For a bit of fun, how would you like one of the characters to have your name?  All you have to do is fill in a simple form.  If you come up with a good reason, I'll name a character after you and you'll be sent their profile so you can show your friends.  You will really be a character then.  You'll have to read the book, though, to find out where they appear.

Chapter 24 – Pushback

Alexander and Cory spotted it at the same time, but it was Alexander who was quickest to react.  Rufus and Kevin were following Dick Sussex on his way to work with Cory in the van running the drone high in the sky above.

Alexander’s voice broke into the silence in Rufus’s and Kevin’s earpiece.  “Bogeys.  Break off and go to ground.”

Without any hesitation, Kevin and Rufus turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Sussex under the watchful eye of the drone.  Kevin’s voice cut in. “How many?”

”12”, replied Cory.  ‘You’ve got four on each of you, with four covering the target.”

“They still with us?” cut in Rufus.

“Confirmed.”

“Interception?” asked Kevin.

Cory immediately knew what Kevin was asking. “Two minutes, max,” telling both men that the hostiles would catch up with them in two minutes or less.

“Exit?”

“Kevin, take the next alley on your right.  Turn right at the end, immediately left, and go up the fire escape.  You’ll have the high ground. Rufus, take the subway and go out the opposite exit.”  There was no need for him to tell them to hurry.  “Clear to engage,” Cory continued.  “I’m on my way.”

Cory quickly left the van, the drone forgotten as it hovered above.  He was closest to Rufus and had already calculated that he would reach the subway simultaneously as Rufus was exiting it.   His timing, as always, was impeccable; Rufus brushed past him as Cory headed down the stairs, where he saw the four-person team that was following Rufus heading up the stairs.  As soon as they were past him, he reversed direction and followed them out of the station.  He could see Rufus some twenty yards ahead. “Starbucks and out the back,” he whispered into this throat mike.  “I’ll be there.”

Rufus entered the Starbucks as instructed, and Cory turned into the alleyway behind it.  As soon as he was inside the alley, he took cover, screwing the silencer onto his weapon, expecting at least one of the hostiles to cover the back exit.  Two did, entering it at a dead run now with guns in their hands. The moment that they ran past Cory’s hiding place, he stood and shot each of them in the back of the head.  The sound of the shots was muted by the silencer and the heavy traffic roaring by the entrance to the alley. “Two down,” he said.  A single click in his earpiece told him Rufus had heard and understood.

A few moments later, the back door to the Starbucks opened, and Rufus exited.  He nodded to Cory and moved to the right, pulling his weapon as he did so.  The silencer was already on it.  Both Cory and Rufus waited with their guns raised.  The door opened again, and the remaining two hostiles came out, reaching into their jackets as they did, but they were too late.  Rufus shot the first one in the face, and Cory shot the second right between his eyes.

Without hesitating, Cory and Rufus turned and ran out of the far end of the alley. “Kevin, where are you?” Cory hissed.

“On the roof two blocks over.  Under fire. Two hostiles on the fire escape,” answered Kevin.  “One dead, one MIA.”

“On our way,” replied Cory as both men broke into a run.  Thirty seconds later, they were at the building and saw two men on the fire escape taking turns to fire at the roof while the other climbed the stairs. Rufus was the first to fire and shot the lead man in the back, while Cory shot the other in the back of his head.  Both bodies plummeted to the ground, landing on top of the dumpsters with a bang.  “Fire escape clear,” said Rufus into his throat mike.

“Coming down,” said Kevin.

“What about the fourth man?” asked Cory.

“That’s who’s coming down,” replied Kevin.  A second later, they saw a body leave the roof, its arms spiraling as if trying to fly.  The body landed on top of one of the others, which cushioned its fall, but Rufus shot him in the head, making sure that he was dead.

“Now I’m coming down,” said Kevin, climbing onto the fire escape and quickly descending.

“Cory keyed his throat mic, “Clearing the area,” he announced.  “Base in 60.” Telling Alexander, who was listening and had heard everything, they were separating and would make their way back to the townhouse in an hour, ensuring they weren’t leading anybody back to it.”

“Make sure the van is clean,” said Alex.  “If in doubt, dump it.”

“Will do,” replied Cory.  “What about the last team following Sussex?”

“No idea,” said Alexander.  “I guess we’ll find out later.”

Without another word, Cory turned to the right, and the other two went left.  At the next corner, they separated.  Over the next hour, they ran SDRs, ensuring nobody was following them, and eventually turned up back at the townhouse where the others were waiting.  Cory was not there.

“Where’s Cory?” asked Rufus.

“On his way,” replied Alexander.  “He’s putting the van in the garage.”

“What the fuck happened?” asked Kevin.

“We’ll wait until Cory gets here,” said Alexander.

Cory turned up a minute later and was met with a round of applause and back-slapping.  He grinned self-consciously and made his way over to the coffee maker.  Grabbing a cup of black unsweetened black coffee, he sat down on one of the sofas and waited for Alexander to start the meeting.

Alexander cleared his throat and was about to start speaking when the door flew open, and Damian rushed in.  “Turn on the TV,” he blurted out.  Rufus picked up the remote control on the table beside him and turned it on.

“In breaking news, Congressman Dick Sussex was murdered today in Washington DC.  Details are very scarce at this time, but apparently, he was walking to work when he was killed.  The FBI is investigating this case since Sussex was a federal government member.  We’ll bring you more news on this story as it comes in.”

Alexander stood.  “I have to make a call.  I’ll be back shortly,” he said and left the townhouse.  Walking to the second townhouse, he let himself in and picked up his phone to call Gerry using Signal.

“We just saw it, Alex,” said Gerry without preamble.

“What you don’t know is that we had two four-man teams trying to take out Rufus and Kevin this morning.”

“What,” exclaimed Gerry.  “Hang on a second so I can put this call on speaker.  Joe’s here with me.”

A couple of seconds later, Joe’s voice came over the phone.  “Hey, Alex.”

“Hi, Joe,” replied Alex.  “Rufus and Kevin were following Sussex this morning when Cory and I spotted a group of eight men closing in on them.  I told them to break off and go to ground, which they did.  The men split into two groups of 4 and went after them.”

“What happened?  Is everybody alright,” said Gerry, breaking into the conversation.

“Everybody’s fine.  Cory intercepted Rufus, and they led them into an alley.  It was definitely a hit team.”

There was no need to ask the question.  Both Gerry and Joe knew that the only people who had walked out of the alley alive would have been Rufus and Cory.  “What about Kevin?”

“He took high ground on a nearby roof. Cory and Rufus got there a couple of minutes later.”

“You need to dispose of those weapons,” said Joe.

“Of course,” replied Alex, having already collected Rufus’s and Kevin’s.  He still had to get Cory’s.

“I’ll call Curt,” said Gerry, “and see if I can get more information.  If he doesn’t know already, he’ll soon know that we’ve been running a campaign against Sussex, and we’re bound to be on the suspect list.”

“Agreed,” replied Alex.  “What do you want us to do in the meantime?”

“Stop all activity for the time being,” replied Joe.  “We’ll find out what we can.  Then, we’ll re-group and figure out our next steps.  Do you think it was the Syrians?”

“I can’t think of who else it might be,” replied Alex.  “All eight men looked middle-Eastern, and we’ve had to eliminate three of their people, so I suspect they’re out for revenge.”

“This is going to bring down a lot of heat,” said Joe.  “Whatever they’re up to, it has to be so big that they are willing to risk the exposure.”

“I agree,” said Alex.  “I’ve got an idea swimming around in my head, but I’m not sure I’m right, so I need to spend some more time thinking about it before I share it with you.”

“Understood,” replied Gerry.  “I’ll call Curt.  Why don’t you give Scott a call and fill him in?  I know it’s outside their jurisdiction, but he may have some ideas.”

“Good idea.  I’ll do that in a few minutes.  Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of,” replied Gerry.  “I’ll give you a call once I’ve spoken to Curt.”

“Deal,” replied Alex and ended the call.

Gerry immediately dialed Curt Dunafin’s private cell; he was one of a very select group who had that number and knew that Curt would pick up if he could.

Curt picked up on the second ring.  “Hey, Gerry.  What’s up?”

“Dick Sussex.  Can you tell me anything?” asked Gerry.

“He had his throat cut from behind.  We don’t seem to have any witnesses.  What’s your interest, Gerry?”

“Feet to the Fire, which I fund, has been investigating him for months and publicizing a number of his, shall we say, misdeeds.  I didn’t know if you knew, but I wanted to ensure you did.”

“We did know, and you were on my list to call.  We’ll need to talk to everybody there.”

“Not a problem.  In fact, I’ve recently brought on nine new people to work under Joe’s direction.  I can make them available at any time.”

“I can have a couple of my people there this afternoon.  Does that work?”

“Absolutely,” said Gerry and gave Curt the address.  Ending the call, he turned to Joe.  “You’d better let everybody know.”

“There’s going to be some shock,” replied Joe, “but they’re a good, solid group and will handle it.  I’ll head on over and get everybody ready.”

Gerry nodded absently.  Joe could see his friend’s mind racing as it calculated all the possibilities.  Knowing better than to interrupt, he quietly left the room, went to the garage, got in his Bentley, and drove to the office.

Alexander was on a secure line three thousand miles away, talking to Scott Long and filling him in on the morning’s events.  Scott listened intently.

When Alexander had finished, Scott spoke. “That’s very interesting, Alexander, but did you have to leave eight dead bodies strewn across Washington?”

“Not exactly strewn,” replied Alexander.  “Only two locations.”

“Yeah,” said Scott.  “I’m going to stick with strewn.  Your guys couldn’t keep one of them alive for questioning?”

“Sorry,”

“You don’t sound it, Alexander.”

“Not really,” said Alexander, “but there really wasn’t any doubt to their intentions or time to do anything else.”

“And you’re pretty sure it was the Syrians?” asked Scott.

“I am.  It’s the only thing that makes sense, but it’s pretty brazen even for them.”

“I agree.  Well, thanks for the update.  Keep me posted, and I’ll check in with the NSA to see if there’s any relevant chatter.”

Ending the call, Scott pressed a button on his desktop phone.  Moments later, his aide, Julia Smith, entered the room.  Julia was a very attractive blonde woman in her early 30s who had been with Scott for ten years.

“Julia, call Micky Siamendes at the NSA and ask him if there’s been any chatter about an operation over here.  Tell him that it probably concerns the Syrians.”

“What should I tell him about the source of your concern?”

“He won’t ask,” replied Scott.  He and Micky went back almost as long as Gerry Hawkins and Joe Simpson.  Micky had originally worked for the CIA in Analysis but had been headhunted by the NSA not long afterward.  Scott knew him to have an exceptional and incisive mind.  Micky also had an eidetic memory, more commonly known as a photographic memory.  He could glance at a document, instantly committing it to his memory, and be able to recall every single word as well as connecting it to multiple other documents stored in his head.  Scott knew that the NSA was lucky to have him working for them.  He also suspected that Micky would soon be appointed to its head position since the current Director was due to retire at the end of the year.

Julia left Scott’s office but was back within a few minutes.  “Micky wants to know if you’re free to have dinner with him and his wife tonight?”

“Sure. Where?” replied Scott.

“Their house at 7.”

“Tell him I’d be delighted.  Did he say anything about the chatter?”

“Only that he’ll fill you in later.”

“Ok.  Thanks, Julia.”

Julia nodded and left the office, closing the door behind her.  Scott rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  The dinner invitation wasn’t unusual, but the fact that Micky wanted to talk privately was.

Across town at the Syrian Embassy, Waahid al-Salah was in a rage.  He had lost eight of his highly trained men in a single morning.  It wasn’t that he cared about them, as they were all disposable in the service of the State, but it told him that he and they were up against an implacable and highly trained force.  The only good news was that his other team had managed to kill Dick Sussex, who he saw as a weak link since the Americans were obviously onto him.  There was one more loose end that needed to be taken care of, and that would be done shortly.

Back in California, Joe had gone into the offices of Feet to the Fire. His newly hired team had already heard the news and were chatting about it when he walked through the door.

“Listen up,” he said without any preamble.  “You’ve heard the news.  The FBI will want to interview everybody to find out what you know.”

“But we don’t know anything,” said Daphne Stevenson.

“I know,” said Joe, “and that’s what you’ll tell them, but we’ve been investigating him, and they are going to see a connection and jump to conclusions.”

“Are we in danger?” asked Barry Thomas.

“No, not in the slightest.  Look, Sussex was dirty, and we’ve publicized that quite extensively.  While I’m shocked,” he said, “I’m not all that surprised that some unstable person has taken it on themselves to deal out some street justice.  As you know, there are many very unstable people in this country, and it may well happen again in the future.  The people we are investigating aren’t choir boys or girls.”

“When will the FBI be here?” asked Doug Carmody.

“I’m not sure exactly,” said Joe, “but I imagine it will be today.  All of you take an early lunch while I try and find out what time to expect them.”

The eight nodded their heads and headed to the Diner across the street.  They had all become close friends and did many things together, including lunch.

When they returned to the office an hour later, four FBI investigators had already arrived, along with another man Joe recognized from the police’s first visit several months back. Gerry had been right about Homeland Security’s interest.   Joe introduced them all by name and also mentioned that one of the men was with Homeland Security since there may well be political implications to the killing.   

“Mr. Richardson, with Homeland, will sit in all the interviews for a few minutes, so please relax and answer their questions.  You’ve nothing to hide, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Over the next two hours, the FBI investigators interviewed each of the eight, asking the same question multiple times. Steve Richards finally got annoyed after the same stupid question had been asked for the third time.  “Look,” he said, “I know you have a job to do, but could you please stop treating me like a fucking idiot?  Either ask different questions, or I will terminate this interview.”

Mr. Richards,” said the investigator, “This is a very serious matter, and we have to be thorough.”

“You’re not being thorough.  You’re being pedantic and stupid, and I have no patience.  Now go ahead and ask your questions, but I’m leaving when you ask the same one again.”

“Why the hostility?” said the man.

“Because I have very little patience, and I’m tired.  In case you haven’t noticed, none of us here are young.  In fact, we’re quite elderly and don’t have the stamina we used to have.  Next question.”

“I don’t have any other questions,” said the man.

“Good,” said Steve Richards, getting up and leaving the room without a handshake or a goodbye.  He headed into Joe’s office and sat on the comfortable couch.  “Morons,” he said.

Joe smiled knowingly. “That’s a fairly common adjective today.”

“Have they interviewed you?”

“Of course they have,” said Joe.  “I told them what I told all of you earlier. I also told them that I didn’t have a lot of sympathy.  Sussex was, according to our investigations, a corrupt piece of shit, and he won’t be missed.”

“I bet that went down well,” said Steve, smiling at Joe.

“It certainly wasn’t what they were expecting to hear.”

“I bet.  Okay, if I head out?” asked Steve.

“Absolutely.  Tomorrow is a day off for everybody.  I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Thanks, Joe,” said Steve as he got up to leave.  At the door, he turned around to face Joe. “Do you think there’s any connection?”

“Honestly,” said Joe.  “I don’t think so,” he said.  Years of playing high-stakes poker had trained him not to give anything away through tone or expression.  Steve Richards nodded, went out the door, and left the offices.

That evening, Kyle Richardson and Steven Whistler met for a video conference to discuss the interviews.  Kyle was at Homeland’s Los Angeles offices, and Steve was in Washington, DC.

“Any connection?” said Whistler.

“I don’t see it,” said Kyle, “but I don’t like the coincidence.  However, everybody there, including Joe Simpson, was in California, so unless they hired an assassin, there’s nothing to tie them to the murder.”

“Hired an assassin,” said Whistler, laughing.  “That’s kind of rich.”

“Agreed.  By the way, do you know how much Gerry Hawkins is paying these people?

“No idea.  Is it a lot?”

“They’ve each been given a million-dollar-plus home to live in, bought a company car, and are being paid a $2000 per week salary.”

“That’s more than a hundred grand a year for people who’d normally be existing on social security and eating dog food.”

“I know.  It’s a huge amount.  I asked Joe Simpson about that, and he just said that Gerry can easily afford it.”

“I guess he can,” said Whistler.  “What’s your gut telling you?”

“As I said, I don’t like the coincidence, but Joe admitted they’re stirring up a lot of stuff, and he wasn’t all that surprised that somebody would see red.  Not to the extent of murder, but we both know how many crazies there are out there these days.”

“You’re definitely right about that.  Do we pack it in?”

“For the time being,” said Kyle.

Whistler ended the call.

Chapter 25 – Panic Sets In

As soon as the news had broken about Dick Sussex’s murder, Deirdre Williams told her staff that she was taking the rest of the day off and to cancel all her appointments. As a Senator, she had her own driver as her bodyguard.  In the current politically charged environment, all politicians were at risk of being attacked by opposition party supporters.  This level of violence had been stoked by the previous President, who had been recently convicted of multiple crimes and had been sentenced to a lengthy prison term. However, he was still free, pending his appeals and constantly issuing threats to anybody who crossed him.  While it was unlikely that he would ever see the inside of a prison cell due to his age and health issues, as well as how long he could drag the appeals process out, he had a large number of supporters whom he fired up every time he appeared on TV which he did pretty constantly. Since his conviction, however, several significant channels had dramatically cut back on the exposure they gave him, and there was no doubt that his influence was waning. Still, partisanship was extreme, and tempers were running high.  America was closer to a second civil war than it had been since the first one, which had ended on April 9, 1865, almost 160 years in the past. The crazies were out in force, and gun sales had never been higher.  As usual, Congress sat on its hand and refused to pass even the simplest of gun control measures.  The NRA still exerted enormous influence, and the many politicians whom they had bought and paid for kept those measures mainly off the table and voted others down.

Arriving home, Deirdre Williams told her driver that she would not be going out again that day and he could take the evening off. He thanked her and waited until she had gone inside her front door before driving off.

Inside the house, her husband of 25 years, George, sat cradling a glass of whisky.  She could tell immediately that he had been drinking heavily.  “Feeling sorry for yourself,” she asked as she went to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a brandy.

“We’re fucked,” he said, morosely.

“No, we’re not.  It’s a setback, but the bill will still be passed.  Dick had already got several key players on board to approve it, and I doubt that any will change their minds at this stage.”

“But who killed him?”

“That I don’t know,” she said as she sipped the brandy.  “And there’s no point in speculating.”

“But what if whoever it was comes after us?”

“Everybody has additional protection for the time being, and besides, it could be a coincidence.”

“Oh, come on, Deirdre.  You can’t possibly believe that!”

“I don’t,” she said, “but it is possible.”

“Have you talked to the others?”

“I have.  They are coming over this evening so that we can discuss it.”

“All four are coming?”

“Yes.  They’ll be here at 7.30.”

Alexander was sitting with Damian a few miles away and listening to the entire conversation. Neither Deirdre nor George Williams seemed alert to the possibility that their house was bugged.  It wasn’t, but Deirdre’s phone was transmitting everything being said.  They might have been sitting in the same room as long as the phone was with her.

Alexander stood and removed his Bose headphones.  “I’m going to the other townhouse.  Keep listening.  I’ll be back in a little later.”

Damian nodded.

Alexander quickly walked over to the other property, where the team sat.  He had called off any activity for the time being, so they were all in various stages of relaxation.  Everybody stiffened as Alexander walked in.

“Okay,” he said.  “I need you all out this evening.  There’s a meeting at the Williams’ house, and four guests are coming.  We need to know who those guests are, so get photographs, license plates, and anything you can.  Whoever these people are, they are involved with whatever is being planned.  Rufus, Kevin, and Harry, you watch the perimeter and everybody’s backs.  The rest of you gather intel.”

They all nodded. “What time?”

“You need to be in position by 6.30.  Guests are supposed to arrive at 7.30, but I want to ensure you have time to set up.  Don’t hang around after you’ve got what we need.”

“What if we spot any opposition?” asked Rufus.

“Avoid any conflict unless it’s necessary,” said Alexander.  “We’ve left enough bodies around DC for the time being.  Having said that, if you’re under threat, respond accordingly.  Is that understood?”

All seven nodded.

Everybody was in position ahead of time.  Cory was in the van, parked where he had a clear view of the Williams’ townhouse.  He had a video camera trained on the driveway on the other side of what appeared to be an advertising logo, which was, from the inside, a completely clear piece of plastic.  He would turn the camera on when the first vehicle arrived and keep recording until the last one left.  He had a spare camera and a supply of fully charged batteries on the table next to him.  He had spoken to Alexander a few minutes earlier and told him that the others weren’t really needed since he had such a good viewpoint.  Alexander had agreed and recalled 3 of the team but had told the remaining three to protect Cory and the van; considering the aggressive action earlier, it was a sensible precaution.

The first car pulled in at exactly 7.30.  As he got out, Cory started the camera running and took several still photographs of its occupant.  He immediately recognized the man since he was always on Fox News pontificating about something.  The Senior Senator from Vermont was a pompous windbag, thought Cory, but then again, most of them were.

The other three guests arrived within minutes.  They were all well-known politicians, so the photographs were technically unnecessary but useful for establishing the where and when of the meeting.

As soon as the front door closed on the last of the guests, Cory watched as a figure dressed in all black slid out from under a hedge and crawled across to the first of the cars.  A hand reached out and placed a very powerful bug under the wheel arch of the driver’s front-side wheel. The same thing happened with the next car.  The drivers or security personnel were standing around the third car talking.

Cory’s voice spoke in Harry Jones’ ear.  “It’s not worth taking the risk, Harry.  One of them is bound to see you if you try.”

Harry keyed his mic twice to acknowledge and then crawled back to the bush he had come from and disappeared underneath it.

Two minutes later, the van’s back door opened, and Harry stepped in, removing his balaclava as he did so. Since the interior lights had been disabled, no light spilled out.

“Nice work, Harry,” said Cory without looking up.  “We’ve got a problem though.”

“What?”

“Deirdre’s left her phone upstairs, so we can’t hear anything from inside, and with all the curtains shut, the parabolic mic isn’t picking anything up either.”

“Well, nothing we can do about that,” said Harry.  “We might as well call it a night.”

“Yep,” said Cory.  “That’s what Alexander said as well.  How about we pick up the others and get a beer?”

“That sounds good to me,” said Harry.

Cory moved into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and smoothly pulled away.  He stopped on the next corner to let Rufus in and then made another stop for Jacob.

“Is the Bus Stop okay for you guys?” asked Cory from the front.

“Sure,” said Harry.  “I’ll call it in and see if the others want to join us.”

“I doubt he’ll come, but ask Alexander,” said Cory as he turned onto the expressway.

Harry got on the phone and called Jacobs’s mobile.  After a brief conversation, he ended the call.  “They’ll meet us there.  Alexander is coming but said he will only stay for one beer.”

Ten minutes later, Cory pulled into the parking lot of The Bus Stop, a Washington DC watering hole.  It wasn’t quite as fancy and definitely not as upmarket as many such establishments, but it was comfortable and had great bar snacks.  It was still early, and the place was mostly empty, so Harry led the way over to a large corner booth, and they all sat down.  Their usual waitress came right over. “Four beers?” she asked.

“Make it eight, please, Lynne,” said Harry.  “We’ve got some friends coming.”

“Coming right up,” said Lynne as she returned to the bar to get their order.

While waiting for their drinks, each of the four scanned the interior.  They weren’t expecting any trouble, but their training made doing so as natural as breathing.  Rufus and Harry had taken seats at each end of the booth.  From there, they could explode into action should it become necessary.  Again, it was a natural thing.

The other four arrived just as Lynne brought back the beers.  Rufus and Harry slid out of their seats to let them pass.  Kevin tapped Harry on the shoulder.  Harry nodded and slid inwards with Kevin taking his place.  The two most dangerous men in the group were now protecting the others and everybody else in the bar.

Lynne set down the drinks and handed over a stack of bar menus.  “I’ll be back in five to take your orders,” she said.

True to her word, she was back in exactly five minutes and went around so everybody could tell her what they wanted.  Like all good waitresses, she could remember complex orders and never needed to make notes.

While they waited, they talked about various things, but there was no talk about their mission or what they were doing.  They were just a group of elderly friends having a few drinks together. Lynne returned carrying a huge tray with all of their orders.  Handing them out, she turned to go away and then had a second thought. “Kevin,” she said.  “There’s a nice girl sitting at the bar.  I don’t think she wants any company, but jerks have already hit her on a couple of times. Keep an eye on her, please. I told her you were a good bunch if she needed to get away from someone.”

“Sure,” said Kevin.  “No problem. Tell her she’s welcome to come and sit down with us.”

“Thanks, Kevin,” replied Lynne. I don’t think she will, but it will make me feel better to know you’re looking out for her.”

“We will,” said Kevin.

Alexander was true to his word. He had one beer and then left, saying he’d see them all in the morning. The others spread out and continued chatting. Everybody but Cory was on their second beer when Rufus tapped Kevin on his shoulder and nodded towards the bar, where two youngish men in suits crowded the girl Lynne had spoken of; she looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Excuse me,” said Kevin as he stood and moved to the bar, pushing in between the girl and the two men who were obviously drunk.  The bigger of the two was belligerent.  “What’s your problem, pal?”

“I don’t have a problem,” said Kevin, “but I don’t think this young lady is interested in your company.”

“What’s it got to do with you, old man,” said the other man.

Kevin looked both men over before turning his back and ignoring them, knowing that Harry and Rufus had already moved in to cover him. He spoke to the girl.  “Why don’t you come and sit with us for a while?” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, getting up off her stool and turning to walk over to the table.  It was then that a hand grabbed his right shoulder and tried to turn him around.  Without looking, Kevin knew which of the two owned the hand and their intention. Smoothly, he reached up with his left, grabbed the hand, and turned with it in an Aikido wrist lock.  The man went white with pain, and Kevin stepped in very close to him, exerting more pressure on the wrist.

“If I put on another three pounds of pressure, your wrist will snap, and you’ll go flying, which I’m sure you don’t want,” he said as he smiled at the man. “And if your buddy decides to step in, you will both end up in hospital.  Now, I might be an old man,” he continued, “but this old man can fuck you up for the rest of your life.  Do I need to say any more?”

The man who Kevin had in the wrist lock shook his head. “No, man,” he grunted through the pain.

“That’s great,” said Kevin.  “Now I’m going to release your wrist, and the two of you will settle up and go home.  Nod if you agree.”

The man nodded, and Kevin let go, immediately turning away to take the girl by the arm and lead her to their table.  He didn’t have to look to know that the second man was getting ready to smash a bottle over his head.  Behind him, there was a huge intake of breath as Rufus surreptitiously hit the man with a kidney punch, doubling him over as if in a spasm.  The beer bottle hit the floor a moment later.

Kevin turned back to look at them. “Have a nice evening now,” he said to the two, who were almost incapacitated by pain. He then headed back to the table with the girl. “I’m Kevin,” he said. They won’t bother you anymore, so you can go back to the bar or join us for some lighthearted conversation.”

She was a stunningly beautiful woman in her late 20s with blonde hair cut in a pageboy bobcut.

“Alice,” she said, holding out her hand. “And thank you.  I would like to join you.”

Kevin took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and gently kissed it. “A pleasure,” he said.  “Now, come and meet my friends.”

She nodded, and they walked to the booth, where everybody stood to greet her.  Kevin made the introductions, and they all sat down.  At the bar, the two men angrily settled their bar tab while Rufus and Harry stood there to ensure they would leave.

As soon as they had left the bar with one last hateful glare at Kevin, Lynne brought over a tray with seven fresh beers, a Coca-Cola for Cory, the designated driver, and a gin and tonic for Alice. “On the house, guys,” she said.  Everybody nodded. Potential trouble and a bar fight had been avoided, and peace had been kept.  A round of drinks was a small price to pay, but a generous tip to Lynne would cover the gesture.

The conversation with Alice was convivial, and they all enjoyed it.  After she had finished her drink, she stood.  “Time for me to leave,” she said.  “Thank you again.”

“How are you getting home,” asked Kevin, also standing. 

“I’m going to call an Uber,” she said.

“Okay.  Harry and I will wait outside with you for it to turn up.”

“It’s not necessary,” she replied.

“We know, but we’re going to do it all the same.”

“I’ll settle up,” said Cory, heading to the bar, where Lynne handed him the check. Quickly glancing at it, he saw that it was $145. He peeled two one-hundred-dollar bills from his clip and handed them to her.   “Keep the change, Lynne.”

“Thanks, Cory,” she said, appreciating the huge tip.

“You’re welcome,” said Corry as he turned to leave.

Ten minutes later, the Uber had picked up Alice, and the men were in the van on the way back to the townhouses.  It hadn’t been a completely satisfactory evening, but it had ended up enjoyable.

When they walked into the townhouse, they were surprised to see Alexander, who had returned from the bar and had been working with Damian since then.  On two of the huge Apple Monitors, biographies of the 4 ‘guests’ were displayed, along with numerous other documents that Alexander was reading. 

Raising his hand, Alexander acknowledged the others without taking his eyes off the screen.  “Give us a few minutes, and then we’ll talk,” he said.

Chapter 26 – Dinner at Micky’s

Scott Long’s armored car pulled into Micky Siamendes’ driveway exactly at 7.  It was followed by a second SUV that disgorged the four highly trained men who went everywhere Scott Lang went.  Scott stayed in the car while his protective detail spread out, weapons at the ready, and checked that the area was safe for Scott to get out of his SUV.

Moments later, one of the four opened Scott’s door, and he exited the vehicle, immediately enclosed by a phalanx of protection. At the beginning of his position as the Deputy Director of the CIA, Scott had chafed at what he thought of as overkill, but he had quickly gotten used to it.  The five men walked briskly to the front door, which opened as soon as they stepped onto the first step.  The men before Scott peeled off to the side without a word, still scanning for threats, and Scott walked inside.

Micky stretched out his hand, and Scott grasped it.

“Come on in,” said Micky.

“I already am,” replied Scott, wryly.

Micky grinned.  “Well, come and have a drink then.”

“That sounds like a good idea.  Where’s Andrea?”

“She’s next door.  I asked her to give us some time to talk privately,” said Micky as he led the way into the large, comfortable living room.  “Scotch ?” he asked.

“That would be great,” Scott said.  Micky knew that Scotch was his drink but always asked.  He took nothing for granted, professionally or personally.  It was one of the reasons he had risen so fast at the NSA.

Scott leaned forward when they both had their drinks and settled into the comfortable armchairs.  “So, what’s up that you didn’t want to talk about over the phone?”

“Julia mentioned the Syrians,” he said in reply.  “Can you tell me why you asked and what you’ve heard?”

“Sure,” said Scott, and told Micky everything that he knew, including Alexander’s role in the affair and the eight dead Syrians.  He also told Micky that he had greenlighted the killing of Mohammad Akhtar at the Washington Monument.

“That’s why we’re talking, Scott.  We had no idea that Akhtar was in the country.  Not even a hint that a high-level terrorist was operating here.  No chatter, no signal intercepts, nothing.”

Scott instantly grasped what Micky was telling him.  Micky suspected that somebody at the NSA was playing a double game.  “Do you have anybody in mind?” he asked.

Micky nodded. “I do, but I don’t have any proof; I just have a nagging feeling that I’m right.”

“OK, tell me what you’ve got.”

Micky grabbed a file from the side table beside him and handed it to Scott.  Scott opened it and spent the next few minutes reading in silence.  Closing the file, he looked at Micky.  “If you’re right, Micky, this is a serious breach.”

“Don’t I know it!  The damage could be incalculable.”

“Agreed.  Have you got her under surveillance?”

“The FBI does,” replied Micky. “Curt’s keeping it to a very small group. Would you be willing to include Ground Branch in the mix?”

Scott nodded. Ground Branch was an elite paramilitary group operating under the CIA. It consisted of the best special forces operators culled from Seal Team 6, the Rangers, and the Green Berets.  “I’ve got a better idea,” he said, leaning back and sipping his Scotch.  “I’ll ask Alexander for help.  His guys are absolutely top-notch, and they fly under the radar.”

“Why is that?” asked Micky, sensing that there was something that Scott hadn’t yet divulged.

“They’re all old men, over 65, but highly trained and lethal.  Because of their age, nobody would suspect them of involvement in this.”

“Over 65,” said Micky, laughing.  “Sounds like a geriatric group.”

“And yet, four of them took out eight Syrian operators without breaking a sweat,” replied Scott, grinning.

Micky nodded, “True.”

“So we have a connection between the Syrians and a couple of politicians, one of whom is now dead, presumably at the hands of the same Syrians,” said Scott.  “I can’t figure this out.”

Micky narrowed his eyes in thought.  Scott knew that he was recalling hundreds, perhaps thousands of the documents in his remarkable brain, cross-referencing them and looking for patterns. He also knew not to interrupt the process; Micky was in a deep alpha state of concentration and would only come out of it when he had finished analyzing.

It took about five minutes. “The connection is the Intelligence Acquisition Bill, which is making its way to a final vote in the Senate.”

“You mean the one that will outsource some key activities to the private sector?”

“Yep.  Genesys specifically, and it’s not just some.  It’s a massive redistribution of intelligence gathering, and there’s a lot of resistance to it on the Hill, but I think they’ve got the votes to get it passed.”

“And Deirdre Williams is spearheading that effort,” said Scott thoughtfully.

“Yes, she is, and her husband is a Hedge Fund trader.  They’ve long been suspected of insider trading, but nobody’s been able to prove it,” replied Micky.

“I think you’re right, Micky, but I still don’t understand why.  What is the end play?”

“I think two plays are going on, one working off the other.”

“Okay,” said Scott.  “Go on.”

“Let’s focus on the Williams and Insider trading.  If they know the bill will get passed, and Genesys will be the beneficiary, they can sell long and make a fortune.”

“But how does that benefit the Syrians or Basher el-Asad?  Whether we like it or not, Genesys has one hell of a reputation for efficiency, and that can’t be good news for them.”

Micky steepled his fingers together and thought for a few minutes. “What if,” he said, “the Williams are selling short and not long?”

“How would that make any sense? If the bill passes, the stock will go through the roof. Selling short would be a disaster, wouldn’t it?”

“Normally, yes, that would be true,” replied Micky, “but what if a disaster happened to Geneys soon afterward?”

“The stock would tank,” said Scott excitedly.  “And if Genesys were taken out of the picture, that would benefit the Syrians tremendously.”

“Wouldn’t it just!”

“How vulnerable are they?”

“That’s a good question.  Their main operations are in Williamsburg, where their computer center is, plus a good percentage of their staff are there.”

“Follow this train of thought for a second,” said Scott.  “What would happen if that complex was completely destroyed?”

“It would send shockwaves throughout the whole country, and …”

Scott interrupted, “And the stock price would collapse.”

“That has to be it, Scott.  It makes perfect sense.”

“Micky.  I want to bring Alexander in on this conversation.  You know him, right?”

“Yeah, of course.  Go ahead.  I’ll get some fresh drinks.”

Scott dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Alexander. “Alexander.  I’m at Micky’s.  Are you able to join us?”

“Yep.  Text me the address, and give me ten minutes to head out.  I should be there in about twenty.  I know roughly where Micky lives.”

“See you,” said Scott, ending the call. Quickly, he sent Alexander the address. He’ll be here in twenty. I’ll tell my guys to expect him,” he said as he got up and went to the front door. Opening it a crack, he whistled softly, and his lead agent came over. Scott told him that Alexander was on his way. The man nodded and disappeared into the darkness again.

It only took Alexander fifteen minutes to make the short journey across town. Ten minutes later, he had read the file and listened to Scott and Micky give their assessments of the situation.

“I agree,” he said finally. It makes sense, but any attack on Genesys won’t happen immediately. It will take three months at a minimum.”

“Why three months, Alexander?” asked Micky.

“They won’t have had time to establish a foothold any sooner. Most of the operations will take most of that time to transfer over. Then, it will take a month or so for the Intelligence groups to shut down their own operations. Once that happens, the whole house of cards is immensely vulnerable.”

“OK, I get that,” said Micky.  “So how do we prevent it?”

Alexander reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, which he handed to Scott. “These are the co-conspirators of the Williams.”

“How did you get this?” asked Micky.

“Deirdre Williams called a meeting at her house earlier this evening.  My guys were watching who came.”

“This is treason,” said Micky.  “We should have Curt arrest them all.”

“Insufficient evidence so it wouldn’t stick, and I have something better in mind,” said Alexander.  “What do you think about dispensing some good old-fashioned poetic justice!”

“Explain.”

Alexander did so, laying out a masterful plan of action.  When he had finished, Scott and Micky glanced at each other with huge smiles.  “That is what I call poetic justice,” agreed Scott.

Chapter 27 – The Loose End

Jack Ansell, Dick Sussex’s Chief of Staff, hadn’t been exactly comfortable with what his boss, and oldest friend, had been up to.  While he didn’t know the details, he knew it was definitely illegal and had tried several times to dissuade Dick from doing it.  His concerns had been brushed aside without a second thought.  Dick had always been obsessed with money, and while he was very wealthy in his own right, it was never enough and never would be.

The business of picking up an envelope full of cash had really bothered him, but he hadn’t said no.  Dick had told him it was to cover some expenses but hadn’t gone into any further detail.  When he had then lost the money to a pickpocket, he had been, to say the least, distraught, but Deirdre Williams had told him not to say anything to Dick.

When he had heard of Dick’s murder, his imagination went into overdrive, and he hadn’t been able to sleep more than a few hours since then.  Several days later, on the verge of exhaustion and stress, he had decided it was time to leave Washington and return to Alabama, where he had grown up. He wouldn’t tell anybody, so he packed a bag of essentials and booked a flight to Montgomery.

To Waahid al-Salah, Jack Ansell was a loose end. He didn’t like loose ends, so he decided to handle this one himself.  Leaving the Syrian Embassy in a standard Kia sedan, he had driven to Jack Ansell’s neighborhood and had parked a few hundred yards away, but where he could see Ansell’s townhouse.  Luck was on his side that morning as he arrived just in time to see Jack put a suitcase in the back of a taxi before it drove away.  He was obviously heading to the airport and leaving town, perhaps permanently.  Waahid al-Salah had different ideas but permanently was definitely among them.

Following the taxi, he called one of his men and instructed him to join the tail.  As soon as the second car arrived, Waahid sped ahead so that he could get to the airport first and park the car.  Ten minutes later, he was at the airport, standing outside the drop-off zone for Departures and listening to his man tell him where Jack Ansell was.  His luck was holding as the taxi pulled to a stop just a few yards from where he was standing.

He watched as Ansell grabbed his small case out of the trunk and followed him inside the terminal, which was full of people, perfect cover for what was about to happen.  Moving in quickly, he was soon directly behind Ansell.  The stiletto concealed in a spring-loaded case strapped to his right wrist slid smoothly into al-Salah’s hand, and he thrust it into Ansell’s kidney.  Ansell dropped to the ground, dead or dying, without a sound, but Waahid al-Salah was already on his way to the car park with the stiletto safely back in its case. Behind him, he heard a woman screaming.

Twenty minutes later, he left the airport and returned to the Embassy.  The operative who had taken over surveillance had left the airport when Ansell’s taxi pulled to the curb, and he had seen Al-Salah.

The loose end had been taken care of.  What al-Salah didn’t know was that he hadn’t been the only person following Ansel.  Alexander had calculated that Ansell was a loose end and had tasked Bart Adams and Harry Jones to follow him. They had only been a few feet away when al-Salah had murdered him.  The tiny body cams that they were both wearing had captured the kill, and they had then followed al-Salah back to the Embassy.

Alexander had reviewed the footage.  It provided incontrovertible evidence of a murder committed on US soil, but since al-Salah had diplomatic immunity, all that would happen was he would be expelled.  Alexander had other ideas about a more suitable punishment.