Black Flagged Apex (36 page)

Before he could pull the trigger, Donahue's pistol roared to life, spraying bullets into the two standing men. Osborne had counted on this type of reaction from the rookie. He figured that once the shooting started, Donahue would unload his pistol. He could see the panic in the young officer's eyes a few moments earlier. He knew there would be no trigger discipline, just a maelstrom of steel erupting from his officer's gun. Osborne pulled the trigger of his own weapon, hitting the machine operator between the eyes as three bullets from Donahue's pistol stitched across the man's chest. A quick glance at the third suspect confirmed that he was out of the fight, with two holes in the center of his gray polo shirt.

The third man dropped to his knees and toppled to the right, trying to jam the stock of his rifle into the soft forest floor, in a desperate attempt to arrest his fall. When the shooting started, Osborne realized too late that he had underestimated the reaction speed of their suspects. The third man had almost managed to bring his AR-15 to bear on them. Fortunately, Donahue had turned out to be a better shot under pressure than he had expected.

Osborne rushed to the fallen suspect and snatched the assault rifle from his grip, kneeling down to examine the man's wounds. Donahue lowered his pistol and muttered "what the fuck" several times before addressing Osborne.

"What the fuck was that all about? You started shooting without any kind of warning," he said, surveying the scene. "You hit that one in the back, Sarge? Shit. We're fucked!"

From his lowered position next to the dying suspect, Osborne holstered his weapon.

"Calm down. There are three guys with assault rifles. One of them almost put this into action against us. We didn't have a choice," he growled, aiming the rifle at Donahue.

"This is absolutely fucked," Donahue stated, oblivious of the barrel pointed at his head.

"Sorry about this," Osborne said.

"Sorry doesn't undo the fact—"

The sentence was interrupted by a short burst of automatic fire from the rifle pointed at his head. Officer Donahue never changed expressions as his body went slack and hit the ground with a muted thump. Sergeant Osborne jammed the rifle back into the wounded man's arms and drew his handgun, firing three rapid shots into the suspect's head. He stood up and glanced at the scene. A bright red, portable digging machine vibrated on oversized inflatable tires, drumming out the echoes of gunfire. Everyone was dead from what he could tell.

He looked back at Officer Donahue's crumpled body and cursed himself. They had insisted that he would need another officer on the scene to avoid any suspicion, but he had been wary about this idea from the start. He knew it would have to be the rookie. The more seasoned members of the force would have refused to proceed into the forest without backup. They would have certainly never agreed to charge an armed group in the middle of the forest. He needed someone he could pressure into following him. He just wished the young officer had reacted differently, so he could have kept the kid alive.

He'd argued this point extensively with Brown. He saw very little upside to having another officer on the scene, especially an idealistic rookie. He had to make sure every one of the suspects were killed in the gun battle, which meant he had to go in with guns blazing. There was no other way. They couldn't take the chance that one of them might actually surrender. Brown had made this point crystal clear and saddled the sergeant with a severe handicap. They obviously wanted it this way. He had to admit, the scene was compelling. Two local police officers unwittingly stumble onto the scene of a planned terrorist attack, taking out the terror cell, but not before one of the heroic officers is killed in a fierce exchange of gunfire. It made one hell of a story.

He checked his watch. With any luck, their backup had just arrived. He rushed over to Officer Donahue's body and heaved the dead weight into a fireman's carry. He struggled through the forest, screaming for help while trying to ignore the blood and brain matter that gushed down the left side of his uniform. He had to make this look good for the officers that came upon him. Donahue's sacrifice would catalyze the nation into action. Both of their actions would be recorded in True America's secret operational files, to be unceremoniously, yet handsomely rewarded at the appropriate time. The New Recovery would usher in a new era of prosperity, never forgetting the risks taken and sacrifices made by a handful of dedicated patriots.

He stumbled forward a few more steps before spotting a familiar navy blue uniform shirt racing through the trees. As the voices approached, he found himself able to conjure up tears. The final act of his performance approached, and he wanted to win an Emmy for True America.

Chapter 32

2:14 PM

National Counterterrorism Center

McLean, Virginia

Sharpe had just sat down in his office when his mobile phone rang. He had been looking forward to possibly closing his eyes for a few minutes. The call originated from the daytime NCTC watch floor supervisor, Jason Volk.

"Mr. Volk. How can I help you?" he answered.

"My analysts just picked up some police traffic that might be related. You should take a look at this. I can send it to your computer."

"No. I'll be right out."

He headed out of his office and turned left, making his way to the front of the watch floor. The immense projection screen dominating the front of the room showed a detailed satellite map of the northeast United States. A red marker blinked near Baltimore, Maryland. As he approached Jason Volk at one of the forward-most workstations, the map zoomed in on the mark, centering on a location between Laurel, Maryland and Fort Meade.

"That's only a few miles from the National Security Agency," Sharpe said.

"Exactly. Our filters picked up an emergency police bulletin requesting HAZMAT and EMT support at this location, in addition to Anne Arundel County SWAT assets. Not in that order. There is an officer down, along with multiple suspects. Laurel Police Department dispatch initiated the request. Everyone is responding."

"Get me a line to the Laurel chief of police or whoever is in charge over there. Good work on this," Sharpe said.

"Right away. I'll patch it through to your mobile phone," Volk said.

Sharpe nodded, already on his way to O'Reilly's station. Before he could say a word, she turned to face him.

"I'm notifying the Baltimore field office," she said. "They can coordinate a response with the D.C. field office if they need additional resources. HAZMAT and SWAT?"

"Don't get too excited. The entire nation is on edge right now. This could be anything," Sharpe cautioned her.

"That's what I thought, but the nearest pump station is four miles away."

"I'm beginning to wonder if my presence is necessary any longer," Sharpe said.

"We've been wondering that for the last year," O'Reilly replied.

"He does have a connection to the director. That helps," Hesterman said.

"Does it?" she said.

"Is this what the two of you do all day?" Sharpe asked.

"Pretty much. Along with connecting all of the dots for you. Take a quick look at this," O'Reilly said.

She enlarged one of the windows on her flat-screen monitor, which showed a complicated chart. He could see that the x-axis represented calendar weeks for the past three years. The y-axis contained names. He recognized several of them. Miguel Estrada, Julius Grimes and John Galick were the most prominent. The others had been added over the course of the day as his team had identified them.

"We've identified eleven of the seventeen terrorists involved in the market attack. Seven have former military experience. All except Galick were dishonorably discharged from the service. I found evidence of anti-government cyber space rants from nine of the eleven, but nothing within the last year. We managed to develop a background for nine of them, including recent employer data. Some of the employers were kind enough to provide schedule information. Six out of the eleven."

"Looks like this crew vacations together," Sharpe said.

"Either that, or it's one hell of a coincidence going back two years. Six different vacation periods align, but here's the scary part: they're all scheduled for two solid weeks of vacation starting next week, in addition to the days they've taken this week. Estrada quit his job in Seattle a month ago," O'Reilly said.

"Jesus. This is not a good sign. I have a feeling they aren't headed to the Caribbean," Sharpe said.

"Historically, two weeks is the longest period of time that has coincided. Given everything else we've seen this week, I'd say they have something big planned," O'Reilly said.

"How long ago did they submit their vacation schedules?"

"Three of the employers confirmed that the vacations went on the books months ago," Hesterman said.

"It sounds like this was True America's plan all along," Sharpe said.

"I thought we weren't allowed to say this is the work of True America," O'Reilly said.

"My apologies. Politics trumps common sense. What I was trying to say, is that this timeline calls into question the assumption that Al Qaeda's shipments were a last minute reaction to Anatoly Reznikov's poisoning of Monchegorsk. If these vacations were planned months ago, then Tru—the domestic terror network in question knew ahead of time that the canisters would be shipped earlier this week. I don't think Al Qaeda ever intended to target cities in Europe. I think the U.S. had always been their primary target, and True America knew it."

"You did it again," O'Reilly said.

"Did what?"

"Said True America," Hesterman added.

"Sorry. Let's just pretend I never said that."

Sharpe's mobile phone rang, causing his hand to shoot down to his belt. He looked up and saw Jason Volk give him a thumbs-up. He pressed a button on the phone's screen and was connected with Laurel's chief of police. Less than a minute later, he disconnected the call.

"They found digging equipment in a forest area a few miles south of Fort Meade. City engineers confirmed that one of the water supply mains from the Laurel pump station heads through that area and connects with a pump station in Fort Meade. Three men armed with automatic rifles were killed by police officers at the dig site. One of the police officers was killed in the shootout. They called HAZMAT because of a canister they found on the scene," he told them.

"Canister?" O'Reilly said.

"The description matches canisters recovered from the Mount Arlington pump station. We have an even bigger problem on our hands," Sharpe said.

"There's no way we can protect thousands of miles of water supply pipes," Hesterman said.

"Hundreds of thousands, Agent Hesterman. There could be over 5,000 miles of water main located in Anne Arundel County alone. There's absolutely no way to protect it all. The only option is to stop drinking water from public supplies," Sharpe said.

"Or we put an end to the domestic terrorist network in question," O'Reilly said.

"I need to speak with the director. They need to take down that compound in West Virginia immediately. Start running profiles on the three men killed at the site and prioritize testing of the canister's contents. Push everything to the White House situation room, including your assessment of the link between suspects killed or captured in the market raid. I'll be back to brief the entire floor in five minutes," Sharpe said.

He walked back to his office, locking eyes with Callie Stewart, who was standing next to Admiral DeSantos on the catwalk with her arms folded on the railing. Things were definitely about to heat up around here.

Chapter 33

4:05 PM

White House Situation Room

Washington, D.C.

The president slammed his fists down on the conference room table in a rare expression of anger. This was a good sign as far as Frederick Shelby was concerned. The administration might finally take the gloves off and kick some True America ass.
Domestic terror network
he had to remind himself. Whatever. As soon as the connection was solidified, he planned to issue arrest warrants for every single member of True America he could identify.

He just needed to keep his enthusiasm in check during this meeting. He couldn't read the president on this one. He knew that politics dominated his decision to deemphasize the connection to True America, but he wasn't sure if this was just a temporary political move while the "fires were hot." He didn't dare ask the president or any of his closest allies. If they caught wind of what he planned, they might shut him down before he could start rounding up this band of traitors. Shelby was no stranger to the political arena, but he wasn't about to let politics endanger America. Too much of that had taken place during his tenure as FBI director.

"I want this compound taken down immediately. General Gordon, how soon can your forces hit them?" the president asked.

"Maybe we should slow down and wait for Justice to—" started Kathleen Walker, his senior legal counsel, but the president interrupted.

"No. No more waiting around for the next attack. I'm done reacting here. We take the offensive and shut this group down permanently. I don't need a warrant to attack enemies of the United States. General?"

"Mr. President, surveillance teams have been in position around the compound since midmorning, and all of the compound's remote security sensors have been disabled. We've made a few last minute adjustments to the plan based on their intelligence, but I feel comfortable launching a raid tonight. I still need to infiltrate two Delta troops. I can drop them at 9:30 PM, when it is sufficiently dark enough to cover their descent. They'd be in position within a few hours. Barring any unforeseen difficulties, I can support a midnight time-on-target. All other assets are on immediate standby."