Perspectives, An Intriguing Tale of an American Born Terrorist (31 page)

“Yes sir.”

“Did he send out any emails under my signature?”

“Just one sir.”

“Please tell me that it wasn’t to the President.”

“No sir.”

“Then who?”

“To Alex Moore.”

“What did the email say?”

“It just asked for an operational report.”

“Mad! The man has lost his mind.”

“What about agency policy, did he give the employees any new holidays? How about the President, did he send anything to the President?”

“No sir, not that we have been able to detect.”

Still stunned the Director said, “I didn’t think that this was possible. We’ll need to revamp the entire security scheme of the mainframe.”

“Well apparently it is. And apparently he’s better than we thought.” Harry hesitated, “Sir there’s one more thing that you need to know.”

The Director looked up as if he had taken all he could take and wanted no more, “What?”

“He opened a class five file on one of our most protected identities without the proper approvals. And as you know those files require two approvals to avoid unauthorized access.”

“And he opened the file?”

“Yes, he did.”

“I thought it required two approvals?”

“It did, but somehow he was able to bypass all of that.”

The Director shook his head, “Don’t we have any security in this place, we’re the fucking CIA for God’s sake! And which file did he look at?”

“Alex Moore, sir. Once again that name came up. Something about him that’s caught their attention.”

Patti’s voice came over the intercom. “Mr. Reed, Mr. Burton is here.”

“Send him in,” yelled the Director.

James came in looking a little disheveled from jogging across the campus. He glanced around the room like a hiker emerging from the woods into an opening trying to acclimate himself to his surroundings and sense the seriousness of the situation. He sensed by the depth of the conversation and Harry’s sheepish tone that it was very serious, so he plopped down on the couch and like a runner joining a race in progress, tried to catch up with the others’ stride. Neither the Director nor Harry acknowledged James. Harry continued his explanation as if he wasn’t there.

“I think you should retrieve the Alex Moore file so that we can look.”

“How much do you think that he saw about Alex Moore?”

“The file was open for over 30 minutes.”

“So they saw everything we were trying to hide?”

“It would appear so, sir. After the alert we traced the user back to Michigan, but our analyst figured out pretty quickly that the trail was a decoy and worked it back to the Worthington. They’re in room 425.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” mumbled the Director as he picked up his phone and dialed PD McVay. PD recognized the number and answered immediately.

“PD, I need a class 5 file on Alex Moore, now.”

“Yes sir, I’ll send down the signature page.”

The Director looked over at Burton and gave him the summary. “Anderson has broken into our mainframe and has been roaming around all day. There’s no telling how many laws he has broken, but he and his wife are in Fort Worth, Texas. I need you and Harry to go down there and bring back his nuts. Do you understand? I want his nuts in a jar on my mantle! Do we know what he looks like?”

“No sir, but we do have the airport surveillance videos.”

The Director scoffed, “Do you think there’s a chance in hell that he still looks like that?”

“I don’t believe so, sir, but that’s all we got,” answered Davidson. “We’ll take the retinal detector, he can’t hide from that.”

“Any distinguishing features?” asked the Director.

“Yes sir,” said Burton finally finding their stride. “The terrorists cut off the end of his little finger on his left hand when he was in captivity in Afghanistan. And of course he’ll have his little girl.”

“Get that information out to the field now! Also distribute two pictures of him to the agents; his actual photo and the airport surveillance picture.”

“Yes sir.”

In less than 15 minutes PD came into the office holding a green file that was about ¾ of an inch thick. He handed it to the Director, who opened it, thumbed through the pages and rubbed his forehead. His skin turned from light purple to a purplish blue. The others waited patiently for him to speak and tell them about Alex Moore. He closed the file. “That will be all. Harry, I would like updates on the hour. Take the Lear 45, it will get you there in under three hours.” He handed the file back to PD. They all continued to sit, still waiting for the Director to break the mystery.

“I said that was all! PD stick around, there’s another matter I need to talk to you about.”

“She’s connecting the dots for him, isn’t she?” asked PD.

“Yes it appears so; a helluva smart lady.”

“Do you think she can sort the whole plan out?”

“Impossible, but I don’t want to give her a chance. I’m guessing that she’s to the point where she figured out who was supposed to be there to get her kids out and who fucked up.”

“Should we warn Bob?”

“No, it’s all superfluous at this point. We’ve found them. I sent Davidson and Burton to end it.”

Jonathan, Mary and Carly were just about to exit the Worthington and get into their car when they were pushed back into the hotel by 30 blue clad FBI agents some dressed in SWAT gear and others with bulky blue windbreakers that hid their bullet proof vests.

“Everybody back in, nobody leaves the hotel,” yelled a middle aged black man through a bull horn. He turned to his men and said, “Make sure you round up everyone outside. I want everyone in the lobby!” The Andersons were pushed back with about 15 other people into the center of the lobby and mixed in with the 75 – 80 people who were milling about, some from a Bell Helicopter Sales convention, some employees and others simply business people or vacationers. “We’re going to need everyone inside, until we find who we are looking for. You are not in any danger. I need everyone to remain calm.”

The group moved together like a school of fish running from predators. The agents made a circle around them to keep them corralled, while others rounded up the stragglers.

Mary handed Jonathan a small case that looked as if it contained contact lenses. “You need to get to a bathroom and put these in.”

“What are they?”

“They’ll scramble the scanners.”

Jonathan grabbed the case and stuffed it in his pocket, “Mary, take Carly and get away from me,” whispered Jonathan. “They’ll be looking for the three of us together.”

“I don’t want to go,” whined Carly.

Jonathan kneeled down, “Sweetie you need to go with your mother, okay? I need you to do this for me.”

She nodded.

Mary grabbed her hand and pushed through the crowd to the other side of the room.

Another group of cars pulled up and more agents came out, these in business suits. Jonathan knew that these agents were the CIA. One of the agents in a dark blue suit pulled a black metal suitcase from the back seat of his Chevrolet Suburban, entered the lobby and opened it up on a table near the door. Jonathan recognized the device immediately. Mary was right! It was a retinal scanner; a quick means to identify all the people in the CIA’s massive data base. He could see their plan instantly. They would first secure the hotel and then systematically process each person, until they found him, by the unique fingerprints of his eyes. He looked around and there appeared to be no escape. The presence of the specialist and the scanner told Jonathan that at least for the moment they were safe, because they had no idea what he and Mary looked like.

Jonathan left the crowd and walked directly to one of the FBI agents, a short stocky Hispanic. “Hey man, who you looking for?” he asked. “I’ve been here for a couple of days and maybe I could help you find them.”

The agent took out a picture of Jonathan and a picture of Andrew Dockery. “Sir, the male suspect may look like either of these two people. The female looks like either of these pictures and they have a little girl.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them.”

“Where?”

“In the bar, in the restaurant, they’ve been all around.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

Jonathan stopped and thought and then proclaimed, “At the buffet. They were at the breakfast buffet this morning.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t know, around 9.”

“Which picture did they look like?”

Jonathan pointed to the actual picture of himself and the airport picture of Mary.

“And they had a little girl?” asked the agent.

“About this high,” returned Jonathan. “Maybe six or seven years old.”

The agent backed away and joined four or five other agents, and shared the news. The group then congregated around the FBI lead agent, who motioned for the CIA to join them. Jonathan disappeared back into the crowd, so that when the agent turned to point out his source of information, he was gone.

The agents spread out through the lobby and 6 special operations agents clad with helmets, body armor and automatic weapons climbed aboard the elevator and headed to the Anderson’s room. Other agents went into the restaurant and bar to collect every last soul. It would take several minutes to round everyone up because the Worthington lobby had several levels and people were still on every floor. Everyone seemed in shock and stunned, like deer caught in the headlights of an approaching car, not knowing which way to turn. People were everywhere. Some were going up the escalator to the restaurant; others were hurriedly finishing their coffee at the small Starbucks that sat next to the magnificent waterfall which fell nearly 30 feet down a wall into a small wishing pond filled with coins. But most stood around the railings, stunned, watching in disbelief.

Jonathan made his way back to Mary and spoke hurriedly. “Listen, be ready to get out of here when they clear out this lobby. You’re going to need to be the first one out of those doors. Get to the car and keep it running.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Mary.

“I’m going to bring back some old friends that you don’t like so well. Carly, stay very close to your mama, okay.”

Carly asked with a very certain voice, “Daddy did they come to get us?”

Jonathan was a little startled, Mary seemed taken back.

“Yes sweetie, but they’re just confused. Sweetie, I need you to stay close to Mommy and when she says walk fast, go, and we’ll be just fine, okay.”

“Okay, daddy.”

“Jonathan, I need one of the guns,” said Mary.

“Why do you want a gun?”

“We may get separated and I may need to protect Carly.”

“In my ankle holster,” returned Jonathan. “Don’t let anyone see.”

Mary pretended that she had dropped something and then bent down, disappearing into the crowd of standing people. She took one of the Glock 7’s out of the holster and slid it into her purse.

“Loaded?” she asked.

“Yes, but the chamber’s empty. “Do you know how to use it?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Now, you and Carly edge toward the perimeter close to the door and when they tell you to leave, get into the car. You have the spare set of keys I made in case they aren’t in it.”

“They’re in my purse.”

“Take them out. If I’m not there in five minutes leave without me. Go to the Four Seasons Hotel in Las Colinas and I’ll catch up with you.”

Mary nodded.

Jonathan stayed in the interior of the crowd and took a small cube the size of a block of sugar out of his coat pocket and let it fall onto the floor. Then he screamed in a loud voice that echoed through the lobby.

“Everybody back, I have a hostage! I’ll kill her!”

The crowd opened like a flower to reveal Jonathan holding a young woman with a gun to her head. “I need everyone out of here now, and I want a car to take me to Meacham field and I want a Cessna Citation X waiting at the airport.”

The agents panicked. The lead FBI agent tried to regain control and screamed, “Everyone out of the building!”

The crowd pushed in a panic toward the doors, most being pushed up against the glass walls. Some fell and were trampled. The sound of the commotion was deafening. Within the chaos Mary and Carly were two of the first to exit the building and get to their car. The keys were not in it, so she took the spare, started the car and weaved it through the FBI vehicles, until she made it to Houston Avenue. She parked illegally and waited. People continued to stream out of the building leaving Jonathan standing alone in the middle of the room surrounded by agents.

“Anderson, put down the gun. We have you surrounded. There’s no escape. Put it down now and it will be a lot easier on you.”

“I’m not leaving without a car and a plane.”

The lead agent nodded to another who spoke through a headset to a swat marksman positioned on the second floor. There was a single gunshot which passed right through the apparition and blew out one of the massive front windows. This led to more screams and outright panic and people pushed wildly in every direction. The hologram was still standing in the center of the group holding the gun to the head of the artificial hostage.

“It’s a trick,” screamed Harry Davidson bullying his way through the front door like a full back followed by an entourage of six Washington agents. Burton was still outside the door dodging the crowd and trying to force his way forward. Davidson yelled, “Seal the perimeter don’t let anyone else leave. We need to get those people back in here.”

Jonathan was already out the door and making his way toward the Taurus. Nearly all of the people who were in the lobby were now outside in the large covered area at the entrance of the hotel, scattering like a flock of birds in every direction. FBI agents spewed from the building trying to herd them, but there were too many people and not enough agents so they were having little success. Jonathan tried to pick his way through the crowd, but in his haste ran directly into a big man who couldn’t move quick enough to get out of his way. Jonathan started to fall and two massive hands grabbed him by the slack of his shirt and pulled him upright. One of the man’s hands was holding some sort of identification the other was holding a cell phone. “I’m so sorry,” Jonathan said as he tried to free himself, but when he looked up, he found himself staring directly into the eyes of James Burton. Burton looked at him oddly recognizing the voice. He grabbed hard onto his left wrist and forced his hand eye level, looked and said, “Anderson?” Jonathan ripped his hand away and tried to free himself. As Burton tried to re-secure his grip, there was a loud pop and then a puzzled look on Burton’s face. A red spot about the size of a quarter appeared in the center of Burton’s forehead and then his hands went limp and he let go of Jonathan. Burton crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Jonathan bent over and saw that he was gone. Burton’s CIA identification and cell phone lay on the ground next to his body. Jonathan scooped up the badge and phone and pushed through the crowd of people and looked over to see Mary standing on the roof of the car. He ran toward the Taurus which was about 10 yards away. He climbed into the driver’s side and pushed Mary and Carly over, stomped on the accelerator and headed north on Main Street to East Weatherford and then entered the ramp to I35 North. Mary was staring blankly ahead, the gun on her lap. Carly was sobbing. Jonathan reached over and felt the barrel of the gun; it was hot.