Threat warning

CHAPTER NINE

They watched the video three more times before Jonathan asked Venice to freeze it on the image of the huddled captives.

Jonathan turned to the colonel. “I understand that you want me and my team to rescue the Nasbes, but I’m still confused,” he said. “This video is going to go viral. Even with their faces blacked out, somebody’s going to recognize them. Neighbors are going to call. Distant relatives are going to call. What do my team and I bring to the table that you’re not going to get from the authorities?”

Rollins shifted in his chair, recrossing his legs, one over the other. “Two things we need to talk about,” he said. “First, we’ve already reached out to the community at Bragg. We’ve asked them not to forward any theories on the family’s identity, and we’re confident that they’ll understand. Ditto the immediate family. We’ve let them know that the best way to bring their loved ones home safely is for them to rally around each other and say nothing.”

“Surely someone’s going to say something,” Gail said.

Jonathan shook his head. “You haven’t witnessed the community built up around the Unit,” he said. “They understand the importance of secrecy. Even the kids. Back in the old days, we used to exclude the family from almost everything for fear of word leaking out to the bad guys. But the toll was too great on families.” He gestured with his hands as if to say, ta-da.

Boxers agreed. “We opened up a lot of the details to the families, and the result was all good-specifically because everyone understood the stakes.”

Rollins went on, “I sense that you’re looking at the equation from the wrong side. It’s not about what you bring. It’s about what I bring.” He cast another uncomfortable glance at the others in the room.

Jonathan waited him out.

Rollins sighed. “Look, you’re not a naive guy. The new administration has rewritten all the rules. As a guy who’s been in the service for more than a few years, I’m more feared by them than trusted. These days, you either toe the line, or you tour a jail cell. The old national security shortcuts just don’t exist anymore. But you know how the community works. We look after our own, yet Posse Comitatus forbids the military from engaging in domestic law-enforcement activities. Other laws and executive orders prohibit domestic activity from other intelligence organizations. No eavesdropping without warrants, no questioning without probable cause, no midnight rescues without due process.”

“You mean we have to obey the law,” Gail said.

Rollins shot a look to Jonathan. “All on the same team?”

Jonathan shrugged. “What can I say? You can remove the girl from the cops, but you can’t remove the cop from the girl.”

Rollins drilled Gail with his eyes. “With all due respect, some laws are ridiculous. Like the ones that respect terrorists’ rights over those of the people they terrorize.”

“Oh, I see,” Gail said. “All we need is to let the military decide who’s good enough for their own constitutional rights.”

Jonathan sensed where this was going, and he hurried to intervene. Gail had never been comfortable with moral gray area in which Jonathan plied his trade, but it made no sense to engage Rollins like this. “No civics lessons, okay?” he said. “I asked him to state his case. We need to let him do that.” To Rollins: “Go on.”

The colonel shrugged. “The rest should be pretty obvious. The unit has friends in the right places, and they’re willing to help us-off the record, of course, and behind the scenes. We need someone to feed the intelligence to, who can then go and bring the family to safety.”

Venice cut to the chase. “You want Security Solutions to provide cover for you to break the law.”

Rollins smiled for the first time since arriving. “Well, no,” he said. “To hell with providing cover. I want you to actually break the law.”

Something about the sheer honesty made Jonathan laugh. “What kind of support are you offering?”

“Whatever you need. Any and all intel assets we might have. No hardware, though, and no manpower. There’s no way to do that without triggering a congressional hearing.”

“How do you provide the soft services without triggering an investigation?” Venice asked.

“Through careful management of resources,” Rollins said.

“Who all knows you’re here?” Boxers asked.

“I’m not at liberty to answer that.”

“How high up the Unit chain?”

“I’m not at liberty to answer that, either.”

Boxers growled.

“Here’s the thing, Colonel,” Jonathan said. “We’ve still got tread marks on our backs from the last time you threw us under the bus. How do we know you won’t do it again?”

Rollins leaned forward in his chair, and his expression became very thoughtful. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not making myself clear. I’ll be more direct. If this thing blows up-if word leaks out-you are exactly the ones who will take the hit. With all respect, isn’t that why people pay you for your services?”

Jonathan noticed Gail’s ears turning red so he spoke quickly. “They pay us because we’re a hostage recovery team with a perfect record.”

“Except outside of the community, nobody knows you have a perfect record. When Daddy Lottabucks’s kid gets snatched from spring break, all he knows is that you’ll get the job done without the police ever knowing a thing. I bet he’s expecting you to take the fall quietly if things go wrong.”

“Daddy Lottabucks is paying for the privilege,” Boxers said.

“We’ve got money,” Rollins said. “A bunch of the guys pooled our resources, and we were able to pull together sixty thousand. I know that’s not what-”

Jonathan held up his hand for silence. “Boomer’s a friend,” he said. “I don’t want your money.” His teammates froze at his words. It was a gang poker face.

Rollins smiled, genuinely relieved. “Digger, I appreciate this. I’ll inform-”

Jonathan cut him off again. “This meeting never happened, Colonel. We’ll do what we do, but we will not keep you in the loop, and we will not accept any help that we don’t ask for. If, on the other hand, we ask for help, I expect to get it immediately, and without question.”

“But the team was expecting-”

“Nothing,” Jonathan interrupted. “Your team should expect nothing because this meeting never happened. I will not answer to you, I will not cover for you, I will not run interference for you.”

The colonel leaned back in his chair. He seemed to know there was more coming.

“More than anything,” Jonathan went on, “know this. If you cross me, I will hurt you. Badly.” He shifted his eyes to Venice. “Please escort the colonel to the door.”

Michael Copley stood on the mezzanine overlooking the shop floor, marveling at the quality of the work his people produced. Thanks to their dedication to him and his mission, they had together raised Appalachian Acoustics to be the source for some of the most sought-after orchestral and choral tools in the world. Lightweight, less expensive than the competition, and easy to assemble by even a single person, his patented acoustic reflectors had become the gold standard.

These one hundred eighty employees were the ones who made it happen every day. Their continuing dedication to him, the company, and their mission stirred emotions that might have been called love if the context were different. They meant that much to him. And he was confident that he meant that much to them.

He heard the approach of his visitor before he saw him. “Hello, Kendig,” he said without looking.

Kendig Neen was the sheriff of Maddox County, West Virginia, and out here that still meant something. Tall and stout, with a waxed handlebar mustache and a speaking voice that was made for radio, Kendig was the law out here. With the nearest state police barracks nearly fifty miles away, backup was hard to come by, and that meant a freedom to occasionally craft new laws on the fly.

“Morning, Michael,” he said. “Have you got a moment?”

“Isn’t that an inspiring sight?” Michael said.

“Smells like airplane glue,” Kendig said.

Michael gave him a hard look. “You might show some respect. Those people are the reason you have a job, and I’m the reason they have a job.”

“Will your boardroom work for you?” Kendig pressed. “We really need to talk.”

Michael led the way from the mezzanine to the shop floor, and out to the executive wing, as he called it. He realized it didn’t look like much, with its Formica tabletop and metal chairs, but it was the best he could afford. For now. If visitors gave the boardroom only a cursory look, they would have seen only the knotty pine paneling and the linoleum floors and assumed it to be cheaply built. You’d have to be an expert, knowing exactly what you were looking for to see that it was a high-tech, soundproofed room.

Kendig started in as soon as the heavy door found its latch. “What were you thinking, putting that mother and her son up on the Internet for everyone to see?”

Michael took his time pulling out a chair and lowering himself into it. It was a common trait of brutes not to be able to see the complexity of the proverbial big picture. “I was thinking about the mission,” he said. His voice bore the exaggerated patience of a teacher speaking to a slow child. “We are at war now, Brother Kendig.”

“And war requires caution. You put faces on their battle against us. What you did steeled the resolve of every law-enforcement agency in the country. In the world. Have you been watching television? Have you heard the kind of resources they’re marshalling against us?”

Michael scowled, pretending to be confused. “I’ve glanced at the television, but I haven’t seen anything about us. Are you sure?”

“For God’s sake, Michael.”

“I’ve heard some ranting about ‘terrorists,’ but I haven’t heard a word about us. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, if you were to ask any of the new media who ‘we’ are”-he used finger quotes-“I bet they’d tell you that we were Arabs. Central Asian, maybe; but certainly Islamists. I don’t think you’d hear a word about devout patriots from West Virginia.”

“But they didn’t have to know anything!” Kendig insisted.

Michael leaned back and placed his heels on the table. “Now who’s being silly?” he said. “Of course they had to know. Knowing is part of the greater ruse. While the authorities are all looking for who we are not, we will attack them with who we are. It’s a classic feint.”

Kendig sat heavily in the seat adjacent to Michael. “Was it necessary to beat the boy?”

Michael laughed. “Oh, so that’s your moral compass? The killing is okay, but you draw the line at a few slaps and punches?”

“I draw the line at cruelty. I draw the line at increased incentive to find us. His hands were bound, for heaven’s sake.”

Michael waved it away as irrelevant. “Brother Stephen told me that the boy was a threat, a troublemaker. Now he’s a frightened boy again. A neutralized threat. No permanent harm was done.”

“Brother Stephen is a liability,” Kendig said. “I don’t like the way he is with the prisoners, and I don’t like his attitude around the other soldiers. I think you empower him too much by allowing his shenanigans.”

“He is a fine and loyal soldier,” Michael said. “He and Sister Colleen will both be honored for their service at the bridge in Washington. That was simply brilliant.”

“So why risk the victory with the broadcast? Videos like that can be traced directly back to you.”

Michael shook his head. “Impossible.”

“It’s not impossible, Michael. It’s inevitable. The feds have uncanny resources to track down Internet broadcasts. Crazy resources that we can’t possibly match.”

“I have it covered,” Michael said. He made a point of keeping his voice modulated and under control. He would not honor shouting with shouting of his own. “Brother Kirkland is quite the computer whiz. He assures me that everything about our transmission will trace back to a computer in Flint, Michigan. When we broadcast again, the signature will trace to Islamabad. We will have to let enough time pass for them to believe we took the family to Pakistan, which will fit perfectly with what they want to believe. That will leave us free to operate even less encumbered by the authorities than we already are.”

Kendig stood again. “Do you hear the hubris in your words? You think you’re invincible, and that’s the kind of attitude that will bring us all down.”

Michael sighed. This was all such a waste of time. “I apologize, Brother Kendig, if I have sprung too big a surprise. I should have been clearer in my communication. But right now, what’s done is done. The mission is progressing.”

“Is it?” Kendig pressed. “Is it really? Is my mission progressing, or is it only yours? Is it possible that you’re having too good a time playing with people’s minds?”

Suddenly, Michael felt very real concern. “Tell me, Kendig, what exactly is your mission? Maybe we have in fact grown apart.”

“My mission is to set things straight again. To set this country straight again. I’m tired of watching the rich run roughshod over the poor. I’m tired of watching my community swirl down the toilet while places like New York and Washington and Los Angeles thrive in the shade of immorality. My mission is revolution.”

Michael smiled. He felt warm again, comforted by hearing his own words recited back to him. “And the revolution begins with small bands of operatives creating havoc. We have succeeded in Washington and Kansas City and Detroit. A strike team leaves tonight and another tomorrow to deal more blows to the Users, and after they are successful, there will be more. The rage against the Islamists will be-pardon me-biblical in proportion.” He chuckled at his own cleverness.

Kendig seemed frustrated, as if he didn’t feel he was getting his point across effectively. “But the prisoners-”

“Without them, there would be no face,” Michael interrupted. “You were right about that. I am, in fact, putting a face on our mission, and that face-those faces, in this case-will unite America in a desire to bring Islamic terrorists to their knees. The government will finally do what they should have been doing all along, and while they are focused on the phantom we have created, we will move in to cut the head off the snake.”

Kendig cocked his head. “What are you talking about? What snake?”

Michael brought his feet down from the table and leaned closer. “ The snake,” he said. “The only snake that matters. The United States government.”

Kendig cocked his head, intrigued. He lowered himself into a seat again. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Michael smiled. “Ah, but I am telling you. We fulfilled the GSA contract today, Kendig. Our panels will be installed in time for the president’s holiday address.”

It was the achievement of a dream.