Peter Kirsanow: Target Omega

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, Michael,” Olivia murmured, her eyes watering. “I just wanted to say thank you. You were… Well, thank you.”

“I guessed you two probably knew one another,” Katy said as she brushed by Garin to comfort Olivia. Embracing the aide to the national security advisor, Katy looked expectantly at her brother. “Mike?”

“I’ll make introductions all around later,” Garin said, trying his best not to sound brusque. “But right now we need to take care of some urgent business. Olivia, I assume you can reach Brandt?”

“Yes.”

“Stand by. I’m going to”—Garin searched for the right word—“ debrief Julian Day.”

Garin walked over to where Day was standing between Dwyer and Knox. The kids immediately left Knox and hugged Garin’s legs.

“Awesome, Uncle Mike!” Nicholas squealed. So much for trauma.

“I had my eye on you guys,” Garin said, tousling their hair. “You’re the bravest soldiers I’ve seen in a long time.” He gently pried them from his legs and steered them back toward Knox. “Right now Uncle Mike’s got some work to do. We’ll catch up in a little bit. Okay?”

Garin turned to Dwyer. “Dan, have some of your men take the Burns family back up to the rental office,” he said quietly as he grabbed Day by the arm. “I don’t want them to hear what happens next.”

“Got it, Mikey. But do what you have to do fast. I figure you’ve got no more than”—Dwyer examined his watch—“fifteen minutes before every CIA, DIA, and FBI agent within one hundred miles shows up.”

Garin jerked Day roughly down the hallway toward the kitchen. Olivia, alarmed at the sight, tried to follow, but Dwyer placed his substantial frame between her and the kitchen. The dour look on his normally agreeable face told her not to press the issue.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Garin slapped Day hard across the face, causing him to stagger against the refrigerator. The lawyer, nerves already frayed from Bor’s interrogation, yelped as much from dread as from pain. Grasping Day with one hand, Garin ripped through the drawers under the expansive kitchen counter until he found a stainless steel cleaver. He turned to Day.

“Let’s review, Julian. With your assistance, Taras Bor and his Quds Force friends killed every single member of my team, a team vital to protecting America’s national security interests. They were good men, good Americans. Doing a job you despised and hounded them for, but without which you wouldn’t be able to go to the theater, grocery store, or ladies’ room without fear of getting blown to bits.” The words, though spoken quietly, were steeped in unmistakable malice.

“You also assisted Bor and his goons in kidnapping my sister’s family, using them as bait and insurance against an attack by me. They beat my brother-in-law half to death and abused my sister, niece, and nephews. I have no doubt they would’ve killed them all once they’d served their purpose.” Garin seized Day’s right wrist. As he spoke, Day avoided looking at Garin’s eyes and the cleaver in his hand.

“Now, you’re going to tell me how you did that and who assisted you. But before you do, you’re going to tell me everything I need to know about the EMP attack that’s going to hit us. You didn’t think we knew about that, did you? Of course you didn’t. How could we? We’re just ignorant grunts, tools of American hegemony, exploiting and violating the rights of kind, peace-loving people everywhere. While you, on the other hand, are the brilliant legal avenger, making the world safe for the perpetually aggrieved, the righteously entitled, and the morally superior.”

Garin’s voice grew softer as he spoke. Day, bizarrely, found himself straining to hear what Garin was saying, lest he miss a threat of imminent disfigurement.

“Here’s how this is going to work, Julian,” Garin continued. “Speed is critical. So first you’ll give me the big picture: time of the attack, where it’s coming from, and where it’s going to hit. Then we’ll get into the enemy’s delivery vehicles, countermeasures, stuff like that. Finally, we’ll talk about how and with whom you orchestrated all of this.”

Day struggled futilely as Garin held the lawyer’s right hand atop the granite counter. A foul odor wafted into the air. Garin angled the blade above Day’s pinky finger, using the edge of the counter as a fulcrum.

“If you lie, a finger comes off. If I think you’re lying, a finger comes off. If you hold back anything whatsoever, a finger comes off. Got it?”

Day clenched his fingers protectively. Garin responded by repositioning the cleaver over Day’s wrist. “All right,” Garin whispered. “Then this is how we’ll play it. If you lie, a hand comes off. If I think you’re lying, a hand comes off…”

“Please,” the terrified attorney pleaded, sounding utterly drained and defeated. “This isn’t necessary. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Garin drew his face to within inches from Day’s and studied the man’s eyes for several seconds. There was no deceit, no resistance, only exhaustion and resignation.

Garin returned the blade to the drawer, pulled Day to the doorway, and called out to the living room. “Olivia, get in here right away.”

No one present in the Situation Room was sitting. It was a maelstrom of nervous energy.

After receiving a call from SecDef Merritt approximately twenty minutes earlier, Marshall had recalled to the White House all the attendees from the earlier meeting. Merritt had just received a call from Dan Dwyer, head of DGT, advising that he and his men had located James Brandt’s senior aide, Olivia Perry, at a cabin along the Chesapeake. Dwyer informed him that his snipers were positioned around the cabin and were prepared to engage hostiles. Secretary Merritt was well aware that he didn’t have the authority to give Dwyer’s men the green light but calculated that there wasn’t any time to send the matter through appropriate channels. Deciding to act and deal with the consequences later, Merritt granted Dwyer permission to engage. What Merritt hadn’t known at the time was that Dwyer had placed the call a full minute after Matt and Congo Knox had already taken out the two Quds Force operatives in front of the living room window. Dwyer, too, believed it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Minutes before everyone had assembled in the Situation Room, Prime Minister Chafetz had called Marshall to inform the president that Israeli F-15 and F-16 stealth fighters were manned, fueled, and prepared to strike Iran. Israeli agents and electronic surveillance had identified a frenzy of activity at suspected Iranian missile sites. Silos at two sites appeared hot. Marshall, in turn, informed Chafetz that the Fifth Fleet’s USS Eisenhower carrier strike group was closing in and would provide any support Chafetz requested.

Shortly after Merritt had spoken to Dwyer, Brandt received a call on his cell phone from Olivia, stating that she had reliable information on the Iranian EMP plans. Brandt informed Marshall, who directed White House Communications Agency Major Clayton Cord to arrange a secure call back to Olivia in sixty seconds and to place the call on the Situation Room speaker. Major Cord’s voice came over the speaker.

“Mr. President, we are now connecting to Ms. Perry.”

There was a click, then: “Mr. President?”

“Ms. Perry, this is President Marshall. You are on the speaker in the White House Situation Room. Among those present are Secretary of Defense Merritt, Secretary of State Lawrence, Director of National Intelligence Antonetti, DCI Scanlon, Joint Chiefs Chairman Taylor, and Jim Brandt.