Tier One Wild (46 page)

“How ’bout you and me take a couple days’ leave?”

“And?”

“And we go on a little trip.”

Raynor had no idea where this was going. “A trip? A trip to where?”

TJ sat on the couch, and Raynor lowered slowly and painfully to the recliner.

“Kolt, David Doyle is out there. He’s not dead. He’s not running from this. He’s out there and he’s getting ready to act.”

“Where do you think he is?”

“Not on the West Coast. The West Coast cell was just a ruse. He planned on them getting killed so that the heat would be off him and his main objective.”

“Shooting down passenger jets wasn’t his main objective?”

“I don’t think so. It’s something else. Something big and nasty.” He paused. “I know how this guy thinks. He is not going to lie low, and he damn well knew we would initiate a ground stop. It was part of his plan.”

“So what does this have to do with our trip?”

“I want us to go find him.”

“Don’t tell me JSOC has talked the White House into rescinding Posse Comitatus.” Kolt knew Webber had been seeking a waiver on Posse Comitatus to allow JSOC forces to operate within the U.S. borders. It had been waived on rare occasion, and, in the thinking of many in the military, it should be waived now. But the White House had been vehemently against the practice even before they had convinced themselves the threat had passed.

“Posse Comitatus is still in effect,” Josh said flatly.

Raynor looked into his friend’s eyes for a long moment, trying to decide if TJ had lost his mind. But his eyes seemed as sharp and intelligent as ever. “You don’t think the Feds are going to find him?”

TJ just shook his head. “Shit. I don’t know. Maybe so. But if they don’t and he does something, then I won’t be able to live with myself for not trying to put a stop to him.”

Kolt nodded slowly. “I feel responsible for letting him slip away in Mexico.”

TJ just nodded. He offered Kolt no comfort. He was using Kolt’s guilt to push him forward.

“I don’t know, man, what if we get alerted again?” Kolt asked.

“Dude. You know damn well that last hit in Mexico was a fluke. Your squadron isn’t on alert. If anything, pops, Gangster has it.”

“Where do you want to go?” Raynor asked.

“Someplace where a guy with a missile might go to shoot down an aircraft.”

“There aren’t any planes flying.”

“Haven’t you seen the news? A plane is landing tomorrow morning.”

Kolt cocked his head. “The President?”

“I figure it’s worth a shot. I think Doyle might be thinking the exact same thing.”

Kolt just sat there for a moment. “Andrews Air Force Base will be protected. Surrounded like Fort Knox.”

TJ said, “I know. Doyle knows, too. I don’t have any answers yet, brother. Just questions. But I am going to go to D.C. and try to get some answers.”

Raynor thought it over for a few more seconds. Then he said, “I’ll talk to Webber.”

“I’ll be in his office at 0800,” TJ said. “Best you pop in after that.”

*   *   *

Kolt entered Webber’s office at 1000 hours, and sat in one of the chairs in front of Webber’s desk. It was a Saturday, but Webber was there.

“What’s on your mind?” Webber asked.

“Sir, I was wondering if POTUS was going to waive Posse Comitatus.”

“He hasn’t yet, why?” Webber asked.

“What’s your feeling, sir? Do you think he will?” Kolt pressed him.

“Major, the President is nervous about that, as you can understand. Right now it seems the SECDEF’s biggest hurdle is convincing him that the threat is not over. POTUS will be back in the States tomorrow and flights will resume on Monday. They think this is behind them.”

“Sir. I would like to request leave.”

“Sure. I’ve cracked ribs myself and I know how inconvenient it can be when it hurts to breathe. Take a few days. If you need more, just—”

The colonel stopped himself in midsentence. After looking at his major for a long time, he said, “TJ asked me for leave today. You planning on a little vacay together?”

Kolt nodded.

“What’s up?”

“It might be better if I don’t go into it.”

“You guys are going after Doyle, aren’t you?”

Raynor hesitated for a moment, but finally said, “Josh seems to think he’s got a line into the guy’s psyche. I don’t necessarily believe it, but I feel like I owe him. I’d like to go along.”

“Kolt, you can barely move with those broken ribs.”

“I’ll cinch them up tight. I’ll be fine.”

The colonel sighed. “Timble is a very intelligent man. Pakistan shook him up, but I am of the opinion that, long-term, it will only make him stronger. He is
not
crazy, Racer.”

“No, sir.”

“You are service members. Active-duty service members.”

“We aren’t operating with the Army or JSOC, sir. We’re just two guys going for a drive. If we happen to run into a wanted terrorist…”

“You’ll make a citizen’s arrest?”

Raynor did not answer.

“If TJ thinks he can find Doyle, he might be able to do just that. The question remains, though.”

Kolt asked the question. “What are we going to do with him if we find him?”

Webber paused, as if he were choosing his next words carefully. “Kolt, David Doyle is an American citizen. If you find him on U.S. soil, it might be … problematic.”

“Problematic, sir?”

“Yes. I am speaking about the complications involved with taking him alive.”

Raynor recognized that Webber was trying to tell him something very important. He asked, “Are you saying we should
not
take him alive?”

“Hell, son, I’m not saying you should even go looking for him. I’d rather you didn’t get yourself mixed up in a capital murder charge.”

Raynor had not considered this, but he honestly did not care. If shooting David Doyle in front of fifty federal judges meant ending Doyle’s reign of terror, then Kolt knew he would gladly do this and then suffer the consequences. But he had no intention of making Webber complicit in his plan. He just said, “I understand, sir. We will do everything in our power to call in law enforcement if we get close to Doyle or his men.”

“Right. I have a pristine mental image of that happening.” Webber cleared his throat again. “What I am saying is this: if you should happen to take him in alive, as a United States citizen, he will get the full treatment from our laws. Fancy lawyer, day in court, jury of his peers—as if he had any peers here in America. If Doyle should be captured and not killed…”

Kolt understood. He thought back to the conversation he had with Webber just before his reinstatement into Delta. The colonel asked him, in effect, if he had any problem dropping the hammer on some crow who might otherwise end up on
60 Minutes.
Kolt had said no.

And now Webber was telling him, in a roundabout but certain manner, that if he caught David Doyle in the field, then he should not allow him the chance to surrender.

“I understand, sir.”

Webber said, “This is a bad idea. But I know what you guys can do. And I know Doyle is not in the bottom of San Francisco Bay. So get out of here and good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As Raynor left the room, Webber said, “Enjoy your vacation.”

*   *   *

TJ parked his Ford F-350 pickup outside Kolt’s trailer at noon. Raynor came out a moment later with a backpack and a Remington pump-action shotgun.

TJ said, “Great minds think alike. I’ve got a Mossberg stowed under the seats. A Glock in an ankle holster. You have your 1911?”

“Don’t leave home without it.”

“You aren’t using Unit ammo in it, are you?” TJ asked to be sure. “Remember, no comebacks on Delta if something goes down.”

“No shit. No, my ammo is from my personal stash, bought from Jim’s Pawnshop.”

“That’ll do.”

*   *   *

In minutes they were on the road. It was a five-hour drive into D.C. from Fayetteville, and they spent most of the time heading up I-95 listening to the news on the radio and speculating about Doyle’s location and his next move. The news droned on and on about how the President’s plane was due to land at Andrews at eight the next morning, and security would be extra tight around the White House.

TJ said, “We are listening to Doyle’s intelligence agents. The damn media is going to give him every detail about POTUS’s return to the U.S.”

Kolt said, “I wish he’d just sit overseas until Doyle was caught.”

“He can’t do that if his AG is telling people they think they’ve got a handle on the threat. Plus, it’s all politics. He’s flying back to Washington to look presidential, like he’s in control of the crisis.”

Kolt shook his head. “The SA-24 is the most advanced MANPAD out there, and it can defeat many infrared countermeasures. But Air Force One has countermeasures out the ass. Plus he will fly into Andrews, and security there will be incredible. You said it yourself—Doyle is smart. He would know that.”

TJ looked at Raynor, taking his eyes off the interstate in front of him for more time than Kolt found comfortable. He said, “
Not
Air Force One!
Marine
One!” The President’s helicopter. “If POTUS lands at Andrews, he’ll take Marine One to the White House.”

Kolt shook his head. “With loose SAMs and terrorists? He’ll probably take a motorcade.”

“The terrorists are dead, remember? How is he going to avoid taking his helo after his Justice Department told everyone there’s nothing to worry about? No, he’ll take Marine One, despite the Secret Service’s protests. They will very quietly and very thoroughly canvass the entire flight path with cops and Feds, but he
will
fly home from Andrews.”

“Marine One has countermeasures, too, Josh. It flies with decoy aircraft and has chaff and flares and IR jammers that can—”

“I know all that. But Doyle has a plan.”

Kolt looked off in the distance for a moment. “You know, there might be a way he could do it. What if you and your asshole buddies fired two SAMs, or four SAMs, or ten SAMs, all at the same time?”

“Would that work?” TJ asked.

“I don’t know. But it’s the only thing that makes sense at this point. And the Grinch has a range of ten klicks or more. That’s a twenty-klick death zone that the Secret Service will have to cover for the duration of the flight to the White House. No way they can do that.”

Josh replied, “They’ll get help from FBI, DC Metro, Maryland state troopers, park police, poultry inspectors. Shit, anybody who’s got a badge and jurisdiction in the territory under the flight path is going to be there combing the ground. It won’t be perfect, but they’ll try.”

“Sorry to break it to you, TJ, but a pickup truck with two good ole’ boys slinging shotguns is not going to be able to cruise through that gauntlet you just described.”

TJ smiled. The first time Kolt had seen him do so in a while. “Leave the talking to me. I’ll get us close to the action.”

“And then? What, we’re just going to stumble onto Doyle with a SAM on his shoulder?”

Now TJ’s smile morphed into a frown. “I know how he thinks, Kolt. That’s important.”

“We’ll have to do better than that.” Kolt thought it over. “Back at his training camp in Yemen, there was an anomaly that no one understood. A twenty-foot shipping container.”

“Empty?” TJ asked.

“It had empty crates in it, as well as a mock-up SA-24 launcher.”

“Maybe they store the SAMs there?”

Kolt said, “There were water bottles and bedrolls, too. Maybe they stored themselves there.”

TJ was energized by this intel. “We need to check docks and boats on the Potomac under the flight path.”

Kolt wasn’t as sure as his friend. He just said, “Got to start somewhere, I guess.”

FORTY-ONE

David Doyle and his five Chicago cell members sat in the living room of a small apartment in Woodmore, Maryland, just a half mile from Six Flags. This was the home of their local contact, a sixty-two-year-old truck driver named Ali.

Ali seemed overwhelmed by all the young men in his simple home, but he wanted to prove to Daoud al-Amriki that he had executed the orders he’d received months earlier to the letter.

“I have the truck outside. It is full of palletized cans of soft drinks. I am to deliver it this evening. All is prepared like you asked.”

David just nodded. “Then you have done well. What can you tell us about the Americans’ arrangements for tomorrow morning?”

Ali said, “The Secret Service, the FBI, and the Maryland State Police will be all over the area. They said this on the radio. They will be on rooftops and at intersections. They are saying all vehicles are subject to search.”

The others sat around the living room, most drinking tea and smoking nervously. More nervously after Ali’s report about the local situation.

But Doyle was not concerned about lifting their spirits at the moment. Instead he asked, “How long will they be doing this?”

“They say the security measures will only last until the President is back in the White House. They say everyone can go to church tomorrow after nine a.m. with no delays.”

Doyle smiled. “Yes. They
will
all go to church tomorrow. They will be in mourning.”

This earned smiles from his jittery men.

“You have been on the news, David,” Ali added. “Old photographs of you.”

“I am famous.” Doyle smiled as he said, “You all are in the presence of a celebrity. But tomorrow, tomorrow you all will be famous, too.”

The men laughed, a little nervously still, and they prayed together, and then they went outside, downstairs to the parking lot.

Doyle and his five Chicago cell members climbed back into their vehicle, and Ali climbed behind the wheel of a Peterbilt tractor-trailer with the words
BUY-RITE
in blue on the side of the fifty-three-foot trailer.

Together both vehicles drove to a U-Stor-It mini-storage facility in Walker Mill, Maryland, and they backed the trailer up between a pair of ten-by-ten storage lockers. Quickly Ali and the Chicago cell leapt into the back of the fifty-three-foot trailer and began off-loading cases of orange soda, placing them in the rented storage rooms. They had to break the cases out of the pallets to do so, and this took time, but they finally emptied twenty feet of space in the back of the semi.