Tanner looked away from the TV. Jasmijn had her head lying on her arm on the table, shaking. Tanner tried to comfort her but it was no use. “It’s my fault,” she mumbled over and over.
On screen, the news report shifted to a view of the White House, where the president stood at a podium emblazoned with the presidential seal. A forest of microphones bristled in front of him, an eager throng of reporters hungry for answers waiting just beyond. The President cleared his throat, received a go-ahead signal from an assistant off-screen, and leaned into the microphones.
“It is with great sadness and a heavy heart that I learned of the 768 persons killed in a terror attack last night at Sun Life Stadium during Monday Night Football — an event that is supposed to be a good time for all. I would like to commend our valiant first responders for their prompt reaction and highly professional handling of this horrific incident. To those responsible, let me assure you: you will be held accountable. The United States does not negotiate with terrorists nor does it give in to the demands of terrorists. We are working tenaciously to bring those responsible for this heinous act to justice. We have elevated our terror alert status to the maximum alert possible until further notice. That is all for now.”
The president started to step down from the podium.
“President Carmichael?” a female reporter called out. “What about the Hofstad video? Will you close the embassy in The Hague?”
The President halted for a moment and then stepped back up to the podium. He shook his head emphatically as he looked at the reporter.
“We will not.”
FIVE
“This is all my fault.” Jasmijn cradled her head in her hands. Tanner clicked the television off and looked at her. He put a hand on her arm.
“It’s not your fault. It’s the terrorists’ fault. They’re the ones doing this.”
Jasmijn raised her head and rubbed her eyes. “The president just said they won’t give in to Hofstad’s demands. If they don’t shut down the embassy…”
“Standard policy. They’ll be working behind the scenes as we speak to take Hofstad down.” But no sooner had the words escaped his lips than he questioned the validity of his own statement. His loyalty to his country was beyond reproach, but his trust in some sectors of the government itself had been compromised through his own experiences as a former FBI Special Agent in the Counter-terrorism Division (CTD). Well regarded for both his field acumen as well as his analytical capabilities, Tanner had been directly responsible for identifying, tracking, bringing to justice, and in some cases, killing — literally hundreds of terrorists. Indirectly, that count easily rose into the thousands. After a dozen years it seemed that nothing could derail his stellar career within the vaunted CTD.
But then came along a fiery administrative assistant by the name Caitlin White. He’d had a brief relationship with her and when he tried to call it off after realizing it wasn’t meant to be, she refused to accept it. In retaliation, she claimed Tanner had harassed her on the job, filing a formal grievance. In the hyper-politically correct era of the time, the Bureau preferred to let a good man go rather than suffer the negative press of any kind of impropriety happening in D.C. And thus had ended his illustrious career with J. Edgar Hoover’s storied organization. His pride wounded but his skill-set untouched, Tanner had withdrawn for a time, taking long walks on the beach alone, solo swims farther from shore than was prudent, meandering hiking trips into the mountains with minimal gear. When he emerged from these soul-searching activities nearly a year later, he was more convinced than ever that his country needed him even if it had cast him aside. He would not turn his back on the nation that had given him so much, even though it had spurned him. Each day’s news headlines reminded him that America needed him. He could not stand to sit idly by and do nothing while he watched threat after threat to his beloved homeland materialize.
And so it was that Tanner Wilson had cast himself out from hiding in order to seek out like-minded individuals. For the irony was that although he had been branded an outcast, he knew that he was not the only one. Far from it. And he had been all too aware that while talented, he would require help. In the FBI he had enjoyed the support of a competent and motivated team. That would not be easy to replace, but at the same time he had been aware that it was just a matter of finding those in a similar situation as himself. And he had known where to look.
Tanner held Jasmijn’s gaze with his own. “I have some familiarity with Hofstad from my FBI days. I may be able to help here. But first let me ask you a question.” Her quizzical expression said she wanted to hear it.
“Based on your estimation of how much STX they stole from your lab, how much of that do you think they already used in last night’s attack?”
She answered with no hesitation. “Hardly any. Unless they spilled some during the transfer process. But from what I saw on television, perhaps two percent of what they took, if that.”
Tanner tried not to let his concern show on his face. He kept the conversation moving so as not to dwell on this disconcerting fact. “Do you think they have the ability to make more of it?”
Again, her response was decisive and swift. “No. The process is highly technical and requires specific source compounds. They did not press me for it. They probably knew that what they were taking was more than enough.” She shuddered.
“More than enough for what?” Tanner wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Jasmijn shrugged. “More than enough to kill…” Her eyes looked up and to the right as she mentally calculated…” Let’s see, if last night’s plume in the halftime show killed 700 people, then they probably have enough, if they don’t waste or lose — or sell— any, to kill…millions.” She hung her head as she concluded her grim estimation.
“There’s a group of people I’d like you to meet.” Tanner’s words hung heavy in the air.
Jasmijn raised her head as though its weight was almost more than she could bear. “Who are they?”
“They’re a team of special people I work with to handle situations like these.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Special people? Did they ride the short bus to school?”
Tanner blushed, close to embarrassment. He wasn’t used to explaining his organization to outsiders. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood.
“I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Listen, it’ll be a lot easier for me to explain once we’re in the meeting. Not to mention,” he said, glancing at his G-shock watch, “that we don’t have a lot of time before Hofstad acts again.”
SIX
Tanner led Jasmijn down a flight of stairs in his house.
“I thought your garage is outside on ground level?” she said, recalling the quick tour he’d given her.
“It is. We’re meeting down here. I saved the best part of the tour for last.” He opened a heavy steel door at the bottom of the staircase and flipped on a light switch. Jasmijn stared cautiously inside.
“Your group is down here already?” Understandably, the idea that a bunch of people were hanging out downstairs that Tanner had only just told her about made her somewhat uncomfortable. Tanner gave her a good natured laugh.
“In a manner of speaking. C’mon in…” He walked into the converted basement, waving an arm for her to follow. Jasmijn entered and then stood still, taking in the space that served as Tanner’s office area and war room.