This had been important to leadership, since they had little intelligence regarding the interconnectivity between terrorist cells, or the FBI's penetration of the tri-state area Al Qaeda network. They had determined that most of the cells were under routine twenty-four-hour surveillance, but they didn't know if the greater network had been penetrated. They were almost certain that Abusir's cell hadn't been discovered, but they couldn't take even the slightest chance. Once the FBI woke up to discover their handiwork throughout the tri-state area, any surviving cells under immediate surveillance would be locked down. They needed at least one cell to remain operational and receive Imam Muhammad's inevitable orders. This was critical to a plan that had been set into motion nearly a year ago.
Estrada's thoughts were interrupted by staccato bursts of distant gunfire. No doubt he was hearing AK-47s. He knew their sound all too well. The automatic gunfire echoed through the trees, distinctive enough at this distance, but unlikely to attract any serious attention from someone waiting for a table outside of the Cracker Barrel back toward the highway on Howard Boulevard. He'd have to make sure the local authorities took notice.
He reached into one of the pockets on his jacket and produced a disposable cell phone, which he used to dial 911. The call was immediately connected.
"I just heard automatic weapons fire coming from the Mount Arlington pump station! It sounded like a fucking invasion!" he yelled at the dispatcher.
Within thirty seconds the call was complete, and he was headed back to Howard Boulevard. Both of his additional surveillance teams placed a similar call to 911. As he turned south toward the interstate, he dialed the News 12 New Jersey Tip Line, which would be the first of several calls placed to the media to make sure every American knew that their country was under attack again and that business as usual in Washington wouldn't be enough to protect the public from their greatest fears. This would be the first step on a long, difficult journey to bring this once great nation back to a position of power and respect both here and abroad. Back to the True America our founding fathers had envisioned.
Chapter 10
Sharpe sat in a chair next to Special Agent Hesterman, vying for room to examine his screen. Even with three wide-screen monitors at the station, there was little room for him to see around Hesterman. He wasn't even sure how O'Reilly could see the screens through the massive agent. He must have been a linebacker at Michigan.
"Eric, can you shift about thirty feet to the left? I can't see the screen on the right."
O'Reilly immediately laughed. "How do you think I feel?"
"I feel like I'm being harassed again," Hesterman said, staring intently at the screen.
"Bring it up with the director if you're not happy. I hear he's looking for an agent-intern to work out of his office. Be a great career move," Sharpe said.
"Shit. I'd rather lick one of these crime scenes clean than hang out in his office for the day," Hesterman said.
"Speaking of crime scenes. Anything new with any of the addresses?"
"Well, I might have something. One of the new addresses is different. It's a small apartment with only one occupant listed on the lease, and Mr. Abdul Mohammed Abusir was not found with his brains adorning the walls."
"That makes two missing terrorist cells," O'Reilly stated.
"And still no sign of the virus canisters. Wonderful," Sharpe muttered.
"Whoever hit Al Qaeda didn't leave a trace, beyond Mr. Grimes removing his mask in front of our cameras," O'Reilly said.
"Still no sign of Grimes?"
"Negative. We're watching his house and the Best Buy in Union, New Jersey. I think half of the customers in the Union store right now are federal employees. The phone tap on his house hasn't produced anything useful. His wife has placed several worried calls to friends and family, but nothing that would indicate that she knows his current location. We're checking out anyone she called for a possible connection to True America," O'Reilly said.
"This is not good. Shelby's been all over me to make some progress here. If we don't shake something loose soon, I might consider…"
One of the screens at the workstation suddenly displayed an incoming high-level alert, which stopped him from completing his sentence. The appearance of the message coincided with the buzzing of the NCTC mobile phone on his hip. He could hear several nearby phones buzzing, especially O'Reilly's, which was sitting on the workstation desk. Oddly enough, the buzzing was almost equally as annoying as the ring tones he had forbidden within the watch floor. Another damn "emergency alert," the thirtieth of the day that the White House situation room had relayed, containing information they already knew or didn't need to know. At least they were actively participating, instead of simply demanding updates all day.
"It's started!" yelled one of the NCTC analysts at a nearby station.
"Homeland Security just received an alert from the Morris County Sheriff's Department. The pump station at Mount Arlington was attacked by three suspects at roughly 8:45 PM. The suspects killed two Mount Arlington police officers stationed in the parking lot and one Morris County SWAT officer before they were gunned down and killed by SWAT. Two Morris County Utilities technicians were found shot inside the pump station. They found three of the canisters at the scene."
The room burst into a hectic cacophony of questions and phone calls as Sharpe read the rest of the report.
"The canisters were empty. Jesus," he said, turning around to face the Homeland Security station. "The canisters are empty!" he said to Salvador Guerrero, Homeland's NCTC liaison.
"They know. Everyone's already moving on this. DHS, FEMA, Homeland…everyone," Guerrero said.
"Eric, inform Agent Moriarty immediately. I want one of our investigative teams out there as soon as possible. Dana, put me in touch with whoever is in charge at the scene. We need to make sure they know this is our show. They've lost officers, and emotions will be running high. I need them to preserve the evidence for our own crime scene techs."
He reread the dispatch on the screen, but didn't see any reference to the suspects' physical characteristics. O'Reilly spun her chair to face Sharpe.
"I have Lieutenant David McKay on the line. You can pick up the call on your phone," she said and spun back around.
He took his phone out of the holster on his belt and pressed the green button to accept the transferred call.
"Lieutenant McKay, this is Ryan Sharpe with the FBI. I'm in charge of the task force responsible for finding the rest of the canisters and preventing more attacks. I'm really sorry for the loss of your men. I can't imagine how devastating this will be to the families involved. Let me know if there is anything I can do in the future to make sure they're taken care of. This is technically a federal operation, and I want to make sure they get the proper recognition. I don't know what to say beyond that," Sharpe said.
"Thank you, Agent Sharpe. I'll take you up on that offer if necessary, and I appreciate the fact that you didn't start off the conversation telling me how I'm no longer in charge here."