End Days Super Boxset (6 page)

“FBI Bungles Terror Attack. Diner Shooting Rocks Richmond. Eight Shot in Cold Blood after Botched Raid. You see where I’m going?”

“Why don’t they print how Darion Surkov was here on an expired visa? That goes right back to Homeland. Yet you’re closing the entire case at their behest.”

“That’s just how it is, so you better get used to it,” Calderon said. He then signaled to Agent Walker.

Walker looked up and adjusted his glasses. “Agent Davis, we wanted to talk to you privately as a courtesy, just to get everything out in the open.”

Craig remained quiet as Walker took a deep breath and continued. “But there will be an internal investigation into this matter. You will need to have your answers ready to give to an investigative panel in the next couple weeks. And no more accusatory language against other departments.”

He knew it. They were going to try to bring the hammer down on him. He only wished he had gotten more evidence against the Surkov brothers prior to the shooting.

“In the meantime, you’re being placed on administrative leave until further notice.”

The blow was quick and painful, but not unexpected. Craig nodded. “Very well.”

“We will keep you posted on the details of the investigation, and you are hereby suspended from duty.”

Craig cleared his throat. “What about Patterson?”

Calderon interjected, “The bureau isn’t currently pursuing action against him but will determine that upon his recovery.”

“His wife?” Craig asked.

Calderon shook his head. “She’s looking into a lawsuit. So I hope you see why we have to do this.”

Craig nodded. He felt defeated.

“You’re dismissed,” Walker said, shutting his file.

Craig rose from his chair. He thanked his superiors and began to walk out of the room while keeping his head high.

“Oh, Davis,” Calderon said.

Craig stopped at the door and turned.

“The Surkov brothers have a mother. She’s flying all the way from Chechnya, under supervision from our embassy, to identify her youngest son. She has already publicly condemned her sons’ terrorist actions, and could be a voice in discouraging other youths from following their paths.”

Craig remained with his hand on the doorknob waiting for Calderon to get to the point. “We don’t want you anywhere near this woman, understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“And you’re not to talk to the media about any of this. You know the rules pending an internal investigation.”

“Yes sir. Not a peep.”

“Dismissed, Agent Davis,” Walker said again.

Craig turned and exited the room, holding his file. He was glad to have gotten the reprimand over with but also knew there was more to come. He could see Kathleen Patterson sitting in the lobby. Her face was exhausted with anguish and looked streaked with tears. He took a slow breath and approached her. She looked up in a daze.

“I’m sorry, Kathleen. And I promise you this isn’t over.”

Her eyes were red and puffy. She had a nice black dress on, but her red, curly hair, usually one of her remarkable features, was disheveled. She looked confused, even angry. She stared at Craig, her lips quivering. Then she spoke.

***

Craig made it home that evening, back to his wife and son, feeling relieved, but riddled with guilt at the same time. When he walked into the house, briefcase in hand, the absence of his pistol on his belt felt even stranger. Was he finished with the FBI? It was hard to tell. The news was on TV again, and the lead anchor’s report stopped Craig in his tracks.

“Authorities have released few details about the Chechen brothers, Rasheed and Darion Surkov, and their affiliation with terrorist organizations. Witnesses in the shooting reported that the younger brother, Darion, delivered a lengthy screed against ‘American aggression in the Muslim world’ to terrified patrons as he recorded the attack with a GoPro camera.

“Surkov was shot by an FBI agent who had apparently been pursuing the seventeen-year-old. A half mile away, Darion’s older brother was fleeing from another FBI agent on foot when he was struck by a moving vehicle and found with a backpack of explosives.

“An investigation is underway into the attack and its link to a web of sleeper cells discovered around the country. The FBI agent who stopped Darion Surkov from fully carrying out his attack has been listed in stable condition after being airlifted to a D.C. hospital.

“Rasheed Surkov has been listed in stable condition as well, and is being held in an undisclosed location.”

Craig set his briefcase on the hardwood floor of the foyer and looked up to see Rachael standing beyond the living room in the kitchen. She was wearing plaid pajamas and had her arms crossed like a disapproving mother. He approached her, not sure what to say. There wasn’t much more drama he could handle that day.

“Hey.” Somehow he managed a small smile. “Where’s Nick?”

Her lips were pressed in a straight line. Without saying anything, she pulled out the GMRS radio he had given her. “I called your cell phone and tried the radio. You didn’t answer.”

Craig approached her. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“We were worried sick about you.”

Craig took another step forward and wrapped his arms around her. She raised her arms and finally wrapped them around his back.

Craig looked up at her, distraught. “Everything fell apart so quickly. We had them. We were closing in, but…” Craig stopped. “I think I’m finished.”

Rachael could hear it in his voice. He sounded utterly defeated. “It’s okay. We’re just glad you’re back home.”

Craig looked up at her with hollow eyes. “Patterson. His wife. He trusted me, and I feel like I let him down. Him and his family. I was so damn set on cracking this case that I didn’t see the danger I was putting us in.”

“Why don’t you come lie down?” Rachael said. She walked with him back to their bedroom, where Craig sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes.

“They’ve suspended me, Rachael. Pending investigation.”

“We’re gonna get through this. I know it. You need to take a step back, clear your head, and relax.”

He looked into her concerned eyes and felt true comfort. “I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

“You’d be a sad old man, taking selfies with your gun in front of the mirror for dating sites.”

Craig laughed and put his arm around her. “I suppose you’re right.”

Suddenly his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen: Supervisor Walker. He looked at his wife apologetically.

“Here we go again.”

She nodded, understanding, and got off the bed as he answered. “Agent Davis.”

“There’s been some new developments, and things just might turn around for you,”
Walker said.

“What is it?” Craig felt a moment of hopefulness.

“The mother of those Surkov boys. She flew in tonight and so far has been very cooperative. Her name is Malaka Surkov, fifty-eight-year-old widow.”

“Okay?”

“She’s very distraught over what has happened and wants to provide additional information that she has about their activities. Things they sent her in letters. There’s only one catch.”
Walker stopped and sighed.

“And believe me, Calderon tried to fight this all he could. This Surkov mother, she requested to talk to you and only you. She claims that our government has been infiltrated by the very people her sons worked for. She says the information she has can only be trusted to you.”

Craig paused. “ISIS?”

“That’s her claim.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means get your ass to headquarters, pronto.”

The call ended, and Craig still held onto the phone in bewilderment. His work, it seemed, was never done.

Patterson’s wife, Kathleen, looked at Craig almost as if he was a different person. She looked hurt and betrayed, distrustful of the man standing in front of her. Craig gave her a knowing look, prepared to take whatever she had to throw at him. He thought of Rachael and how distraught she would be had it been him in that hospital bed, unconscious, sedated, with tubes coming out of his stomach. Patterson was in a bad spot, and his family was obviously upset and had every right to be.

“He would have done anything for you,” she said, eyes down, her voice quivering.

“I know, Kathleen. He always went above and beyond. He’s the best field agent I’ve ever worked with. And he’s going to get better, I know it.”

She shut her eyes and shook her head as tears rolled down her cheek. “What were you two doing out there? Just the two of you?”

“We were conducting surveillance. Neither of us thought it would escalate like it did. Believe me, if there was anything I could do…”

Her body was shaking, and she looked ready to collapse.

“You should sit or something. Can I get you something?”

Her eyes opened, and she pointed a finger right in his face. “I haven’t been able to talk to my husband in two days. Your department better give him the best care available. If anything happens to him, so help me God, I’ll…”

Her voice drifted, and she started to cry, keeping her head down and eyes closed. Craig brought a hand to her shoulder and then pulled her close.

“I’m sorry. I’m going to make everything right, okay? I promise.”

“It’s all your fault,” she said, pulling away. “You put my husband in danger, and I’ll never forgive you.”

Craig kept his hand locked on her shoulder. “It is my fault. You’re right. Someday you will forgive me, though, I’m sure of that. He’s going to get better. He’s a strong person. A fighter. And so are you.”

With that, Kathleen turned away, sobbing, and walked toward the public restroom. Craig knew she needed some time, and he was more than willing to take the brunt of her pain. Seeing her so upset, he had to admit, was no cakewalk. The Surkov brothers came to mind. They were a vessel for an ideology of hate, and Craig was certain it didn’t stop at them or at some terror cell in Minneapolis. For the first time in his career, he felt true vengeance in his heart.

***

It wasn’t just Kathleen’s words that had unsettled him that day. There seemed to be so much more. The world felt like it was coming apart at the seams, and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t remember the last time he had gotten a good night’s sleep, but there he was, strolling back into the FBI building after being placed on administrative leave. The Chechen mother of suspected terrorists, one dead and the other in a coma, was waiting to talk to him.

He felt suspicious of her true intentions, though he hadn’t even met her yet. Why the mother of the Surkov brothers would insist on talking only to Craig alone baffled him. Assistant Deputy Director Calderon and the top heads of the FBI seemed to share his sentiment.

A group of FBI officials were huddled together with Supervisory Special Agent Walker outside a secure room where Malaka Surkov was said to be. As Craig approached them, Calderon was the first to take notice, and he didn’t look happy.

He stepped away from the group, with Walker at his side. “Listen to me, Agent Davis. You’re on thin ice here. The fact that this Surkov mother wants to talk to you changes nothing. The internal investigation is still underway. In the meantime, I suggest that you get whatever information you can, share it with us, and go home.”

“Gladly, sir,” Craig said. “I just want to help however I can.”

The group of high-level staff remained quietly huddled together. Craig knew who they were: the bureaucrats who called the shots. Their presence alone made him question the FBI’s true interest in the case. At any moment, he expected Homeland Security to burst into the room and take everything over.

They were in a darkened hall below ground level, standing by a waiting room of sorts with very few other people moving around. Personnel needed a special security badge to even walk the halls.

Walker leaned in close. “Mrs. Surkov has been waiting for you. We have her set up in a hotel downtown for later. Rooms for both her and her Chechen escort.”

“Escort?” Craig asked.

“Her nephew, Husein. A teenager, like the Surkov boy, and very quiet. Don’t expect much from him.”

Craig was astonished. “What kind of background check did we do on them before letting them into the country?”

“Their trip was arranged by our embassy in Chechnya. They both have valid passports and are cleared for air travel,” Walker answered.

“So you’re trying to tell me that this is some kind of, what? Diplomatic mission?”

“That’s the idea,” Walker said.

Calderon stepped in, annoyed. “Go in there, talk with Mrs. Surkov, and find out what she knows. We’d all like to go home at some point tonight, herself included.”

Craig shrugged. “I have nothing to offer this woman. Why would she want to help us?”

“Does it matter? Just go talk to her,” Calderon said.

Walker interjected, “Please, Agent Davis. Work with us here. She insisted on no audio recording devices. We just spent the last hour convincing her that the room isn’t bugged.” He handed Craig a notebook and pen. “Here, take these.”

“Good luck,” Calderon added.

Craig walked to the door, past the crowd of balding, straight-faced FBI brass, and stopped. He turned around and examined Walker and Calderon, both of whom nodded back and gave him a thumbs up. He slowly turned the knob, opened the door, and went in.

There was a woman sitting at a table in the center of the room, dressed in a black robe and black-and-white head shawl or hijab. Next to her was a boy with curly black hair, some facial hair, a beige sweater, and blue jeans. On the table sat two Styrofoam cups.

Craig shut the door, holding the notepad in hand. For a moment they just looked at him. The small room had four blank white walls. In the center of the room sat a round table and three chairs. Nothing more.

“Not exactly the most exciting place to be, is it?” Craig asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Neither of them responded. Instead, they examined Craig carefully. As he approached the table, he returned the favor and tried his best to read them. They offered no smiles or any reassurances that they didn’t consider him the enemy. He shifted gears and got right to the point.

“Mrs. Surkov, my name is Special Agent Craig Davis. I was told that you wish to speak to me. That you have some information to share.”

Malaka narrowed her black eyes as Craig leaned against the back of the chair across from them. She offered a single nod and spoke in a calm, quiet voice. “My English is none too good. My nephew will help translate.” She had tan, olive skin, and not a single hair was exposed under her tight hijab.

“That’s quite all right,” Craig said. “Whatever makes you comfortable.” He looked at their cups on the table. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Coffee?”

“We are good, Agent Davis,” the boy said.

Craig opened his notebook and looked toward him. “You’re Husein, correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“I assume you’re aware of who I am, but what I don’t understand is why you want to talk to me. I must admit, I have my suspicions and am not here to play games.”

“Neither are we,” Husein said.

Malaka’s eyes appeared to be burning holes through Craig. Her vengeful expression was something he could ignore no longer.

“Let’s get it all out in the open,” he said, placing his hands on the table. “Your eldest son’s name was on an application for a rental van used in a suicide bombing that nearly killed a dozen federal agents. As of now, I don’t know what connection he had, but when we tracked Rasheed and your other son, Darion, they were in the middle of trying to launch separate terror attacks.”

Stone-faced, Malaka said nothing.

“Rasheed ran from me carrying a backpack full of explosives. Pipe bombs. God only knows what he was planning to do with them. Darion attacked a diner full of innocent people, killing eight. My partner intervened and stopped him before he could carry out the rest of his massacre.”

Malaka looked at Husein, who then looked at Craig. “We’re well aware of my cousins’ actions. They sent us a letter detailing them.”

“They did?” Craig said, scratching his chin. “Do you have a copy of the letter?”

“We gave it to the FBI,” Husein said. “We received it the day of the attack. After it had already happened.”

“So if you could have, you would have alerted authorities and tried to prevent the attack?” Craig asked.

“Yes,” Malaka said.

Craig looked down at his notebook as the air conditioner hummed above.

“Well, we certainly appreciate your cooperation.”

“You speak Chechen, yes?” Malaka asked.

“No,” Craig answered. “I don’t.”

She turned to her nephew and they immediately began to talk to each other in their native tongue. Craig’s suspicion grew.

“She wants to know if you are wearing a wire,” Husein said, looking to Craig. He was a polite, intelligent-sounding boy. Charming even. But Craig wasn’t there to make friends. He was there for information.

“No,” he said without hesitation.

“You have to show us,” Husein said.

Craig sighed and stood up, lifting his shirt and displaying his bare torso. He plopped back down in his chair. “Happy?”

Malaka spoke to Husein in Chechen. Her words sounded fast and sharp. Craig couldn’t make any sense of it.

Husein turned to Craig. “You have to understand, sir. My aunt has put her life in danger to come here and tell you these things. If there is any recording of her words made available, she believes they will kill her.”

“Who?” Craig asked, intrigued.

Husein hesitated then spoke. “The Islamic State sympathizers in your government.”

Craig leaned back in his chair, making it squeak. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. He had heard some conspiracy theories in his time, but Husein’s comments took the cake. He held his pen over the notebook and looked up at them. “Whom in our government are you referring to?”

Husein was about to answer, but Malaka cut in. “State Department,” she said in broken English. “Homeland Security. The White House.”

Craig shook his head. “What’s your proof?”

“She only knows what she’s heard,” Husein said.

“Give me something then,” Craig said, in a frank tone. “I want to know what she knows, and I want to know how she knows it.”

Malaka appeared to get the message. She looked at Husein, then Craig. “Attack. Big attack,” she said. “Is coming.”

“Where and when?” Craig asked.

“The caliphate. It’s real,” she said.

“Details!” Craig said.

Husein held his hand up, urging restraint. “Please, Agent Davis. This is not easy for her.”

“I understand,” Craig said. “But you can see why I would be skeptical of all this. I hardly believe I’m at the top of your aunt’s favorite persons list.”

Husein continued as Malaka appeared to grow upset.

“You have to understand. My cousins, they brought shame to our family. We’re devout, practicing Muslims who reject the Islamic State. ISIS uses Sunni Muslims in Chechnya to urge solidarity to the Sunni Muslims in Iraq who run ISIS. It’s like a cancer. And it will continue to spread. She plans to speak out against ISIS this week. But there’s going to be a backlash, we’re certain. They’re going to want to kill her. She asked for you because you seem to be the only one who is as hated as she is going to be within the next week.”

“So your cousins were involved with ISIS?” Craig asked.

“Yes,” Husein answered.

“I want details about this attack. Now. And I don’t care about her reputation any more than I care about my own. But I will do my best to prevent whatever attack is planned.”

Husein and Malaka turned and talked to each other in Chechen. After about two minutes, Husein finally turned to Craig.

“The Washington Metro train,” he said. “That will be the first target.”

“The first?”

Calmly, Husein continued. “Yes. The sleeper cells are supposed to attack various targets. They’ve been instructed by ISIS commanders to wait for a signal.”

“What other targets?” Craig asked.

“At approximately nine a.m. the first attack will happen.”

“And the second?”

“The New York City Subway. Nine thirty a.m.”

“Then what?”

“Chicago train, 9:45 a.m.” Husein stopped. “That’s all she knows. Rasheed told her in a letter of these attacks. The diner shooting was the first signal. Rasheed’s planned attack on the mall was supposed to be the second.”

Craig scribbled this down in this notebook. He wasn’t sure what to make of it—what he could believe and not believe. “And the third signal?”

“We don’t know,” Husein said.

“What day is this supposed to happen?”