Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 48





8:28 PM

White House Situation Room

Washington, D.C.



"Director Shelby, please report to the watch floor supervisor."

He stood up from his newly appointed, temporary office just outside of the main conference room and straightened out his jacket. After the president's little talk with him this morning, Jacob Remy had slithered over to sweeten the pot even further by assigning him one of the small conference rooms to use as a temporary FBI office. They really wanted him to play ball. He had been tempted to point out the fact that this office should have been offered to him four days ago, when Task Force Scorpion had been commissioned by Shelby to resolve this emergent terrorist threat.

When he opened his office door, two Secret Service agents took control of him, steering him toward the main conference room. Their guns were drawn and pointed toward the ceiling. His first thought was that he had been placed under arrest.

"This way, sir. The watch floor supervisor needs to speak to you immediately."

No further explanation was given. He could see at least three heavily armed Secret Service agents blocking the entrance to their destination. Their bullpup configured FN P90 submachine guns were held parallel to the floor, sweeping in every direction. He wasn't being arrested. Something had happened. Something big.

"What's going on?" he asked the agent behind him.

"We're in lockdown. NCTC was hit by a suicide bomber. Possible inside job. We're securing all high-value targets within the situation room."

"Where's the president?"

"You'll be briefed once inside. Please keep moving, sir," the agent replied.

When they arrived at the door, one of the agents entered a code into the keypad on the wall behind him. His escorts pushed him past the three agents, wedging him against the door, which opened less than a second later. A Secret Service agent inside grabbed him by the shoulder and guided him inside, shutting the door behind them. A tall, blond-haired man dressed in a dark brown suit approached him immediately.

"Director Shelby, George Hafferty, watch floor supervisor. The Operations Center at NCTC has been hit by an apparent suicide bomber. I know you have—"

"How big of a bomb? I need to talk to someone over there right now."

"Absolutely, sir. We're still trying to sort out the reports. From what we can tell, the bomb was hidden under a jacket. Maybe a suicide vest. I don't know how to say this, but the bomb apparently detonated in the middle of the FBI workstations. We don't have any real numbers, but first responders told us to expect massive casualties. I'm really sorry."

Frederick Shelby had visited Task Force Scorpion earlier in the day and could picture each agent seated at his or her assigned workstation. He knew every face assigned to the task force and had taken the trouble to learn something about each one of them prior to his visit. If the bomb had been as powerful as Mr. Hafferty suggested, most of them had probably been killed. Hesterman, O'Reilly, Mendoza, maybe even Sharpe. He felt a bitter anger rise up his throat, threatening to choke off his breathing. He was seething.

"My agent-in-charge? Ryan Sharpe. Did he survive?"

"I don't know yet. We've just started collecting information. I have a direct line to NCTC Director Joel Garrity. I spoke with him moments ago. He'll be your best conduit for information, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Hafferty. Get him on the line, please," Shelby said.

The door he just entered opened again and deposited the secretary of Homeland Security, Marianne Templeton, into the room. He nodded at her before following Hafferty. On his way to the mobile watch floor hub assembled in the far corner of the room, he took note of the people in the room. He counted four Secret Service agents, two guarding each door, along with at least six personnel hovering around the four workstations comprising the mobile hub. Beyond him, Ms. Templeton appeared to be the only person worth protecting within the situation room.

"Get Joel Garrity at NCTC on a secure line for the director," Hafferty said.

Less than five seconds later, one of the analysts stood up from his chair and backed away, holding a telephone handset out to Shelby. Shelby took the phone and remained standing, stretching the cord. His first priority was to establish continuity of operations. As cold as this would sound to Garrity, the immediate survival of the investigation took priority over the casualties.

"The line is secure, sir," the analyst said.

"Joel, what happened?"

"We're still trying to piece it together, sir. I have some digital feedback showing a man in an NCTC windbreaker involved in some kind of controversy on the watch floor. Agent Mendoza shoots him in the middle of the FBI workstations, and that's where it gets confusing. A woman charges onto the scene at about the same time, dropping herself onto the bomber. An agent seated nearby shoots her in the back, and the bomb goes off immediately after that. I don't think anyone on the floor survived."

He would ask more about the woman in a moment.

"Joel, this may sound heartless considering what happened, but—"

"Continuity of operations," Garrity interrupted.

"Yes. I need you to transfer everything on your servers to FBI headquarters. I'll have one of our techs contact you immediately to—"

"They didn't tell you everything? The primary server and its backup were hit by a secondary explosion linked to the first. The investigation from this end has been wiped clean. Someone really wanted to put Task Force Scorpion out of business," Garrity said.

"What? The servers were hit too?" Shelby said, glancing up at Hafferty, who shrugged his shoulders.

"What about Ryan Sharpe? Was he on the floor?"

"No. He was found unconscious in his office. He's been evacuated from the facility," Garrity said, amidst yelling in the background on his end of the phone.

Garrity interrupted the call to yell something back. When he resumed the call, he sounded defeated.

"The entire catwalk just collapsed on some of my people. Look, I'll get back to you right away with more information. We're trying to salvage something from the server rooms, but it doesn't look promising."

"One more thing! The woman that was shot. Who was it?"

"I think it was Callie Stewart. One of the DIA's liaisons," he replied.

"Listen carefully, Joel. I need you to interview anyone that is still conscious there. I need to know what happened on the watch floor right before the bomb detonated. This is critical. I'm sorry to push this on you given the circumstances. We've both lost a lot of good people tonight," Shelby said.

"A lot of good people. I'll be in touch shortly."

Shelby handed the phone back to the analyst and took the nearest seat at the conference table, pondering what Garrity had said about the digital camera feed. Mendoza had presumably shot the bomber before he could detonate the bomb. Callie Stewart happened to be close enough to drop down onto the bomber and was subsequently shot by another agent. Why, at that very moment, had she been close enough to intervene? Sharpe had told him this morning that she steered clear of the watch floor, rarely descending the stairs unless summoned. Shelby didn't believe in coincidences. Her convenient appearance could only mean one thing.

Marianne Templeton approached him from the opposite side of the table.

"What happened, Frederick?" she said.

"We've been played."