The Bin Laden Plot

75 SILVERDALE, WASHINGTON

It was dark by the time Harrison returned from the store. As he pulled up beside Christine’s SUV, he spotted the two protective agents slumped in their seats, their heads and headrests splattered with blood, two bullet holes in the windshield. His hand instinctively went for his weapon, but he carried none tonight. He stepped from his car and moved quickly toward the SUV, pulling on the driver’s side door handle. The door opened, and Harrison retrieved the agent’s pistol, which he verified had a full magazine of bullets, with one round chambered.

Staying close against the house, he moved toward the front door, stopping when he reached the edge of the dining room window. Through the glass, he spotted Angie and Christine sitting at the dining room table across from each other. Angie sat frozen with a terrified look on her face, her eyes filled with tears. Christine was seated with her back to Harrison, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. His pulse quickened when he saw Maddy sitting in Mixell’s lap at one end of the table. One of Mixell’s arms was wrapped around her waist while his right hand wielded a knife, resting on her shoulder. Maddy was trembling in fear, her eyes focused on a board game on the table before her.

Mixell kept Maddy’s head between him and Harrison, so Harrison couldn’t get a clear shot; he’d have to enter the house first. He dropped below the window and moved to the front door. It was closed, but the doorframe had been shattered. He pushed the door open as gently as possible, but it made a scraping sound as it freed itself from the frame.

Mixell had likely been alerted, either by the sound of the door opening or Harrison’s car coming up the driveway. He was also seated facing the dining room entrance. The odds of surprising him and getting a clear shot with Maddy in his lap were low, plus he didn’t want to risk Mixell’s reaction to his sudden entrance, with a knife near his daughter’s throat.

Harrison slid the pistol inside his waistband behind his back, then moved slowly into Mixell’s view at the dining room entrance. Mixell spotted him immediately.

“Hello, Jake.”

Mixell spoke in the same casual tone he had used after Harrison confronted him in Afghanistan after he had killed his second prisoner.

“Lonnie.” Harrison kept his voice steady, despite his rising trepidation for his daughter.

“Hands in the air,” Mixell said, “and turn around.”

Harrison complied, and Mixell noticed the pistol stuck behind him.

“Put your weapon on the floor and kick it over to me.”

Slowly, Harrison pulled the pistol out as he faced Mixell again, then placed it on the floor and kicked it across the room.

Mixell smiled and spoke to Maddy. “It’s your turn.”

She hesitated, her eyes going to her father.

“Go on,” Mixell urged. “We need to see who reaches the end first. This car represents you.” He touched one of the small plastic cars on the game board with the tip of his knife. “And the other car represents your mom. We need to determine who lives and who dies.”

Harrison recognized the board game, one that the three of them — Mixell, Christine, and himself — had played often as children: The Game of Life, which Harrison had bought for Maddy a few years ago.

Maddy spun the wheel, then moved her car six spaces.

“You’re cheating,” Mixell asserted. “You moved an extra space.”

“I did not! The wheel says six, and I moved six spaces!”

“You moved seven.”

“I did not! I started here” — she pointed toward her original spot — “and moved six spaces!”

“You started here,” Mixell replied, pointing to a space one spot behind where Maddy had started, “and you cheated, moving an extra space. You know what happens to cheaters, don’t you?”

Maddy shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

“Have you heard of the Code of Hammurabi? It’s an ancient code of laws often described as an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. When one man takes something important from another man, he gets to do the same.” He kissed Maddy on the cheek. “You don’t understand what I’m talking about, but your father does.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Maddy said, her words barely audible.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mixell said. “I’ll spin for you.”

He moved her game piece back to the space he had pointed out, then turned the wheel slowly, stopping on the number five.

Maddy moved her car five spaces, then looked at Mixell with her hand still on her car. He nodded, and she released her game piece.

“Oh my goodness!” Mixell’s voice shifted to a sweet, lilting tone. “This is perfect, since we’re running short on time.”

Maddy had landed on a stop sign labeled Safe Route on top and Risky Route on the bottom, with the path to the end splitting into two roads.

“Only we’re going to change the options. One route is for Maddy, and the other one is for Angie.” He looked at Harrison. “Your father gets to choose.”

“That’s enough, Lonnie,” Christine said as she stared at Mixell with a hateful look. “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.”

Mixell laughed. “Oh, no, Chris. I’m going to hurt Jake the same way he hurt me. I’m going to take away something important from him.” He turned to Harrison. “But I’m a compassionate man, so I’ll let you choose who dies. Your daughter.” He pointed the knife toward Maddy’s neck, then slowly toward Angie. “Or your wife.”

Maddy burst into tears, no longer able to hold back her fear, her body trembling as sobs escaped between deep breaths.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Angie said. “Dad’s not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Shut up!” Mixell yelled. He placed the knife against Maddy’s neck, his focus still on Harrison. “You’ve got five seconds to decide or your daughter dies.”

“Let her go!” Harrison shouted.

“Is that your decision?”

Harrison’s eyes met Angie’s. It was an impossible decision to make, choosing between the two persons he loved more than anyone else in the world.

“It’s okay, Jake,” Angie said, her voice quavering. “Just kill this son of a bitch and take care of Maddy.”

“It appears we’ve reached a decision,” Mixell announced. “Of course, it was made by Maddy’s mom instead of her cowardly father.”

He pushed his chair back and stood with Maddy before him, a firm grip on her left arm and his knife hand resting on her shoulder. After guiding her a few feet, he stopped behind Angie’s chair, where he released the girl. She ran to Harrison as Mixell placed his hands on Angie’s shoulders, the knife still in his right hand.

“Maddy, go to your room,” Mixell said, “and don’t come downstairs until morning. If you happen to have a phone upstairs, don’t call anyone until tomorrow. If you do, I’ll kill your mom and dad, and it’ll be your fault.”

Maddy stood behind her father, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the side of her face buried into his back. She was sobbing hysterically now, and Harrison felt her tears soak into his shirt.

“I’m not as heartless as you think,” Mixell said.

“Go upstairs,” Harrison said gently but firmly, “and wait until your mom or I come for you. Understand?”

He felt Maddy nod as she slowly released her grip around his waist. Then she ran upstairs, crying the whole way until her bedroom door slammed shut.

Mixell grinned and slid the flat side of the blade across Angie’s throat. Her tears broke free and streamed down her cheeks. “Jake…”

Mixell looked down at Angie, then quickly back to Harrison. “After all these years, she’s still quite beautiful. I have to admit that I was jealous. And angry. For the second time, you took the woman I wanted. First Chris, then Angie. Although both are attractive, their personalities are different. Angie is more” — he paused as he searched for the right words, moving the knife in little circles only an inch from her neck — “emotional. So animated and full of life.”

“Let her go, Lonnie. Angie has nothing to do with this.”

“You still don’t get it,” Mixell snarled. “She has everything to do with this. You brought her into this the moment Trish died.”

Harrison had always thought Mixell’s revenge was focused on him, payback for reporting him to their superiors and for testifying against him at his court-martial. But things had changed when Trish was killed, after Harrison stood behind her with a pistol to her head. It was Mixell’s bullet that had done the deed, but that didn’t matter to him.

Mixell had crafted a similar situation tonight, standing behind Angie with a knife to her neck. If he had his way, Angie would end up dead on the floor, just like Trish.

Searching for a way to save Angie’s life, Harrison considered charging Mixell, hoping to surprise him. But he concluded it wouldn’t work. Mixell would slice her neck open the instant he charged.

His only option was to talk Mixell out of his plan, refocus his anger.

“I’m the one you want,” he said. “I’m the one who sent you to prison, not Angie.”

“You’re clearly not listening,” Mixell replied. “So, we’ll move on.” His grip tightened around Angie, and Harrison could see the rage building in his face.

“Do you understand what you took from me?” he screamed, his face turning red.

The knife danced in rhythm to his words, never straying far from Angie’s throat.

Harrison searched for words that would defuse Mixell’s anger. “I had a job to do. It was nothing personal.”

Mixell stared at Harrison for a long moment. When he replied, his voice dropped low and ominous.

“Well, it’s personal now.”

He pulled Angie up from her chair and held her tight against his body, his left arm wrapped around her waist. The tip of his knife pierced her neck, drawing blood.

“Don’t!” Harrison’s heart pounded in his chest. “You don’t have to do this!”

“You’re right,” Mixell said. “I don’t. You’re going to make me.”

As Harrison wondered what he meant, Mixell moved his knife to his left hand, then retrieved his pistol from its shoulder harness. He placed the weapon on the table, then took two steps back, pulling Angie with him.

“I’m giving you an opportunity. Go for it.”

He turned to Christine, still seated at the table. The pistol was beyond her reach, but she could get to it if she rose from her chair and lunged for it. “If you so much as move,” Mixell said, “I’ll slice Angie’s throat.”

“You sick bastard,” Christine replied. “You accuse Harrison of being a coward, yet you stand behind his wife with a knife to her throat. Why don’t you show some courage and settle the score directly with Jake? See which one of you is the better man.”

“Nice try, Chris,” Mixell replied, “but you’re not going to talk me out of this. Tonight will end only one way. The unanswered question is whether Jake stands there like a coward or tries to save his beloved wife.”

Harrison glanced at the pistol. It was much closer to Mixell. He could slice Angie’s neck and still reach the pistol first. He was baiting him.

If he went for the gun and Mixell stabbed Angie as a result, it’d be Harrison’s fault she was dead. If he did nothing, with Mixell’s pistol only a few feet away, and Angie died, he’d forever blame himself for her death. Regardless of his decision, he would live with guilt for the rest of his life. Exactly what Mixell wanted.

As Harrison struggled to find the words to respond, the silence was broken by thunder as the skies opened up. The raindrops hammered against the windows as tears flowed down Angie’s cheeks.

“It’s okay, Angie,” he managed to choke out. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“That’s quite delusional,” Mixell replied, “considering the circumstances. But let’s continue our conversation. Was it worth it? Was the satisfaction of thwarting my plan against the United States worth Angie’s life? If you could go back in time and let me win and Angie live, would you do it?”

As Mixell waited for a response, Harrison couldn’t focus on anything besides the look of sheer terror and desperation on Angie’s face.

Mixell seemed disappointed he couldn’t coax the words from his former best friend. “Let’s try something different,” he said. “Do you remember the first time you saw Angie? Or perhaps the moment you realized you were in love with her?”

An image appeared in Harrison’s mind: Angie curled up beside him in a hammock, the warmth of her body as she nestled in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest.

“That’s it,” Mixell said, adding a malevolent smile. “Now hold that thought… and watch.”

With a single thrust, he pushed the entire blade into Angie’s neck.

Her eyes went wide as the knife slid in and the tip of the blade emerged from the other side of her neck. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. An anguished scream Harrison barely recognized as his own escaped his throat as he broke across the room toward Mixell.

As he closed the distance, Mixell pulled the knife from Angie’s neck, going for the pistol on the table with his other hand. Angie’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor as Mixell grabbed the gun. Harrison launched himself toward Mixell, but not before Mixell got off two shots, hitting him in the chest twice.

Harrison slammed into Mixell, knocking him to the floor beneath him. He grabbed Mixell’s wrists, keeping the gun and knife away. As they struggled, Harrison was aware of several things: the sharp pain in his chest and the slick warmth spreading from his wounds; his breathing becoming labored as he tried to break Mixell’s grip on the pistol and knife; Angie on the floor only a few feet away, her hands clamped around her neck, blood oozing between her fingers and from her mouth; Christine moving toward Angie.

Christine knelt beside Angie, pulling her away from the two men. Angie was kicking frantically, trying to get air through the blood choking her throat. Christine turned her head to the side to drain the blood from her mouth, but it kept coming. Blood was flowing into her throat, clogging her airway.

Angie focused on the woman above her as she tried to breathe, and it was a look Christine would never forget. Angie’s eyes were filled with the terror that accompanied the certainty of death; she knew she’d been mortally wounded. Christine remained by her side, searching for a way to help, but could think of nothing that would save Angie’s life.

Beside them, the two men were still struggling on the floor. Harrison was on top of Mixell, his legs intertwined beneath him in a wrestling move that kept Mixell from throwing him off. Harrison had his hands clamped around his opponent’s wrists, trying to keep Mixell’s knife and pistol from doing more damage. Blood from Harrison’s gunshot wounds was coating both men, and he was weakening. Mixell was forcing the gun toward him.

There was another pistol, Christine realized — the one Harrison had kicked across the floor. She was about to retrieve it from the other side of the room, but Mixell’s gun was only an inch away from a clear shot at Jake’s head.

She surged toward Mixell, grabbing the pistol in both hands, attempting to wrest it from his grip. She pulled and twisted the gun with all the strength she could muster, and it finally came free. But the blood-coated pistol slipped from her hands, spiraling in the air across the dining room, landing on the floor where it slid to a halt against the far wall.

Mixell freed his legs and tossed Harrison aside, pushing himself to one knee, the knife still in his hand. His gaze went to the pistol, then to Christine, their eyes locking. She was closer to the gun, halfway between Mixell and where it lay.

Christine leaped toward the gun, landing on her stomach as she grabbed the pistol. She twisted onto her back and swung the gun toward Mixell, firing as he sprinted through the dining room opening toward the back door. She got off one round, missing him, putting a bullet into the doorframe instead.

She followed him from the dining room as he rammed into the back door, the frame splintering as the door sprang open. She fired again, hitting him in the shoulder. But Mixell kept going, disappearing into the darkness.

Christine returned to the dining room as Harrison crawled toward Angie, propping her head and shoulders onto his lap. Her eyes were wide and frantic, filled with tears of pain and fear, her legs kicking weakly as she struggled to breathe.

Pulling her phone from her purse, Christine dialed 911. After being informed help was on the way, she called her protective detail, in case Mixell hadn’t killed them before entering the house. There was no answer.

As Angie looked up at her husband, she tried to speak, but the only thing that came out was a rivulet of blood that ran down the side of her face. Christine sensed the despair in Harrison’s voice as he talked softly to her. He had undoubtedly seen many wounds in combat and knew her fate.

Christine turned her attention to Harrison. His shirt was saturated with blood from the two gunshot wounds. His face had turned pale and his breathing was labored. He’d been seriously wounded, with one or both lungs likely punctured.

Angie’s legs stopped moving and her body went still, and the light slowly faded from her eyes. Harrison kept consoling her until she died in his arms. He pulled her close and held her tightly as tears streamed down his face.

Harrison looked slowly up at Christine, who was kneeling beside them with Mixell’s pistol in her hand. He had a look she would always remember; of indescribable anguish.

He placed Angie’s body on the floor beside him, then tried to push himself to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Christine asked.

“Going after Lonnie.”

“You’re in no condition to pursue him. You’ll be lucky to survive just sitting here.”

Christine could see the emotions playing on his face — anguish, rage, and hate — along with the realization that she was right.

“I’ll go after him,” she said.

He grabbed her arm. “You’re no match for him.”

“He’s wounded and only has a knife, while I’ve got a pistol. I can kill him, and I will.”

She pulled from Harrison’s grip, then, without further debating the wisdom of chasing down a former Navy SEAL, moved swiftly to the back door, stopping to peer into the backyard. The light from the house illuminated a barn in the distance, the door swinging slowly shut in the rain. As she prepared to sprint across the grass, she removed her high heels, then glanced at Harrison one last time. He had pulled Angie onto his lap again, cradling her head against his chest, tears running down his face as he rocked her gently back and forth.

Christine’s resolve hardened, and she slipped through the doorway into the cold night rain.