get their hands on him. What better way to settle a score, if you’re a terrorist, than to kill the leader of America’s elite counterterrorist force? Even now that he was retired, things hadn’t changed all that much. He was still under specific instructions to report any surveillance to the counterespionage people at the Naval Investigative Services. Coleman’s pager started to vibrate. He glanced down at the small screen and recognized the number for Seamus’s secure phone. After the seven-digit number came three more numbers.
These three numbers made Coleman deeply concerned. They told him that something was very wrong, and that they needed to talk immediately.
Coleman sat motionless for a half a minute or so while he pondered what his next step would be. After picking a plan, he turned off the TV and headed for the door, grabbing his keys and a dark leather jacket on the way. As he made the trip to the basement, he began guessing what might have gone wrong. He knew of Michael’s intention to use the tape, but beyond that he had no idea what had transpired over the last sixteen hours.
Coleman reached the storage lockers in the basement and walked past his own, stopping at the one used by the elderly gentleman on the first floor. He pulled out a small black flashlight and inspected the wax seals that he had dripped onto the hinges. Both were intact. It took him less than a minute to pick the small lock. Once inside the closet, he moved a stack of boxes and grabbed his stainless-steel trunk. Coleman decided it was time to clean shop. No sense leaving anything behind for the feds to find. He set the trunk down in the hallway and then relocked the door to the storage locker. Next he bent down, opened the steel trunk, and retrieved a mobile scramble phone that was identical to the one O’Rourke had. He hoisted the tan briefcase under one arm, the trunk under the other, and started for the front door of the apartment building. Across the street, in the apartment building that faced Coleman’s, Skip McMahon and the other FBI agents sprang to life. Coleman had left the house earlier in the day and gone for a jog, but other than that, he had remained in his apartment. McMahon was wearing a black Baltimore Orioles baseball hat and had a pair of large headphones covering his ears.
Through the array of directional microphones they had aimed at the apartment, he heard Coleman turn off his TV. Next he heard the jingle of keys and then the door opening and closing. McMahon snapped his walkie-talkie up to his mouth. “People, get ready. I think our boy is on the move.” The other two agents joined McMahon at the window. One of them checked in with each of the three cars that were located on nearby side streets and asked for a status report. They waited a full minute and Coleman still hadn’t exited the front door of the building.
McMahon brought the walkie-talkie back up to his mouth. “Sam, do you see anything in the alley? Over.” The agent parked at the end of the alley peered through a pair of night-vision goggles. His eyes hadn’t left the rear door since McMahon had alerted them that their subject was on the move. Sam spoke blandly into his walkie-talkie, “That’s a negative, over.” McMahon tapped his foot. “Come on, where are you?”
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He adjusted his baseball hat and continued to stare at the front door.
“Come …
on… come…on.” As McMahon finished dragging out his last phrase, Coleman came out the front door. “We’ve got him,” he said instantaneously over his radio. Squinting slightly, he continued, “He’s carrying a briefcase and another large metal case …. He’s headed for his car. Get the cars warmed up and alert dispatch.”
McMahon watched Coleman get into his Ford Explorer and shut the door.
He slapped one of the agents on the shoulder and said, “Watch the fort while we’re gone, and tell dispatch we might need a chopper. Let’s go, Pete.” McMahon and the other agent ran for the door. They flew down the back staircase and out into the alley.
McMahon jumped into the passenger seat of Special Agent Pete Arley’s Chrysler minivan, complete with child seat and a box of wet wipes on the dashboard. Arley yanked the van into drive and roared down the alley as McMahon helped coordinate the other three cars in the immediate area. The caravan of cars moved from the Adams
Morgan neighborhood into the area surrounding Howard University. Coleman’s Ford
Explorer was covered in every direction including up. An FBI surveillance helicopter had moved into position and had already painted the roof of Coleman’s truck with a laser dot.
The group of cars turned onto Michigan Avenue and passed Trinity College and the
Veterans Administration Hospital. Coleman knew what he was doing. By driving past the college campuses he was picking off the FBI cars that were trying to keep pace with him on the side streets. Michigan Avenue was the only thoroughfare in this part of town. All of the other streets dead-ended into one of the campuses.
He was not trying to lose them yet. He was only trying to make their job difficult. The former SEAL retrieved a small, handheld bug sweeper from his pocket and checked to make sure the audio warning mode was off. He started by the steering wheel and swept the entire dashboard of the car. From there he swept as much of the car as he could from the front seat. Coleman put the sensor back in his pocket and readied his scramble phone.
Next he turned up the radio and faded the speakers to the back of the truck. If any bugs had been placed in the backseat or rear cargo area, the loud music would render them useless. Coleman checked his rearview mirror one more time and then dialed the number.
After several rings Seamus answered, “Hello.”
“What’s up?”
“Michael has been taken.”
“What do you mean taken? By whom?”
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“We don’t know, but we think it may have been Nance.” Coleman swore under his breath. “Did Michael use the tape to blackmail Nance?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it. I’ve been out of the loop since last night. I think you’d better bring me up to speed on what’s transpired since then.” Coleman listened while Seamus rapidly relayed an extremely abbreviated version of what Michael had done with the tape of Arthur’s confession. Seamus then went on to explain Michael’s disappearance, Liz’s subsequent conversation with Stansfield, and finally, the one-hour time limit and ultimatum she had given the director of the CIA. Coleman processed the information as rapidly as possible and asked few questions. When Seamus was nearing the end of the story, Coleman looked at his watch and saw that they were coming up on the
