Sleeper Cell Super Boxset (49 page)

“Not quite, son,” Craig said.

              They reached the darkness of the lake. The moon reflected over the calm water that slapped against the wooden dock nearby. A small motorboat, tied to the dock from the cleats at the bow and the stern, was covered under a blue tarp. It floated up and down with the small, rippling current. Once they reached the end of the dock, Craig turned around to talk.

“I brought you both out here to discuss our plan.”

“Plan? What plan?” Rachael asked.

“Our emergency evacuation plan,” Craig said. “I don't have any secret information to share, just good old-fashioned intuition.”

Nick sighed.

“We need to be ready to leave at moment's notice,” Craig continued.

“What's really going on, Craig? Something has been troubling you since the minute you walked in. I could see it on your face,” Rachael said.

“I think there's going to be an attack on our country and that it's going to be big. If it happens, I want you and Nick to take our boat and hide out in our cabin until further notice.”

Their cabin, roughly thirty miles up the lake and deep in the wilderness, was their retreat from the city, stocked with supplies and equipment.

“Do you have any specifics?” she asked.

“Like when and where?” Nick added.

Craig shook his head. “Let me show you something.”

He set the box he was holding on the dock and opened it. He grabbed two handheld radios from inside and stood up, handing them to Rachael.

“First things first. We have to discuss communication. Cell phones are crap in emergencies. Satellite phones are a little over our budget. These are your standard two-way GMRS radios, the same kind we use at work. If something goes wrong, we need to be able to communicate with each other.”

The news hit Rachael hard. She tried to make sense of it. “If we’re not safe here, then we need to go somewhere else. My parents’ house in Utah, for starters. Don’t you think?”

“For now, the cabin is our most practical option,” Craig said in a frank tone.

***

After their meeting by the dock, Craig sat at the foot of their bed studying the screen on his laptop. Rachael walked in from the steamy bathroom wearing a towel around her head, a white shirt, and boxers.

“I thought you were going to bed,” she said.

“I am. I just have to look at some things real quick,” he answered with his back to her.

She lay next to him on the bed. “I’m confused, Craig. Scared and confused. I don’t know what to say.”

Craig shut his laptop, turned to her, and held both her hands in his. “Something bad is in the works. I can feel it. No one is taking it seriously. And if they are, they're not doing enough to stop it. That’s why I need to investigate these sleeper cell leads.”

Rachael sighed. “This can’t be good for Nick.”

“He’s a tough kid, and we can’t sugarcoat things for him any longer.”

“He’s just a child,” she said.

Craig stared into her eyes. “He’s my son. And I’m going to do everything to make sure that the both of you are safe.”

“Okay,” she said, with a look of understanding. “When the time comes, we'll be ready.”

As their lips pressed together, his phone began to vibrate on the nightstand. For a moment, he ignored it, but the incessant buzzing became too distracting.

Craig broke away, climbed off the bed, and grabbed his cell phone. It was his fifth missed call from Patterson.

“I have to make a call,” he said, standing up. He went into their bathroom, shut the door, and swiped the screen of his smart phone, calling Patterson back.

“Yeah, it's me,” he said, once Patterson answered.

“Harry Houdini. Where in the hell have you been? I've been calling you all day.”

“Family time. Look, I'm sorry. You get anything yet?”

Patterson cleared his throat.
“Well, while you've been ignoring me all day, I've been running some records on the rental van—”

“Patterson, wait,” Craig said, interrupting.

“What? What is it?”

Craig looked at himself in the mirror. His disheveled hair. The bags under his eyes. His wrinkled, untucked dress shirt. His silver watch. The dark scruff building on his face from not shaving for a day. A conflicted man stared back at him.

He hadn't told Patterson that the case had been closed and that they had been assigned elsewhere. Patterson asked what he wanted again, waiting for a response.

“Nothing. Go on,” Craig said.

“The van was rented under a different name, not the driver's.”

“An alias?”

“No alias,”
Patterson said.
“The name's legit. Or at least I think it's legit. And get this: whoever rented that van lives close.
Like, Richmond, Virginia close.” 

“What’s the name?” Craig asked in eager anticipation.

“Rasheed Surkov, a Chechen immigrant.”

“What would a Chechen nationalist be doing linked up with Syrian ISIS members?” Craig asked.

“Don't ask me. Why did Cheech team up with Chong? Common goals, I imagine.”

“Or Mussolini and Hitler,” Craig muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. We need to get on this before Homeland blows us out of the water.”

“What’s the plan?”

Craig cracked the bathroom door open. Rachael lay in bed, staring at the TV at the foot of the bed. Some late night talk show was on. She looked unhappy. He hoped that she would understand. She usually did.

“Where are you?” Craig asked.

“I'm still at the office. Been here all day, no thanks to you.”

He slowly pushed the bathroom door closed again. “I'm on my way.”

He hung up with Patterson and took one last look in the mirror. The road ahead was uncertain, but he didn't see it any other way.

Going Rogue

Under the night sky, Craig's Taurus sped down the windy roads of his Rockville suburb onto the interstate toward D.C. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in ages, it seemed, but didn't feel the least bit tired. He was on edge—one hand on the steering wheel and the other clutching a large thermos of coffee to get him through the night.

Caught between keeping the details of his investigation hidden from both the FBI and his family, he had assured Rachael that he'd be back soon. Many things were at stake, he explained, and he didn't have a choice. She understood. At least he thought she did.

He pulled into the underground parking garage, swiped his card at the gate sensor, and shuttled into a parking lot. The clock on his dashboard said twelve forty-five. After another swig from his thermos, and Craig got out of his car and hurried to the building. The halls inside were quiet and empty. Most of the offices had their lights off. There were a few agents roaming about, and Craig tried to remain low-key and kept his head down, not making eye contact with any of them.

He took an elevator to the second floor where he and Patterson had adjoining offices. He moved down the carpeted hallway that served a wide area of cubicles, most of them empty. During the day, it was a different story. As Craig walked in Patterson’s office, he saw his partner sitting with his head in his arms resting on the desk.

“Snap out of that wet dream. We’ve got work to do,” he said.

Patterson's head jerked up. He looked at Craig through squinted eyes. “You bastard. It was getting really good.”

Craig didn't waste any time. “We need to get to this address quick. No time to spare.”

He walked into his office and grabbed some files from his desk, an old mahogany fixture with lots of history. Patterson was noticeably exhausted, yawning and stretching intermittently. Craig walked in again, holding his files, and patted Patterson on the back.

“I'll drive, buddy. Don't worry about a thing. Two and a half hours tops.”

“Taking the squad car?” Patterson asked.

“That's okay,” Craig said. “We'll take my car.”

Patterson gave him a funny look. “Driving around on your own dime?”

Craig shot past him toward the door. “It’s better that way.”

Patterson rose from his desk. “If you say so.”

They walked down to the parking lot and left in Craig's car.

“What’s the plan?” asked Patterson. “I mean, once we get there?”

Craig laid out the details of the plan the best he could. They were going to watch the place. Patterson groaned. It was a quarter past one when they passed the Washington Monument, the World War II memorial, and the Reflecting Pool and merged onto the south I-95 ramp exit leading to Virginia. Patterson's head was already bobbing up and down. At some point, Craig knew he was going to have to tell him that nothing about what they were doing had been authorized.

***

An hour later, they stopped for some coffee after making it across the Virginia state line. Patterson seemed attentive and ready as Craig turned down the volume on the light rock playing over the radio.

“There's something you need to know. Something I haven't had the time to go into detail about,” Craig said.

“That this job sucks?” Patterson asked, taking a sip of coffee from a steaming Styrofoam cup.

“Yes and no. You see, I had a little meeting with the assistant deputy director today.”

“Calderon? What did that ballsack want?”

“He took us off the case.”

“What case?”

Craig paused slightly. “This case.”

Patterson looked confused. Then it hit him. “I knew it! I told you we couldn’t trust Homeland. So what does that mean? Why are we doing this?”

Craig’s eyes were steady and locked on the road. “You know as well as I do that we have to pursue this lead. There’s too much at stake.”

“We could lose our
jobs
here. Our pensions. Everything. I have a family. You have a family. You're gonna throw all that away over this?”

“If you want out, that’s fine with me. No hard feelings.”

Patterson scoffed. “How considerate of you. You should have told me this right after your meeting. We're partners
,
and
we're supposed to look out for each other.”

“I know, and I'm sorry. That's why I want to give you a chance to walk away.”

Patterson shifted in his seat uncomfortably and then scratched his head as if trying to come to some decision.

Craig continued. “Whatever you want to do. It's up to you.”

“What authority do we even have here? Say we stumble on some organization. What are we going to do, blow them a kiss?”

“We gather evidence and take it back to the station, convince them that we need to re-open this case.”

Patterson's fist slammed onto the dashboard. “You really think you can get through to them? Are you that dense?”

Craig didn't respond as he steered the car through the Virginian landscape.

Patterson calmed himself. “I guess I'm in too deep now,” he said, shaking his head.

“You do whatever you think is best,” Craig said. “I’m not stopping. We’re too close.”

Craig checked his GPS. They were thirty minutes from the address: 20 West Dupont Circle, Apartment 308, Richmond Virginia 23218. Once the city was in range, Patterson objected no more.

It was half past three in the morning. Skyscrapers towered overhead as they drove through the metropolitan areas, the Richmond port, and then deeper into the urbanized, diminished west side. Craig assured Patterson that their unexpected arrival so early in the morning would work in their favor. After many side streets and turns, they found themselves near a high-rise apartment complex.

Graffiti covered nearly every wall, alleyway, bridge overpass, and newspaper stand around. Cars were parked on both sides of the street. Taxis passed by every so often. Things were quiet. Some shadowed figures huddled inside a fenced-in basketball court looked over as they pulled up. 

“Apparently, we’ve stumbled upon a Boy Scout meeting,” Patterson said. He examined the apartment complex in question. “And what kind of intel are we going to get watching a fifteen-story building?”

Craig parked between two other cars facing the building. “Our sleeper cell link awaits.”

“Needle in a haystack,” Patterson replied.

Craig leaned forward and popped the trunk. He then walked out onto the sidewalk directly to the back.

Surprised, Patterson turned to him. “What are you doing?”

Craig dug into his pocket, put some quarters in the parking meter, and turned around. “Going to find our needle.” He went to the trunk and pulled the lid up. Inside was a steel carrying case. He grabbed the case and closed the trunk as a police siren wailed in the distance.

Patterson opened his door and stepped outside. “They’re gonna throw you in a mental institution one day.”

Craig walked along the cracked sidewalk under the buzzing street lights overhead, examining every parked vehicle he passed. Patterson caught up to him as he got closer to the building entrance.

“Are we going in?” he asked.

“I don't see any other option,” Craig answered.

“What happened to waiting? Biding our time?”

Craig looked at his watch. “There's still plenty of time for that.”

Patterson stepped in front of Craig, blocking him. “I thought we had an agreement. You're supposed to tell me everything. No more surprises.”

Craig held up the case. “We're conducting surveillance. A simple hidden camera outside the door to the Surkov residence.”

Patterson was impressed. “Hell, why don't we just shoot a tracker chip into his brain.”

“I would if we could,” Craig said, walking off. Patterson followed him into the dimly lit entrance to the towering apartment complex, keeping one hand on his pistol, raising its holster around his waist.

Past the front entrance, unlocked but ironically protected by iron bars, they walked into the lobby, a wide-open room furnished with a few chairs knocked over, and a stained, green carpet with flickering long ceiling bulbs hanging overhead. The front desk was closed—indicated by a rolling aluminum door locked over the counter. The building, and the neighborhood for that matter, didn't look like the kind of place anyone would want to be caught alone in at night. There was an elevator to their right with an “Out of Order” sign on it. Across from the elevator was a door leading to the stairs.