Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 26





1:21 AM

National Counterterrorism Center (NCTC)

McLean, Virginia



Special Agent Sharpe stood next to Dana O'Reilly and let her explain her team's findings.

"The mobile investigative team found five vehicles involved in the attack: four located within the immediate vicinity and one found a few blocks away," she said, looking up at Sharpe.

"We'll talk about the missing driver in a minute," Sharpe said.

He probably shared the same concerns about the driver as Dana. It seemed unlikely that additional Al Qaeda elements were involved, which left them with one scenario: Sanderson's people.

"The assault group had been sanitized of any identifying paperwork. Nothing was stashed in the van besides prepaid fuel cards, Visa gift cards and a small amount of cash. The vehicle registrations belong to a corporate entity that specializes in discreet vehicle leases. We'll request the appropriate warrants, but you can guess where that will lead."

"Nowhere, eventually," Sharpe said.

"Exactly," O'Reilly replied.

"We've identified six of the dead men scouring state and federal databases with our facial recognition software. Nothing unusual about any of them. Two military veterans, a paramedic, a truck driver, restaurant manager…average people on the surface."

"Clearly not. What about the suspects in custody?"

"The two in the hospital won't be ready for any kind of meaningful interrogation for at least two, maybe three days. Carlisle has assigned one of his interrogators to each of them, just in case they feel like talking. No IDs on either of them, yet. Carlisle is leaning on the suspect that surrendered in the market. We've identified him as John Galick. Married with three children, ages three, six and ten. Lives in Raleigh, North Carolina, less than ten miles from his alma mater, Duke University. Information technology consultant. No military experience. The only red flag I can find are numerous political posts on MySpace and Facebook. The posts smack of True America rhetoric, but they stop cold in 2005."

"Probably when he was recruited," Hesterman said, leaning back as far as his chair permitted.

"You comfortable, Eric?" Sharpe said.

"Not really, but Dana won't give me permission to put my feet up on the desk," Hesterman said.

"The last thing I need is a pair of size fifteen shoes in my way," O'Reilly said.

"I can rest them over here," he said, nodding at the corner.

She just shook her head and continued the briefing. "So far, he hasn't said a word, but Carlisle is pretty sure he'll have him talking by morning."

"Don't count on it. This group reminds me of another group that gave us a shit ton of trouble and continues to pull the wool over our eyes. I'll call Carlisle myself and make sure they proceed very cautiously with Mr. Galick. So, why did you really call me down here?"

"Am I that transparent?" O'Reilly asked.

"Considering the fact that you forwarded me this information nearly forty minutes ago, I'd say your deception skills are lacking."

Hesterman let out a muffled laugh from his resting position.

"We…" she said, hitting Hesterman in the shoulder, "think we've uncovered the location of True America's compound."

Hesterman sat upright in his chair, quickly adjusting the seat back to accommodate the undesired change in his posture.

"Demir's agents found a total of six cell phones, five prepaids. One for each vehic—"

"GPS enabled?" Sharpe interrupted.

"No," Hesterman said. "And they were probably purchased nearby. But cell phone number six isn't a prepaid. They found it in a backpack that was stuffed in the rear cargo compartment. We have in our possession a Blackberry owned by Miguel Estrada. Resident of Everett, Washington. Served on active duty in the army from 1989 to 2000. Most of his time was spent with the Second Ranger Battalion. Honorably discharged as a captain. Stayed in the active reserves until 2005, when he formally resigned his commission."

"Looks like True America's commando training kicked into full gear around 2005," Sharpe remarked.

"Yeah. It's starting to look like this has been in the works for some time," O'Reilly said.

"So, the Blackberry was dead and had to be rebooted, which is why it took us so long to figure this out, but it appears that Estrada was a little sloppy with his OPSEC. With the help of our NSA liaison, we were able to trace his Blackberry's travels over the past month, right until it ran out of juice yesterday morning," Hesterman continued.

"Do I even want to know how the NSA could retroactively track a GPS-enabled phone?"

"No, and apparently it wouldn't matter if you did want to know. Nobody is offering an explanation. I brought the matter to the NCTC watch supervisor, who gave me a number at Fort Meade. All they asked for was the Blackberry's phone number. Forty minutes later, I received a list of GPS coordinates. Obviously these coordinates are classified," O'Reilly said.

"Obviously. Thanks for keeping me in the loop."

"You were napping at your desk, and Mendoza told us not to disturb you," O'Reilly said.

"I most certainly was not sleeping," Sharpe said.

"I'm just kidding," Dana said. "We all wanted to surprise you with a little good news. Go ahead, Eric."

Hesterman clicked the mouse, and their 27-inch flat-screen monitor showed a map of the northeast corner of the U.S., spanning from Connecticut to Ohio. Hesterman started the show by zooming in on New Jersey.

"Are you kidding me? He was less than a half mile from the Mount Arlington pump station. How does that make sense?" Sharpe said.

"It doesn't, unless True America was somehow supporting Al Qaeda, or following them. The coordinates are provided in one-hour increments, and we have two hits at this location along Old Drakesville Road. Estrada sat here for more than an hour, which doesn't sound like he was following them."

"We can worry about that later. Where's the compound?"

"Two weeks ago, his Blackberry traveled to an obscure location in West Virginia, northwest of Hacker Valley. Google maps showed a large, natural clearing at the coordinates. The area is heavily forested, and I don't see a road leading to the clearing," Hesterman said.

"Did you request recent NRO satellite imagery?"

"I just finished sending the request when you woke up from your nap," O'Reilly said.

"I wasn't napping."

"I'm sure you weren't. I think the next step is to request live satellite surveillance," she said.

"Agreed. Send me the coordinates, and I'll get the ball rolling with Director Shelby. He'll need to brief the White House," Sharpe said.

"Do you think they'll roll in with military?" O'Reilly said.

"It depends on what they find in West Virginia, but I wouldn't be surprised if they use the military regardless. Our special operations liaison said that SOCOM has assembled one of the biggest Tier One packages he's ever seen at Dover Air Force Base."

"Do you want to talk about the missing driver now?" O'Reilly said.

"Yeah, about that missing driver…two 'Arab-looking' men dragged him to safety according to witnesses," Sharpe said.

"Nobody found it odd that they carried him from the scene?" Hesterman asked.

"Apparently not," O'Reilly said.

"I think this was the work of our favorite general, which leads me to wonder about their intentions," Sharpe said.

O'Reilly leaned closer to Sharpe and spoke in a whisper. "I still don't trust Sanderson's crew, but we've definitely benefited from their participation. Maybe it's not a bad thing if they have Estrada."

"That's the last time I want to hear either of you talking like that. We can't play by their rules, and we certainly can't condone what they're doing, no matter how much we benefit. When the internal investigators descend upon our databanks to audit the inner workings of this task force, we'll all have to stand on the red carpet and explain why we turned a blind eye to murder, torture, kidnapping…all of it. We're walking a very fine line as it is. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Hesterman and O'Reilly responded in unison.

"Good. I'll handle Ms. Stewart and Sanderson. This bullshit ends tonight. E-mail me those coordinates."

"They're already waiting for you at your computer," O'Reilly said.

"Thank you. And by the way, excellent work. Sorry to run, but I need to square away our situation with Sanderson," he said and turned toward the staircase leading to the second level.

He hoped that his ass-chewing would steer O'Reilly and Hesterman away from the inner workings cast by Sanderson's spell. He didn't dare admit to them that he shared the same hope that Estrada was strapped to a chair in some dank basement, awaiting the next round of unthinkable pain and agony. He'd long ago seen the value of Sanderson's tactics, but he couldn't come to terms with it. He'd spent most of his adult life following regulations and strictly observing the rules laid out for him by the FBI. He'd strayed from this straight and narrow path two years ago, in his pursuit of Daniel Petrovich, and it now felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He wasn't on his way to Stewart's office to put an end to Sanderson's interference. His plan was to harness the power that Sanderson wielded to prevent the death of countless thousands. He'd tasted Sanderson's world and wanted more. He had fought against these urges, knowing that they had no legitimate place in his law enforcement world, but the consequences of failure were too devastating. If stopping True America's plot meant wrecking his own career, he would gladly make that sacrifice. He couldn't make that decision for O'Reilly or Hesterman, so they would be excluded from the covert side of Task Force Scorpion, and he'd have to keep Mendoza in the dark as well. In the unlikely event that the Sanderson association blew up in his face, they would be protected from prosecution.

He ascended the stairs and approached Callie Stewart's assigned office. Before he reached the door, she stepped out onto the catwalk.

"Is DeSantos in there?" he asked.

"No. He's been gone for several hours. Can I help you with something?"

"Let's step into your office. Close the door behind you, please," he said.

Once the door was shut, he sat in one of the faux brown leather chairs near the window. Stewart lowered herself into the adjoining chair.

"From this point forward, we're going to cut the bullshit. I know you have Estrada. Do you have the compound location?"

"I just received the information," she said, clasping her hands.

"Were you planning to share this information with me?"

"Well…it's a little more complicated than that for us."

"Because you don't want to tip Sanderson's hand? That's no longer a concern between us. I'm just going to assume that Sanderson holds a royal flush at all times. I'd like to speak with him for a moment, if you wouldn't mind calling him for me," he said.

"It would be my pleasure," Stewart said, standing up to walk over to the desk.

"I'd like this to be a private call. Let's use your cell phone," Sharpe said.

Stewart slowly dropped back into the leather chair, her facial expression showing no surprise at the request.

"All communications leaving here are monitored by—"

"Not buying it, Ms. Stewart. You're good, but I've worked in counterintelligence for twenty years. I haven't walked up those stairs once since you arrived, and the first time I decide to pay you a visit, at 1:30 in the morning, I'm intercepted at the door?"

She dialed the number and waited a few seconds for Sanderson to answer.

"Everything is fine, General. Special Agent Sharpe would like to speak with you."

She passed the phone to Sharpe.

"Good morning, General. I was just talking to Ms. Stewart about how I'd like to proceed from this point forward. No more secrets. I need to know exactly what you know, as soon as you know it. I need to know what your operatives are doing before they do it. The flow of information at this point is a congested, one-way street."

"One-way street? You haven't exactly rolled out the red carpet for Ms. Stewart. Information is flowing like mud from your end," Sanderson countered.

"Really? Maybe this would be a good time to reboot and debug the NCTC computer system. They'll probably follow suit at the Newark field office. How would you feel about the information flow then? The cyber techs didn't find any security breaches at the Newark field office, but I'm sure your people covered their tracks pretty well. Money buys the best talent, and from what I can tell, you have a lot of money at your disposal."

"I'm not sure sharing information would be in your best interest, as a government employee," Sanderson replied.

"Let me worry about that," Sharpe said.

"Once you stepped into this arrangement, you can't just step out. We're partners."

"I wouldn't go that far. What kind of information did you manage to get from Estrada?" Sharpe asked.

"Details about the compound. From what I can see, your people have the correct location. I assume that General Gordon's Joint Special Operations Command will be given the task to take down the compound. Based on what Estrada disclosed, the FBI would be seriously outmatched and outgunned. Unfortunately for us, planning and intelligence gathering efforts for the operation will remain in-house with SOCOM. Aside from timeline and general information, we'll be spectators. This is where your background will be critical to their success. We need to ensure that they either find—or are prepared to deal with—.50 caliber heavy machine guns. Estrada said they had three at their disposal, with armor-piercing ammunition. They also have some kind of armored vehicle, with a mounted MG42. It's more of a body-shop project, but not something our Special Operations forces want to stumble upon. They also have a 60mm mortar with high-explosive ammunition. Have you ever come across evidence or rumors that True America was acquiring this stuff? We have to warn them somehow, and I'd rather do it in a way that doesn't tip our hand."

"Your hand," Sharpe corrected.

"Our hand. This is our hand now. No going back at this point. Can you connect True America with heavy weapons purchases?"

"I can connect them to a deceased arms dealer who specialized in hard to find, highly illegal weapons. He provided your organization with .50 caliber sniper rifles and a whole host of new weapons."

"Navarre. Perfect. He offered my operatives a whole host of crazy, very dangerous shit. Soviet bloc shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles. I think you need to insist that your voice is heard. Once a decision is made to raid the compound, schedule a sit-down with your SOCOM liaison, Colonel Jeffrey Hanson. He's a good soldier and will listen to what you have to say."

"What if they go completely behind our backs, or just announce the raid an hour or two in advance?" Sharpe asked.

"We need to make sure that doesn't happen. I have people on the inside that can warn us, and I'd recommend that you cozy up to Director Shelby. He was instrumental in planning the raid that landed over a hundred special operators at my camp in Argentina. Just be careful. He didn't have much of a choice about my unit's participation in Task Force Scorpion, and I suspect he'll turn on me at the first opportunity and you too if he catches wind of this."

"My agents will need to be on-scene immediately to start processing evidence. As soon as the compound is declared clear, it's back in my hands. I'll make sure they don't cut me out of the loop," Sharpe said.

"Sounds like a solid plan. In the interest of full disclosure, I'm working on something else that might interest you. Nothing actionable yet, but highly intriguing. After killing the Imam, Estrada's next mission was to travel to Atlanta and assassinate a prominent D.C. lobbyist named Benjamin Young. Mr. Young's wife and children live in Atlanta. He also maintains apartments in D.C. and Manhattan. Apparently, he's not the most faithful husband, and he's developed quite a drug habit. True America leadership wants him out of the picture, so he must be a critical liability. I'd like to know why. I'll have people in Atlanta by mid-morning to start surveillance. I'm hoping to take him off the streets before True America sends another team after him."

"I'll steer clear of that one for now," Sharpe said.

"Good call. I'll keep you apprised of any developments in Atlanta."

"All right and, General?"

"Yes?"

"You're not going to screw me on this, right?"

"Ryan, I give you my word that the only agenda item on my blackboard is to put an end to this terrorist plot. My operatives are loyal and share that single goal. You saw proof of that earlier this evening. The operatives assigned to the El Halal mission understood their odds. More importantly, they understood the importance of their mission to our country. Hundreds of thousands of American lives will be lost if we don't stop True America. I debriefed Petrovich and Farrington after they returned from Monchegorsk. The video evidence and accounts of horror publicized by Reuters do little justice to the tragedy that unfolded in that doomed city. Just one of those canisters could turn one of our cities inside out."

"You had people on the inside? In Monchegorsk?"

"I had a small team penetrate the city on behalf of the CIA. The Russians are lying through their teeth about Monchegorsk, and they're leveling the city to eradicate the population. You've seen the projected symptoms of the weaponized virus we're facing. Temporal lobe damage to almost everyone infected. Symptom severity varying from fever with disorientation all the way to an uncontrollable murderous frenzy. My team said the streets were overrun with aggressive, zombie-like citizens. That's why they are calling this the Zulu virus. If this virus is unleashed in a high-density population area here in the U.S., our own government's options for dealing with the crisis would shrink rapidly. How do you effectively deal with a thirty to forty thousand person rampage in the suburbs?"

"I guess you go Russian on them," Sharpe said.

"Exactly. My organization is willing to go as far as necessary to stop that from happening in the U.S."

"I wish we could do more, but my hands are tied here," Sharpe said.

"Your task force is doing exactly what it was designed to do and doing it exceptionally well. You just need the occasional boost from my group to fine-tune your efforts. Working together gives us the best chance to stop this threat."

"I'm not going to lie to you, General. Working with your group makes me nervous," Sharpe admitted.

He had to make sure this was clear to Sanderson. He wasn't sure why, but he needed the general to acknowledge his concerns.

"I won't leave you hanging out to dry, Special Agent Sharpe. I consider you one of my own now," Sanderson said.

"All right. We're unlikely partners in this mess. Speaking of which, I need to get back to the watch floor. I'm going to hand you off to Ms. Stewart."

"Good luck today, and welcome to the team."

Sharpe didn't like the sound of Sanderson's last comment. He handed the phone back to Stewart.

"This doesn't mean you get to hang out in my office and drink coffee," he said to Stewart before departing. "We keep up the appearance that I can't stand your presence here."

"Got it," she said, taking the phone.

"And have your people actively track O'Reilly's computer activity. I can't be the only one around here to suspect that our system has been hacked. She's smarter than both of us combined and way craftier," Sharpe said.

"Is there any way to bring her on board?" Stewart said.

"Absolutely not. The rest of my people are off limits. That's non-negotiable. If this dangerous liaison detonates, I don't want them exposed. This includes Mendoza."

Sharpe left her office and stepped onto the catwalk, glancing down at the watch floor. The activity level had diminished throughout the center, which was more a reflection of the late hour and the fact that they had been running nonstop for the last forty-eight hours. Most of the agency liaisons were holed up in their offices sleeping, leaving skeleton crews on the floor to monitor progress. His own crew had thinned tonight at O'Reilly's request. She kept enough agents and analysts on the floor to process evidence and information gathered by the mobile investigative team in Brooklyn. She had sent at least half of them away to get rest once they had put the computers to work trying to identify the men and women captured or killed in the market raid.

They had the location of True America's militant training camp, which would effectively propel the investigation forward. He'd pass this information on to the White House situation room as soon as he stepped into his office and then place a call to Director Shelby. Actually, he'd reverse that order, he decided. Shelby would probably savor the chance to deliver this information. He'd at least give Shelby the option. Career management 101. It sounded petty and ridiculous, but little things like that mattered to the director.

He imagined that this new information would trigger a string of early wake-up calls throughout D.C. He'd be lucky to grab an hour or two before the watch floor was back in full swing. Before all of that, he'd need to convince O'Reilly that he'd laid down the law with Stewart. O'Reilly hated Sanderson's crew and represented the single greatest threat to unhitching Sanderson from the task force. He'd lie about Estrada, telling her that Stewart denied involvement. O'Reilly wouldn't believe Stewart's claim, but in the long run, it was a safer move for all of them.

He'd have to maintain the same lie with Mendoza, which might be too big of a stretch. Mendoza had been present during Stewart's confession that Sanderson's people had abducted and absconded with the Imam right under the FBI's watchful eyes. He knew that the El Halal Market operation and the early morning Bayonne raid had all fallen into their laps, compliments of General Sanderson. He'd have to gauge Mendoza's reaction. If his friend pushed back too much, he might have to relent. He didn't like running a web of conspiracy and lies within his own task force, but the stakes were too high to lose Sanderson's support. He turned toward the staircase, ready to start spinning his own web upon reaching the watch floor.