104

THE WHITE HOUSE—24 MAY

Martha Dell and Annie Stewart cleared security just before 7 a.m.

At their side was Marcus Ryker, fresh off a red-eye from Texas.

They entered the Oval Office and were greeted by the president, McDermott, and Carl Roseboro, the new head of DSS.

Ryker and Roseboro went way back. Now fifty-three, Roseboro was Marcus’s senior by more than a decade. The new DSS chief had not cut his teeth in the Diplomatic Security Service. Rather, Roseboro, like Marcus, had spent his entire post-military career in the Secret Service. He began as a special agent, first busting counterfeiters and later serving on the elite Presidential Protective Detail at the White House. When Marcus first met him, he was heading up the Service’s intelligence division before being promoted to the agency’s deputy director. Roseboro was a twenty-seven-year veteran of the Service, and Marcus considered him the quintessential federal agent. Crazy off-the-charts smart. Fearless. Counterintuitive. And a consummate professional. Now he was the head of DSS—the first African American ever to serve in the post—and Marcus could not have been more pleased.

“Welcome back, Agent Ryker,” Hernandez said, coming around the Resolute desk to shake Marcus’s hand. “Great work out there. You’ve been busy.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Marcus replied. “And thank you, especially, for not going public yet with Ruzami. I think that was wise.”

“That was a close one, Ryker. We were fifteen minutes away from contacting the networks. Even still, I’m concerned the story will leak. But tell me what happened in Mexico.”

“I will, sir, but first, Carl, congrats.” Marcus shook Roseboro’s hand.

“You look like crap, Ryker,” the DSS director quipped, punching Marcus in the shoulder. “And weren’t you fired?”

“Ouch,” Marcus said.

“Too soon?”

“A little.”

“Well, good to see you too, my friend.”

Once everyone was seated, Marcus turned back to the president. “Sir, the CCTV footage from Castillo’s office and meatpacking plant are clear,” he began. “We know for certain that two teams of Kairos operatives—a total of twelve jihadists—have entered the United States.”

“Have we established their identities?” Hernandez asked.

“Some of them, yes,” Marcus replied. “Using facial recognition software—and with the help of Saudi, Emirati, and Israeli intelligence—we’ve ID’d two of the men so far. One is Tariq Youssef, a member of the Troika and the organization’s chief of security.”

“That’s a big fish.”

“Very big, sir, but so is the other man we’ve ID’d—Zaid Farooq. He’s the third member of the Troika, and Abu Nakba’s chief of intelligence. Now, our best guess is that three of the young men with them are the Ruzami boys—Jibril, Ali, and Mansour—but we have not been able to confirm this yet as we don’t have any photos of them on file. Would you turn to pages four and five in the PDB?”

Hernandez opened his copy of The President’s Daily Brief and found screen captures from the various CCTV cameras of all twelve Kairos terrorists. Then Marcus directed him to the next page, which contained images of both cells transporting large, rectangular boxes into the tunnel.

“What’s in those?” Hernandez asked.

“That’s what worries us, Mr. President,” Marcus replied. “We don’t know yet.”

Now Annie spoke up. “Sir, the CIA and FBI found traces of radioactivity in the Castillo home, the meatpacking plant, throughout the tunnel, and in the safe house in Laredo.”

“Meaning what?”

“Neither the bureau nor the NEST guys they brought in last night from DOE think the traces are strong enough to suggest full-blown warheads,” Annie replied, referring to the Department of Energy’s Nuclear Emergency Support Team.

“But?”

“They’re still conducting tests,” Annie continued. “But their preliminary assessment suggests some form of dirty bomb.”

Hernandez turned to Dell. “Capable of what?”

“We should know more by the end of the day, Mr. President,” Dell replied. “But a dirty bomb could spread radioactive material that is highly toxic to humans. Built right and with the right kind of fuel, each device could cause mass death and injury. But they would also create mass panic and economic devastation in whatever city in which they were deployed.”

The room was silent for several moments.

Then Roseboro spoke up. “When did they arrive in the country?” he asked.

“The sixteenth,” Marcus replied.

“So Kairos has had an eight-day head start on us?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Any leads on where these two teams went?” the new DSS director asked.

Annie took that one. “No, sir—the FBI is canvassing every car rental facility in and around Laredo, every new and used car dealer, every taxi and Uber driver, but nothing’s turned up yet.”

“If you were them, what would you be doing with that time?” Roseboro asked Marcus.

“I’d be buying burner phones,” Marcus replied. “Weapons. Ammo. Bomb-making supplies. More vehicles. Renting safe houses. From what they paid Castillo, we know money is no object. And from what they did to the three aid workers in Yemen, we know they are planning a true bloodbath.”

“Where? When?” Roseboro pressed. “I mean, in his video, Abu Nakba said they were going to strike soon. So did Ruzami. Do you think they’re planning to strike this weekend? Memorial Day would make sense for an attack.”

“It’s possible,” Marcus agreed. “It’s also possible they need more time to prepare for whatever they’re planning.”

“They could be going for another significant date, like the Fourth of July,” Annie suggested.

“Or the arrival of the pope,” Roseboro said. “Right now, that worries me most.”