"Your hand," Sharpe corrected.
"Our hand. This is our hand now. No going back at this point. Can you connect True America with heavy weapons purchases?"
"I can connect them to a deceased arms dealer who specialized in hard to find, highly illegal weapons. He provided your organization with .50 caliber sniper rifles and a whole host of new weapons."
"Navarre. Perfect. He offered my operatives a whole host of crazy, very dangerous shit. Soviet bloc shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles. I think you need to insist that your voice is heard. Once a decision is made to raid the compound, schedule a sit-down with your SOCOM liaison, Colonel Jeffrey Hanson. He's a good soldier and will listen to what you have to say."
"What if they go completely behind our backs, or just announce the raid an hour or two in advance?" Sharpe asked.
"We need to make sure that doesn't happen. I have people on the inside that can warn us, and I'd recommend that you cozy up to Director Shelby. He was instrumental in planning the raid that landed over a hundred special operators at my camp in Argentina. Just be careful. He didn't have much of a choice about my unit's participation in Task Force Scorpion, and I suspect he'll turn on me at the first opportunity and you too if he catches wind of this."
"My agents will need to be on-scene immediately to start processing evidence. As soon as the compound is declared clear, it's back in my hands. I'll make sure they don't cut me out of the loop," Sharpe said.
"Sounds like a solid plan. In the interest of full disclosure, I'm working on something else that might interest you. Nothing actionable yet, but highly intriguing. After killing the Imam, Estrada's next mission was to travel to Atlanta and assassinate a prominent D.C. lobbyist named Benjamin Young. Mr. Young's wife and children live in Atlanta. He also maintains apartments in D.C. and Manhattan. Apparently, he's not the most faithful husband, and he's developed quite a drug habit. True America leadership wants him out of the picture, so he must be a critical liability. I'd like to know why. I'll have people in Atlanta by mid-morning to start surveillance. I'm hoping to take him off the streets before True America sends another team after him."
"I'll steer clear of that one for now," Sharpe said.
"Good call. I'll keep you apprised of any developments in Atlanta."
"All right and, General?"
"Yes?"
"You're not going to screw me on this, right?"
"Ryan, I give you my word that the only agenda item on my blackboard is to put an end to this terrorist plot. My operatives are loyal and share that single goal. You saw proof of that earlier this evening. The operatives assigned to the El Halal mission understood their odds. More importantly, they understood the importance of their mission to our country. Hundreds of thousands of American lives will be lost if we don't stop True America. I debriefed Petrovich and Farrington after they returned from Monchegorsk. The video evidence and accounts of horror publicized by Reuters do little justice to the tragedy that unfolded in that doomed city. Just one of those canisters could turn one of our cities inside out."
"You had people on the inside? In Monchegorsk?"
"I had a small team penetrate the city on behalf of the CIA. The Russians are lying through their teeth about Monchegorsk, and they're leveling the city to eradicate the population. You've seen the projected symptoms of the weaponized virus we're facing. Temporal lobe damage to almost everyone infected. Symptom severity varying from fever with disorientation all the way to an uncontrollable murderous frenzy. My team said the streets were overrun with aggressive, zombie-like citizens. That's why they are calling this the Zulu virus. If this virus is unleashed in a high-density population area here in the U.S., our own government's options for dealing with the crisis would shrink rapidly. How do you effectively deal with a thirty to forty thousand person rampage in the suburbs?"
"I guess you go Russian on them," Sharpe said.
"Exactly. My organization is willing to go as far as necessary to stop that from happening in the U.S."
"I wish we could do more, but my hands are tied here," Sharpe said.
"Your task force is doing exactly what it was designed to do and doing it exceptionally well. You just need the occasional boost from my group to fine-tune your efforts. Working together gives us the best chance to stop this threat."
"I'm not going to lie to you, General. Working with your group makes me nervous," Sharpe admitted.
He had to make sure this was clear to Sanderson. He wasn't sure why, but he needed the general to acknowledge his concerns.
"I won't leave you hanging out to dry, Special Agent Sharpe. I consider you one of my own now," Sanderson said.
"All right. We're unlikely partners in this mess. Speaking of which, I need to get back to the watch floor. I'm going to hand you off to Ms. Stewart."
"Good luck today, and welcome to the team."
Sharpe didn't like the sound of Sanderson's last comment. He handed the phone back to Stewart.
"This doesn't mean you get to hang out in my office and drink coffee," he said to Stewart before departing. "We keep up the appearance that I can't stand your presence here."
"Got it," she said, taking the phone.
"And have your people actively track O'Reilly's computer activity. I can't be the only one around here to suspect that our system has been hacked. She's smarter than both of us combined and way craftier," Sharpe said.
"Is there any way to bring her on board?" Stewart said.
"Absolutely not. The rest of my people are off limits. That's non-negotiable. If this dangerous liaison detonates, I don't want them exposed. This includes Mendoza."
Sharpe left her office and stepped onto the catwalk, glancing down at the watch floor. The activity level had diminished throughout the center, which was more a reflection of the late hour and the fact that they had been running nonstop for the last forty-eight hours. Most of the agency liaisons were holed up in their offices sleeping, leaving skeleton crews on the floor to monitor progress. His own crew had thinned tonight at O'Reilly's request. She kept enough agents and analysts on the floor to process evidence and information gathered by the mobile investigative team in Brooklyn. She had sent at least half of them away to get rest once they had put the computers to work trying to identify the men and women captured or killed in the market raid.
They had the location of True America's militant training camp, which would effectively propel the investigation forward. He'd pass this information on to the White House situation room as soon as he stepped into his office and then place a call to Director Shelby. Actually, he'd reverse that order, he decided. Shelby would probably savor the chance to deliver this information. He'd at least give Shelby the option. Career management 101. It sounded petty and ridiculous, but little things like that mattered to the director.
He imagined that this new information would trigger a string of early wake-up calls throughout D.C. He'd be lucky to grab an hour or two before the watch floor was back in full swing. Before all of that, he'd need to convince O'Reilly that he'd laid down the law with Stewart. O'Reilly hated Sanderson's crew and represented the single greatest threat to unhitching Sanderson from the task force. He'd lie about Estrada, telling her that Stewart denied involvement. O'Reilly wouldn't believe Stewart's claim, but in the long run, it was a safer move for all of them.
He'd have to maintain the same lie with Mendoza, which might be too big of a stretch. Mendoza had been present during Stewart's confession that Sanderson's people had abducted and absconded with the Imam right under the FBI's watchful eyes. He knew that the El Halal Market operation and the early morning Bayonne raid had all fallen into their laps, compliments of General Sanderson. He'd have to gauge Mendoza's reaction. If his friend pushed back too much, he might have to relent. He didn't like running a web of conspiracy and lies within his own task force, but the stakes were too high to lose Sanderson's support. He turned toward the staircase, ready to start spinning his own web upon reaching the watch floor.