WASHINGTON, D.C.,
AUGUST 18, 1:27 P.M. EDT
Congo Knox’s ears were still ringing as he maneuvered the vehicle frantically down Massachusetts Avenue. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Isaac Coe shouting something unintelligible. The street ahead was filled with debris, smoke, and people running in different directions. He swerved, slowed, and swerved again to avoid them and proceed along New Jersey Avenue.
Just a few minutes earlier Knox, Coe, and Ty Wilson had been following the vehicle driven by Stepulev, who, after what appeared to be a number of surveillance detection maneuvers, eventually drove down Massachusetts Avenue toward Union Station. They had remained several cars behind, close enough to keep the vehicle in their sights. About a block before Union Station, their sight line had been blocked momentarily by a Metro bus. When they reacquired the car again they saw a jittery-looking man in a white windbreaker exiting the car and walking toward the main entrance. Ty Wilson immediately got out and followed, no more than a hundred feet behind.
Knox and Coe continued to trail Stepulev’s vehicle down New Jersey, even after the blast. There had been no point in searching for Wilson. Both men knew from experience and simple calculation that he had been too close to the jittery man to have survived the explosion. All of their efforts now were directed at keeping Stepulev’s vehicle in sight.
Five miles to the southeast, Mike Garin had heard the low roll of distant thunder followed by the sound of multiple sirens and instinctively knew the Russians had struck. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Knox, who answered instantly.
“We’re behind the vehicle, Mike, headed in a northwest direction,” Knox informed. “One of the windbreakers got out and set off a suicide vest at the entrance to Union Station. Wilson’s dead, along with lots of other folks.”
“Don’t interdict them unless you’re certain they’ve arrived at their destination,” Garin commanded. “They may be joining another crew, so we can’t afford to intercept them until we’re certain we have everyone. But once you’re sure they’ve arrived at their next target location, look for any backup they may have and then take them all out immediately.”
“Got it.”
“Best guess, Congo. Where are they headed?”
“Northwest. We’re heading in the general direction of Treasury, OEOB, and the White House.”
“I’ll tell Dan to alert Secret Service, FBI, and D.C. Metro. You’ll have lots of company, so be careful. Under these circumstances Secret Service snipers will take out anything approaching the White House that looks even remotely suspicious. That includes you.”
“They’re too good for that, Mike.”
“Good has nothing to do with it, Congo. Don’t give them any reason to fire, but don’t give the other windbreakers a chance to do anything. Use your best judgment. Then take them out.”
Knox weaved between a stopped cab and an oncoming ambulance. “Mike, Dan says Olivia left for the OEOB a few minutes ago.”
There was silence for a beat. “Stay focused. Make sure they don’t have backup; make sure they don’t set off another vest,” Garin said. “And make sure you don’t get waxed by Secret Service in the process.”