Vengeance For Gabriel, page 2
David was easy to read because he would always let you know what he was thinking, assuming you had the security clearance level to discuss what was on his mind. When he spoke, it would be fair to say that he had no filter, or you might say there were large holes in his filter when it came to his presentation. He was often misread in first encounters by others who needed time to warm up to his persona. Rarely would you expect someone of his stature to open a conversation with the off-color jokes and sexual innuendos he occasionally mixed in seamlessly with his dialogue.
David had a strong disdain for anyone without field experience and he made it known. That was the thing about David, he was an open book around his coworkers who all had been trained in at least basic psychology. He was respected by all but admired by few, if any. Roger on the other hand was liked by everyone. He was well mannered, ivy league schooled, refined, thoughtful and generally soft spoken. He usually thought more than he uttered, creating gaps in a conversation while he calculated a measured response to any question, statement, or conclusion.
As the chopper gained altitude, David looked to Roger and just shook his head in disbelief. Roger returned an awkward smile, his knuckles were turning white from the tight grip he had on his seat as he looked out his window, wondering if he would hear from Matthew. The pilot banked slowly and positioned himself upwind of the smoke column. He made a looping maneuver bringing the starboard side of the craft down, so an agent in the front passenger seat could take photos. This also afforded Roger and David a bird’s eye view of the site.
A large jagged oval shaped black hole became visible. The result of the explosion was almost complete destruction of the building, with heavy collateral damage to neighboring structures. Roger’s years of experience with explosives had prepared him for what they were about to see, but David did not know what to expect. For Roger, David’s shock was clear from the expression on his face, his pale skin tone indicated he might bring up his last meal. David gathered the energy to work through the gut-wrenching feeling that had overwhelmed him.
When David finally spoke up, he said; “The shape of the crater rules out an airstrike, which would have left a different signature.” Roger already knew that, but he didn’t interrupt David, who continued, “I checked on the way to pick you up, Aerospace Defense Command reported total negative activity.”
David tapped the pilot on the shoulder and made a circular motion with his index finger pointing up. The helicopter began making wider circles, revealing nothing of note on any of the streets surrounding the crater. The traffic was building up due to street closures, causing gridlock conditions and making it difficult for emergency vehicles to maneuver. Access to the site was also being made more difficult by the traffic that continued to arrive in the downtown area for the day’s parade. After a few passes, the pilot positioned the helicopter just upwind of the site, then twisted in his seat.
The pilot inquired, “Are we good or is there anything else you want to see?” David offered an immediate thumbs up, Roger was focusing on the collateral damage to the two neighboring buildings. He knew he couldn't do much at the site and it was best to leave the search and rescue effort to those most experienced at it. He would have plenty of time to stitch his theories together despite the nagging need to be on the ground now. Roger had no choice, he had already been summoned, so he reluctantly shook his head to say no, following David’s lead. The pilot banked sharply to his left, picked up speed and headed due south to the FBI’s headquarters.
A normal helicopter flight from New York City to Washington is about ninety minutes, but this was no ordinary tourist’s trip. It’s a two-hundred-and-forty-mile route as the crow flies. This chopper would fly on a beeline, at a top speed of nearly two hundred miles per hour, and in fifty minutes Roger would be wheels down in Washington DC.
Roger sensed the urgency with which the pilot was pushing the aircraft. He gazed out the window for the next few moments while David was on a call until the crater could no longer be seen through the forest of concrete structures. Roger hated to fly and only did so when absolutely necessary. Every jolt rattled him through and through to his core. The helicopters engines roared, as the steel bird cut through the sky with a sense of purpose. Roger turned his thoughts to what awaited him in Washington, while David took one call after another on his cell.
Chapter 3
The Situation Room
In the FBI’s situation room, images were being displayed on monitors from hundreds of cell phones posting photos on the internet. The images were coming from people in the street and surrounding buildings which were mostly showing flames and smoke. Satellite images were revealing pretty much the same thing.
One voice in the room raised above all others; it was the Washington Bureau Chief of Operations, Vince Helmsmuth. “The first of our photos are now coming in people!” The aerial images taken from the FBI’s chopper were displayed on the main screen. These were the clearest images of the site received yet, due to the maneuverability of the helicopter and they showed what little remained of the FBI’s New York office, now reduced to a crater in the earth’s surface. A hundred or more simultaneous gasps were heard, followed by reactions ranging from tears to anger, as the people in the room absorbed the gravity of the situation.
The Situation Room was buzzing with people, many of whom were in military uniforms, most were in suits. Everyone was working the phones or keyboards with a sense of urgency. The flow of information was intense, new images were appearing on monitors of varying sizes everywhere. Every major media station was being observed on a display. First responder communications were being monitored; traffic camera footage was being backed up. Satellites were being repositioned and aircraft were on alert, pilots in their seats ready to go.
No doubt there would be injuries and casualties. Realistically everyone in the situation room at the Bureau knew someone who worked in the New York office, because if you were in this room at this time, you had been around for a while. This was a horrifying sight, even for the most seasoned veterans watching the screens.
Accident or intentional, was the immediate question for most contemplating the possible cause of the explosion. What went wrong? No chatter, no indication from the field, nothing. Theories abounded as whispers spread about the room.
On the smaller monitors, the media was already at work streaming Breaking News. Panels of the talking heads were suggesting it was an act of terrorism to keep viewers locked in. There were networks that went as far as claiming New York Attacked! NYN, New York’s Network seemed to be the only station streaming a generic headline; Huge Downtown Explosion!
Vince glanced at the media headlines around the room as he picked up a phone and shouted out in a firm bellow, “I need answers before this becomes a circus people!” Then he dialed the extension for the Director’s office; Gregory Woods, the Deputy Director of the agency answered the phone in the Director’s stead. The Director of the FBI was conspicuously absent. The Director’s assistant and others had been trying to reach him for more than an hour now.
In the meantime, Greg was temporarily in charge. Vince passed his update on to the Deputy Director letting him know he was reviewing satellite images and recording everything the agency could find hitting the internet related to the explosion. He was collecting closed circuit television footage from adjacent buildings and the New York City Police Department. He had also invoked the Standard Operating Procedures for disaster responses and was following Terrorism Response Protocols as required. All the U.S. and foreign offices were apprised of the situation, and every office was stepping up their site security.
“Thanks Vince.” Before Vince could respond, Greg took his next call that was on hold. He was taking calls from the Department of Homeland Security as well as many other agencies and city officials. His toughest call was the one with the Attorney General, who under the auspices of the Department of Justice, oversees the FBI. The Attorney General was who Greg would now be reporting to, until John McKinley, the Director of the FBI could respond.
The conversation he had with the Attorney General was like the one he just had with the Director of National Intelligence. The word inexcusable was the takeaway from those conversations, as the Attorney General and others demanded immediate answers that Greg could not provide, adding even more pressure on Greg. Almost everyone else was seeking information, trying to assess their own situations, pledging assistance if needed and offering condolences. His call with the Secretary of Defense was interrupted by his secretary. “The President is on line three.”
Chapter 4
The Deputy Director
Roger’s helicopter arrived at 7:05 and he went right to his desk. He began researching things that he had thought about on the flight down. He had a few minutes that he could put to good use before the meeting with the Deputy Director he was summoned to attend. He tried calling Matthew again. Roger also tried Matthew’s girlfriend’s number, which his assistant was able to locate for him. He also received no answer on that number, just a message that said: ‘This voice mail box is full.’
When Roger arrived at Greg’s office, he could immediately see the toll which the day had already taken on his friend. He and Greg had met at the academy and became incredibly good friends over the years. They occasionally played racquet ball together and socialized somewhat regularly.
Gregory was ten years Roger’s senior at fifty-nine and already had greying hair. He was a bit shorter than Roger but carried twelve pounds or so more on his frame. Greg was more disheveled than normal, and something was off in his demeanor.
Greg stood and moved around his desk towards his friend extending a hand for a handshake that turned into an intense hug as Greg pulled Roger closer. Greg squeezed tightly and patted Roger on the back, further confirming for Roger that something else was askew, he could feel it.
“How are you holding up Roger?” Greg asked as they separated, and a little distance filled in between them. His normal jovial personality did not accompany him today, and that was to be expected under the, circumstances. Yet Greg’s mood grew more somber by the minute as Roger sensed additional bad news coming from the sullen look on his old friend’s face.
An awful thought crossed Roger’s mind. Was this about Matthew? Roger prepared himself as best he could, expecting the worst possible news. Gregory looked Roger directly in the eyes and said, “I’m just going to say it Roger,” he paused and continued. “We believe we lost John McKinley this morning.”
This was an unexpected gut punch to Roger, who took a moment to absorb the implications and immediate ramifications of this news. Roger knew this meant Gregory would be stepping in to fill the now deceased FBI Director McKinley’s role. “My God, this is unbelievable! The Director is dead?” Roger tried to regain his composure as Greg continued.
“Officially, John remains unaccounted for, but yes, he is presumed to be dead. We have confirmed he had a meeting scheduled at six am in the building. You know he would have checked in by now if he was ok.”
Roger did not respond immediately; he became flush and eventually blurted out, “I think my son may have been in the building too and I have been unable to reach him.”
“You think Matthew was in the building?” Greg repeated.
Roger shook his head in acknowledgement as he worked his way to a chair, feeling the need to get off his feet. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
Greg was confused, he gave Roger a pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, I thought he was with the Department of the Treasury?”
After a moment Roger responded. “He is, but he has been working on a joint task force with our people at Seven Main. A money laundering case of some kind.” A long silence followed; Greg was vaguely aware of the case Roger was talking about but had no idea Matthew was involved.
Roger looked directly at Greg as he spoke. “I don’t know what to say Greg, but I’m sure it’s not congratulations.”
“No, no it is not. Can’t say I did not want this job, but I did not want it this way.” Greg paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “I already spoke with the President, and as you can imagine he wants answers, and he wants them now. He wants to know what we are dealing with, and he wants the appropriate action taken immediately.” Gregory looked to Roger again.
“Did you see the last classified agency update?”
“Yes, I did. The approximate time of the explosion needs to be amended to exactly 5:55 am." Roger said reading his friends reaction carefully as he continued. “It was definitely a gas explosion, but too much gas, way too much for a leak. I do not think it was natural gas explosion either. And by natural I do not mean accidental; I think there may have been a detonation first.”
“What are you saying Roger? A bomb?” Gregory disappeared in thought, a thousand thoughts a minute filled his head, while he considered what he should do next.
Roger allowed Greg to process the information he had just delivered. “Back to this detonation Roger, did you see a primary blast?” Greg asked.
“No.”
“What makes you think there was a detonation?”
“I’m not sure, I felt some kind of vibration or movement immediately preceding the blast. If I had to describe it, I would say it was like the sensation you get when you step into an elevator, and there is a subtle movement in your footing that lasts a millisecond.
And there is more. I think the most important clue indicating this is no accident appears in the form of numbers. Cinco De Mayo, May Fifth, 5/5, at 5:55, so many fives. That cannot be a coincidence! I believe there is something sinister woven into this subliminal message or sign and there is a mastermind at play here with a plan.”
Roger’s observations and the idea of a pre-meditated attack of this scale were chilling and difficult to process entirely for Greg in this moment. He grappled with his new reality that was unfolding in the wake of the explosion and looked at Roger intently. “I would have to agree with that, and I think it is an observation we should keep to ourselves for a little while. This could help us rule out unsubstantiated claims of responsibility and the loonies.”
Roger stood again, placing himself squarely in front of his friend. “I want to be part of the team Greg, on the ground in New York and help figure this out, I don’t want to be stuck here at a desk in Washington.”
Greg smiled oddly. I thought of keeping you here in Washington to assist me but based on the fluid nature of events this morning and the mystery at hand, I would like you to lead the investigation.” Roger was at a loss for words for about two heartbeats because in his mind he was preparing to make his case to go to New York to help. Leading the investigation, that was an unexpected but welcome opportunity.
As a child, Sherlock Holmes was Roger’s idol and throughout Roger’s life he continued to study unsolved crimes. The more difficult a case was, the more interested and engaged he became. He chose to work with the FBI because it provided him access to important or difficult cases to solve.
Roger’s parents did not embrace the idea of him working as a government employee, however they always supported him. They wanted him to get a law degree and follow in his dad’s footsteps. Roger couldn’t find the thrill he was seeking in legal work, so he followed his passion.
As a result of his devotion to his work, Roger held the distinction of having solved or closed more cases than any other agent in the agency’s history. He was more than willing to accept the lead role, and he indicated he would with a simple nod.
Greg continued. “You are the best analytical mind we have and based on what you just told me, I’m sure this is the right decision.” Greg leaned toward him. “I will need to take this to the President, so we are clear, this isn’t conjecture, you really don’t think it was an accident?” Roger locked eyes with his friend who was now the new Acting Director of the FBI.
“No sir, I do not.”
Chapter 5
The BrAIn
Greg placed his chin on a retina scanner so he could be identified, and an elevator door opened. He and Roger entered, and as the elevator doors slid closed, Roger wondered where Greg was taking him.
“I think you will find this quite interesting.” Greg said as he removed an ID badge from his pocket and clipped it on Roger’s jacket. “You will of course have full access to all of the agency’s assets, and resources.” Roger sensed the elevator dropped three or four floors; it was hard to tell how far. The descent was smooth but provided enough inertia for Roger to feel it in his stomach. It was a one stop trip, maybe the elevator descended fifty feet or a hundred feet?
As the doors opened Greg stepped out first and pointed down a hallway. “Look around, there is something I have to attend to. I’ll find you in a few minutes.” Then off to the left Greg went. The elevator doors had opened into a spillway of sorts. On the wall opposite the elevator, painted in large gold three dimensional letters, were the words:
Need to Know?
You’ve Come to the Right Place!
Roger was drawn towards sounds emanating from a chamber to his right, which grew louder as he entered a cavernous room. It was a very large oval arena, not unlike Madison Square Garden he thought, but it was only about a quarter of the size. As Roger looked around, it became obvious this space was modeled after a sports stadium, complete with a jumbotron screen hanging from the rafters in the center of the arena.
While standing on the main floor of the spacious room, the sensation was like being on the floor of a giant trade show or in the pit at a stock exchange. It was extremely impressive. Roger looked up to the highest tier, which was enclosed by transparent glass offices like sky boxes. These were compartmentalized work areas. On the lower levels, each section had its own patio that opened into the main atrium. Above each patio was a placard indicating an area of specialty. There were only about six levels that were open to the arena, each of which extended further back with small offices and workstations in them.
