"Tell me what to do."
Chapter 47
Traffic in and out of the Operations Center was nonexistent at this point. The administrative section of the building had cleared out by six-o'clock, leaving either NCTC personnel assigned to support the ongoing task force or authorized task force members. The Operations Center kept a three-section, eight-hour rotation, fully staffed twenty-four hours a day to support Task Force Scorpion. He wasn't supposed to know the name of the task force, but everybody working security knew more than they should about what was happening in "Ops."
Reggie Taylor glanced around at his colleagues. A total of nine security officers had been assigned to the Operations Center entrance. Two for each of the three checkpoints, and one search team comprised of two officers. The supervisor sat in a glass-encased office directly behind Taylor, but he knew from experience that the supervisor's desk didn't provide the proper angle to see his screen from a seated position. Standing up was a different story. He'd told the Jamaican that their inside man needed to back off if anyone was standing in the supervisor's office. Taylor's screen would clearly indicate that James Fitch was not authorized to access the Operations Center.
He'd been slightly relieved to learn that Fitch was their man. Fitch had worked at the Liberty Crossing building since its inception as the Terrorist Threat Integration Center in 2003, along with Taylor. They had both been present for its renaming as the National Counterterrorism Center one year later in 2004. Fitch had accessed "Ops" to do network repairs or related IT work several dozen times during Taylor's daytime shifts, so his presence wasn't unusual. At 8:00 PM on a Saturday night, though, he wasn't sure. Still, it was better than dressing someone up in a colonel's uniform and trying to squeeze them through the Operations Center's dedicated personnel entrance.
The dedicated personnel entry gave permanent Ops analysts, technicians and managers quick access from the parking lot. This group comprised the majority of traffic handled by these checkpoints, usually around shift changes. Anyone using that entrance would raise an immediate alarm trying to use his checkpoint. They had chosen wisely with Fitch. Better yet, Fitch had chosen wisely. There was little doubt in Taylor's mind that this son-of-a-bitch IT fucker had specifically targeted him because of his young children. He had to remind himself to push these thoughts aside. They would serve him no purpose tonight. He couldn't afford to screw this up. All he had to do was let Fitch pass.
He'd be fine. Fitch would very likely attract no attention at all. When Ops needed server-related support, the Operation Center's deputy supervisor authorized access through the system, without notifying security. The whole process was transparent to the guards. When Fitch or any of the NCTC personnel swiped their card, it would either permit or deny access. The security officers simply enforced the system's output, which completely eliminated the human factor at the gate. Guards couldn't be sweet-talked, rushed or intimidated into letting someone through, regardless of their rank or importance…unless someone was holding a knife to your child's throat.
He glanced down the hallway leading into the general administrative building, trying not to look anxious. The Jamaican told him to expect Fitch around 8:15 PM. He was thankful for that. He wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. Taylor glanced calmly at his watch.
"Long way to go, Reggie," said one of the guards seated across from him at another checkpoint.
"I know. These longer shifts are killing me. I get antsy as soon as I put the uniform on," he replied, not knowing if what he just said made any sense.
He was scared out of his mind. Movement in his peripheral vision brought his attention back to the hallway. A figure moved through the automatic doors, walking briskly toward the security station. He recognized Fitch immediately. Short brown hair, glasses, khaki pants, white button-down shirt covered by an NCTC windbreaker. He thought the jacket was an odd choice for someone trying to avoid attention, but this small observation was drowned out by his relief that the guy wasn't carrying a briefcase or anything that would guarantee that he would be stopped. He should sail right through, if he wasn't carrying anything that triggered the metal detector. Something as stupid as a cell phone or a screwdriver would set the damn thing off, and he didn't control the metal detector.
Fitch approached Taylor's checkpoint and sailed through the metal detector without an issue. Almost there. Come on, baby. He fought the urge to look over his shoulder. He was told that Fitch would abandon the run if Taylor's supervisor stood in a position to see the security monitor. Fitch's eyes furtively shifted in the direction of the supervisor's office behind Taylor. He kept walking. The two men never made eye contact, but Taylor could tell that Fitch was under considerable strain from the one brief glance he stole. Taylor wondered what the Jamaican might be holding over Fitch's head. He didn't know a single fact about the IT guy's personal life.
Fitch swiped his card and waited. Taylor pretended that he didn't see the "access denied" box appear next to Fitch's picture and data profile. He nodded and pressed the green button mounted at his station, which opened the small gate and admitted Fitch, exposing the single greatest flaw in the Operations Center security system. Instead of linking the gate directly to the system, designers had opted to keep the gate operation in human hands. They had their reasons. If the automatic security system interface crashed at the wrong time, Ops personnel could be denied entry during a critical operation. They thought of several additional scenarios to justify the decision, all of which made sense.
Fitch nodded at one of the guards who had taken an interest in his arrival. Taylor held his breath in terror, depriving his limbs and brain of the oxygen-rich blood it desperately needed to support his sympathetic nervous system's activation. He started to experience tunnel vision, which triggered panic. Doubt filled his mind, causing his index finger to stray toward the red alarm button. There was no way they would let his family go. What was he thinking! He had no idea what they had convinced Fitch to do in there. He had to stop this. His family was already dead. He knew it.
"Taylor. You all right?" someone said.
He turned his head toward the voice, and his vision expanded. He was breathing again.
"Yeah. I'm fine," he responded.
"You look like shit, brother. Eating at Long John Silver's again? That place will turn your stomach upside down," his friend at the next checkpoint said.
"I can't resist the popcorn shrimp. Melt in your mouth goodness," he mumbled blankly.
"Yeah, until it comes out the other end a few seconds later." The security officer laughed.
Taylor couldn't have recited his friend's name if his life depended on it, because it didn't. Everything depended on Fitch getting inside Ops. He smiled and faked a short laugh, glancing in Fitch's direction. Taylor watched the technician open the door leading into the Operations Center's blackout vestibule, disappearing inside. He'd done it. He just hoped that Fitch would go about his nefarious business quickly. The Jamaican said that his family would be back in their apartment by 9:00 PM if Fitch gained access to the Operations Center. His watch read 8:16 PM. He settled in for the longest forty-four minutes of his life.