyed. When a staff member
finished their office, they were supposed to move to the next that still
indicated red.
Tossing
the last of his material down the chute, he flipped the switch on the wall
behind his desk, his own little square turning to green, as he stepped into the
outer office and helped his secretary clear the last of her items. Finished,
she flipped her switch, and they stepped out into the hallway.
“You
help with disposal,” he said, pointing across the hall to a records room.
“Where
are you going, sir?”
“Don’t
worry about me, just do your job, and you’ll be safe. They’re not here for
you.”
She
nodded, tears in her eyes. He gave her a quick hug, she having been his loyal
secretary since he founded the firm fifteen years ago. He kissed the top of her
head, then gently pushed her across the hall.
“You’ll
be okay.”
She
forced a smile, then turned and entered the records room, where the open door
momentarily revealed a flurry of activity inside. Finch spun on his heel and
calmly walked two doors down, poking his head in Atticus Tucker’s office.
Tucker’s secretary looked up and stopped.
“Is he
in there?” he asked, motioning toward the door.
“Yes,
sir.”
Finch
motioned with his hand. “Don’t stop what you’re doing.”
She
flushed in embarrassment, and resumed stuffing documents down the chute. Kane
noticed her computer was already on its second wipe, which meant that all
desktops in the building, even those powered down, were now wiped, the security
system sending a signal to power up if necessary. All that was left now were
the servers and the domestic offsite backup. Everything they needed that was
important was backed up in a secret location, not within the Americas, and
already being moved from their current physical location to a secret location
known only to a handful of people.
There
was no way they were going to get anything on him.
The
power went out as he entered Tucker’s office. Tucker was just flipping his
switch when he spun, his trusted Glock in his hand, aimed directly at Finch’s
chest.
Finch
didn’t react, knowing full well the Colonel was too well trained to
accidentally shoot him. The weapon flipped up, and was quickly stuffed behind
his colleague’s back.
“What’s
going on?” asked Tucker as the diesel generator kicked in, restoring power.
“FBI
raid. They’re here for me.”
“And
probably me.”
“Perhaps.
If not now, definitely eventually.”
“Exit
plan?”
“Alpha.”
“The
tunnels?”
Finch
nodded. “Let’s go, we don’t have much time.”
As if to
remind them, small explosions erupted in rapid succession as what Finch guessed
would be coordinated blasting of the locks on the sealed doors. He ducked
across the hallway and into a room marked Janitorial, Tucker close behind, as
red beams from the laser scopes of the FBI tactical team’s rifles shone through
the dust. Tucker pressed the door silently closed behind them, then locked it,
as Finch flipped three light switches up, then the middle one down, releasing a
hidden clasp. He swung out a supply cabinet that was perfectly balanced to
glide with ease, and in silence. He stepped into the alcove, along with Tucker,
then pulled the cabinet closed behind them, the switches on the other side
resetting, the door unlocking.
Finch
wrapped his arms around the fireman’s pole that stood before them, and stepped
off, wrapping his legs around the cold steel. As he gained speed, passing each
of the four floors, he could hear shouting and banging as the FBI quickly
overran the building. He squeezed tighter, slowing his descent, and gently hit
the floor, then quickly stepped back to avoid being hit by Tucker who joined
him seconds later.
Glancing
at his cellphone, he saw almost the entire panel was now green, with the few
reds very few indeed. The lockdown had been nearly completely successful, now
it would be a matter of determining whether or not those red areas were areas
where the switch just hadn’t been flipped, were partially cleared, or not
cleared at all, and whether or not any of the data not cleared was compromising.
He
doubted it, most of the truly compromising data on higher floors, and most of
that not kept in print. The main floors would simply be personnel files, where
they had nothing to hide. Their black ops teams, their off the books projects,
were all run out of their Dubai headquarters, and he was quite certain secure,
however the security alert would have extended to them, and anything
compromising again would have been destroyed, only to be retrieved later from
their secure offsite backup once the crisis had passed.
If it
passed.
Finch
headed down a long tunnel that had been dug after the complex was built. It was
off the books, unknown to everyone except the foreign workers brought in to dig
it, and himself and the senior executives, none of whom were on site today
except for him and Tucker.
“This
has to be because of Erickson,” said Tucker.
“Perhaps.
Or it’s because of that complete fuckup of an operation you ran last night.”
Finch
heard Tucker’s footfalls slow down behind him. Finch reached under his jacket
and pulled his Glock, gently flicking off the safety.
“Just
what is that supposed to mean?”
Finch passed
one of the lights placed every thirty feet then came to a stop at the midpoint
between it and the next one. He turned to look at Tucker, his hand with the gun
hidden behind him. Tucker stopped under the light.
“It
means you were supposed to make it look like an accident or a mugging. Not some
full on assault with a fucking chopper!”
Finch
took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
“Hey,
that wasn’t me. That was the guy running the op. He called in air support. I
was just as surprised as you.”
“You
chose him?”
Tucker’s
jaw squared under the light.
“Yes.”
“And
you’re responsible for those under your command?”
Tucker
pursed his lips.
“Yes.”
“And
what would you do about this, if you were me.”
Tucker’s
hand twitched, probably wishing he had a gun in it, rather than tucked into his
belt.
“I’m not
sure what you mean.”
Finch
raised his gun and aimed it directly at Tucker’s chest. Tucker’s hands slowly
rose.
“You’ve
said in the past that we as a country should never tolerate failure, and we as
a company shouldn’t either. You’ve even expressed admiration when speaking of
the Romans and the Spartans, and how they would assassinate any leader who
showed weakness or failure. Well, your incompetence has brought down BlackTide,
the company I founded with my own blood and sweat over fifteen years. And in
one day you’ve brought it down.”
Tucker
stepped back, shaking his head. “Brad, come on, you know me, you know I love
this company, you know everything I’ve done for it. I’m loyal, you know it. So
the guy I chose for the job screwed up. We can blame it on him. There’s nothing
to tie it to us. We’ll just say he went rogue.”
“It’s
too late for that, my friend. If they don’t know about Erickson already, they
will soon. And then it’s all over, because that coward will talk. Then you will
talk, because you, the retired army hero, will be given a deal. Then I’ll be
buried.”
Tucker
spun and ran. Finch squeezed the trigger twice and heard Tucker cry out in pain
then hit the ground. Finch walked over to his still moaning colleague.
“I’m
sorry, my friend.”
He
raised his weapon and put two bullets in the base of Tucker’s skull.
“There’s
no room for failure in The Assembly.”
Outside BlackTide Headquarters, Arlington, Virginia
Director Morrison stood outside the BlackTide Headquarters building,
leaning impatiently on the custom Dodge Sprint cargo van. He knew it was an FBI
operation, this was their jurisdiction, but it still frustrated him. Early in
his career he had been a Green Beret, serving three tours in ’Nam, plus some
Cold War tours in West Germany, before retiring just after Gulf War One as they
now called it. He itched for the action, but his old bones would have nothing
of it.
Christ,
you’re still feeling the run to the Ops Center two
days
ago!
Once
Secretary of Defense Erickson had shot himself, the shit hit the fan, and he
briefed the President within minutes. The Administration went into immediate
panic mode, locking everything down while they figured out who they could
trust. Warrants were requested and issued for everything BlackTide, and raids
were coordinated with governments around the world, executed today at exactly 2
pm Eastern time.
From the
reports coming out over the comm unit sitting in the vehicle, it didn’t look
good. BlackTide had some sort of security protocol that had wiped all the
hardware and their incinerator, which was belching smoke out of the top of the
building in a definite EPA violation, was working overtime on any piece of
paper that might contain incriminating evidence.
But what
BlackTide didn’t know, was that they had traced their network traffic and found
their offsite backup in South Africa, and it had been raided two hours earlier,
successfully. The data was being transferred to Department of Justice computers
as the take-down operation unfolded. Other than the data wipe, the operation
was going smooth, but at their training camp in North Carolina, apparently it
had turned into a gun battle that still raged. Dozens on both sides were dead
or wounded, and it showed no sign of abating.
Two dull
echoes seemed to erupt from under his feet. He pushed himself off the van,
leaving his hand in place. Two more sounds. Dull, but their vibrations distinct.
“Did you
hear that?” he asked one of his cadre of guards.
The man
nodded. “Sounded like gunshots.”
“Yeah,
but from where?” He couldn’t help but look at the pavement, then his eyes
drifted to a nearby grate and he pointed. “Get men in there, now!”
Orders
were snapped, and four of his security team rushed over to the grate, prying it
loose and rolling it aside.
“Somebody’s
in here!” one of the men yelled. He dropped into the hole and out of sight as
the other three followed. “Halt!” came the muffled cry, then a single gunshot
rang out, followed by the sounds of several automatic weapons erupting in
response.
Morrison
jogged over to the hole, taking a knee. “Status!” he yelled.
“One man
injured, one hostile down. Checking now!”
Morrison
turned to one of his men who had remained above ground. “Get a medic, now!” The
man nodded and activated his comm, making the request.
“Subject
is terminated,” came a voice from below.
“ID?”
There
was a pause as the man’s fingerprints were run through the palm scanner. “Looks
like it’s a retired Colonel, Atticus Tucker, sir!”
“Keep
searching, Finch might be with him!” ordered Morrison as he pushed himself to
his feet. They needed him alive. Only he knew what was truly going on, the
extent of who was involved, and why.
A group
of FBI SWAT pulled up, along with an ambulance and a black car. The SWAT team
surrounded the area. The scene commander for the FBI, whom Morrison had been
introduced to earlier as Glen Armstrong, strode up.
“What’s
going on?” he asked.
Morrison
looked at the medics and pointed at the exposed manhole cover. “I’ve got a man
down in there.” The two medics nodded then ran over to the hole, looking in and
receiving the all clear from one of his CIA team down below. Morrison looked at
Armstrong. “We heard gunshots underground. My men went into the hole and
engaged a hostile, taking him out. They’re currently looking to see if the
subject was alone.”
“Was it
Finch?”
Morrison
shook his head. “Why, you don’t have him?”
Armstrong
shook his head. “No, he either wasn’t there, or gave us the slip.”
“Intel?”
“They
wiped and burned everything. Some sort of lockdown procedure. We had to use
explosives to gain entry. No resistance though. Good thing your people found
their offsite backup, otherwise we’d have nothing.”