They'll Call It Treason (10 page)

January 29 at 12:15
p.m.
EST

Raleigh, NC – North Carolina State University

FBI Agent Accessory in Congressman’s Assassination, Murders Partner,
read the Fox News headline on Kate’s screen.

She had just finished a set of advising appointments with a few less-than-eager undergraduate students when Martha had stepped in. It did not take long for Kate to realize why Martha had seemed so fidgety when she told her to check the news.

Kate was shaking. The euphoria of Ethan’s proposal juxtaposed with this unbelievable headline sent her mind and heart into a frenzy. Fear and confusion rushed in. The warmth of the room had become overwhelming, her thoughts chaotic.

It can’t be. It just can’t be.

It had only been yesterday that she had rushed into the department and announced her engagement to Ethan. Now, she stared at the screen in disbelief. She could not accept the words in front of her. She studied the article again, hoping to find she had misread or misinterpreted its text.

Democratic Congressman Thomas Burr of Richmond, Virginia was assassinated today at the Winter Meeting of the Democratic National Committee. While the sniper is still unknown and at large, the FBI has confirmed that one of their agents was complicit in the shooting.

Special Agent Ethan Shaw, 35, of Cape Charles, Virginia is on the run after allegedly preventing two agents from apprehending the suspect and keeping the FBI off the suspect’s trail. Shaw also allegedly took the life of his partner, Special Agent Jason Phelps, 35, of Virginia Beach and wounded another agent.

The FBI has denied any involvement in the shooting and stated they are doing everything within their power to find and bring the rogue agent to justice.

Who was behind the attack and what their motive is, is still uncertain. The FBI stated they have several leads, one being the pro-gun Georgia Militia group that is known for its violent political protests in the area.

Kate stopped reading and looked down at her trembling hand. A diamond glinted on her finger. She stared at the ring, afraid that it might vanish. For a second Kate considered removing it; a sliver of distrust breaching the confusion somewhere in the mix of swirling emotions.

Could it be true? Could I be in love with a deranged murderer?

No. She was sure there had to be an explanation.

Ring… Ring…

She jumped, almost screaming at the sound of her cell phone. Kate checked the phone display. Number Unavailable. Distraught, she let it ring. She had no desire to talk with anyone right now.

Ring… Ring… Ring…             

“Ethan…” Kate uttered quietly. With a heavy heart, she read the claims in the story again. How could Ethan have done such a thing? Could he have? Her mind was racing, seeking and needing answers. The phone went dormant.

Kate turned her head away from the computer screen, shutting out the unwanted words.  Her eyes wandered to a photo of Ethan and herself at last year’s Marine Corp Ball. She looked at the image. She looked into Ethan’s eyes – the eyes of a Marine, a man who had dedicated his entire life to serving his country. A man she knew to be honest and moral. A man she loved.

No. Ethan couldn’t have done it. There has to be another answer.

It all made no sense. Why would he do it? Kate worked the thoughts around her head. Ethan was well aware of how counter-productive the action in the news article were. He had conducted whole lectures on the topic for her class on counter-terrorism.  The man the news described sounded nothing like the Ethan she knew.

Ring… Ring…

She reached for the phone and read the screen. Number Unavailable. She wrinkled her brow, her hands still shaking. Someone was persistent. She took a slow breath and slid her finger across the screen to activate the call, bracing herself.

“Hello. This is Dr. Kate Connors,” she said, trying to steady herself, to mask the quavering in her voice.

“Kate, it’s me. It’s Ethan.” His voice was hushed but urgent.

“Ethan?” she asked in disbelief.  She recognized his voice immediately, but it still caught her off guard. “They said you…”

“I know, but I didn’t. You have to believe me,” Ethan cut her off and then paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “I was framed. I don’t know why, but I didn’t kill Jason or anything else they said I did.”

Kate was silent; she could hear the trembling in Ethan’s voice when he mentioned Jason. The sincerity and the depth of loss he felt. The two had been the best of friends.

“And I had nothing to do with the Congressman’s death,” he continued. “Jason and I went down to Georgia on a lead about the Congressman. It was another Agent down here. He shot Jason and then tried to kill me. He must have been cooperating with the shooter.”

The line was silent for a second. She could hear his breathing. She wanted to believe him; she wanted him to be innocent. No, she
knew
he was innocent.

But what if I’m wrong?

The thought killed her inside. For a moment she contemplated hanging up.

“Kate, you have to believe me. I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you. I would never put you through this on purpose.” Ethan pleaded with her, “I’m innocent, Kate. You have to believe me.”

“I do,” she whispered.
I do.
“I believe you, Ethan. I don’t know what’s going on, but I trust you.”

“It’s not safe for you to stay in Raleigh. Once they connect you to me they will come for you.” She sensed the urgency in his voice.

“Who, the FBI?” she asked.

“They will come, but I’m not worried about the Bureau. I’m worried about someone else. You need to pack your things, take as little as possible, and leave Raleigh as soon as you can.”

“Okay.”

“I need you to call Grayson and have him meet you somewhere outside of Raleigh. Don’t tell him what has happened until you reach him. Just have him tell Dante and Austin to meet us at the old safe house in Rockingham,” Ethan instructed her. “Kate?  You got that?”

“Uh. Yes, I think so.” Confused, Kate asked, “What safe house?”

“Gray will know what I’m talking about. Are you sure you’ve got it? You have to be sure. You’re strong. But I need to know you’ll be safe.”

“Yes, I can do it,” she assured him, willing herself to push aside the fear.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Ethan broke the silence. “Tell
no one
you talked to me or where you’re going. Make up something if you have to, and after you call Gray don’t use your cell phone again. Take the battery out and leave it out.”

“Okay.”

Just like that, she was thrust into a situation she could never have prepared for, and she was scared. She was caught in the jaws of the unknown, awaiting the snares of whatever evils may come.

What if I’m wrong?

Quickly she shoved the thought aside.

“I love you, Kate. I’m so sorry to put you through this.” She heard the strain in his voice, the shaking. Kate wiped her eyes.

“I know. I love you, too.”

January 29 at 1:10
p.m.
EST

Smyrna, GA

The dull fluorescent light flickered, humming and crackling. The single bulb was the only source of light in the small, ill-kept gas station bathroom.

Ethan turned on the water, cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed his face with water. It was cold and refreshing. Water trickling down his face, he stared into the mirror and examined his jet-black hair. He retrieved a paper towel from the old metal dispenser to his left and began to rub his hair dry.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Ethan looked down. He willed himself to stay strong. It felt pointless. His eyes drifted to a stack of supplies. Two first aid kits from gas station lay open on a plastic bag. Ethan had used most of the supplies in the first kit patching up his side and some wounds he did not realize he had.

Under the bag were a folded pair of blue jeans, an Atlanta Falcons t-shirt and a reversible jacket he had got at the local Salvation Army store. A small pack of disposable razors sat in the bag alongside a pair of black-handled scissors and an open box of cheap black hair dye. A pair of tennis shoes rested on the grungy, worn-out linoleum floor next to the toilet.

Ethan had found the shoes in the trunk of the Maxima, along with a set of jumper cables, a tire iron and an unopened pack of paper towels. The shoes were half a size too big, but they would do for now.

Minutes earlier he thought he had found the one thing that could prove his innocence. Ballistics. Sean had shot Jason, and when the FBI checked the rifling on the slug they would soon learn the truth. Yet, something inside told him he was wrong. Sean was smarter than that, he would have planned for it. He did not know how, but he was sure of it.

Looking in the mirror he assessed his altered appearance; smooth clean-shaven face, jet-black hair cropped short. He was amazed at how much younger he looked, and how different. Ethan frowned at the image in the mirror. He did not want this, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He leaned over and gathered the used items into a plastic shopping bag and placed them on the floor next to the tennis shoes. His jaw clenched, he slid off his pants. Every move hurt.

Ethan placed his hand on his side and examined the freshly applied bandage. The first gauze had already soaked up a lot of blood, but it would be okay for at least a few hours. It was his one small fortune that the bullet had only grazed him.

He had done his best to clean the area with an agonizing douse of rubbing alcohol. He glanced apprehensively at the covered trash can; inside were mounds of bloody paper towels. It would be hours before anyone took out the trash and noticed them. At least he hoped.

Ethan gingerly slid on the new jeans and t-shirt, wincing with each move.  He forced himself to laugh, pursing his lips as he eyeballed his shirt in the mirror.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this,” Ethan said to himself looking at the falcon plastered across the t-shirt. “Sorry Dallas, it’s only temporary.”

Sliding a hand through his close-cropped hair, Ethan sighed. He was still in disbelief as he examined his transformation. The shirt was large, but it would conceal the pistol stashed between his hip and waistband easily.

Suddenly the door knob rattled, creaking and squealing. Ethan whirled around, reaching for his gun. Then he relaxed and let a small smile breach his face; he felt sheepish at his edginess. Of course it was just a customer who needed to relieve themselves.

Taking one last glance in the mirror, he shook his head and let out a deep breath. He gathered up his old clothes and placed them into another plastic bag and tied it shut. Ethan swept up the remaining bag and took inventory one last time. The last thing he needed was to leave something suspicious lying around.

Satisfied, he opened the door and walked out, nodding to an elderly gentleman waiting patiently outside in the cold. Ethan put the bags down and slid his arms into his jacket and grabbed up the bags again.

Scanning the area as he walked, Ethan made his way to the car and stepped in. For a long while he sat silently, wishing he could somehow wake up – that it was all just a horrible nightmare.

January 29 at 1:35
p.m.
EST

Washington, D.C. – FBI Headquarters

Director Hunt barked orders across the room. Dozens of agents hurried back and forth about their duties, all trained on one matter: the domestic terrorist in Atlanta.

Richard was in a morning briefing when Agent Day had relayed the news. Less than a half-hour later, the Director showed up at SIOC, the Bureau's Strategic Information & Operations Center.

Day gave over the reins the moment Richard entered the room. It had been one of his agents that had gone rogue. He felt responsible for the situation.

Within minutes they had a decent array of intel on their suspect, Agent Ethan Shaw. Medical records. Mental evaluations. FBI performance reports. School, library, and military records. All filed away and ready to display on one of the multiple workstations or LED monitors covering the main wall.

They knew who Shaw was: his habits, his likes and dislikes, who he talked to, when. They had pried into the lives and records of his family and friends to be sure nothing was missed.

They were still unsure where Shaw had run to, but they had an idea where he might be heading. An hour earlier they had intercepted a call made to Shaw’s love-interest, a Kate Conners.

“Sir, Shaw indicated that he planned to meet Connors in Rockingham, North Carolina at a ‘safe house,’” Agent Day began. “However, he told her to meet with a man by the name of Gray in Greensboro first. We're ninety percent sure he is referring to Agent Grayson Whitaker, who works with Shaw.  He also mentioned two others by the name of Dante and Austin.  We know the couple has close ties to Agents Dante Mercer and Austin Conway as well, his other colleagues at our Norfolk Field Office.”

Kate Connors’ phone line was the first that Hunt had tapped, among a few others. Shaw had been smart, he had not used his own phone; the GPS tracker in it had ceased to bleep on the screen hours ago. Shaw knew how not to be tracked. Yet he had taken the risk of contacting the woman.

“More agents? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Richard’s tone became irate as he shook his head. “What about this safe house? Do we have any record of a safe house in Rockingham that any of them used?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. We don't know where this house is. Agent Grayson Whitaker received a phone call approximately five minutes after Shaw contacted Conners though.” Day motioned an analyst to bring up Agent Whitaker’s profile. The screen lit up with information: date of birth, home, height, weight, service and medical records, all set next to Gray’s Bureau ID photo. His jaw line was rigid and narrow, his brown hair messy yet somehow professional.

“That call came from Kate Connors, sir.”

“So have we talked with Whitaker yet?” the Director asked.

“No, sir. We only discovered the conversation under an hour ago, while going through Dr. Connors’ calls,” Aran informed him, hesitating to continue.

“Well?”

“Agent Whitaker left the Norfolk Field Office immediately after the call, at around 1:30 this afternoon,” Aran explained. “We were able to get a match on his plates on interstate eighty-five south just past South Hill headed toward Greensboro. We have a team en route as we speak with orders to bring Agent Whitaker and Dr. Connors in for questioning.”

Director Hunt shook his head, “No. Have them follow Whitaker, but don't engage. Hopefully he can lead us to Ethan.”

He looked around the room sternly, soaking in the activity. A skinny female analyst a row ahead of Richard was checking police reports. A blonde analyst in a tasteful black skirt was contacting law enforcement agencies along Shaw's projected path, fielding information and seeking tips. Others scoured Agent Shaw’s full record for any patterns in his character or past events that might explain his decisions. Nothing was off the table.

Up on the main screen, Richard examined the service photos of the two agents – one gone rogue, the other a possible accomplice. Both men were trained FBI agents, and could be very dangerous. On top of it all, Shaw was former Special Forces, Marine Recon. There was no doubt he could take care of himself. That worried Richard. He was taking every possible precaution to minimize casualties and error.

“While you were in your briefing sir, we compiled additional information on Shaw,” Aran reported, walking over to a terminal manned by a slender female analyst. Hunt followed.

“Following Shaw’s financials has shown some interesting tendencies.” Aran pointed to the monitor. “Over the past four years, he' made several contributions to various anti-government, quote-unquote ‘constitutional’ groups.”

Aran stood up straight and motioned Hunt to another station operated by a young black man sporting a trimmed mustache and goatee.

“Shaw’s social media habits seem to back up his financials. He belongs to several groups dedicated to state sovereignty and reducing the government to nearly nothing, along with other we’ve tagged as borderline hate groups on our watch list.” Aran pointed to several groups listed on the screen: the Virginia Tenth Amendment Center, Citizens for Constitutional Government.

“He also had frequented regular meetings of so-called limited-government groups in the Norfolk-Virginia Beach area, though his attendance in the last year is negligible. Agent Whitaker, on the other hand, seems much more moderate. However, he and Shaw have worked together for years now, so there is no telling how committed he’ll be to Shaw. Same goes for Conway and Mercer,” Aran explained.

Richard Hunt could not help but chuckle a little inside. Shaw was trying to convince his friends of some conspiracy against him, that he did not commit the heinous crimes Richard was chasing him for. But the points to the contrary were continuing to line up. He was attached to every group possible that spelled out his motive and capacity to commit them.

Aran pressed a key on the next workstation, replacing Agent Whitaker’s bio on the main screen with a photo of Dr. Kate Connors. Aran drew Hunt’s attention to the screen with a nod.

Hunt nodded at the photo approvingly. Who would not fall for a woman like that? Dark brown eyes, long, soft sandy blonde hair tied up into a bun. She was professional but a beauty nonetheless.

“Shaw’s fiancé, Dr. Kate Connors. Age thirty-four, Caucasian female. Ph. D. in Political Science, teaches political science at North Carolina State.” Hunt scanned the biographical information as Aran continued.

“Dr. Connors’ research focus centers on election issues like voter fraud and institutional barriers to voting, but she also does some research and writing on national defense policy and terrorism.”

Aran looked to his boss, one eyebrow cocked high. Hunt returned the expression and shook his head.

“How did she end up with Shaw?” he asked.

“Well, it gets better. Through her writings, reviews of her research, and from her colleagues, we’ve been able to determine that she’s far right politically, with major libertarian leanings. She calls herself a strict constitutionalist. She has been openly hostile to several intelligence gathering operations of the major intelligence agencies. She’d have a fit about what we’re doing right now. She was also one of the vocal supporters of Camille Lowe back in 2014,” Aran added disdainfully.

Richard remembered the whistleblower. Lowe had leaked thousands of documents outlining NSA projects which the FBI had used to protect US citizens from terrorism. He could not wait until the feds finally brought Lowe to justice for her treason.

“And each semester, Agent Shaw gives a guest lecture to Dr. Connors’ classes on domestic terrorism,” Aran told the Director with a wry half-smile.

“Anything else?” prompted Hunt.

“Dr. Connors recently wrote a scathing paper criticizing defense spending on what she deems hyper-militarism. She also advocated for ending all offensive wars and repealing the Davidson Act, among other surveillance legislation.”

“We’ve got ourselves a real stellar couple,” Hunt chuckled contemptuously, his lips pursed. “What about the other two? I believe you said Conway and Mercer,” the Director inquired.

Aran nodded and advanced the display to the next photo with the press of a button. Dr. Connors’ face disappeared and was replaced by a man with short, dark auburn hair and dark brown eyes.  His place of birth immediately caught Hunt’s eye: Glasgow, U.K. His looks certainly lent credence to his Scottish lineage.

“Agent Austin Conway, age thirty-two, white male. Masters in Information Systems. Agent Conway is part of our cyberterrorism defense team in the Norfolk office – one of our best, actually. He was born in Scotland, but he became a US citizen at the age of five. He immigrated to the States with his parents and has lived here ever since.”

The Director dropped his head in exasperation.
Could it get any worse? Now one of Shaw’s possible accomplices specializes in hacking.
He returned his gaze to the screen just as Agent Day pulled up the last profile: a broad-shouldered male with dark brown hair and sky-blue eyes.

“Agent Dante Mercer. Age thirty-four, white male. Holds a bachelors in criminal justice. His record, like the others, is clean. However, his financials show that over the past three to four years he has spent a good sum on firearms and ammunition. More than your average Joe’s stockpile. But his record doesn't indicate any anti-government sentiments.”

Hunt sighed.  With Mercer as an ally, Shaw potentially had access to a full arsenal of weapons, and a formidable bodyguard.

“If all three of these men are going to Shaw’s assistance, and we must assume they are until we can prove otherwise, we’re going to have a tough time finding and containing them,” Richard commented. “We have to take a careful and tactical approach. Have there been any hits on Ethan’s current location?”

Aran shook his head. “The only hit we’ve had is Shaw’s phone call to Dr. Connors. He called from a pay phone off of New MacLand Road in Georgia, but we’ve had no luck tracking him down since then. He’s managed to avoid traffic cameras for the most part.”

“For the most part?” the Director pressed, arching an eyebrow.

Aran looked up to an analyst a few workstations over who had been waiting for the cue. “Bring up the tag photo.”

Hunt only nodded his head imperceptibly, but he was pleased.

“We were able to get a faint shot of his license plate,” Aran said, brightening. On the screen, a standard white Georgia license plate appeared, the famous orange peach centered on the plate below the state name.

“Georgia plates,
PHP1970
. It’s registered to a late model silver Nissan Maxima. Belongs to a Gary Rollins in Atlanta.”

Hunt impatiently cut in, “Shaw most likely stole the vehicle.  The car’s owner won’t give us any leads, but have local authorities question him anyway, just to be thorough. Get the plate designation to local police departments and our agents. Focus on those police departments located on or near possible routes to Rockingham, North Carolina.”

“Yes, sir.” Aran had carried out those orders over half an hour ago, but he did not bother to mention it.

“And get a reconnaissance drone over those routes as well.” After the not-so-public proliferation of drones in the States, their utilization had become standard procedure for the Bureau. The extra eyes in the sky had been invaluable in a number of past investigations. He hoped they would prove useful again.

Agent Day agreed and turned to walk away.

“What was the name of the agent who tried to stop Shaw?” the Director asked.

Day stopped and looked back at the Director, “Agent Sean Abrams, out of the Atlanta Field Office.”

Hunt nodded, “Thanks.”