But two dozen individual vehicles?

  It suggested to him dozens of smaller attacks.

  Which would probably be far worse.

  He just prayed whoever was watching overhead understood his message delivered by activating the tracker, it clear the vast majority had already arrived.

  Attack now!

  51

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “The FBI is converging on the location now, but it’s going to take time.”

  Leroux watched the feed from the FBI on one of their monitors, dots converging from all across the area, heading toward the one critical dot.

  The one indicating Kane’s location.

  “Do we have eyes yet?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Therrien, bringing up a drone feed on another monitor. A large warehouse filled a significant portion of the screen, the entire area industrial, which was good. If things went to pot, civilian casualties would hopefully be minimal, and if the Cesium was indeed there, if it were detonated, a warehouse district was a lot easier to deal with than pretty much any other location in the region.

  But they needed to know how many they were dealing with.

  “Switch to thermal.”

  The screen flashed and a massive blob of red filled much of the warehouse. He turned to Therrien. “Is there something wrong with the imager?”

  Therrien’s fingers flew over his keyboard as his head shook. “I don’t know, sir, let me see if I can clean it up.” His fingers froze as his gaze moved from his own terminal to the large screens at the front of the operations center. “Holy shit!”

  Leroux turned back toward the screen and felt his heart nearly stop. “What the hell am I looking at?” The large mass of red and orange had resolved into dozens of smaller dots, spread out across the entire building.

  Therrien’s reply was almost a whisper. “I-I’m counting over one hundred targets inside, sir.”

  Leroux snapped his fingers. “Get me the Director. Now!” He turned to Therrien as Sonya grabbed her phone. “Does the FBI know?”

  Therrien shook his head. “They should if they cleaned up the feed. I’m using their data stream.”

  Sonya held out the phone. “It’s the Chief.”

  Leroux took the phone. “Sir, we’re counting over one hundred hostiles at Kane’s location.”

  “Jesus! Are you sure?”

  “I’m looking at the drone feed now, sir. At least one hundred targets.”

  “Keep me posted through internal messaging. I’m going to a Presidential briefing right now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He handed the phone back to Sonya as he watched the single, pulsing red dot at the center of the image, representing the only friend he had in the world, surrounded by a sea of swarming hate.

  Then there was a second dot.

  “What’s that?”

  “One of the other trackers just activated,” replied Child as the two dots continued to separate, it clear this wasn’t a false signal or an accidental activation. “Kane must have activated it, sir.”

  Leroux sat in his chair, firing a quick message to Morrison as he watched the target move toward a newly arriving heat signature, some sort of vehicle, its engine hot. Whoever it was, they must have been important for Kane to risk planting a tracker.

  Or was it a signal that they should begin the assault?

  52

  Conference Room 4, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “We’re estimating approximately one-hundred-twenty hostiles inside the warehouse. Our units are redeploying right now, but it’s going to take some time. We had assumed the target would be in New York City, not Newark. A few units are on scene but we’re keeping a low profile, just in case others are still arriving. We want to try and catch them all in one shot.”

  Morrison watched the talking heads on the screen, glancing down at his phone, the secure message from Leroux about the second tracking device causing him to bite his lip.

  Is that a signal from Kane to hit them now?

  “What’s inside?” asked the Secretary of Homeland Security.

  “Infrared suggests over two dozen vehicles, mostly vans and SUVs, and what could be a lot of small arms and submachine guns,” replied the Director of the FBI, Bob Waters.

  Dozens of vehicles.

  He scrutinized the image from the drone, the outlines of the vehicles plain to see if you knew what to look for.

  He did.

  And all of them were parked neatly, all facing the large doors that lined one side of the warehouse, each with a cluster of men standing in front of them, clusters that continued to grow as the men gathered in the center continued to disperse.

  And if they assumed five to six men per vehicle, at most 150 terrorists were expected.

  And he had to hope at least some were still stuck in Europe.

  The FBI was waiting for terrorists who were never going to arrive.

  He decided he could wait no longer.

  “Based upon the number and positioning of those vehicles, and the redistribution of the personnel inside, it looks to me like they’re preparing to leave.”

  “That’s not our assessment,” replied Waters, his voice tinged with his usual attitude when dealing with Morrison, the man still pissed that Morrison had beaten him out for a job years ago.

  “Can we take that chance? Perhaps it’s better to hit them now and not risk them leaving.”

  “This is an FBI operation. While we’re happy to have CIA observing, we’ll run the show.”

  Morrison kept his facial expression in check. “Not trying to piss in your Corn Flakes, Bob, but this is the heaviest concentration of known terrorists we’ve ever had on home soil. All I’m saying is we should consider what might happen if we wait too long.”

  “If they leave, we’ll stop them.”

  “And if some escape?”

  “We found them once, we’ll find them again.”

  “You found them? Interesting. I’ll let my man inside that warehouse know who to thank.”

  Waters turned a delightful shade of red before President Starling cleared his throat. “Leif, I appreciate everything the CIA has done thus far, but this is the FBI’s jurisdiction now. I have to go with them on this. We can’t risk tipping them off before everyone has arrived.”

  “Of course, sir. I apologize. My concern is that they may leave first.”

  “Then we stop them,” said Waters, having regained his voice.

  “It could be a blood bath since we barely have any units in position.”

  Waters glared at the camera, his words seething. “I’m aware of that.”

  President Starling cut in again. “Gentlemen, let’s hope they don’t leave before our teams are in position, and if this does turn ugly, pray it’s mostly their blood that is spilled.”

  “Amen to that, Mr. President.”

  53

  Rome Street, Newark, New Jersey

  Nazari was having a hard time keeping his breathing steady. He brimmed with pride, with joy, with an excitement he couldn’t recall ever feeling. The mission they were about to execute was far beyond anything he could have ever hoped for, and his part in it was extremely important, an honor not lost on him.

  It’s too bad I won’t get to enjoy the fruits of this, here.

  It was indeed an honor to be asked to give one’s life to further Allah’s cause, and that is what had been asked of him today. He had always gone into battle knowing he could die, yet doing everything he could to not only honor himself and his god, but to avoid death as well.

  But today, he knew he would be dead soon.

  And he couldn’t wait.

  Jannah awaited him, his life of service to Allah about to be rewarded with eternal bliss no man could imagine.

  He arrived at his vehicle, number eighteen, paired with number seventeen, most of the men here from his own cell back home, including the American convert who was smiling with the others, apparently as eager to get underway as he was.

  He held up an iPad he had been given with his instructions, his smile broad, his chest filled with religious fervor. “Brothers. Friends. We have been given a glorious mission, and if executed properly, we will bring America to its knees, and in time, force the infidel out of our homeland, and once out, the Caliphate will be free to spread until it is too powerful to stop!”

  He held up his hands, silencing the shouts of Allahu Akbar about to break out. He pointed to all the teams gathered, their own commanders giving a variation of the same briefing he was about to give. “There are twelve teams, each with ten men. Each vehicle will have four to six men in it, and each team has been assigned a different city across this unholy land.”

  “Where are we going, sir?”

  Nazari almost snapped at the man who had interrupted, but the sincere eagerness in the man’s eyes halted the harsh words about to erupt. “Washington, DC.”

  Smiles were exchanged with the knowledge they would get to attack the infidels’ capital. He too had felt the same elation when he had read his briefing notes on the iPad, knowing it was men he had fought with and trained that would get the honor. The plan given to him was simple—the difficult part, getting here, already done.

  “We will be leaving immediately. In three days, at noon Eastern Time, each team will split into individual members and from a safe location, shoot one random person, then get to safety. It is key that it is only one person, and it is even more important that you then are able to get to safety. If for some reason you can’t safely take a shot, then don’t. It is more important that you survive to take your shot the next day.

  “Each day, at a coordinated time, you will shoot another random person. This person doesn’t need to be high profile like a politician or police officer. The more common, the better. Women, children, whatever, it does not matter. As long as it is one person, at the prescribed time, and you are able to escape safely. By safely getting away, it leaves you able to continue your mission the next day so the terror the infidels will feel will continue for days and weeks and months if necessary. For as long as it takes for them to yield to our demands.”

  “How will we know when to stop?” asked one of his men.

  “Each day, after the shootings have been completed, we will send an announcement to the American press, claiming responsibility, and reminding them of our demands—the complete withdrawal of all American and allied forces from the Middle East and Africa. The American economy will grind to a halt as people become too afraid to leave their homes, and that fear will dictate American policy. They will be forced to meet our demands, and at that time you will—”

  A squawk of a megaphone sounded and everyone turned to see the commander standing on a table in the center of the warehouse. “Brothers, you are all being briefed by your cell leaders. This is the most ambitious plan we have ever devised, and the most ambitious plan since 9/11, when we showed the infidel he wasn’t safe in his own home. By helping orchestrate the heaviest forced migration since World War Two, we have managed to infiltrate all of you here today, and should we succeed, hundreds and then thousands more will follow. We are paving the way for them, proving what is possible when Allah is on your side. In three days, when everyone is in position, our operation will begin, and the American infidels will begin to die. And more every day after. Your actions, your courage, your faith, will change the world forever, and your sacrifice, should it come to that, will be remembered forever as you enjoy your reward in the afterlife!

  “The Americans will be forced to heed our demands as their people continue to die, continue to live their lives each day, wondering if it is their turn. My brothers, success is inevitable, because we are on God’s side! Allahu Akbar!”

  The roar that filled the warehouse hurt his ears, a pain he would happily endure for a lifetime to see such a joyous outpouring of one’s beliefs among so many young, vital men. He found himself shouting the chant repeatedly, his fist pumping in the air, his eyes wide with a love for his God he doubted any Christian or Jew ever felt.

  The commander stepped down from the table, someone else taking over, ordering silence and a continuation of the briefing, the wired, sweaty men at once disappointed to stop, yet eager to get on with their assignments.

  Nazari held up his iPad, his still pumped men turning to face him, one of them unable to contain his excitement.

  “It’s going to be glorious!”

  Nazari smiled. “Yes it is.”

  Too bad it was mostly bullshit.

  54

  New Jersey Turnpike, Newark, New Jersey

  “Something’s happening.”

  Dawson glanced back at Spock who had a laptop jacked into the drone feed over their target. “What?”

  Spock shoved the laptop between the seats so Dawson could see it. “What does that look like to you?”

  There were now thirteen completely distinct groups, each gathered about pairs of vehicles, the thirteenth, probably the central command, still in the middle of the warehouse. “Looks to me like they’re getting briefed by their platoon leaders.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “Sure, always trying to kiss up to the Big Dog,” said Niner as the vehicle surged forward a little faster, he obviously picking up on the urgency of the moment and anticipating Dawson’s now unnecessary order.

  “I’d say they’re getting ready to deploy.” He activated his comm. “Control, Bravo Zero-One. It’s our opinion they are about to deploy, over.”

  “Stand by Zero-One.”

  Dawson motioned with his finger at the road ahead and Niner floored it, dodging past the other FBI vehicles, they not displaying any indication they knew what was about to happen. He glanced at the others. “I’ve got a feeling we’re about to be caught with our pants down.”

  “Zero-One, Control. Continue as previously instructed to Rally Point Sierra and await further instructions, out.”

  Dawson smashed a fist into the dash.

  “They’re not ready!”

  55

  Rome Street, Newark, New Jersey

  Kane kept glancing about for some telltale sign of an assault and continued to be disappointed. If the shit hit the fan, he intended to hit the deck, roll under the truck to his right, and stay there until the shooting stopped. He wasn’t going to risk being caught in the crossfire of what would be an absolute bloodbath.

  There was no way these people were surrendering.

  And still, there was nothing from those outside.

  At least he assumed they were outside.

  Maybe the tracker failed.

  He returned his attention to Nazari who had continued his briefing now that all the ridiculous cheering had stopped. The man pointed at the duffel bags they had all been issued. “Inside each bag are body armor, a handgun with three magazines, and an iPhone.”

  All the tools a modern terrorist needs.

  “What do we do for three days?” asked one of the men. “Washington is close to here, isn’t it?”

  Nazari nodded.

  “Motel rooms have been arranged around the city for each of you. There will be no contact between any of you once we arrive. Each evening you will visit a website set up on your iPhone at 9pm Eastern and login. This will let our commanders know you are still alive. You will report your success or failure, and you will receive the time for the next day’s coordinated attack, and the web address for the next day’s login, along with resupply instructions. Each week you will be given a drop point for ammo and money, plus any other supplies you request. Remember, this changes each day in case one of you is captured and is valid for only fifteen minutes. If you are captured, ask for a lawyer, and hold out until 9:15 Eastern time. At that point, tell them whatever you want, the website will no longer be active and you will have no information that is of any use to them. The mission will continue, unimpeded.”

  Kane had to admit the level of organization was impressive, and in reality, not that difficult from a technical standpoint to implement. Websites were easy, phone apps as well, and seedy motels asked no questions when paid in cash.

  This plan could work.

  Which was terrifying.

  He raised a hand. “Umm, how do we know when to stop?”

  Nazari flicked his phone in the air. “The website will tell us.”

  “What if we can’t login, like the Internet is down, or something?”

  “Then continue to randomly kill, one person each day, at a random hour, just once per day. Make no attempt to find the others. In fact, if you ever see one of your brothers, you must ignore him, just in case you are being watched. Our success relies on anonymity. When you do your killings, make sure no one knows it is you, otherwise your description will go out and people will be watching for you.” He waved the phone again. “Each of your phones has your new identity on it. Over the next three days you will memorize them.”

  Nazari opened the rear of one of the vehicles, a briefcase inside. He opened it, pulling out a pile of personalized envelopes, quickly handing them out. “Cash, IDs, hotel addresses, tonight’s website and password. Each is unique to you. This has been planned for months, my brothers, and nothing can stop us now.”

  Kane nodded, worried the man might actually be right.

  The megaphone squawked again and the order to depart was given. Nazari clapped his hands together. “Everyone in their assigned vehicles, and glory be to Allah!”

  “Allahu Akbar!” was the reply as Kane climbed into the back seat of his assigned vehicle.

 

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