Dead Water

22

President Lamar was back in the Oval Office with his chief of staff. They had just come from a three-and-a-half-hour meeting in the briefing room. They were now read in on everything known about the assassination of President Robert Williams and the threat of the new synthetic toxin. The president was exhausted. He looked around and saw everything the way the former president had left it.

"Irving, I believe you'll find some scotch in that lower cabinet over there. Pour us a couple." Vickers hesitated. "Irving, I don't think he would have minded."

Irving came back with the drinks and handed one to his boss. He sat down in a chair opposite the desk. "I have to tell you, sir, I'm a bit uncomfortable in here at the moment."

"You'll get used to it. It's been the day from hell — worse if I could think what that might be."

"Yes, sir."

"So what is your take on everything?"

"Well, sir, I'd say the immediate problem is this biological problem. I certainly don't mean to be disrespectful, but what's done is done. We have to prioritize."

"I agree, Irving. I don't know about you, but I'm famished." The president got his personal secretary on the phone and instructed her to order a meal for them both and have it delivered to the Oval Office.

"If you don't mind, sir, I'm going to go grab a quick shower and a change of clothes back in my office."

"Go ahead; I've got some calls to make." Once again, he got his secretary on the line. "A. J., get Elliott Ragar on the line for me, please." Exactly two minutes later, his phone rang.

"Director Ragar is on the line, sir."

"Thanks, A. J." He punched a button and said, "Elliott, I want you to keep me apprised the moment anything turns up. No matter what the time. You will be my unofficial lead on this toxic agent issue. Sanderson will lead on the other."

"Yes, sir. I won't hang up my phone before calling you."

"Very good." After placing the phone back in the cradle, he turned and stared out the window at the Rose Garden, lit up beautifully. This is not starting out fun…

Myra Banks was walking down the hall to Bernard Backersley's office. Her high heels were clicking loudly on the highly polished maple hardwood floor. Bernie, I wish to hell I could get through to you about investigating the DPO. This is not going to end well. I can feel it. She actually shuddered a bit from the slight chill going down her spine.

She walked past his secretary, nodding, knocked on his door, and then entered. He was talking on the phone; he pointed at one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, so she sat. She put the red folder in her lap. He ended his phone conversation and turned toward her.

"Bernie, I've got some more info on Darlene Phillips." She paused.

"And?"

"Phillips appears to do the majority of her work at home. Curious, though, it appears she spends quite a bit of time away."

"Where?"

"I don't know. There's no record of her using the airports — or trains, for that matter. She certainly would not use a bus. Her vehicle is extremely low mileage, so she doesn't drive, and I can't find any information as far as rental vehicles go."

"Well, if she isn't home, and if she isn't traveling, does she have a boyfriend or someone she stays with?"

"I thought of that. There is no indication she has a boyfriend, or any friends at all, for that matter. I can't find any record of her being with anyone at any time or anywhere. She just comes and goes; I don't know how, where, or with whom."

"Myra, how can that be?"

"You still don't recognize this woman's abilities. I have no doubt this woman could travel to the moon and leave no trace. For the last time, you need to comprehend that this one woman can do more with a computer than my entire staff."

Backersley was quiet for a moment. "Do you think she knows what the CIA knows?"

"I think Darlene Phillips knows just about anything she wants to know. Against my better judgment, I have her apartment staked out. The next time she shows up, I'll have a tail on her 24-7. I've tried to ping her cell phone, but that was a dead end. It's always turned off. At least the number we have on record. I'm sure she has burn phones. At one point, she was issued a satellite phone, but the records show it was turned back in over a year ago. Whether she did or not, who the hell knows."

"You and your team did an incredible job in tracking down this Ryyaki Ali. I have three teams in place and have a drone flying reconnaissance over the estate you found. Within the hour, we should have an idea of how many guards are on that property."

"Shouldn't you be turning this intel over to the FBI or Homeland or even the NSA? What about President Lamar?"

"What about him? He thinks I'm out of the country. He called two meetings, and I skipped them both. I've got bigger problems to worry about than holding his hand. When we're done, we'll concentrate on the Williams event."

"Event? Bernie, the president was killed."

"Yes, and it's unfortunate. However, everything that happens is an event to me. That's how I have to look at it. That's how I attack and solve problems, by looking at them as such and not letting them get personal. I couldn't do my job otherwise. Myra, I'm not trying to be cold or insensitive here; it's just how I work. It's how my brain works."

"That's hard to understand at times."

"I know."

"One other thing about Darlene Phillips. She was caught by facial recognition out in Oregon, before we even knew anything about Oregon."

"What the hell was she doing there?"

"My guess is running down the same leads we're chasing, only she is out in front of us."

"How in the hell could she have known that?"

"You tell me, Bernie. However, that also gives credence to my thought that there is more to the DPO than what is said."

Backersley was quiet. After a few seconds, he looked Myra Banks square in her eyes and stated emphatically, "You find out just what is up with her and this damned DPO."

Ryyaki Ali was internally gloating. He had accomplished what no other jihadist had ever attempted. He had assassinated the president of the United States. While the other men in his company were jubilant, he maintained the strictest of composure. No one in his immediate company had any suspicions that he was responsible. These individuals were participating in phase two of Ali's attack on America: the releasing of his newly acquired biological warfare agent. He held up his hand in a signal for quiet.

"Let us praise Allah for this unseen intervention on our behalf. Give thanks, but prepare yourselves, for we are about to begin."

At six thirty in the morning, Phillips addressed the team. "We've got a situation. The CIA is here. Styles called it last night with the drone, and he was right. They have three separate teams here. Two of them are sequestered one floor down at the opposite end of you two," she said firmly, referencing Styles and Starr.

That brought a look of both surprise and concern from Starr; Styles showed no emotion.

One team of three is the intel group. They are over at a Quality Suites; it's six miles from here. The teams over at the Comfort Inn are the shooters. My guess is they are planning an assault on the compound. The exact time hasn't been determined yet, but they are on standby. The problem for both of us is we don't know where the hell that toxin is."

"Yes, we do," Styles interjected. "Ellhad is the bastard that's going to deliver it. I'm sure of that. I'm also sure that it will be done Labor Day. They want to make a statement, and that would be the best way. Just like Indianapolis."

"How?" asked Phillips.

"He's ex-Republican Guard. I doubt there's anyone harder or sicker or especially more arrogant in that group than he is, so he'll be the one. He will leave within the next eighteen to twenty-eight hours, depending on his destination. I want to take him out away from the compound."

"Why not try to take the compound?" Christman asked.

Starr answered, "We don't know where the agent is. There could be contingency plans in place for such an attack. Too many variables we can't control."

"Exactly," confirmed Styles.

"Okay, that makes sense," agreed Christman. "But how do we stop the CIA?"

"We can't. We just have to stay sharp," affirmed Phillips.

Christman persisted, "How the hell can the CIA even be involved in this? I can see if it was the FBI, but the CIA?"

Phillips answered, "The CIA will go in strictly black ops. When it's over, Lamar's administration will credit the FBI, which will piss off the CIA, but there isn't anything Backersley will be able to do about that. Those two don't play well. The FBI probably isn't too far behind, but they have to jump through more hoops, which will cause delay. The CIA doesn't bother with hoops; it gives them an edge in response time. Merritt should have the info, but knowing Backersley, he's not coming clean. He doesn't give a shit about public opinion, but he wants the new boss to know he's top dog. The infighting between agencies is intense."

She continued, "It looks like there are five shooters. I hacked the motel's video and was able to see them check in. Or make that I actually saw three. The other three stayed around the vehicles. I did get a glimpse of all of them in the parking area. Ten seconds later, the video went down. It's in the motel's system. I'm betting our friends had something to do with that."

"You think they've got any idea we're here?" Starr asked Phillips.

"They don't know who we are. I'm sure they've got the registration list at the motels, but our covers will hold. From here out, I think we'd better stay apart. You can bet your ass everybody will be watched."

"So Ellhad didn't show last night," Styles said.

"No," Starr answered. "Phillips checked the camera feeds, but facial recognition proved negative."

"I've got a search on for any credit card he might have used before, but none has shown up," Phillips added.

Styles looked at J. C. "Get us a chopper that we can have on standby. I've got video on the main house. You and I are going to take a drive. Take your ride and meet me at that McDonald's about two miles back. We'll meet there, and then I'm going to show you where I think you'll be picking me up in that copter, and then we'll go pick up my 'baby,' just in case, and a couple of other things I might need."

Phillips spoke up. "There's one more thing. I got a call from a neighbor; some guy was asking about me, said he had a package I had to sign for. Asked her when would be the best time to catch me home. She just said she had no idea."

"Let me guess," Starr said. "You haven't ordered anything."

"Correct. According to Merritt, for the moment, DPO stays intact, but there's no way to tell what the new guy is going to do." She was still having a hard time calling the new president by name. "I'm still going back and forth on whether to stay or not, if DPO stays."

"Why don't we let that be a group decision when the time comes? That okay by you, Phillips?" Starr asked.

"Yes. Actually, I was going to ask that. We are a group now, a team. I think that all decisions that affect the group should be made by the group. Everybody okay with that?"

Everyone nodded.

"All right. I'm going to get back on my computers; I've got a lot to do."

"J. C., meet me at that McD's in half an hour. Okay, let's hit it," Styles directed.

The first place Styles drove by was the Quality Suites, and he immediately spotted two vehicles that screamed agency: two black Chevrolet Suburbans. How the fuck you supposed to be undercover driving those? Might as well be driving a damned billboard. Then he made a pass on the opposite side of the road that ran in front of the Comfort Inn where he and Starr were staying. Two more suspicious vehicles, but these were those new Dodge high-top vans. He wanted to get a look inside them, but he would have to wait until dark. Plus he knew they'd be watched.