The Assassin's Trail (20 page)

Fort Meade, MD

Friday morning

As a twenty-year veteran of the navy, Nick Carroll had spent the last ten of those years in signals intelligence or in the alphabet soup of government, SIGINT. Now he worked for the NSA. He made more money, got to sleep in his own bed at night and had a regular eight-to-five job. He also got to work on his fluency in Farsi and Urdu. 

His newly poured cup of coffee was still steaming as he sat down in his cubicle. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his immediate supervisor approaching. Holly O’Brien walked up and smiled. She said, “I’ve got a wild goose chase for you this morning.”

Nick looked at her and sipped his coffee. “Yeah, what kind?”

“Right up your alley, Nick.”

He sipped his coffee again and held his hand out for the memo.

She shook her head. “It’s not on paper.”

Frowning, Nick pulled his hand back. “Not on paper?”

“Nope. This is a special favor from our director. He’s doing a favor for his counterpart over in the Hoover Building.”

Nick’s brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. “Holly, am I going to be comfortable with this request?”

“Probably not. But you don’t have a choice. You’re the victim of your own success.”

“What’s the request?”

“Nothing taxing, but we need you to write an algorithm to search domestic to foreign calls for a few new tag words. Run it on foreign to domestic calls also.”

“What are the key words?”

She shook her head, “They seem silly, but who knows.” She handed him a small five-by-seven sheet of paper from a yellow pad.

Nick glanced at it, read it twice and then looked up.

“Most of these are common key words,” he said. “Do you know how many hits we will get with ‘Tulsa,’ ‘container’ and ‘Port of Houston’?”

She shrugged. “Probably a lot. Just run the algorithm and we’ll see what the results are. Maybe it will make sense then.”

“How far back?”

“Let’s try six months. If you get nothing go back a year. See what you get. I was told to key in on those three words first.”

“Okay, I’ll let you know.”

By noon, Nick Carroll was seeing a pattern emerge, a troubling pattern. He stood and walked to Holly’s office. He tapped on the door as he walked in. “You got a second?”

She looked up and smiled. “No, but I’ll make time. What’d you find?”

“I went back a year. Not much until about five months ago.”

“Okay. What happened then?”

“Lots of hits for two weeks. Then nothing for a few weeks, then the activity started again. It stopped until a week ago and now…”

She frowned. “What’d you find, Nick?”

“Now, mind you, there was a lot of clutter I had to filter out, but the troubling calls are in Farsi.”

She was quiet as she waited for him to finish.

He swallowed and took a deep breath. “If I had to guess, there’s going to be a major terrorist attack on the Friday after Memorial Day.”

“Where?”

Shaking his head, “The target is never mentioned, but it will be in the center of the country.”

She glanced at a calendar. “That’s next Friday.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

She was quiet as she stared at the calendar. She stood, crossed her arms over her chest and walked closer to the calendar on the wall. “Keep searching. Expand if you have to, but find out where. I’ll call the director.” 

***

The Hoover Building

Friday afternoon

“The computer in Baltimore hasn't been online for several days.” JR paused. “Ortega has been offline as well. If they figured out how we’re tracking them and switched to new computers…”

Kruger had excused himself from the meeting and had found an unoccupied office to check in with JR. “What, JR?”

“We’re screwed. I won’t be able to track them.”

Standing next to a window overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue and the National Archives, Kruger was silent as he as listened to JR.

“The computer in Dallas has been offline as well. What is it, Charlie?” There was a short pause, “Hold on, Sean, Charlie has something.”

The phone was silent for almost five minutes. Kruger was getting ready to end the call and redial when JR said, “Charlie just got a hit on the Baltimore computer. It accessed the internet, left a message and signed off. Charlie is accessing the email account. Do you want to wait or call back?”

“I'll call you back in fifteen minutes.” Kruger ended the call and sat down in the chair behind the desk. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he suddenly felt weary. If he took the SAC position in Kansas City, there would have to be restrictions on his travel. He’d crisscrossed the country several times in the last two weeks. With a new marriage less than twenty-two days old, he’d been gone for half of it. Would anything really change? Probably not.

Other questions swirled in his mind. Could he still give one hundred percent? Did he even want to anymore? Would his marriage survive?

His answer to all three questions was, no. His first marriage had been based on sex more than love. As time passed, he remembered it more like a long bad date, than a marriage. After she left, he completely forgot about her and moved on with his life. Still, it had taken him years to realize how shallow their relationship had been.

But now, with Stephanie, it was totally different. Their relationship was based on friendship, trust, respect for each other, and a shared longing for something other than their careers. He would not jeopardize their relationship; she was too important to him.

Suddenly realizing he was thinking of personal problems and not the investigation startled him. This was a first.

Kruger smiled in the dark room. His metamorphosis was complete. The devotion to the agency and the job had been a substitute for devoting himself to someone else. Someone like Stephanie who would, for lack of better words, be his partner in life.

The vibrating cell phone brought him back to reality. Glancing at the caller ID, he noticed almost half an hour had gone by. He answered it, “Kruger.”

“Thought you were calling back in fifteen minutes?”

“Sorry, got tied up. What'd you find?”

“It's the Baltimore computer. He’s asking Ortega if he should finish the contract on Griffin. Ortega’s computer hasn't accessed the internet at this point.”

“Where did he access the internet?”

“A Starbucks located on Cherry Hill Road in Baltimore.”

“Has that location been used before?”

There was silence on the phone, he heard the phone muffled and voices in the background. Finally, JR said, “Uh... Sorry about that. I didn't think of it, but yes, he's used it several times.”

Kruger thought for a second before saying, “Check his other access points and see if they triangulate.”

“Charlie's already working on it. Your question cleared some cobwebs in our brains. Hold on.” The phone was muffled again, but he heard, “I didn't think of that. Charlie, yeah it makes sense… Hey, Kruger, Charlie thinks the Baltimore contact lives around the Cherry Hill Road area, close to Patapsco Plaza. He’s never used an access point outside of that general area.”

“Well, it's more than we had thirty minutes ago. Have Charlie email me all of the locations used by that computer. I'll see if we can get several surveillance teams to stake them out.”

The call ended and Kruger walked back to Stumpf's office. Opening the door, he saw Stumpf on the phone and Seltzer studying an open file at a conference table. He noted the presence of two stacks of files, one on his right and one on the left. Seltzer looked up and said, “Got anything?”

Kruger nodded. “We think he's in the Cherry Hill area of Baltimore. I need to set up surveillance teams on several locations in the morning. No guarantees, but at least it's a starting point.”

Stumpf motioned for Kruger to sit down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. He continued listening to the caller on the other end of the call, nodding occasionally and making notes. After several more minutes, he ended the call, replaced the handset in the cradle and said, “That was an interesting call.”

Seltzer had walked over from the conference table and sat in the chair next to Kruger. He said, “How so?”

Looking at Kruger, Stumpf said, “It appears there’s a growing interest in your career by the President, Sean. He was impressed with your contributions to the removal of my predecessor. He got a big chuckle when told about your ‘fool following the fool’ comment. When I mentioned you are planning to retire after this investigation is over, he expressed disappointment. That phone call was from his Chief of Staff. You and I are scheduled to meet with the President at fifteen till six tonight. He has fifteen minutes for us.”

Kruger was quiet for a few seconds. “I’ll try not to mention I didn't vote for him.”

***

Like the vast majority of citizens in the United States, Kruger had never been in the Oval Office. He, Stumpf and a presidential assistant made small talk as they waited for the President to arrive from a meeting. Finally the President entered the office, walked up to Stumpf, shook his hand and said, “Thanks for coming, Paul.” He turned, shook Kruger’s hand and said, “Agent Kruger, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I also wanted to personally thank you for your service over the past twenty-five years. I understand you’re scheduled to retire soon.”

Kruger caught himself before stuttering. He cleared his throat. “That is correct, sir.”

The President nodded and walked over to a coffee service. “Coffee, anyone?” Stumpf also went to the coffee service and poured one for himself. Kruger shook his head, not trusting himself to drink a cup of coffee in the Oval Office without spilling it. The President took a seat at his desk and motioned for the two other men to sit. Finally he said, “Sean, Paul has briefed me on your career. An impressive collection of successfully closed cases.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I hate to see someone with your experience and talents leave the agency at such a young age. May I ask why you’re retiring?”

“It's a personal decision, sir.”

The President nodded. “Does it have something to do with traveling and your recent marriage?”

Embarrassed, Kruger looked at Stumpf, then back to the President. He said, “To be honest, sir, it has everything to do with it.”

“What if we assured you there would be less traveling and a supervisory role?”

Kruger glanced at Paul Stumpf, shifted his position in the chair and cleared his throat.

“With all due respect, Mr. President, I'm not a supervisor. I'm an investigator. I have to go where the crime occurred, wherever the location. The fact is, to do this job properly takes a lot of travel to various locations and staying as long as it takes to get results. I'm just not willing to do that anymore. If I'm not willing to give one hundred percent to the agency, then it is time for me to retire and move on.”

The President smiled. “The truth, something this town isn't known for. I respect your reasons, Sean, but I'm not used to people telling me no. I would really like for you to think about taking the SAC position in Kansas City. Please give it a lot of thought.”

Kruger smiled and nodded, “I will, sir.”

Before the President could say anything else, his Chief of Staff opened the door, walked quickly to his side and leaned over to speak into the President’s ear. As he spoke, he handed the President a piece of paper, and the President’s eyes grew wide. The Chief of Staff quickly walked out of the room.

“Paul, we have a serious development,” the President said. “I was just informed the inquiry I authorized for you this morning has produced results.”

Stumpf raised his eyebrows, “What did they learn, sir?”

“It appears there is a terrorist attack planned on an unnamed location in the center of the country. And,” he paused and looked at Kruger, “it’s planned for next Friday.”

Alexandria, VA

Friday evening

Kruger detested driving agency pool cars. First, they screamed law enforcement, and second, they were generally cars in their last few hours of service. Despite the rules against it, he always rented a car while in Washington, D.C. This time it was a new Mustang. Unlike his personal car, this was a six-cylinder model, but it had good acceleration and was definitely a major improvement over a pool car.

His first priority after the meeting at the White House was to drive by Congressman Griffin’s residence. Once he had a chance to see the area, he would drive to the airport to meet the plane transporting Ryan Clark from San Francisco.

As he approached the house, nothing looked unusual or disturbed. After driving past, he noticed a motorcyclist taking a break on the side of the street and drinking what appeared to be a cup of coffee. It seemed a bit odd, but not enough to stop.

On his return pass, the motorcycle was gone. From the street, the congressman's house looked secure, nothing unusual. After the incident in San Francisco, Griffin had hired an outside security agency to improve security at the home. From what Kruger could tell, they had not started yet. Glancing at his watch, he noticed there was just enough time to get to the airport before Clark's flight landed.

Three hours later, he was sitting in a hospital room at Walter Reed and listening to Clark. He was talkative and his demeanor back to normal. Clark said, “Do you think the guy here in Baltimore knows anything about what’s supposed to happen next Friday?”

“We won’t know till we have a chance to talk to him. It was amazing how many agents were suddenly available once this new threat was uncovered. The Wi-Fi spots he frequents have round the clock surveillance.”

Clark nodded. “What about Griffin’s house? Anybody watching it?”

“Not yet. The congressman won’t be back until tomorrow morning. I drove by before meeting you at the airport. Looked quiet. The only thing I saw when I cruised past was a motorcyclist taking a break on the side of the road drinking coffee.”

Clark looked at him and tilted his head to the side. “You saw a motorcyclist drinking coffee? On the side of the road? You’re kidding me. You didn’t stop and ask him what the heck he was doing?”

“What? I thought it bit odd, but there’s no crime against… Wait a minute.” Kruger stood and started pacing. “Why do I have an uneasy feeling about this?”

Clark straightened up in his bed. “Did I ever tell you what we saw on the security tape at the Starbucks?”

Kruger stopped pacing and turned toward Clark. “No, you never did.”

“We saw a motorcyclist pull up beside Rousch's Mercedes, point a pistol at the driver, fire twice and speed away. Two quick, clean shots, and he’s gone.”

“What was the color and make of the bike?”

“We couldn't tell color. It was an old grainy black and white security camera. The details of the bike were hard to determine, angle of the camera was bad. But one of the patrol officers who watched the video said it looked like a Yamaha.”

Kruger was silent.

“Shit. The guy was parked and watching Griffin's house. I drove right by him.”

“Sean, these guys aren’t giving up and they don’t mind taking chances. You need to find a backup. I mean it.”

Nodding, Kruger gave his friend a grim smile. “I know, I just don't trust anybody out here. Only guy I trust is lying in a hospital bed telling me to be careful.”

Clark smiled. “Can't help it.”

Kruger glanced at his watch.

“I need to get going. Griffin is scheduled to arrive around noon tomorrow. The security company he hired will need to know about the motorcyclist. They’re all ex-military, specialize in high profile clients. From what I’ve been told, they’re very good at what they do.”

“Watch your back and be careful.”

***

Saturday morning

The only difference Kruger noticed at the Griffin residence from his earlier drive-by on Friday was the presence of three vehicles, a dark metallic gray GMC Yukon XL Denali and two black Range Rover Sports. All three SUVs had dark tinted windows to render the interiors unobservable. He parked the Mustang on the street next to the driveway, got out and surveyed the neighborhood. It was just after noon and quiet. He had not encountered another vehicle since driving into the gated community.

Kruger clipped his badge to his belt and turned his attention to the house. Standing by the front entrance, he noticed two men scrutinizing his arrival. Their closely cropped haircuts, dark Oakley sunglasses and gray business suits identified them as security. The taller of the two men started walking toward him as Kruger walked up the driveway. After identifying himself, he was escorted into the house and introduced to Lance Harpool.

Harpool was in his early 40s with short blond hair. The suit he wore was nice, but not expensive, with the coat slightly larger than needed for hiding the shoulder holster under his arm which held an H&K MP5 K. His deeply tanned slender face, non-descript nose, and steel blue eyes appraised Kruger as they shook hands. 

“Nice to meet you Agent Kruger, I understand you saved the congressman's life in San Mateo. What can I do for you?

Kruger said, “Yesterday afternoon, around one, I drove by and saw a motorcyclist sitting across the street staring at this property. He was leaning against his bike drinking coffee.”

Harpool’s eyebrows rose as he stared at Kruger. “Unusual, but does it have anything to do with the congressman?”

Nodding, Kruger continued, “I believe so. I was informed yesterday afternoon that a motorcyclist was responsible for a murder connected to the threat against Congressman Griffin. I don't like coincidences, Mr. Harpool, do you?”

Harpool was quiet, his gaze never wavering from Kruger. “No, I don’t, Agent Kruger. Follow me.”

As Kruger followed Harpool he said, “Can we dispense with the ‘agent’ and ‘mister’ crap?”

Harpool turned back to look at Kruger with a grin on his face. “Agreed, too many wasted words.”

At the back of Griffin’s house, they entered a room converted into a high-tech communication and security center. The room’s normal furnishings had been removed and replaced with two eight-feet folding tables, each against an adjacent wall. Two people, a man and a woman, occupied the room and were seated at the tables. Each wore a headset with microphone and ear piece and were watching numerous 40-inch flat-screen monitors. Each screen contained six split screen images from different security cameras positioned somewhere on the property. Harpool pointed at one screen and said, “These are the cameras monitoring the front of the house and the roads to the east and west. We should be able to watch any vehicle traveling the road. The cameras are good enough to record license plate numbers, should we need to check them.”

Kruger gave a quick nod, pleased with what he was seeing. “Are there any cameras monitoring the back part of the property?”

Harpool pointed to other monitor and said, “These shots are from different cameras located about halfway to the property line, and these are on both corners of the house. They’re sensitive to motion and have a one hundred-and-eighty-degree visual range. We should be able to detect anybody trying to access the house from the back.”

Kruger smiled. “When did you do all this? I drove by earlier and didn't detect any preparation.”

Harpool looked at Kruger without changing his expression. “That's what we do. You aren't supposed to detect any changes. Let me show you the rest of it.”

They were in the backyard when Harpool stopped, listened to his ear bud for ten seconds, and said, “Griffin's limo is heading this way, ETA five minutes. If you'll excuse me, I need to make sure everything is ready.”

Kruger returned to the security room to watch the arrival of the congressman and check the street monitors. The congressman's limo was met by four security agents, who hustled him into the house. Another agent retrieved the luggage from the trunk, and the limo backed out of the driveway. Just as Kruger was getting ready to leave the room and talk to Griffin, he noticed a motorcycle heading toward the camera facing the east. He tapped the screen and said to the woman monitoring it, “Can you record the motorcycle?”

The agent quickly started typing on her keyboard and said, “No problem, we can record it coming and going.”

They watched as the bike passed the limo, slowed slightly as it came adjacent to the house, then sped back up after it passed the driveway. Kruger said, “I need a shot of the license plate and bike. Can you email from this station?”

She smiled and said, “Sure can, where do you need the file sent?”

Kruger wrote Charlie Craft’s email address on a note pad and handed it to the agent. He excused himself and stepped out of the room to call Charlie.

He answered on the fourth ring, “Sean, just heard the congressman is returning to D.C early.”

“Yeah, he just got here. Charlie, you’re going to receive an email with a video showing a motorcycle. I need the license plate traced and I need it yesterday.”

“Okay, where's the picture coming from?”

“I'm at the congressman's house. The security team here has some sophisticated cameras and just recorded a bike in front of the house. I suspect the motorcycle may have been involved in the murder of Kyle Rousch.

Charlie was silent for a few seconds, then said, “Just got something. Let me open the attachment.” Kruger heard Charlie muttering to himself, and then he said, “Good quality video, but the license plate is partially obscured. Let me work with JR and see what we can do. I'll call you back.”

Thinking there might be a better picture available, Kruger returned to the security room, opened the door and said, “Is there a better view of the license plate?”

The agent monitoring the road turned and shook her head, “Not at the moment. Looks like he obscured it on purpose. He'll have to return this way since the road is a dead-end two miles to the west. We'll try again.”

“Thanks, keep me posted.”

Kruger shut the door and headed to the front of the house where the congressman was being briefed by his security team. When he saw Kruger, he raised his hand to stop Harpool, walked quickly to Kruger, and shook his hand. “Agent Kruger, I never got the opportunity to thank you for protecting my wife and me. We’re in your debt.” Griffin paused, and said, “How is the agent who was shot?”

“He's doing well, Congressman, thank you for asking. You've hired a good team here. From what I've observed, they're taking every precaution. However, I must insist that you refrain from stepping outside unless they are aware of it.”

Nodding, Griffin said, “I failed to heed your warning in San Mateo. I won't make that mistake again. I’ll do as they instruct.”

Harpool stepped over and said, “Congressman, we will need your schedule so we can plan any trips.”

“Very well, I'll have that to you by evening. In the meantime, I need to make some calls. Will you both excuse me?” He retreated to his study and closed the door.

Kruger's cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the “Unknown” caller ID and quickly accepted the call. “What’d you find?”

“We can't determine the last two digits of the license,” JR said. “However, it’s a Virginia plate and their Department of Motor Vehicles shows at least thirty-two possible matches. The motorcycle on this video is a Yamaha; only five of the plates belong to a bike of that type. Of those five, only three are in the Alexandria area, and the other two are in the western part of the state.”

“Three is better than thirty-two. Send me the names and addresses and I'll start checking them.”

***

The first address was in a quiet neighborhood in the Huntington area. As Kruger drove past the house, he noted two bicycles leaning against the side of a detached garage with a basketball hoop above the garage door. The house had been built in the ’50s and appeared well maintained. Two mature oak trees shaded the front porch. On his second pass, he watched as a Chevy Equinox pulled into the driveway. When the SUV parked, two boys on the verge of being teenagers, jumped out and ran into the house. Kruger pulled into the driveway, blocking the Chevy from escaping.

A woman in her mid-to-late 30s was unloading a cargo bay full of grocery sacks. She turned toward the street when she heard his car stop. She smiled, but he noticed it appeared forced, her face reflecting a slight concern. Kruger stood outside the car with his arm on the door and in a non-threatening voice said, “Excuse me. Is this Phillip Morgan’s residence?”

The woman said, “Yes, I'm Beverley Morgan, can I help you?”

“Is your husband here, Mrs. Morgan?”

The woman glanced toward the house. Kruger could tell she was feeling nervous as she said, “No, he's at work, but I expect him any second. Excuse me, what is this about?”

Kruger reached into his sport coat and retrieved his ID.

“My name is Sean Kruger, I’m with the FBI,” he said as he held his ID and badge case so she could see them. “Does your husband own a Yamaha motorcycle?”

She relaxed slightly, but was still hesitant. “Yes, but he had an accident with it this winter. He parked it and hasn't ridden it since.”