Miles Reese had been Washington Post’s White House Correspondent for the past twelve years. Before that he was the Post’s Bureau Chief in Moscow. Somewhere between the Berlin Wall crumbling and the impeachment of President Clinton, Moscow’s bud had lost its bloom and he came home to claim the paper’s most prestigious prize-covering the White House.
With the threat of an attack on the White House now just 8 hours away, Miles was hunkered down in his office hammering furiously on his computer’s keyboard. A tap on his open office door didn’t deter him and he said, “Go away,” with his eyes glued to his monitor.
“I know you don’t want to be disturbed,” his secretary’s voice said from behind him, “but you’ve got a call from someone saying it’s urgent.”
“Who is it?”
“He wouldn’t say, but he assured me that you would want the exclusive. He says he knows where the terrorists are.”
Reese stopped typing. He looked over his shoulder. “What line?”
“Four.”
The reporter snapped up the receiver. “Reese,” he said.
“Are you interested in knowing where the KSF are hiding?” a man’s voice said.
“Bill? Is that you?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Reese grabbed a pen from his penholder. “Of course I want to know where they are.”
“Good. Then I will tell you under one condition. This is going to be an anonymous source-not an anonymous source from the White House, or a high ranking official, or even a government employee. This is going to be an anonymous source-period. Understand?”
“Gotcha, boss. Let me have it.”
There was a hesitation as Reese thought he heard the man murmuring to himself about whether it was the right thing to do.
“Look,” Reese stoked the flame of free-flowing information, “I’m not sure what your concern is, but I can not only guarantee your anonymity, I can assure you that-if the information is accurate-you’d be doing the country a tremendous service. The more people who know where to look, the better chance we have of finding them.”
Reese didn’t hear anything for thirty seconds. The line was still open and he didn’t want to hard sell the guy, so he kept quiet. Finally, after a minute of silence, the man’s voice said, “Payson, Arizona,” then hung up.
Reese scribbled the name down, then pulled a map of Arizona from the bottom drawer of his desk. He groped through the state of Arizona with his finger until he found the tiny dot that was Payson. He circled it with a pencil. Tapping the pencil on his desk, he considered the call. Reese’s suspicious nature kicked in. He’d received White House leaks all the time, but usually they came from an intern, or somebody completely expendable.
He looked up at his clock and picked up his phone. Regardless of President Merrick’s motives, Reese had to move on the story.
“Fredrick Himes’ office,” a man’s voice answered.
“This is Miles Reese with the Post. I’d like to have the Press Secretary comment on a story I’m about to put on our website. Is he available?”
“I’m sorry, he’s not. I’m sure you understand that-”
“I’m publishing the location of the Kurdish terrorists headquarters in the United States.” Reese paused for effect. “Now is the Press Secretary available, or should I run with this story?”
There was a brief interval in the conversation. Although it was obvious that the man’s hand was now covering the phone, Reese could hear his voice speaking urgently through the muted mouthpiece. A moment later the man said, “I’ll put you through to him now.”
A clicking sound, then, “Himes.”
“Fredrick, this is Miles. I’ve got a source telling me the general location of the KSF headquarters. Would you care to comment?” Reese always blurted out the leak quickly and listened carefully for the response. All too often the reply was practically scripted.
This time, however, the Press Secretary seemed genuinely dazed by the call. “Uh, are you saying that you know the actual state they’re located?”
“And city.”
“How certain are you?”
“I’m certain that my source is credible.”
Himes hesitated, then sheepishly asked, “Who is your source?”
“Jeez, Fredrick, what’s going on over there? Don’t you guys even talk with each other? This is not something that’s likely to miss your circle.”
“Who is your source?”
“Come on, you know I’m not going to tell you.”
Himes’ voice got dark. “If you publish this information, you’d better know what you’re doing. Otherwise, your career will be doing a tightrope act.”
“My source is credible. So, what’s your comment?”
“How can I respond without hearing where you think they are?”
Reese shook his head and leaned back into his chair. “You really don’t know do you?”
Silence.
“I’m told they’re in Arizona. What’s your comment?”
Reese could hear the man sigh. “No comment.”
“That’s all I needed to know. Thanks, Fredrick. Go introduce yourself to the President. He’ll be the one with the herd of Secret Service around him.”
Reese hung up. There was no sense trying to run down a second source to corroborate the story. After all, it came from the White House Chief of Staff. What more did he need?
As the helicopter breezed dangerously close to the ground, the treetops became larger and greener with every passing minute. They were heading from the desert of Phoenix, to the mountains of Payson. Nick had a death grip on one of the restraining straps while staring out of the front of the chopper.
“Isn’t this thing flying a little low?” Nick asked anyone.
“Relax,” Matt said. “Look at it this way-we’re close enough to survive a crash landing. You can’t say that about a commercial airliner.”
“Gee, I feel better already,” Nick said. He cupped his hand around his mouth and aimed at the pilot. “How much longer,” he yelled over the din of the rotor.
The pilot turned his head slightly, but kept his eyes on the landscape ahead. “Ten minutes.”
“That’s what you said ten minutes ago,” Nick muttered to himself.
“What kind of assets do we have up here?” Matt asked.
“There’s an R.A. They didn’t give me a name.”
“That’s it-a resident agent?”
“We’re supposed to be running a clandestine operation. It’s up to us and whoever we can conjure up from the Sheriff’s Department.”
“Great,” Matt said.
The helicopter circled an open patch of grass near a paved road. A red pickup truck sat next to the opening and someone stood beside the truck with his hand protecting his face from the gusty assault of the rotors.
When the chopper finally settled down, Nick was the first to jump out. He was followed by the rest of the team and Don Silkari. They’d gone from the desert to the mountains and the fall air had a crisp chill to it. Nick waved off the pilot and watched as the helicopter hovered out of the opening, then tilted forward and surged back to Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix.
By the time Nick reached the local FBI agent, Matt was already shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. He was surprised to find an attractive woman dressed in jeans and dark nylon vest. She wore her long brunette hair in a ponytail, which was pulled tight through the opening of the back of her baseball cap. It wasn’t lost on Nick that Matt was the one who was doing the introductions, but with an awkward look on his face.
Nick shook her hand. “Nick Bracco.”
“Jennifer Steele,” she said.
“Jennifer Steele?” Nick squinted. He looked at Matt. Matt nodded. Yes, that Jennifer Steele.
Some women pull back their hair, throw on a flannel shirt and become Grizzly Adams. Steele didn’t wear a spec of makeup, yet Nick could tell that underneath all the denim there was a body dying to be wrapped tight in an evening gown.
“I see,” Nick said.
“Is there a problem?” Steele asked.
“Of course not,” Nick said. “You’ve been briefed?”
“Well. . actually, very little. The only thing I’m certain of is that you’re searching for the KSF’s home base. You have reason to suspect they’re hiding somewhere in the vicinity of Payson. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
She looked around at the group, all wearing casual clothes, no FBI windbreakers to be seen. “If you don’t mind me asking, how much more backup are we getting?”
“None,” Nick said. “You’re looking at the task force.”
“Oh,” she said, regarding the team with a fresh set of eyes. “Well, I’ve been instructed to assist you any way I can. I’ve been the R.A. up here for five years, so I’m certain I’ll be an asset.” She raised her brow. “Of course the more I know, the more valuable I become.”
Nick smiled. He knew how it felt to be at the lower echelon of the information chain. Most resident agents worked out of their homes in remote locations. For them, a bank robbery was about as exciting as it got. Terrorists harboring an operation center was way up the intrigue chart. And that’s precisely what Jennifer Steele looked like to Nick. Intrigued. Almost as intrigued as his partner. Matt stood there listening to Steele as if she were reciting the Ten Commandments.
Nick lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you what, Agent Steele, let’s head toward our command post and I’ll update you along with the local law enforcement.”
Her eyes were bright with anticipation and the corner of her mouth always appeared to be on the verge of a grin, yet her demeanor was all business. She pointed to her truck. “It’s your show. We’ll be using the Sheriff’s office as a command post, but don’t expect a welcome wagon when we show up.”
Nick smiled. “We never do.”
“A couple of you can ride up front with me, the rest will have to rough it in the back.”
Without a word everyone but Nick and Matt groped their way into the back of the truck. As they approached the passenger door, Nick gave Matt a wide berth and ushered him in.
The truck jostled back and forth as Agent Steele rolled the truck from the rough terrain onto the smooth surface of a paved road. Steele and Matt seemed eager to start a conversation, but neither of them appeared as if they could decide the proper way to begin. They rode in a stiff silence for a while until Matt ducked his head to look at the tops of the tall Ponderosa Pines waving in the autumn breeze. “Beautiful country up here.”
“I think so,” she said.
The silence lingered until the truck ascended the crest of a hill and downtown Payson came into view. Retail stores made out of logs and T-4 wood siding cohabitated with modern strip shopping centers and fast food restaurants. Steele slowed the truck to match the lower speed limit. “I have to warn you about the sheriff,” she confided. “He’s a bit heavy-handed.”
“You mean he’s a bully,” Matt said.
“I mean he’s not exactly friendly toward us federal employees.”
Matt grinned. “He just hasn’t met anyone as likable as us before.”
Steele looked at him. “I know enough about you, Agent McColm.”
Nick could feel Matt’s body go rigid. He seemed prepared to defend himself, when Steele said, “I mean, what kind of agent would I be if I wasn’t familiar with the FBI’s two time reigning sharp-shooting champion?”
A grin crept across Matt’s face and he sat up a bit taller. “I guess you would be the uninformed kind.”
This got her to display a smile that even happily-married Nick Bracco had to admire.
“Well, I happen to be a bit of a marksman myself,” she said. “Maybe not as good as you with a handgun, but I’d give you trouble with a rifle.”
“I’ll bet you would,” Matt said, looking her over as if he were appraising a fine diamond.
“Listen, kids,” Nick interrupted.
“Yes, Dad,” Matt said.
Steele let out the tiniest of a nervous laugh.
“First of all, we’re pretty certain the KSF is tucked away up here somewhere. Do you have any ideas where we might start a search?”
“Well,” Steele said,” there are plenty of cabins scattered throughout the outskirts of town. If I wanted seclusion that’s where I’d hide. How did you discover their location?”
“Yeah,” Matt said, turning toward his partner with a smirk. “Why don’t you tell us that, Dad?”
Nick looked over his shoulder and saw the team appearing to be taking in the scenery from the back of the truck, but he knew better. Each set of eyes was rummaging the countryside, searching for anything suspicious. “It gets complicated.”
Steele gave Nick a sideways glance. “Is that another way of saying get lost?”
“Not at all. It’s just that some of the people involved aren’t the type to. . uh. . be associating with law enforcement types.”
She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “You mean like the one with the purple toothpick?”
Nick looked back and rolled his eyes at the sight of Silk in his long, black, wool coat, and pointy black boots sticking out from the bottom of his perfectly creased jeans. He looked like he belonged on the sidelines of a college football game. “Yes, like him,” Nick said.
“I see.”
This seemed to satisfy her curiosity for the moment. She slowed even further and made a left hand turn at the first traffic light Nick had noticed. In a few minutes they were rolling into the freshly asphalted parking area in front of the Gila County Sheriff’s Office. Like most buildings in Payson, it was made of wood and topped with a shingled roof. Parked in front of the building was a sparkling new Ford pickup truck with temporary plates demonstrating its adolescence.
Nick pointed to the vehicle. “That’s the Sheriff’s?”
Steele nodded. “It’s his baby. He’s practically showing it off door-to-door.”
The group unloaded duffle bags full of gear and followed Steele through the front door and into the administrative office. Three older women were busy behind the counter. Two were on the phone, and the third was heaving a cardboard box full of files across the room. The walls were lined with filing cabinets and the floor was an aging linoleum that curled slightly at the perimeter.
Steele removed her baseball cap and waved a thumb over her shoulder at the small crowd behind her. “Afternoon, Lorraine. This is the crew of agents from Baltimore that Sheriff’s been waiting for. Is he in?”
The woman had the unimpressed look of someone who’d seen too much reality TV. She placed the box on her desk and picked up her phone. “They’re here,” she said.
After a moment she placed the phone down and pointed toward a hallway. “You know where to go.”
Nick trailed the field, taking it all in. The agents all nodded at the woman as they passed and Silk pulled the toothpick from his mouth in a hat-tipping gesture.
Once inside the Sheriff’s personal office, linoleum gave way to a brown industrial grade carpet. A giant picture of Geronimo loomed on the wall across from the Sheriff’s desk, which was flanked by the United States flag and the state flag of Arizona. The Sheriff wore a tan uniform with a gold star on his sleeve. He sat with his legs crossed as if he were a guest on a talk show and his hands cradled a Styrofoam cup on his slight potbelly.
“Well, well,” the Sheriff smiled, “look what the cat drug in. The federal government has graced me with their finest men.” He quickly nodded at Agent Steele, “And women.”
“Sheriff Skrugs,” Steele said, hat in hand, “This is Agent Bracco.”
Nick made his way to the desk and reached over to shake the Sheriff’s hand. “My name’s Nick. This is Matt, Ed, Carl, Dave, Mel and Don. I think you know why we’re here.”
“I have a pretty good idea,” the Sheriff said.
Nick pointed and the men let the heavy bags drop to the floor in the back of the room. Carl Rutherford closed the door and assisted in unloading rifles, magazines full of rounds, video and audio equipment, and laptop computers.
The Sheriff squinted at the sight. “What’s all that about?”
“Just setting up shop,” Nick said.
“Now hold on. I told your boss I’d help you out, but I didn’t think you were gonna take the place over.”
No one paid any attention to the Sheriff. They kept to their task while Nick spread a map of Arizona across Skrugs’ desk. Matt and Dave Tanner bent over the map with Nick and began the process of familiarizing themselves with the area. Agent Steele poked her head over Matt’s shoulder and Nick encouraged her to participate.
“Please,” Nick said, “could you mark the Sheriff’s office for us?”
Steele pulled a pencil from a plastic cylinder on Skrug’s desk and began examining the map.
“We’ll need at least a half a dozen more men, Sheriff,” Nick said.
“Just a dog gone minute,” Skrugs bellowed. “I never offered any manpower from my office, cause we just can’t spare it right now.”
“Sheriff,” Nick said in a tight voice, “we’re fairly certain that the headquarters for the Kurdish terrorists is in this area. We have until 9 PM to find them or there’s a good chance that the White House will be history. Does that help in the motivation department?”
The room became quiet while Sheriff Skrugs leaned sideways in his chair, looked down, and dropped a long, juicy, strip of chewing tobacco into the Styrofoam cup. When he sat up he seemed to enjoy the awkward gap in the conversation. He smiled a brown smile. “I’m going to tell you something, Mr. Special Agent. There’s an election in a few weeks and I’m going to be reelected to protect and serve the fine people of Gila County. Now your job and my responsibilities may not coincide, but that won’t prevent me from assisting you. It’s just that I have a manhunt going on at the moment and I’m not willing to spare my deputies for a wild goose chase.”
“It’s not a wild goose chase, Sheriff.”
“No, huh? If this is so important to the President, then how come I see only a handful of FBI agents instead of a platoon of Marines?”
Nick folded his arms. He could see that logic wasn’t going to play a big part in the proceeding, so he decided to lower himself down to the proper level. “That’ s a nice truck you have out there.”
Skrugs turned his head suspiciously while boring a hole into Nick’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“It’s a Special Edition, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Must’ve been expensive.”
“Thirty-thousand dollars,” Skrugs said, flatly.
“Thirty-one thousand, five-hundred and twelve, to be exact. And you paid cash.”
Skrug’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you come right out and tell me what you’re getting at?”
Nick looked around at the office, sizing it up for potential. “If you can’t spare any men, fine. At least allow us the liberty of using your office as a command post and stay out of our way.”
Skrug’s drooled another strip of tobacco into his cup. “Don’t play games with me, Special Agent. What’s the truck thing all about?”
“We’ll need more detailed maps and I had a list of newly purchased homes faxed here from the county records department. Can you locate that for us?”
Now the Sheriff was on his feet and getting up into Nick’s face. Matt and Dave Tanner each pulled an arm and wrestled Skrugs back into his chair. Nick stretched his arms out across the desk and leaned over. His tone was dead serious. “I don’t need any more friends, Sheriff. Get the paperwork I requested, then you can get the fuck out of here and chase down your horse thief, or whoever the fuck you’re protecting your citizens from.”
“All right, all right,” Skrugs shook off the two agents flanking him. “There’s no reason to get all riled up about this.”
Nick stood upright and nodded. “Good. I’m glad you see it our way.”
Skrugs stood and reached for his belt hanging from a hook on a wall behind his desk. The belt was abnormally wide and contained his holstered gun and radio. Matt gave Nick a look and Nick held up a hand signaling him to allow the Sheriff to get his belt. As Skrugs strapped it around his plump waist, he said, “There’s no need for any paperwork.”
“Why’s that,” Nick said, warily.
“Because,” Skrugs said, adjusting his belt, “I already know where they are.”