Nelson Demille
Wild Fire
The fourth book in the John Corey series
Author’s Note
When fact and fiction are combined in novels, it’s not always clear to the reader which is which. Early readers of the manuscript for
First, the Anti-Terrorist Task Force (ATTF) represented in this and other John Corey stories is based primarily on the actual Joint Terrorist Task Force (JTTF), with some literary license taken.
In this book, specifically, there is a lot of information on ELF, which is an acronym for something you’ll discover in the story. All the information about ELF is accurate, to the best of my knowledge.
As for the secret government plan called Wild Fire, this is based on some information I’ve come across, mostly online, and can be taken as rumor, fact, pure fiction, or some blend thereof. I personally believe that some variation of Wild Fire (by another code name) actually exists, and if it doesn’t, it should.
Other subjects in the book that people have asked me about, such as NEST, Kneecap, and other acronyms, are factual. If what you’re reading sounds real, it probably is. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction, and often scarier.
The most frequently asked question I’ve gotten so far is, “Are BearBangers real?” Yes, they are.
The time period of this story is October 2002, a year and a month after 9/11/01, and the
A few of my readers who work in law enforcement think that Detective John Corey has some problems with the limits of his power and his jurisdictional authority. I admit to taking some dramatic liberties for the sake of entertainment. A John Corey who plays by the rules and goes by the book is not what any of us wants in a hero.
Early readers of this book have told me that
PART I
The FBI investigates terrorism-related matters without regard to race, religion, national origin, or gender.
–
FBI Publications, 1997
CHAPTER ONE
I’m John Corey, former NYPD homicide detective, wounded in the line of duty, retired on three-quarter disability (which is just a number for pay purposes; about 98 percent of me still functions), and now working as a special contract agent for the Federal Anti-Terrorist Task Force.
The guy in the cubicle facing me, Harry Muller, asked, “You ever hear of the Custer Hill Club?”
“No. Why?”
“That’s where I’m going this weekend.”
“Have a good time,” I said.
“They’re a bunch of rich, right-wing loonies who have this hunting lodge upstate.”
“Don’t bring me any venison, Harry. No dead birds, either.”
I got up from my desk and walked to the coffee bar. On the wall above the coffee urns were Justice Department Wanted Posters, featuring mostly Muslim gentlemen, including the number one scumbag, Osama bin Laden.
Also included in the nearly two dozen posters was a Libyan named Asad Khalil, a.k.a. The Lion. I didn’t need to memorize this man’s photo; I knew his face as well as my own, though I’d never formally met him.
My brief association with Mr. Khalil occurred about two years ago when I was stalking him, and as it turned out, he was stalking me. He escaped, and I got away with a grazing wound; and, as the Arabs would probably say, “It is destined that we meet again to settle our fates.” I look forward to that.
I drained the dregs of the coffee into a Styrofoam cup and scanned a copy of the
A subheading read:
It appeared that war was a foregone conclusion, and so was the victory. Therefore, it was a good idea to have an occupation plan. I wondered if anyone in Iraq knew about this.
I took my coffee back to my desk, turned on my computer, and read through some internal memos. We are now a mostly paperless organization, and I actually miss initialing memos. I had an urge to initial my computer screen with a grease pencil, but I settled for the electronic equivalent. If I ran this organization, all memos would be on an Etch A Sketch.
I glanced at my watch. It was 4:30 P.M., and my colleagues on the 26th floor of 26 Federal Plaza were dwindling fast. My colleagues, I should explain, are, like me, members of the Anti-Terrorist Task Force, a four-letter agency (ATTF) in a world of three-letter agencies.
This is the post-9/11 world, so weekends are, in theory, just another two workdays for everyone. In reality, the honored tradition of Federal Friday-meaning cutting out early-has not changed much, so the NYPD, who are part of