Interstate 295
12:56 AM Tuesday, January 20
Fort Meade, Maryland, was forty-five minutes away from DC on a good day. In the middle of the night when the roads were packed with snow and ice . . . Jack glared at the Tahoe’s GPS. Fifty-seven minutes. An hour.
A lot could happen in an hour. Forty-seven minutes was all it took from takeoff to the time Flight 11 plowed into the first tower. Flight 77, fifty-five minutes before barreling into the Pentagon. Ten minutes for two brothers in Boston to kill three and injure hundreds.
Sixty minutes could go by in a flash or feel like an eternity.
Jack didn’t know which to pray for.
“Whoa,” Brynn said, her right arm bracing against the passenger-side door as the Tahoe’s tires hit a patch of ice.
“Sorry.” Safety. Jack prayed they would safely get to Fort Meade in one piece and in time. He glanced over at Brynn, only to see her covering another yawn before adjusting her injured arm and wincing. “You should’ve stayed back at the office with Kekoa. Rested your arm.”
Brynn snorted. “You’re not serious, right?”
His eyes met hers. “You’re hurt.”
“You can worry about me when we’re not trying to find a terrorist.” She offered him a smile. A tired one that still had the power to make his stomach flip. “I’m fine.”
Jack knew Brynn wouldn’t let a broken elbow stand in the way of doing her job, and that scared him.
Brynn’s phone beeped, shutting down his thoughts.
“It’s from the FBI.” She read the message, then exhaled sharply. “They went to Abu Hamadi’s home. No one was there. Chad Bowman’s house was empty too, but a neighbor said she saw him leave sometime around five or six this evening.” She paused. “Or I guess it was last night now. Agents picked up Chad’s mother from work and are questioning her.”
“You still think he’s headed for Fort Meade?”
“It makes sense.” Brynn turned to him. “Chad has access to Fort Meade. No one would question his presence there and—”
Her words were interrupted by ringing. Jack hit the call button. “Hello, sir.”
“I’ve contacted General Paul Chen, the commander of the National Security Agency, and updated him on the situation,” Director Walsh said. “He and Colonel Green are now operating under FPCON Charlie.”
Force Protection Condition Charlie was the second-to-highest level of alert for military installations, and Jack was glad they were taking precautions. “Would they know if Bowman is on post? Doesn’t he have to show his ID to the guards?”
“Yes, but if he used another form of identification—”
“The fake IDs at Agnes’s house,” Brynn said. “He could be using a fake ID.”
“Very likely,” Walsh agreed. “They’ve got a current photo of Chad Bowman and have patrols looking for him now. And the local authorities have a BOLO out for him.”
“And Abu Hamadi?” Brynn asked Walsh.
“Yes, both men,” Walsh confirmed. “Our friends at Langley helped us out. Abu Hamadi is actually Mohammed Abu Shahir Hamadi, a follower of the NLJ who actively publishes teachings on their website and others about restoring the central beliefs of the Sunnis. It doesn’t outright promote violence, but the veil is thin enough to read between the lines, and in the last twenty-four hours there’s been a four hundred–percent increase in the website’s traffic.”
“Four hundred percent?” Jack glanced over at Brynn, her jaw tight with apprehension. “It sounds like they’re preparing.”
“Yawm alhisab.” Walsh’s Arabic accent was perfect. “Day of Reckoning.”
“What about President Allen, sir?” Brynn shifted in her seat, and Jack could see she was getting fidgety. “Has she been notified? Is she returning to the States?”
“No,” Walsh said, the aggravation apparent in his tone. “She’s decided to stay and make a statement.”
Again, Jack’s and Brynn’s eyes met. “Is that a good idea, sir? We have no idea how this plot is going to go down.”
“That point was made along with many others, but President Allen believes her sudden departure would demonstrate fear on her part and on our country’s part that could fuel the current political agenda.”
“Which is?” Jack’s frustration level was rising.
“Egypt’s economy is fragile. The election of President Talaat coming out of the Arab Spring has revealed a growing number of supporters who wish to oust him too. It appears the National Liberation Jihad is coordinating the efforts, but there’s evidence they’re being supported by ISIS.”
Jack’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “All the more reason to pull the president out of the country and postpone operations at Wadi Basaela.”
“How do you see this playing out, Ms. Taylor?”
Walsh’s question must have caught Brynn off guard, because she jumped a little and then turned to Jack as though she were asking permission to speak.
“Ms. Taylor?”
“Sir, my analysis of the situation says we’re facing an imminent attack.” Her dire words were the sobering Jack needed. He turned his focus on the road, listening to Brynn continue.
“Our discovery of the items at Agnes Buchanan’s house leads me to believe this attack isn’t going to be so overt as flying planes into a building or detonating a bomb in a public location, though I’m not saying it’s not possible. This amount of forethought requires a lot of planning and preparation, likely years’ worth. The situation in Texas tells me others outside the NLJ are involved. Individuals or countries with an agenda against the US. Protech is a Russian-owned data mining company. Until Agent Samson confirms what kind of data Protech was interested in, I can only guess it’s more likely the company was involved in data snooping.”
“Data snooping?” Jack interrupted. “Is that different from mining?”
“Not really.” Brynn shook her head. “Just another name for it. Basically, they’re using computer systems to find inconsistencies or uncover patterns in systems. It’s something cyberanalysts use to uncover clandestine information, especially in the military.”
“Which is General Chen and Colonel Green’s concern,” Walsh said before his voice became muffled like he was talking to someone else. He exhaled into the phone. “Kekoa let me know an individual, someone named Rodney Lee, was just arrested at Fort Gordon trying to use a contractor’s ID to enter the base. The FBI is involved.”
“I hate the feeling of being a step behind,” Jack said. “Sir, I don’t know if waiting for the Feds is the right course of action here. Our job is to neutralize the threat.”
“Agent Samson mentioned the FBI wanting to hold off on making any arrests because they know this involves more than just a couple of Middle Eastern immigrants in Texas. Russia’s potentially involved. Kekoa mentioned installations overseas having increased activity.” She looked at Jack. “We can assume the fertilizer in Guam is connected, which means we could be looking at a massive bomb attack on Andersen.”
Jack swallowed at the thought. Garcia and Lyla were there to assist the military and the local police force. He thought about the explosion in Beirut. An explosion like that in Guam would be beyond devastating.
“Abu Hamadi fits the profile of a teacher. Without reading his work, I’d guess he’s probably charismatic and persuasive. After all, his teaching has led to the conversion of an American citizen who definitely does not fit the profile of a radical extremist.” Brynn inhaled. “I don’t think Hamadi is calling the shots here. Someone else has the power, the money, and the motive—and we can’t neutralize the threat until we find that person.”
“Unfortunately, I agree.” Walsh’s tone was resolute. “General Chen and Colonel Green are expecting you. Stay safe.”
“Yes, sir,” Jack responded before Walsh ended the call. He’d heard that rush in his boss’s voice before, and it caused Jack’s adrenaline to spike.
Jack exited the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, feeling the tug of the steering wheel as the tires tried to find purchase on the slick asphalt. It had taken fifty-three minutes, and he knew exactly what to pray for . . . that they weren’t too late.