Amanda intercepted him at the entrance to the parking garage. She hooked his right arm with her left and steered him to a different row of vehicles. “It’s Radcliffe. He’s the thirteenth target. We’re taking a Federal Reserve car.”
“Why?”
Amanda opened the driver’s door to a white Ford Taurus. “Get in. I’ll explain on the way.”
“Tell me now or I’m not going.”
Amanda’s face hardened. She looked across the roof to a gray cargo van parked behind Mullins.
Mullins turned as a slender man in a pale blue linen sport coat stepped around the van’s rear bumper. He had jet black hair and dark, piercing eyes.
“You heard the lady, Mr. Mullins. Get in the car.”
Mullins heard the accent, Mid-Eastern and probably Syrian. He saw the semi-automatic pistol leveled at his chest.
He smiled. “Hello, Asu.”
Mullins turned to Amanda. “So, you’re a traitor. That doesn’t surprise me as much as seeing you hooked up with this piece of shit.”
“We’re doing what we’re doing to save this country.” Amanda drew her own pistol. She looked at Asu. “He’s got a Glock under his left arm. That’s it.”
“What about a wire?” Asu asked.
“No. I made sure he’s clean.”
“Stripping me down to a towel and hanging up my clothes,” Mullins said. “How far were you willing to go, Amanda?”
“As far as I had to.”
Asu stepped closer. “Arms out to the side.”
Mullins obeyed.
Asu snatched the Glock from Mullins’ holster and stuck it in the waistband in the back of his slacks. “He’s been out of your sight this morning. I’m patting him down.” Asu ran his hands across Mullins’ chest, sides, and the inseam of each leg.
“You’re wasting time,” Amanda urged. “We can’t stand here all day. Someone will see us. Radcliffe will be on the move soon.”
“Sure we can,” Mullins said. “I’m not getting in the car.”
“I think you are,” Amanda said. “Unless you not only want to sacrifice your life but also the lives of your daughter and grandson.”
Mullins felt his knees tremble, and he knew as calm as he tried to be, the telltale pallor of his face convinced them they’d gained the upper hand. “This is what you did to Luguire, isn’t it? Threatened his family. Well, I don’t believe you. I sent Kayli into hiding.”
“Right. And I’m sure you told her not to say a word to anyone. But, she did worry about disappearing without telling her neighbor and best friend Sandy Beecham. And you know Don Beecham. He works at the Federal Reserve with me. He also works for me in what you might call extracurricular activities.”
“You’re lying,” Mullins said.
“Is that a risk you want to take? Asu, give him back his phone. If he says anything, shoot him.”
Mullins took the phone.
“Call your daughter, but don’t speak.”
Mullins scanned the recent dials, highlighted her cell number, and pressed send.
A man answered. “Mr. Mullins, we have your daughter and grandson.” His high voice sounded strained, like he was nervous. The inflection of the words had all the naturalness of a bad actor cold-reading a script.
Mullins pulled the phone from his ear and activated the speaker. He turned it around so that Asu and Amanda could hear.
“They are all right and will stay that way as long as you do exactly as you’re told.”
“I want to talk to Kayli,” Mullins silently mouthed to Amanda.
She shook her head. “The word ketamine should explain why. Evidently your daughter was quite feisty.”
Mullins heard the click as the connection broke.
Asu grabbed the phone. “Now get in the car.”
“All right. But a Taurus is quite a comedown from a BMW.” Mullins opened the passenger door without taking his eyes off Asu. “So, where’s the party?”
Mullins saw Asu’s eyes flicker with surprise, the first visible emotion during their encounter.
“The wrapping paper,” Amanda told Asu. “Just one of your screw-ups.”
Asu took the backseat behind Mullins. He pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Mullins’ ear. “Look straight ahead. Any sudden move, any attempt to signal for help and you’re a dead man.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Where’s the party?”
“You’ll know when you need to know.”
Amanda backed the Taurus out of the space. “Relax, Asu. He’s not going anywhere, and he’s not going to cause any trouble.” She exited the garage and skirted the security checkpoints by looping away from Constitution Avenue.
Mullins sat motionless, waiting for Amanda to fill the silence. He knew she’d have to justify her actions.
“Our country is facing the greatest crisis since the Civil War. And only a few of us know it.”
“So, you infiltrated the Federal Reserve in an attempt to destroy it,” he said.
“No. To save it. These lunatics who want to abolish the Federal Reserve have no idea of the consequences. Can you see us going back to the gold standard? Can you see Congress dealing with international monetary policy? Those assholes can’t even agree on a domestic budget let alone make the decisions that safeguard Western Civilization.” Anger rose in her voice and she turned to glare at him. “In 2008 our country nearly collapsed while Congress played partisan politics. Decisions were made fast because they could be made fast and had to be made fast.”
“Would you watch the road,” Mullins said. “A wreck on 23rd Street isn’t a good idea, not with Mr. Trigger Finger behind me.”
“Sit back, Asu,” Amanda ordered. “And keep your gun down.”
Mullins loosened his tie. “You expect me to believe proponents of the Federal Reserve sanctioned an operation to blow up the regional banks?”
She smiled. “You disappoint me, Rusty. Why would we totally destroy an institution we’re trying to protect? Richmond will be enough.”
“There are no other bombs?”
“We just needed you to think there were. You were a good agent, and if you believed a nationwide plot existed, you’d understand the need for secrecy, particularly if I told you I was coordinating everything with Rudy Hauser and Secret Service.”
“You never spoke to Hauser? You never alerted him to a bombing plot?”
“No. I did my job helping troubleshoot security here. And it was excellent, don’t you think?”
“Are we headed to Richmond? Do you need me in proximity?”
“We’d never make it. The timer’s set for noon. About twenty minutes. And you’ll be busy here. Don’t worry. We’re not monsters. It’s a holiday so casualties in Richmond will be light.”
“Where’s the bomb?” Mullins asked.
“Where it needs to be. Khoury will be linked to it. He brings the right credentials, a disgruntled Muslim victimized by the subprime mortgage meltdown. An Islamophobic nation will see him as another Arab terrorist with links to Al Qaida. His journal will be discovered detailing his acquisitions for a bomb.”
“Why kill him?”
“He was too unstable to do more than create a paper trail. Khoury’s body will never be discovered, and the country will be consumed with tracking him down.”
“And then there’s me. I feel flattered. Am I to be the mastermind?”
“I also knew you’d not turn loose of Luguire’s death until you had answers. Better to have your motivation working for us rather than against us. Your investigation created a trail that can be read as if you were leading the parade, not following it.”
“And the money flowing through Laurel Bank and Craig Archer?”
“They’ll be traced to an account with ties to funding for Occupy Wall Street and, of course, a big payday for you.”
“Creative. Associate the protesters with Al Qaida and an attack on an American institution on the Fourth of July.”
“If you want to unite people, give them a common enemy. An attack on the Fed will snuff out the cries to abolish the Fed. Otherwise, you’re suddenly un-American.”
“And snuff out a voice for moderation and transparency,” Mullins added. “Chairman Hugh Radcliffe is your sacrificial lamb, isn’t he?”
She shrugged. “You know what has to happen when you’re making an omelette.”
“Breaking shells is one thing, murder is something else. And Asu is nothing more than a glorified hit man. For whom? This is no dark ops mission, no matter how desperate some American government officials or financiers might be. And it’s too well planned. Multinational, I assume.”
“The nation-state is an antiquated concept, Rusty. It’s like rooting for a sports team. You can be a player, you can be a coach, or you can be in the stands, but it’s the owners who are in control. There are owners, so deeply buried in the fabric of their societies as to be virtually invisible and thereby untouchable.”
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
“Maybe. When it’s power for the sake of power. But when it’s for the cause of political stability, for the semblance of economic vitality, and for the maintenance of social order, then in the grand scheme how can actions be corrupt when the consequences are for good?”
“And you’ve been working for these consequences for how long?”
“Since before I joined Treasury. We didn’t know how the story would play out, but we knew we needed to be in position to control the ending.”
Amanda exited off the Lincoln Memorial Circle onto Henry Bacon Drive NW.
“Henry Bacon? Are we going right back to the Fed?”
“No. We have some reserve parking. I made arrangements although the request will be backtracked to Prime Protection.” She maneuvered around traffic cones set up on the shoulder of the road. “Supposedly for security vehicles as back up to Radcliffe’s protection. The investigation will conclude you requested them.”
“You’re going after Radcliffe where? The parade?”
“Too far away. Too unpredictable. Too crowded for our courier to get close.”
Mullins noticed they’d parked just off the Lincoln Memorial Circle behind a blue Honda van. He saw a stocky Hispanic man get out and open the side door for a woman and little girl. The Hispanic man then grabbed a cloth bag from the passenger’s seat. Protruding over the edge were several rosebuds and the corner of a box wrapped in pink and green paper.
“Khoury’s family,” Mullins said. “You’re using them.” His mind raced. “The Vietnam Memorial Wall. The names of Radcliffe’s men killed in action. My God, Amanda, it’s monstrous.”
“No. It’s regrettable. But your daughter and grandson will be all right. You have my word. Killing them would gain us nothing.”
“Only because it would go against my motivation. A mercenary killing for money reads better to a paranoid public than a man who was trying to save his family. That theme’s a little too common in this drama. First, Luguire. Then, Fares Khoury. And now me.”
“This is maximum impact. A controlled explosion with a specific damage radius. The wall will project the blast in one direction only. No more collateral damage than necessary. Something our military negotiates every day. The stakes here are even higher.”
Asu opened the rear door. “I’ve got to give Chuchi final instructions. Keep him here until you see them head for the memorial.”
“Amanda,” Mullins pleaded.
“Shut up.”
“How do you know Radcliffe will even come? The Richmond bomb has to create some kind of lockdown.”
“Give me some credit, Rusty. Timing is everything. Radcliffe will be here first. Even if the Richmond bomb is discovered, the Fed’s confident of their D.C. security measures. Radcliffe might be convinced to skip the parade, but he’ll never skip honoring his comrades. And he wants his granddaughter to see what sacrifice and courage are all about. No press or photo op. Just a private moment. And all we need is ten seconds for one little girl to give another little girl a birthday present.”
“And Chuchi?”
“He thinks Fares Khoury is going to show up. Asu believes Chuchi’s feeling sympathy for the mother and daughter. Better to give him the same story.”
***
A few blocks away on 23rd Street between Constitution and the Lincoln Memorial Circle, Sidney Levine looked up from the digital audio recorder and radio receiver in his lap. “What the hell do we do?”
“Now that Richmond’s alerted we get to that bomb.” Sullivan slapped his two-way mike into the holder. He wheeled his Crown Vic in a sharp left turn, jumped the concrete divider and cut in front of two lanes of oncoming traffic. He drove over the curb and churned across the open park grass toward the intersection of Henry Bacon Drive and Constitution Avenue. He grabbed a magnetic-based blue police light from under the dash and slapped it on the roof. Pedestrian tourists sauntered along, forcing Sullivan to lay on the horn.
“Jesus, man,” Sidney shouted. “If Asu sees us, he’ll detonate.”
“They’re at the other end. Mullins will keep them distracted.”
***
Mullins never took his eyes from the front of the van where Asu spoke to Chuchi while the mother and little girl waited. After a few minutes, the three started walking across the grass toward the memorial. Mullins had no doubt Chuchi carried a gun in the pocket of his tan sport coat. He heard band music in the distance. The parade had begun. The music would grow louder as bands and floats from across the nation honored the spirit of America, unaware that on nearby sacred ground a new sacrifice was only moments away.
Asu hurried back to the Taurus.
“Let’s go. We need to move him to the van.”
“What’s in the green and pink box?” Mullins asked. “C-4?”
“Get out of the car now!”
Mullins stood. Amanda emerged from the driver’s side and walked around the front of the car to join them.
Mullins turned to face her. “It’s over, Amanda. You should have let Asu do a better job of searching me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m wearing a wire.”
Asu shifted nervously. His left hand went into his coat pocket and he pulled out an electronic car key without a real key attached. “You said he was clean.”
“He was. I went through his clothes.”
“But you missed two collar stays hidden in the sole of my shoe and a GPS tracker in the heel. Very careless.”
“He’s bluffing,” Amanda said.
Mullins studied Asu’s face. A slight twitch appeared in his temple. The ice blood in his veins started heating up.
“No,” Mullins said. “You’re the ones bluffing. I trust that my daughter never disobeyed my instructions. I’m betting you’ve set up an intercept on her number. You certainly have money to buy whatever resources you need.”
Asu shot a glance at Amanda. Mullins felt the knot in his stomach relax. He had guessed correctly.
“So, sacrificing the little girl who thinks she’s bringing a Cinderella Castle to a celebration is quite pointless. It will only guarantee your execution.”
Amanda glared at Asu. “You idiot. They’ve been following you.”
***
The Crown Vic came to Henry Bacon Drive. Vehicles were bumper to bumper, backed up from the light at the intersection with Constitution and blocking Sullivan’s cross-country shortcut. He slammed on the brakes and grass tore free under the skidding tires. With the car still in motion, Sidney jumped from the passenger’s side and nearly tumbled head over heels as he fought to keep his balance. Then he darted into the traffic.