John Gilstrap - Threat warning

Jonathan nodded to Venice, who pushed the buttons to make the lights dim and the picture come to life.

The setting was all too familiar, although Jonathan wasn’t sure that he’d ever seen it staged with multiple hostages. The boy, on the left of the screen, was shirtless and wore what appeared to be blue jeans. The mother wore a nondescript black-on-black outfit that looked oddly stretched out and disheveled.

“Do you see the birthmark?” Rollins asked.

Venice froze the frame.

Rollins pointed from his seat. “Look there on his stomach. Just to the left of his navel. Our left, his right.”

Jonathan leaned forward, as if by shortening the distance by five inches he could see the image more clearly.

“I see it,” Gail said. “Looks like a little check mark.”

“That’s it exactly,” Rollins said.

Jonathan took it on faith. One of these days, he was going to have to get glasses.

The picture had been framed tightly so that none of the captors’ faces showed. In fact all they could see of the captors were legs wearing black pants-Jonathan counted four pairs-and the muzzles of the AKs that were resting against each of the victims’ skulls.

Christyne Nasbe spoke for both of them. As she did, Arabic subtitles crawled along the bottom of the frame. “People of America,” she began. From the first words, she sounded as if she was reading, but how could that be, with a hood over her face? “We and our satanic government have brought suffering to the peaceful people of Islam for many years. We have murdered tens of thousands of innocent children while they slept in their beds, and we have martyred countless holy warriors as they fight every day only to create a world that will live in peace, free of the sloth and the wickedness brought by our Western ways. We need to realize that we can never win.

“This week, the Army of Allah began a new holy war that will bring you to your knees. They are many thousands strong, and they have already begun their battle, first in Kansas City, and on Monday night in Washington, D.C. This morning, they took the battle to our children, killing our youth as we have killed so many of theirs. The killing will continue until the United States government apologizes to Islamic people everywhere and withdraws all U.S. forces from the Middle East and Afghanistan. If an announcement to that effect is not made by next Wednesday, one week and one day from today, my son and I will be martyred for everyone to see.”

The instant before the image clicked off, the boy’s voice said, “Martyred means murdered in English.”

They watched the video three more times before Jonathan asked Venice to freeze it on the image of the huddled captives.

Jonathan turned to the colonel. “I understand that you want me and my team to rescue the Nasbes, but I’m still confused,” he said. “This video is going to go viral. Even with their faces blacked out, somebody’s going to recognize them. Neighbors are going to call. Distant relatives are going to call. What do my team and I bring to the table that you’re not going to get from the authorities?”

Rollins shifted in his chair, recrossing his legs, one over the other. “Two things we need to talk about,” he said. “First, we’ve already reached out to the community at Bragg. We’ve asked them not to forward any theories on the family’s identity, and we’re confident that they’ll understand. Ditto the immediate family. We’ve let them know that the best way to bring their loved ones home safely is for them to rally around each other and say nothing.”

“Surely someone’s going to say something,” Gail said.

Jonathan shook his head. “You haven’t witnessed the community built up around the Unit,” he said. “They understand the importance of secrecy. Even the kids. Back in the old days, we used to exclude the family from almost everything for fear of word leaking out to the bad guys. But the toll was too great on families.” He gestured with his hands as if to say, ta-da.

Boxers agreed. “We opened up a lot of the details to the families, and the result was all good-specifically because everyone understood the stakes.”

Rollins went on, “I sense that you’re looking at the equation from the wrong side. It’s not about what you bring. It’s about what I bring.” He cast another uncomfortable glance at the others in the room.

Jonathan waited him out.

Rollins sighed. “Look, you’re not a naive guy. The new administration has rewritten all the rules. As a guy who’s been in the service for more than a few years, I’m more feared by them than trusted. These days, you either toe the line, or you tour a jail cell. The old national security shortcuts just don’t exist anymore. But you know how the community works. We look after our own, yet Posse Comitatus forbids the military from engaging in domestic law-enforcement activities. Other laws and executive orders prohibit domestic activity from other intelligence organizations. No eavesdropping without warrants, no questioning without probable cause, no midnight rescues without due process.”

“You mean we have to obey the law,” Gail said.

Rollins shot a look to Jonathan. “All on the same team?”

Jonathan shrugged. “What can I say? You can remove the girl from the cops, but you can’t remove the cop from the girl.”

Rollins drilled Gail with his eyes. “With all due respect, some laws are ridiculous. Like the ones that respect terrorists’ rights over those of the people they terrorize.”

“Oh, I see,” Gail said. “All we need is to let the military decide who’s good enough for their own constitutional rights.”

Jonathan sensed where this was going, and he hurried to intervene. Gail had never been comfortable with moral gray area in which Jonathan plied his trade, but it made no sense to engage Rollins like this. “No civics lessons, okay?” he said. “I asked him to state his case. We need to let him do that.” To Rollins: “Go on.”

The colonel shrugged. “The rest should be pretty obvious. The unit has friends in the right places, and they’re willing to help us-off the record, of course, and behind the scenes. We need someone to feed the intelligence to, who can then go and bring the family to safety.”

Venice cut to the chase. “You want Security Solutions to provide cover for you to break the law.”

Rollins smiled for the first time since arriving. “Well, no,” he said. “To hell with providing cover. I want you to actually break the law.”

Something about the sheer honesty made Jonathan laugh. “What kind of support are you offering?”

“Whatever you need. Any and all intel assets we might have. No hardware, though, and no manpower. There’s no way to do that without triggering a congressional hearing.”

“How do you provide the soft services without triggering an investigation?” Venice asked.

“Through careful management of resources,” Rollins said.

“Who all knows you’re here?” Boxers asked.

“I’m not at liberty to answer that.”

“How high up the Unit chain?”

“I’m not at liberty to answer that, either.”

Boxers growled.

“Here’s the thing, Colonel,” Jonathan said. “We’ve still got tread marks on our backs from the last time you threw us under the bus. How do we know you won’t do it again?”

Rollins leaned forward in his chair, and his expression became very thoughtful. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not making myself clear. I’ll be more direct. If this thing blows up-if word leaks out-you are exactly the ones who will take the hit. With all respect, isn’t that why people pay you for your services?”

Jonathan noticed Gail’s ears turning red so he spoke quickly. “They pay us because we’re a hostage recovery team with a perfect record.”