Edge of Apocalypse (14 page)

They said their good-byes, and Joshua pulled out his briefing book for the Roundtable. He flipped open to the cover page with the typed agenda. At the top he took his pen and handwrote, "Rocky Bridger's Concern."

Then he closed the notebook. Everything in him was indicating that the timing of his upcoming trip to Colorado and the subsequent secret meeting he would convene couldn't be better.

TWENTY-TWO

The White House,
Washington, D.C.
Mr. Joshua Hunter Jordan
1 Plaza Court Towers
New York City, New York 10004

Dear Mr. Jordan:

On behalf of the United States of America, I am extending my appreciation for the assistance you rendered during the North Korean missile crisis. Your cooperation during that dangerous time provided an important service to our country.

Sincerely,
Virgil S. Corland
President

Abigail was rereading the letter. It had been issued to her husband from the White House just days after the near-destruction of New York. She hadn't seen the document in a while, and she took the time to look closer at the gold-embossed seal at the top. It bore the familiar symbol of her country, the one with the eagle holding an olive branch in one claw and a host of arrows in the other--just like on the back of the one-dollar bill. Now, in light of the ferocious attack against her husband brewing in Congress, and the White House's recent lack of support, she was rereading the letter from a new angle.

"President Corland's thank you was really no thank you at all," she murmured to herself.

She leaned back in the seat next to her husband in their Citation X private jet. The sky was clear and cloudless as they winged their way from New York to Denver. As Abigail gazed out the window into the deep blue, she continued to contemplate everything that had transpired. Trying to fit it together.

"You say something?"

She turned and noticed that Joshua was studying her. She didn't realize she had spoken out loud. Joshua was now looking up from his thick file of work documents.

"Just thinking out loud, that's all."

Joshua dug deeper. "About what?"

"This..."

She handed the White House letter to Joshua, who grinned. "So, you've been rifling through my file, I see."

"Just happened to see it among those papers you were working on."

"And?"

"I think Corland's thank you letter was pretty tepid. Overly cautious, especially considering that you had just saved the entire population of New York City from being incinerated."

"Yeah, well, not really," Joshua countered. "The real heroes were my tech team and the guys at the Pentagon and the crew of the USS
Tiger Shark..."

"All right, I understand. My husband, humble as ever. But my point is about the president's motives. Politics are all over this letter..."

"Well, after all, he
is
a politician. Funny thing about politicians--you can always count on them to be political."

"But Josh, not like this," she argued, tapping a manicured nail on the letter that was now sitting on the top of his file. "Come on...'I am extending my appreciation for the assistance you rendered...'? And what about the way they 'honored' you? A private little reception in the West Wing. Not the Oval Office. No press invited. Just the White House photographer. The president, the chief of staff, and, what, one or two reps from the Pentagon? That was it. They sent a little press release to the media late on a Friday afternoon. That's what they do in Washington when they want to bury a story. Which is exactly what happened. Josh, honey, you deserved better."

"I agree, Dad. You deserved
much
better."

Deborah was seated in the row behind them, listening.

"Wow, it seems I have a cheering section here," Joshua quipped.

His daughter reached over the seat and hugged his neck. "Forget the politicians, Dad. All the cadets at Point think you're great."

"Have them call Congress and tell them that, will you?" her father suggested with a half-smile.

"Deb, we're so happy you could come with us. I'm glad you had a break at the academy. Perfect timing. I bet you can't wait to ride your horse again," Abigail added.

"Yeah, it's been awhile. How is Sergeant Pepper?"

"Frank says he's doing fine," Abigail reassured. "So are the others. He just did the farrier work on their hooves. But I told him not to groom any of them. I knew you'd probably want to do that."

"Great. Hey, why don't we all go riding? All three of us?"

Joshua immediately gave Abigail "the look." She knew what it meant. He never liked being torn between family and professional commitments. But Joshua was a driven man, especially when he was at Hawk's Nest for one of his secret Roundtable meetings. Single-purposed. Focused like a laser beam on the agenda. This particular meeting was critical.

"We'll see," Joshua replied.

"Oh, I know that voice," Deborah responded, staring up at the ceiling of the jet. "It means 'Request denied. Stand down.'" Abigail reached over and squeezed his arm. "Oh, Josh, let's try. It'd be wonderful. The three of us on the trail together again."

Joshua always found his two girls hard to resist. And they knew it. A smile beamed all over Abby's face as she stared at him. Joshua tried to keep it serious, but after a few seconds of absorbing his wife's radiance, he couldn't continue. And a smile started to form in the corner of his own mouth.

"All right. I'll make the time to do some trail riding with you. I promise."

"Great!" Deborah sat back in her seat and hooked her iPod to her ear but then stopped.

"Hey...I heard the two of you talking about something in the airplane hangar before we took off...something about security issues at Hawk's Nest?"

Joshua and Abigail gave each other a quick glance. Her father decided to address it.

"My lawyer, Harry Smythe, suggested we beef up security a little around the complex."

"Is there a problem?"

"Not really, Deb," Abigail cut in. "Just a precaution."

"A precaution about what?"

"Because of the leaked story about my testimony in Congress," Joshua added, "and all of the media coverage since then, most of it negative. He just thought it might be prudent. You know, just because there may be a few zanies out there that might want their fifteen minutes by showing up at our front door. That sort of thing."

"Hey, I've already taken combat fundamentals," Deborah exclaimed. "And I'll be studying security intelligence this semester. So as long as I'm around, you got no worries!"

There were chuckles all around. But then Deborah stopped laughing and got serious. "Dad, you didn't really say what you're going to do about security."

"Well, we've got Bill Lawrence," Joshua assured. "He's familiar with Hawk's Nest. Been there a couple years now."

Deborah wasn't impressed. "Yeah, but he's, well, he's getting pretty old. Isn't he retired?"

"Retired detective from the Denver police force," her Dad pointed out. "He's in great shape. Still got the steadiest hand on the rifle range I've ever seen. He puts me to shame."

"But, Dad, one guy?"

"And we've got our electronic surveillance. It's state-of-the-art. So, Deb, dear, I'm not worried about it. I think Harry Smythe was overreacting. Lawyers are paid to be like that."

With that, Joshua looked over with a smirk at his wife. She smiled back and just shook her head.

Deborah gave up and went back to her music.

Joshua went back to his papers.

But a minute later, Abigail brought it up again. "Okay," she whispered, bending over toward her husband. "Just between us. What would be so terrible about increasing the security detail on the property?"

"Because it's not necessary."

"It's never necessary, until it's too late."

"You don't think between Bill and myself that we couldn't take care of things if a situation came up?"

"I'm not saying that."

"Well, what are you saying?"

"Just that, from the time Harry first brought it up...I don't know...a feeling I guess. Ever since the North Korean thing, you've become a kind of national target, that's all."

"Anybody who's unfortunate enough to make the national headlines these days--for any reason--is eventually going to gain some enemies. That's life. Abby, listen to me..." He took her hands in his. "If I thought there was a risk, I'd do whatever I needed to do to protect my family. You know that. But I'm just not that concerned about what Harry said, that's all. Everything's under control. So, let's not worry about it, honey. Okay?"

Abigail felt the warmth and strength from the covering of his hands. There was security in his grasp. Abigail had always felt safe with Joshua. He was a man of immense courage in the face of danger. But this time it was different. She could feel it. A sense of dread she couldn't shake. As if, out there somewhere, unseen, clawing its way toward them, was some kind of unnamed threat. And because she couldn't put her finger on it, she hadn't shared it with Joshua.

In her own growing relationship with God, she had learned an important lesson whenever she was faced with the challenges of life that were breathtaking or scary. In those situations the options were pretty straightforward: either act with faith or be governed by fear.

Without knowing exactly when or why, she wondered whether she would have to face that choice.

TWENTY-THREE

"I have clearance to share this with you."

"Really?"

"Of course. You think I'm lying?"

FBI Special Agent John Gallagher wasn't taking any chances. So he asked again. "You sure?"

"Come on, John. What's going on?"

The look in Gallagher's eye clearly indicated that he wasn't kidding. CIA Intelligence Officer Ken Leary decided to probe a bit deeper. "Why so timid, John? It's not like you. Where's the bull-in-a-china-shop John Gallagher we all know and love?"

"Yeah, well, my supervisor's been breathing down my neck lately."

"You mean cardboard-cutout Miles Zadernack."

"Right. The guy who goes to bed every night wearing a starched white shirt and tie."

"What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into?"

"Let's just say he doesn't approve of my interrogation techniques."

"Oh, man, I bet you didn't get the memo," Leary offered in mock seriousness. "Liberals are running the show now...no more waterboarding the suspects."

That provoked a deep laugh from Gallagher. Leary was one of the guys in the intelligence community who shared Gallagher's cynical dark sense of humor. Somehow, laughter always helped to buffer some of the horrendous stuff they had to deal with on a regular basis. Occasionally, Gallagher would trek over to CIA headquarters in the New York Agency station to drop in on Leary. Gallagher exercised oversight on multiple investigations. But he also maintained a short list of a few special terrorism subjects that were his own primary targets. Some of whom he'd been tracking for years.

This time Leary had called him over to the Agency but hadn't said why.

"Okay, let's get down to business," Leary announced. "Seeing as you are still working counterterrorism, I thought you might be interested in this..."

Leary laid a bulletin on the desk in front of Gallagher.

Top Secret Clearance Required

Bucharest, Romania: A body found in room 417 at the Athenee Palace Hotel in Bucharest has been identified as Dr. Yergi Banica. The Romanian professor of international studies at the University of Craiova has been a person of interest to the Agency. The cause of death was strangulation. Dr. Banica is reputed to have associated with persons also of interest to the Agency, including persons making inquiries into international weapons systems and designs. Banica was not an Agency asset.

"Okay. Mildly interesting," Gallagher reacted. "What else you have on this guy?"

"We've been tracking Dr. Banica's comings and goings. For the most part, just the usual stuff. Except there was one recent trip that was a bit odd. It seems our friend traveled from Bucharest to Glasgow. And from there to Iceland for a short stopover in Reykjavik. Then onto Quebec."

"And the reason for the journey?"

"None that we can determine."

"Okay, what am I missing?" Gallagher wondered. Had Leary called him across town just to go over the murder of a enemy informant?

"We've got a reliable autopsy protocol on Banica along with an estimated time of death. The ETD is important."

"Why?"

"Well, you know the old saying...dead men don't fly," Leary quipped with a twisted smirk. "At least not in first class."

"You tracked his passport?" the FBI agent asked.

"According to immigration, customs, and the airlines, Dr. Yergi Banica was in the air sipping white wine and eating microwaved chicken fourteen hours after he was strangled to death."

"Any idea who's using his passport?"

"Not with any precision. We have some airport surveillance footage that shows a guy who was a pretty good Yergi Banica look-alike. Nothing close up."

"Why wasn't Banica's passport on a watch list?"

Leary gave an airy laugh, the kind you let out when something really isn't funny. "That's a long, complex, and very sad story. Needless to say, travel watch-list procedures are not foolproof. And just because the CIA thinks someone is suspicious doesn't guarantee that Homeland Security is going to agree. There are some rather intricate policy judgments involved."

Gallagher threw Leary a dubious look. So the CIA official made it simpler. "To put it bluntly, the Corland administration has dumped a truckload of politics on top of the intelligence and counterterrorism business."

"I get the picture," Gallagher remarked. "So, we've got someone, we don't know who, using Dr. Banica's passport--after he's been murdered. Your bulletin says the professor may have been consorting with some guys with an unhealthy interest in weapons. Okay, so maybe one of them was using his passport. Have anything else?"