Vince Flynn - Extreme Measures

“Well,” Kennedy said, her voice hinting of bad news. “This is not for distribution, but Secretary Holtz and Secretary Hamel were having lunch at Bobby Van’s.”

“Shit,” Nash said softly as he looked at his bird’s-eye view of the rescue effort on 15th Street. The secretary of the treasury and the secretary of commerce in one fell swoop. Two cabinet members.

“We’re not getting much information from the Monocle. Do you have any updates?”

Nash glanced up at the big screen and looked at the image that was being provided by an air force Predator drone circling over the city. He had just spoke to Art Harris, who had spoken directly to one of his agents on the scene. “It’s not good.”

“Elaborate,” she said.

“Complete structural failure. The initial blast tore away half of the building, and then the upper floors came down on whatever was left. Harris told me a few minutes ago that one of his guys on the scene says the only way anyone survived was if they were in the basement, and even then it’s iffy.”

“So these estimated casualties at the Monocle are likely to be fatalities.”

“I’m afraid so. We’re calling every senators’ office to see if we can get an idea of who might have been in there.” Again, he listened while Kennedy relayed the news to someone else. He thought he heard the president’s voice, and then Kennedy came back on.

“What about these suspects that Mitch picked up?”

“They should be here any minute. Last I heard they were stuck in traffic. He wanted me to make sure you talked to Senator Lonsdale, though.”

“I did. The president dispatched a car and two agents to pick her up. I’ll have someone follow up with an update.”

Nash looked nervously over each shoulder and saw that no one other than Paulson was close enough to hear what he was about to say. He turned away from Paulson and asked, “What are we going to do about these guys that Mitch is bringing in?”

“I’ll leave that up to Mitch.”

“Irene,” Nash said anxiously, “a third of the people in this building are Feds. I’m talking real Johnny Law types. This isn’t the Hindu Kush. We can’t drag these guys out in back of some mud hut. The Feds aren’t gonna to like any rough stuff.”

Kennedy sighed, “Just let Mitch be Mitch. We’ll sort it all out later.”

Nash was not reassured. “That’s the damn problem, boss. All these gutless pricks will look the other way today, when it’s convenient, but a year from now, when the panels and committees are doing their after-action reports, they’re all gonna act shocked that the suspects were manhandled.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mike. You’re probably right, but the priority right now is to get answers and make sure we find these guys.”

“Why is he bringing them here?”

“It doesn’t matter at this point. The cat’s out of the bag. The FBI has agents crawling all over the mosque. Bringing them to Langley is out of the question. NCTC is a shared facility. You guys are the lead agency on counterterrorism, so you’re the logical choice.”

“Why can’t we just lose them for a couple of hours? Let him do the rough stuff off-site.”

“Trust me… I’ve wondered the same thing, but if I’ve learned anything over the years it’s to let him do what he wants to do in these situations. He has it all figured out. He wants a rapid-fire interrogation. Set them all up in separate rooms, and go right down the line. Plus, he needs a secure video feed to Bagram. He’s convinced the best way to get al-Haq to talk is to have Lonsdale tell him their deal is off. He either talks or we hand him over to General Dostum.”

“Did Lonsdale say she’d cooperate?” Nash asked in near shock.

“I think this attack has crystallized the issue for a lot of people.”

“I suppose.”

“I have to run. Call me in thirty with an update.”

“You got it.” Nash placed the phone back in its cradle and looked up at the casualty tally on the big board. There were 327 injured and 31 confirmed fatalities, and that wasn’t counting anyone at the Monocle. Nash thought of Johnson. His was a name that would never be added to the list, even though it should. Nash felt a pang of recrimination for not raising the alarm earlier. Maybe the entire disaster could have been averted.

TWO of the men started their escape on the Orange Line, and were out of the downtown area five minutes after the first blast. The other two had to take the Red Line and then transfer to the Orange Line, so it took a bit longer for them to clear the area, but even so, by 1:00 they had all emerged from the West Falls Church Metro Station and were boarding buses for their next destination. They traveled in pairs as they had been taught. The FedEx shirts and ball caps had been discarded and stuffed into garbage cans. The men were not concerned about leaving any DNA, just getting clear of the city. They had long-sleeved T-shirts under the FedEx uniforms to make the change easy. Karim had hammered the point over and over. The bombs would cause traffic mayhem and it was possible that out of fear of future attacks they might shut the Metro down until they got a handle on what was going on.

All four men rode the same bus to the Tysons Corner Shopping Center. One pretended to listen to an iPod while the others pretended to read newspapers. When they got off the bus, they walked in pairs away from the mall. Karim had schooled them to look casual. To laugh and smile, so as to not attract any unwanted attention. Their next destination lay a little over a mile to the northwest. Unlike the previous warehouse, this one was relatively new and in near perfect shape. It sat in an upscale mixed-use industrial office park. Farid had the keys and he entered the space from the front, where the offices were. The other three men, with their baggy pants and long-sleeved T-shirts, went around to the back, as if they were day laborers coming in to unload a truck.

Less than five minutes after their arrival, the black Lincoln Town Car and the Suburban rolled into the all-but-empty warehouse space and the big door was closed. Karim had been so thorough in his planning that he had even anticipated this moment. He had told them the reunion would be sweet, but their celebration would be silent. Karim stepped from the front seat of the sedan with a massive smile and his fist in the air. He walked steadily over to the four men. He approached Hakim first, shook his fists in the air, and then wrapped his arms tightly around the man’s shoulders.

“We did it,” Karim whispered in his ear. “We did it. I am so proud of you.” Karim moved onto the next man and hugged him as well. He moved down the line telling each man, in a hushed emotional voice, how well he had done. When he was finished, there were tears in his eyes.

He stood in front of them and said, “I have never been so proud in all my life. This truly is a great day for us, but we are not done,” he was quick to add. “You must hurry and change clothes.” He clapped his hands together. “Hurry now. All of your stuff is in the back of the truck. I want guards posted on twenty-minute rotations. Eat, poop, and drink some water. You all know what to do. We’ve covered this a thousand times. I want to be ready to move in thirty minutes, if we need to.”

Karim turned to Hakim and put a hand on his shoulder. “You have done an amazing job, my friend.” He looked around the fifty-by-thirty-foot space. “This is perfect. Do you have the TVs I requested?”

“Yes.” Hakim motioned toward the front. “They’re in the office up front. Three of them.”

“Good. Let’s go.” He began walking. “I want to see.”

The office was good-sized with a desk, a couch, and a credenza with three 27-inch flat screens. Karim stood in front of the desk while Hakim turned on each TV. He then grabbed the remotes and turned them to the channels he thought would provide the best coverage.