Designated Survivor (26 page)

Larry Ferguson fell to his side on the floor and Baasch listened to the breathing become more and more labored. Looking around, he saw there was a clear line of sight to the upper level. He grabbed the man’s feet and dragged him to the back corner behind Boiler #6 and walked away with the fading sounds of the man asking for help behind him.

CHAPTER 53

Four men came out of the brown building across the street and began to climb into two of the white work vans. As the vehicles began to pull out Abbasi put the U-Haul in gear and turned to enter onto the road. Timing it right and cutting off one car from the left, he had the truck in front of both of the HVAC repair vans at the red light to turn left onto Centreville Road. He reached out the window and slapped his hand two times on the side of the metal above the cab of his truck.

Inside the cargo area, the rest of his team prepared. The next few minutes were the most exposing of the operation outside the campus.

Abbasi turned left when the light turned green and he watched the vans behind him in his mirror as they both swung wide into the right lane just as he had. It was only a quarter mile to the turn for the Homeland Security campus. He kept his speed low to catch the next red light, watching to make sure the vans didn’t try to pass him. At the next intersection the light turned yellow and he hit his brakes and watched the vans come to a stop behind him. He reached out the window and slapped the cargo area two more times.

The rear gate of the truck rolled open. Two men came out wearing grey repairman uniforms and carrying Beretta’s held down by their legs to hide them from other cars. The Brit Gerald Moline stopped at the passenger door of the first van as Alexandre Fortier went to the second van. They both opened the van doors and raised their pistols, telling the men in the passenger seats to move over and they climbed in.

The light turned green and Abbasi hit the gas and pulled away, the vans following him with their drivers at gunpoint. They went past the campus then turned left onto a side street and into the parking lot of a church with no cars on a Friday morning.

Abbasi got out of the truck wearing one of the work uniforms. As he approached the first van the driver jumped out and looked at him then turned to run. Abbasi raised his pistol and fired twice, the silenced rounds striking the man in the back and he fell to the ground. The rest of the men complied, arms up, and got out of the vans while watching their dead coworker with a pool of blood forming around him. Khouri and Fortier rounded them up and raised the door on the back of the U-Haul and told them to get in.

As the three remaining workers climbed into the truck they looked up and saw two other men waiting for them, silenced nine-millimeter pistols aimed at them. Six shots later they fell to the floor of the cargo area. Khouri and Fortier dragged the dead worker and loaded him in the back. They gathered the men’s licenses and maintenance security ID’s which would be handed out to each of the team members.

Abbasi pulled the door down then put a padlock through the holes and slammed the lock shut. They transferred the weapons from the cab of the truck into the work vans, hiding them deep under the tools in the back.

Moline and Fortier drove the vans, their western European complexions allowing them to be less scrutinized by the guards at the gate. Abbasi rode in the passenger seat of the first van and Khouri in the second. The vans pulled out of the parking lot leaving the U-Haul with the remainder of the team to clean up.

Abbasi had grilled his men about the security checkpoint. They had perfect American accents but hadn’t lived in the states. He’d instructed them to stay relaxed and not act in a hurry about getting in to work on the machines, to mimic what he described as the laziness that infected this country.

The first van pulled up to the security gate. Abbasi picked up the oversized Styrofoam cup from 7-11 the previous occupant had left in the van and sucked the watered down soda through the straw. The taste was vile to him but he showed no sign of it.

“ID’s,” the officer ordered, no sign of asking.

Moline handed over the badges Abbasi had given them the day before, forged clearance badges with their faces. Inside the plastic cases they’d slid the RFID loaded badges from the dead workmen. The officer gave a cursory glance at the photos and compared them to the men then handed the badges to the officer inside the guard shack with the black tinted windows.

Inside the shack the other officer placed the badges against the sensor, the RFID tag supplying the data from the dead men’s security clearance files and loading it onto the screen. He never stepped out to compare the photos on his computer monitor with the men in the van.

“They’re expecting you,” the officer said as he handed the badges back. “You know the way over?”

“Yeah. I helped with the install,” Moline said. “The guys in the next van haven’t been to this facility so I’ll pull up and wait for them.”

The officer nodded then the ten-foot tall gate with razor wire at the top began to slide to the right and the metal posts disappeared into the ground in front of them. Moline put the van into gear and rolled through, turned right and came to a stop to wait for the second van to be cleared.

Abbasi pulled the Beretta from under his seat and watched in the side mirror. Fortier was talking then the officer walked around to the passenger side and tapped the glass for Khouri to roll his window down. Arash put his hand on the door handle. In most cases he would leave a man behind if they became compromised, but he was already inside the secure gates of a government compound. His only option was to shoot his way out.

He watched as Khouri motioned too much with his hands while talking and knew they were going to get caught. Then the officer put his hand up to the radio clipped on his right shoulder, listened, then spoke. After finishing he walked back around the van, retrieved their ID’s from the guard in the shack and opened the gate. Fortier pulled through and followed Moline around the perimeter of the parking lot and parked beside the trailer that housed the machinery building office.

“What happened?” Abbasi walked up to Khouri as they exited the vans.

“The name on my badge was too American,” Khouri said. “The man had been a Marine and spent time in Riyadh. He recognized me as Saudi.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I was telling him I took an American name so I could get work, that it was hard with the hatred towards my countrymen,” Khouri said. “Then he was called on his radio, a man asking if the repair vans had arrived yet.”

“You’re welcome,” Ormand Baasch stepped around the corner. “You were taking too long to clear security. I called and told them we were waiting on you, that we had an emergency situation.”

Abbasi nodded, approving of the German’s initiative. He hoped for a moment the details of the mission went better than he was planning for, and that he might be able to use Baasch again in the future.

CHAPTER 54

“We can’t keep him much longer,” Monroe said. “Unless we’re sure he’s involved.”

“I just don’t know right now,” Grace said. “We need more information.”

“You heard him talking about William, right?” Monroe said. “Seems like he suspected him but couldn’t accept it.”

“With bodies still dropping he’s safer locked up in here, if nothing else,” Grace said.

“Except for his constitutional rights being trampled on,” Monroe said. “Better figure it out quick. I’m cutting him loose at the end of the day unless you have something concrete. The man lost his partner today. Unless we know he’s guilty, we need to let the man out so he can grieve and begin making arrangements.”

Amanda Paulson walked up and put her hand on Jim Monroe’s arm and spoke to him quietly then walked away.

“I’m needed in the briefing,” Monroe said. “Find something.” The director walked away.

Arrington turned to Grace. “What about Abbasi? Any sign?”

“No,” Grace said. “We’ve totally lost him.”

“And you still think there’s another strike imminent?”

“I do,” Grace looked across the room. “I’d be worried right now if Graham weren’t in the building. Seems like the perfect set of targets over there.”

“Graham wasn’t supposed to be here,” Arrington said. “At least not all day. He told Monroe he has an eleven o’clock in DC.”

“What?” Grace looked at his watch. “That’s half an hour off.”

“There’s dozens of Secret Service agents in and around the building,” Arrington said. “The regular security detail has been doubled while the president is here. Nobody is getting in that gate unless they’re pre-cleared.”

Grace watched the president listen to the briefing. “You’re right. I hope.”

“The worst thing that’s going to happen in here today is a few people are going to put jackets on to stay warm,” Arrington said. “What the hell is up with the heat in here anyway?

Ben Murray stood up from his computer a few feet away. He handed Grace a folder. “Not much, but some basics on William Whitlock.”

Grace scanned the page and paid special attention to the section about William’s military service.

“Six years in the army. Looks like he was trying to join the Rangers when his career abruptly ended.”

“Why’d it end?” Arrington said.

“Doesn’t say here. Seems odd he’d get caught that flat footed in a hostile situation. He was on the ground in Iraq,” Grace said. “Hey, when Graham gave Monroe the code to unlock his phone, what was it?”

“0812,” Ben said.

Arrington and Grace turned and looked at the analyst.

“What, I transcribed the video,” Ben said.

“Already?” Grace said. He looked at the first page in the folder. “William Whitlock’s birthday is August 12
^th
. 0812. So William would easily have known how to get into Richard’s phone.”

“Not surprising. I know how to unlock my wife’s phone,” Arrington said.

“Does she know how to unlock yours?” Grace said.

“No. But that’s different. I use mine for work,” Arrington said.

“Don’t you think Graham uses his for work?” Grace said.

CHAPTER 55

After blocking the door to the boiler room and chaining the doors shut from the inside, Abbasi and his men moved downstairs and through the gate Baasch had opened that led into the tunnel that carried the air vents to the three buildings on the campus. With four of his men with him, four more were still outside the campus to carry out the exfiltration once the mission had been completed, if any of them survived.

The walkway was narrow beside the pipes and vents and the men walked single file, Baasch in the lead. They’d brought sound suppressed AK-47’s into the building inside the toolboxes and several magazines of ammunition for each man, as well as .40 caliber Beretta PX4 Storm pistols.

A single row of LED lights illuminated the hallway ahead of them as they walked. After five minutes underground they came to a junction that split three ways. A sign on the wall directed them to the left for the long walk to the farthest building.

The strides of the tall German kept putting him ahead of the rest of the men. He would stop and wait a few moments for them to catch up then continue. It took another ten minutes to get to the steel door to the building. Baasch looked at the door. It opened out into the next room and had only a metal rectangle to push on rather than a handle or knob. A steel plate covered the area over the bolt and locking mechanism.

“Can’t pick it from this side. We’d have to blow it,” Baasch said. “Would be too loud.”

“I was prepared for this,” Abbasi turned to the large air vents and placed his hands on the cool metal. “One man will go in through here.”

Efraim Khouri produced two pairs of sheet metal pruners with eight-inch blades from his bag and handed one to Baasch. “Get cutting, my friend,” Khouri said.

Abbasi motioned to where the opening should be and stepped back to watch the men work. Baasch had a hole punched and the top edge cut before Khouri could get started. The space would be tight, but whoever went in would only have to move ten feet then cut himself out of the vent on the other side of the wall.

Once the hole was big enough, Abbasi looked at the four men and nodded at the smallest, Alexandre Fortier. All of them were experienced in breaching any type of lock. The Frenchman handed his Kalashnikov assault rifle to Moline, checked that a round was in the chamber of the Beretta on his hip and the silencer was mounted properly, then climbed into the opening of the vent head first, Baasch and Moline helping his legs up. Once in, Khouri handed him a pair of the metal cutters.

Moline watched through the opening in the vent as the man moved slowly to avoid creating excessive noise through the ventilation system. He would reach forward and place the cutters down then inch his way along until he was on top of the cutters then repeat.

Baasch listened with his ear to the door and heard the initial pop of the pruners going through the metal to make a hole to start the cut. There was silence as Fortier looked through the hole to make sure nobody was waiting for him. Then the sounds of the cutters slowly slicing through the metal, an awkward task while inside the vent. Once three cuts were made, Fortier pushed the aluminum down towards the floor to give him room to climb out without gashing his skin open on the rough edges he’d created.

“He’s out,” Moline pulled his head out of the hole.

“Let us be ready,” Abbasi said.

The men had their weapons out and lowered as they heard the clicking of the lock picking tools Fortier had carried inside his jacket pocket working the tumblers of the lock. The clicking stopped and another man’s voice was heard, then the snap of a bullet leaving the barrel and suppressor of the Beretta. There was silence for another minute then the clicking began again.

The final tumbler rolled with a thud inside the steel door and the men heard the sound of the thumb latch being pushed down then the door opened in front of them. They all had their rifles up and aimed at the door in case someone other than Fortier stood on the other side.