“Maybe the only way you can help is by staying out of the way.”
“That’s what I’ll do then,” William said. “I’ll vanish. I’ll disappear. You won’t see me until after you’ve already been elected President.”
“I think it’s too late now,” Peterson said. “The damage is done. I just hope we can survive the night.”
Peterson jammed his foot onto the accelerator and gripped the steering wheel tightly. But it didn’t matter. He could already feel the presidency slipping out of his grasp—all thanks to his treasonous son.
Peterson knew it wasn’t right for a father to feel like he did, but he secretly hoped that William would get caught and spend the rest of his life in jail.
It’d be better than trying to make excuses for him for the rest of my life.
But Peterson couldn’t dwell on that fact for long. As long as he was on the ballot, he still had a chance to win. That also meant he still had a candidate to destroy.
CHAPTER 30
KARIF FAZIL WORE A SMUG GRIN on his face as he strode through the streets of New York. The intersecting routes he created and assigned to each of his lookalikes produced the type of chaos he’d hoped for. Using another piece of technology he’d stolen from Katarina Petrov before her death, he had masks produced for each of the three hundred men who’d agreed to be part of the plot. And as they all strode through the city, no one could tell them apart.
Right before all the men dispersed from the warehouse, Fazil delivered a stirring speech. He encouraged all of them to carry out their duty with pride, warning them of the possibility of arrest if law enforcement uncovered their plot.
“But that won’t stop us,” Fazil said. “It won’t stop our jihad!”
The men had roared with approval, their cheers still echoing in Fazil’s ears as he walked. If he was honest with himself, he knew he could’ve guaranteed success by simply dropping off the bomb in the middle of a city park and detonating it. But Fazil wanted credit. He wanted the world to know Al Hasib was behind the attack. And he wanted U.S. officials to know that he’d only just begun to avenge his brother’s death.
Fazil squeezed through a congested area as a crowd began to form along the street in preparation for the parade. He reveled in the fact that he could pull off this attack in broad daylight while surrounded by hundreds of police officers. With their eyes scanning the crowd constantly for any potential threats to the floats, bands, and people in the street, the cops didn’t have time to inspect every suspicious person.
As Fazil rounded a corner, he felt a strong hand grab his shoulder.
“You’re going to need to come with me,” the man said.
Fazil stopped and turned around, coming face to face with a man holding up his FBI badge.
With wide eyes, Fazil stepped back. “What did I do? I’m just walking the streets, minding my own business. This is profiling.”
The agent ignored Fazil’s accusation. “I need to inspect the contents of your briefcase.”
“How dare you,” Fazil said indignantly. “I am a law-abiding citizen of this country. You can’t just order me somewhere because you think I’m a criminal. I have rights—and I know them.”
“Save it for the lawsuit,” the agent said. “We still need to look through your briefcase.”
“This is an outrage,” Fazil said. “You better believe I’ll be contacting my lawyer when this is all over with and suing you for every penny you’ve got.”
The agent laughed and shook his head as he opened the briefcase. “And when you’ve spent every last dime on lawyers, maybe you’ll get a free ticket out of here.”
The briefcase fell open, and folders and papers spilled onto the ground. Kneeling to collect all the documents, the agent let out a string of expletives.
“What did you expect to find?” Fazil said, chiding the man. “Did you think I was carrying a weapon around in there? You’re pathetic—and I’m going to sue you. What’s your name?”
“Joe Friday,” the agent replied.
“A federal agent and a funny one at that.”
The agent shut the briefcase and shoved it into Fazil’s chest. “Have a nice day.”
Fazil smiled as the agent spun on his heels and walked away.
“Oh, I will,” Fazil said. “Don’t you worry.”
He opened his jacket and peeked at the gas mask he’d partially stashed in an inner pocket.
“Just you wait.”
CHAPTER 31
HAWK SIPPED A CUP OF COFFEE and watched the chaos swirling around the FBI offices as the Veteran’s Day parade began in earnest. A bank of screens displayed various camera images from closed circuit televisions located along the route. With handfuls of folders, agents hustled back and forth across the room, rushing to examine the latest facial recognition photo of Karif Fazil.
Hawk turned to Alex. “Does this make you appreciate our small team or what?”
Alex laughed. “You’d think these people have never dealt with terrorists before.”
“Maybe they haven’t,” Hawk said.
“Well, why don’t you go show them how it’s done, okay?”
Hawk approached Richard Paxton, who gulped a large cup of coffee from Starbucks and wore a permanent scowl across his forehead.
“Can I be of any assistance to you, sir?” Hawk asked.
“We sure could use your help in finding Fazil,” Paxton said. “We’ve already received nearly 200 hits on facial recognition, though I’m not sure any of the men are him.”
“This is just what he was doing yesterday in the trial run.”
“Yes, and we still haven’t figured out a way to adjust the algorithms to identify precisely which one is him.”
“Pulling his face out of a sea of lookalikes won’t be easy.”
“Well, if there’s anything you can do to help in that matter—anything—I’d be most grateful.”
Hawk walked up to the bank of monitors and eyed each one carefully.
“If you’re going to figure this out, you better work fast,” said a woman who hammered on a keyboard, sending
