hurt.”
Rafik helped him fold the body into the closet, saying, “How long?”
“No telling. Let’s go.”
Racing back to the van, Carl ordered the woman into the back, taking the wheel himself. Reaching the main road, he took a left instead of a right, driving deeper into A.P. Hill. Winding through the woods, they came upon an open area, where Rafik saw row after row of what appeared to be enormous dirt mounds covered in grass, the face of each buttressed with large concrete shielding.
They drove right up to the front gate, repeating the ruse they had used at the police station, leaving behind another two dead bodies. Minutes later, Rafik stood inside one of the enormous concrete structures, marveling at the treasure trove of death around him. Artillery rounds, anti-tank rockets, and case after case of other types of explosives.
He was brought back to the present when Carl said, “Hey, they got claymore mines in here. We can use the M57 to command detonate whatever you’ve got. You want that instead of time fuse?”
Having left Farouk — his remaining explosives expert — behind at the apartment, Rafik was unsure how to answer. “What do you mean, ‘command detonate’?”
“With the time fuse, you set it and wait for the fuse to burn down. The longer the fuse, the more time it takes. It requires a little precision cutting if you need the explosives to go off on a set schedule. With the M57, you set off the cap by electricity, letting you basically press a button for it to go off.”
“Yes. That will be perfect. Let’s load them up as well.”
“How many?”
“Can they be used only once?”
“No. Over and over again.”
Rafik paused, knowing that giving the answer would be giving away the number of teams. He decided to lie. “Load ten.”
He helped the men with the explosives, sweating in the oppressive heat outside the bunker. Minutes later, they were driving away from the ASP, staying clear of the main road by winding through the various camps located within the post. Passing through one such camp, Rafik saw a flash reflect off the windshield. Looking to his rear, he was shocked to see a police car following them, its light bar flashing red and blue.
“Shit,” Carl said. “Stay cool. I was in a ten-mile-an-hour troop zone. Probably just getting me for going too fast. I forgot how trigger-happy these fuckers are about speeding.”
He continued on as if he hadn’t noticed the police car, pulling over only after he was through the camp and back into a wooded section, out of view. He rolled down the window, asking Keshawn, “How many in the car?”
“Just one,” Keshawn said. “If he comes out with his pistol drawn, we’ll know it’s not for speeding.”
They waited, the fight-or-flight response building palpably. The police officer opened his door and began to saunter toward the driver’s side, weapon still holstered. Carl leaned out and said, “Is there a problem, officer?”
Still walking, the officer said, “You work here long? You know the posted speed limit is ten miles an hour through our camps?”
When he reached the door, Carl said, “You know how stupid that fucking speed limit is, asshole? My van won’t even idle that slow.”
Before the officer could react, Keshawn leaned over and shot him in the face, the van jerking forward at a high rate of speed as his body folded to the ground.
They raced through the woods, avoiding all other camps, Rafik once again relieved that his recruit knew where he was going and what to avoid. They reached the back gate at the northern reach of the post, now chained shut and abandoned because of security procedures following 9/11. Keshawn exited the van and made short work of the locks with a bolt cutter, then swung open the chain-link gate. Carl drove through, winding along a dirt road until he reached the clean van they had stashed earlier.
While the vans were cross-loaded, Keshawn and Rafik took the woman into the woods, Keshawn assuring her that they were just going to tie her up like the others. She blubbered and sobbed, but walked in front of him to her death. Rafik could not understand why. He had seen it before when executing prisoners. They went meekly as kittens, preferring to believe the paltry lie they’d been told instead of the truth staring them in the face. It was why Islam would always defeat the infidel. When faced with overwhelming odds, the
Keshawn told the woman to kneel with her hands behind her back. Rafik saw that his eyes were watering, and wondered again about the man’s own strength of faith.
The woman, only now beginning to realize her fate, began to wail, begging for her life. A hitch in his voice, Keshawn said, “I’m sorry for the sacrifice you must make.
Keshawn pulled the trigger, the small caliber of the.22 punching a pencil-size hole in the woman’s forehead. She toppled over with a look of surprise on her face, as if she still couldn’t believe he would kill her.
63
Sitting inside the underground parking garage in Clarendon outside of Washington, D.C., Jennifer and I had to wait until Buckshot successfully badged in through the key-card access on the first door, followed by Retro or Decoy using the retinal scan at the second door, before we could sprint through the double barrier, using their precious seconds of authorization to get inside.
It had taken longer than I’d wanted to get back home. Waiting to transfer the captured pilot, we’d been forced to spend a night in Shannon, Ireland, which would ordinarily have been an opportunity to kick back a little, but this time it felt like I was giving the terrorists an edge with every passing second. I was itching to see what Kurt and the Taskforce had learned while we were twiddling our thumbs over a Guinness, which is where this building came in. The parking garage ostensibly serviced a firm called Blaisdell Consulting but in reality was the headquarters for the Taskforce. A block long and four stories tall, it housed the brain trust of all Taskforce activities, from the hackers and analysts we leveraged while conducting operations, to the headquarters of the commander himself.
Since I was no longer an active-duty member, I technically wasn’t allowed inside, but since I also used to be a team leader, we figured I could sneak in without anyone freaking out. At least, that’s how I’d convinced the team to bend operating procedures. Stretching it further, I figured Jennifer had heard enough stories about the place that actually seeing it wouldn’t be a breach. Jennifer, of course, felt like I had an elastic sense of the rules.
Sitting in the Suburban, moments before we entered, she said, “Pike, there’s a reason I’m not cleared for this. I don’t mind staying here.”
“Fuck that. Come on. You’ve earned it.”
I saw Buckshot open the first door, allowing Retro inside to the second door and the iris scanner. Decoy signaled us.
“Let’s go. Stick right behind me.”
Buckshot began a hand countdown, then swiped the card reader again. Hopefully, Retro was synchronized inside, or we’d be caught. Buckshot opened the outer door, and I dragged Jennifer through, seeing the second door held open by Retro. We made it into the hallway beyond and waited for the three to catch up.
Minutes later, we entered the Ops Center, looking for Kurt. I found him talking to a couple of analysts. Or more correctly, he saw me and went ballistic.
“What are you doing in here? You can’t be associated with this place!”
“Hey, calm down, sir. The G-4 has a history of flying in and out of Dulles. I couldn’t simply take it to Charleston as part of my company. We need to figure out a seasoning schedule. And the rest of the team was coming here anyway.”
My company had nothing to do with Blaisdell Consulting, and thus if anyone was tracking me, I could potentially cause some questions that shouldn’t be asked. Since nobody was tracking me, and we had a badass terrorist on the loose inside our borders, I figured the risk was worth it.
Kurt shook his head, glaring at the active-duty operators. Decoy said, “Well, we need to unload the kit and
