The 13: Fall (15 page)

T
he Prophet stood across the street, leaning against the side of a corner market. There were lots of people going in and out of the store, so he wasn’t that noticeable. And he really wanted to not be there, but he was instructed to stay and watch. He was to see who was looking for him. He knew the names but not the faces. This would help him to avoid them until it was time.

See, that was the thing. At some point, he would come to them. He was told they would need him. And they would look to him for guidance.

But for now, he was to observe and just be the messenger.

So he watched as the FBI vehicle pulled up to the café. He observed the two people who got out of the truck. The girl looked to be athletic and capable. The guy looked cold and calculated. Both immediately were aware of their surroundings as they got out of the vehicle, surveying the area, looking for anything that appeared to be suspicious.

And that’s why he decided to leave. He had seen them. Knew their faces now. And that was enough. But as he pushed off the side of the building to go, another man emerged from the vehicle. This man looked different. He carried himself the same as the first man but was different somehow. This must be the one, he was told, who was the believer.
Good
, the Prophet thought,
they’ll need him.

Just then the man he had been observing turned in his direction. And it only happened for a split second. But they locked eyes. He froze for a moment, a slight panic coursing through his veins as the man took two steps closer to him, still looking. But then he stopped and turned back to face the café. Keene and Taylor had emerged and were carrying a computer. The three of them had a brief conversation and then split up again.

That was enough. He should have left minutes ago. Without a second thought, he turned and pulled the hoodie back up over his hat and turned down the other street.

   CHAPTER 23   

M
arianne Levy left the White House and headed back to her office at Homeland Security. When she got there, she checked in with her secretary and cleared her schedule for the rest of the day. She went inside her office and closed the door.

Sitting down at her desk, she opened her laptop, typed the address in the search bar and waited for the site to come up. She entered her secure password and waited for the page to appear.

The website was an online banking system in Switzerland in which she was an account holder. She scrolled down to the bottom of the page to look at it one more time. It was the fourth time she’d done it since meeting with Ms. Smith. There it was, two hundred and fifty million dollars. Untraceable. In a secure Swiss bank.

It wasn’t that she hated her government, it was just that she really loved money. And this was a lot of it. And not even all of it. This was just the first payment. And the reality of it was, if one had enough money, governments didn’t matter. And the deal she’d made was going to ensure enough money.

She was going to need to leave for a while, though. Once it happened, there would be no telling what the fallout would be or how long it would take. That also created a problem. She would pretty much be serving herself up as the culprit. But she was pretty sure that with two hundred and fifty million dollars already, and another one hundred still to come, she could provide herself with some safety. And besides, in just a few days, there would be so much chaos, she would be the least of anyone’s worries.

She closed the laptop and packed it inside her briefcase. She left her office and drove home to Arlington. She parked the car in the drive and looked at the house, a beautiful historic Georgian, over a hundred years old. She would miss this place. She had spent nearly a decade renovating it. There were a lot of good memories here. She quickly dismissed the thought. Three hundred and fifty million dollars could buy some pretty good memories, she decided.

She let herself into the house and placed her keys and phone on the table by the front door. She walked through the foyer toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. Time to celebrate. Instead, she was met by an unannounced visitor standing by the counter.

“Ms. Smith,” she said, startled. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“Really?” Ms. Smith sighed.

“Never mind.” She had forgotten, for a moment, Smith’s talents.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going home.”

“I’m on my way to the airport. I just needed to stop by and tell you that Mr. Chin called.”

“And?”

“And he says they’re going to need more.”

“What! No! I’ve given that man everything he needs.”

“He says they do have what they need. For the initial agreement. But he wants to talk about something more involved.”

“Like what?”

“He wants to move some things south of the border.”

“What things? And why does he need me for that? I don’t run Mexico.”

“I’m not sure. He wouldn’t tell me. He wants to meet with you.”

“Listen, I’ve given him everything he needs for North Dakota, South Dakota, and Montana. That was the deal.”

“So what do you want me to tell him?”

“Nothing.”

“So you want me to tell him no?”

“No, I want you to tell him nothing. I’ll tell him. When does he want to meet?”

“A week from today. Same place.”

“Tell him I’ll be there, eight o’clock.”

“I’ll give him the message.” Smith turned and walked toward the front door.

   CHAPTER 24   

T
he sun had begun to set by the time they left the bank. They spent a little time, just showing the photo around to the people in the area. No one had noticed the man, although Boz thought he’d seen someone who looked like that at the market across the street. So they tried the guy behind the counter, but he was no help either. Whether it was the Prophet or not, they decided that he was long gone by now, and so they decided to head to the warehouse—the reason for their Chicago trip. So they packed it up and headed out.

The FBI Suburban turned north on North Michigan Avenue and headed to West Madison Street, to a warehouse district known as the West Loop. It was decided that Special Agent Graham would take the computer from the café to the Bureau’s field office nearby, while Special Agent Franks would take the three of them to the warehouse.

On the way, Franks told them the West Loop was, at one time, one of the up-and-coming neighborhoods in Chicago. Several years ago it had been renovated from an industrial area and had, over the years, become a trendy neighborhood—though with the down-turning economy over the last few years, many of the warehouses were abandoned once again.

The warehouse in question was a small one nestled in between larger buildings, off one of the side streets. It looked to have been a small boutique store. As the vehicle slowed down, Keene spoke first.

“Taylor, you and I can take the front. Boz, why don’t you and Franks go around back.”

“Just don’t shoot first, Jon,” Boz said.

“I’m not going to shoot him. I’m CIA, remember? We torture them first.” Keene winked.

Keene and Taylor got out of the car, drew their weapons, and proceeded to the front entrance, as the Suburban drove around back.

“What makes you think he’s still here?” Taylor asked.

“I don’t think he’s here,” Keene admitted. “But you never know.

Maybe we’ll at least find something in here that will lead us to him.”

“Jon, wait.”

It was the first time she had called him by his first name.
A little strange but whatever
, he thought.

“What?”

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“What do you mean, a bad feeling?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t …”

“Just stay on my six and keep your eyes open.”

“Listen to me,” she said.

Her seriousness gave him a slight pause. Something really was bothering her about this.

“Megan, look.” He noted that calling her by
her
first name got no negative reaction, so he continued. “This guy has made a threat against the United States of America. You said he probably did it from here. We have to go in there. Besides, like you said, he’s probably not in there anyway.”

He didn’t give her any more time for objection. He leveled his gun and opened the front door.

The place was dark. The front of the building had been outfitted to be an office, so there were walls and drop ceilings. The only light was from the open doorway. Keene reached for his flashlight and clicked it on. The beam illuminated an entryway with a long hallway leading down a corridor. No offshoots were found for the first ten paces or so, but then two doors on either side of the hallway appeared. Carefully, they checked each one only to find small abandoned offices. Continuing down the hallway, they found themselves against another door, this one bringing a dead end to the hallway. Keene motioned for Taylor to go low, signaling that he would stay up as they entered the door. He turned the knob.

Sweeping left to right, high and low, they moved through the door. Inside they found themselves in the main warehouse area. It was a room about the size of a four-car garage. Probably used for some type of manufacturing in the past. Now it was just an empty shell. But it wasn’t completely empty. In the middle of the room sat a single stool. On it was a piece of paper. After securing the room, Keene took the paper from the stool and read it.

“It’s a bluff,” Keene said, more to himself.

“I don’t think so,” Taylor said.

“What do you mean?”

“Look!”

She pointed to a small camera in the corner of the room. It had a little red light on it, signifying that it was on.