Credible Threat Page 10

  I put an ear to the door and listened. There wasn’t a sound.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Jami in position. She was crouched behind the wooden fence with her gun drawn. A car approached and I waited for it to pass. After it disappeared down the street, I looked at Chris and backed up. He did the same. I nodded and we each kicked the doors in.

  “Federal agent!” I yelled as I entered 1517. The home was dark and the only thing I could see were the spots the Maglite illuminated. I moved the light – and my gun – from side to side as I examined the room.

  Garbage littered the floor. It creaked as I walked and I pushed aside trash in my path with each step.

  I heard a noise to my left and swung the Glock around as the light fell upon a cat. It ran past me out the door. I continued to illuminate the room, swinging the light from side to side. Then I entered the kitchen.

  Nothing was there. I looked around, taking in the situation. Stacks of old, empty pizza boxes lined the counters. It didn’t look like anyone had lived here in a while. Maybe squatters. Probably the homeless.

  “Blake, can you hear me?” I heard Chris yell through the shared wall in what I assumed was an identical kitchen on his side of the building.

  “I’m here.”

  “Not finding anything.”

  “Same on this side. I’m heading upstairs,” I yelled back and returned to the main room to access the stairs.

  I took a first step on the stairs, pointed the Glock up to the second floor, and slowly climbed. The steps were in bad shape. The wood bent and felt like they might give way. I imagined my shoe breaking through the wood. I managed to reach the second story and saw two small bedrooms toward the right side.

  I entered the left bedroom and cleared it. It was empty, except for more trash littering the floor.

  Walking to the other bedroom toward the right, I noticed a bed with clothes scattered all around it. Entering the room, I looked to the left and saw a closet door halfway open. I thought I heard a noise, so I moved to the side of the wall and leaned against it as I pointed the Glock inside the closet.

  I inched my way to the right, watching, waiting to see if anyone was inside. I heard something click.

  Looking down, hidden in the clothes on the floor, I saw that my ankle had caught a piece of string. I followed the line with the Maglite and saw that it ran from my feet over to inside the closet on the other side of the room. “Damn it,” I whispered as my flashlight revealed a device hidden inside the closet.

  “Chris, we have a problem,” I yelled. I heard Reed walk into the room adjacent to me. “Don’t move!”

  “Why?” he asked through the wall.

  “Looks like a bomb. My foot is caught on a tripwire. I don’t know why it didn’t detonate. You need to get out of here now. Call the Bureau. We’re gonna need someone here fast. Go!” I yelled and heard Reed run.

  Less than a minute later, Chris walked into the room. “What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m not going to just leave you here,” he replied and used his Maglite to follow the string into the closet.

  “Careful.”

  “I know, Blake.” I watched Chris push aside more of the clothes that were blocking the device. “A timer – it’s on a timer, that’s why it didn’t go off.” Reed looked at me. “Twenty seconds! We need to go now!”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  CARSON WAITED FOR the taillights from Paul’s van to disappear. Then he waited for the security check.

  The guard approached from the side of the building. “Everything go okay?” he asked.

  “No problems at all,” replied Carson. “I’m pulling a double, so I’ll be heading out soon but will be back.”

  The guard nodded and turned his back against a gust of wind, cupping a hand to help light a cigarette.

  The man left and Carson watched as he walked to the guardhouse to check on his colleague. As soon as he left and headed back around the other side of the building, Carson grabbed the cooler and hurried inside.

  After closing the two large doors that he had propped open for the movers, Carson slid a metal bar in place to secure it shut. He set the cooler down on the floor and walked to an area between the Easter decorations and the White House lawn equipment, found a folding chair, and brought it to the cooler.

  Carson sat down and unzipped the cooler, lifted the lid, and shoved both hands inside. Securing a foot on each side to hold it in place, he carefully lifted out the aluminum briefcase and set it on the floor.

  He stood, reached inside a pocket, and found the key.

  Carson picked up the briefcase, set it on the chair, and took a seat on the cold concrete. He decided that this would be a better way to look at the contents once he got it open. The man inserted the key into the lock on the left side of the briefcase and turned it clockwise. The latch moved some, but didn’t open. He turned it counterclockwise and twisted it again, trying to open the latch. It wouldn’t budge.

  Frustrated, Carson tried to pull out the key but it was stuck. He turned it and the end of the key broke off.

  The man panicked. He reached inside a back pocket, found his knife, and inserted it into the keyhole. Keeping the blade flush against the teeth of the key still stuck inside, he turned the knife to the right.

  The latch popped open.

  Relieved, he removed the blade, grabbed the briefcase, and lifted the back in hopes of getting the broken part of the key to fall out. With a little encouragement from his blade, it did, and Carson inserted the broken piece into the second keyhole. He again inserted the blade and held it flush against the piece like he had on the other side and carefully turned it to the right. This time, the latch popped open with ease.

  Carson removed his knife and set it on the floor next to him.

  He then lifted the top of the briefcase, revealing an alarm clock with batteries to be used as a triggering device and a tangle of wires adjacent to an empty half gallon plastic container. He got up and walked to the area where the White House groundskeepers kept the lawn equipment and found a gallon of gasoline.

  Returning to the briefcase, Carson filled the half gallon container and then began inspecting the rest of it. He found two large sandwich bags. The first contained twenty red, consumer-grade M-88 firecrackers. The other was packed full of gunpowder. Four blasting caps were taped to each side of the briefcase.

  He stood over the device. There was one more ingredient that he needed to add.

  He walked back to the lawn and garden bay, stood at the edge, and located the bag of fertilizer that he needed. A week prior, he had found the five bags of unused fertilizer from last summer and worried that it may have been the wrong kind. Carson needed ammonium nitrate-based fertilizer. He was relieved to see that the few bags remaining were exactly what he needed.

  Carson grabbed one of the bags and returned to the device.

  He tore the bag open and poured the fertilizer inside, covering everything except for the alarm clock. Setting the bag down, Carson returned to the device. After checking his watch for the current time, he set the alarm so that it would detonate at the exact time that he was instructed to set it for.

  Then Carson shut the lid and pressed both latches closed. One more task awaited the man.

  Carson picked up the briefcase and carried it as he walked to the opposite side of the building. He found the equipment that would be used tomorrow morning. Chairs, microphones, an audio mixer. He saw speakers and a Teleprompter – not that Keller would use it. Then Carson found what he was looking for.

  Two podiums.

  Both made of wood with a blue, plastic section on top. Each podium had the presidential seal affixed to the front. After careful inspection, he pulled the right one out and got to work.

  First, Carson set it down on the floor and pried open the compartment that he had spent the last few weeks hollowing out. Each night, he made progress and returned the podium so that nobody would notice.

  He figured that the weight
of the bomb would be offset by the lighter weight of the podium with approximately two cubic feet removed from the hollowed out center. After removing a panel on the back, he grabbed the aluminum briefcase and set it inside.

  The dimensions that Max Donovan had given Carson were perfect – the briefcase slid right in.

  But when he placed the lid back on, he realized that he had carved too deep. Seeing the gap, and worrying that any rattling around may raise questions later when the podium was moved, not to mention cause the improvised explosive device to be jostled around unnecessarily, he considered what to use to fill the void.

  He looked around the warehouse to see what he could use. His thoughts drifted back to the fertilizer. Carson grabbed the bag, poured, and set it down once the space was filled to a good level and tried again.

  It worked perfectly.

  The wood panel fit back on and Carson stepped away to retrieve the carpenter’s glue that he had found just a few days prior. He applied the glue to the sides of the paneling and used a rag to wipe the excess.

  The only thing left to do now was wait. It would take thirty to forty-five minutes for the glue to dry.

  To be sure, he planned to wait at least an hour.

  Carson grabbed the bag of fertilizer and took it back to the lawn and garden bay. Then he sat back down in the chair and looked at his watch to note the time.

  Then he waited.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I MOVED MY leg, fully expecting the bomb to detonate.

  When it didn’t, I ran out of the room, following Reed, and trying to keep the Maglite steady on the stairs. Before I reached the bottom floor, a terrible thought occurred to me. Did Jami enter the building when she saw Chris run inside? Did she maintain her position or was she here, inside the residence?

  “Bomb!” I yelled, not knowing if Jami was there in the dark somewhere. “Get out!”

  I ran out the front door and jumped over the small set of steps that bridged the door from the sidewalk. The moment I jumped, the upper floor of 1517 exploded.

  The upstairs windows shattered. I hit the ground and glass fell on top of me. I put my hands on the back of my head to protect myself. My left hand rested on the gash on my head. The pain was excruciating.

  I heard the sound of a car screech to an immediate halt right in front of me. I looked up and saw Chris and Jami across the street. I passed behind the car to join them and we watched as 1515 started to catch on fire. Within a matter of seconds, the entire top floor of both sides of the building burned brightly.

  Another explosion rocked the building, this time coming from 1515 and we shielded ourselves from the shattering glass. There must have been a bomb on Chris’s side of the building that he didn’t see.

  The person in the car that had stopped to look at the fire got scared off by the second explosion and the vehicle started to move. They picked up speed, turned the corner, and disappeared. I looked to my right and saw Chris step away to make a call. Shortly after he returned, I heard a siren coming from the other end of Good Hope Road.

  Residents on our side of the street walked out of their homes. Some of them were scared. Most were just curious. A woman in one of the apartments directly behind us opened her door. “Oh my God,” she cried.

  I turned to look at the woman. Although she kept the door to her home cracked open, I saw that she was holding a newborn as she kept her eyes fixed on the flames across the street growing taller by the minute.

  “What happened?” she asked and started to panic. “Is this a terrorist attack?”

  “It’s going to be okay, ma’am. Please stay inside,” replied Jami but the woman ignored her and opened the door and walked to the front yard when she saw that some of her neighbors had already done the same.

  “We need to move,” I said, knowing that if we hung around, we’d have a lot of explaining to do. We didn’t have time to talk to the FBI or anyone else. There’d be time for that later. With just a few hours before the inauguration, we had to keep going. I called for Chris and he headed back our way.

  The three of us moved west on Good Hope and hung a left on 15th Street.

  Chris got the car started as Jami and I climbed inside. Two minutes later, we were back on the interstate.

  “You okay?” Jami asked as she opened the laptop once again.

  “Fine,” I answered. But the truth was that I wasn’t fine. My head wound was now hurting more than ever. The only thing keeping me going was the thought that the inauguration was rapidly approaching.

  We drove for another couple of minutes. Dazed. Unsure of what to do. When we got on 295 northbound, we could see flames to our right stretching high into the sky. Red and blue lights lit the surrounding trees.

  I turned around to Jami. “Do you think you can get the address for Max Donovan?”

  Jami thought about it. “I don’t know, Blake. Not sure I can access those kinds of records.”

  “I need you to try.” I turned back to look at the road and heard Jami start to type.

  “Why a timer, Blake?” asked Chris. “Why not just detonate the moment the tripwire was touched?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe to make whoever triggered it think the device failed so they’d get a closer look at it. The closer the victim, the less of a chance they walk out of there.”

  “Or to lure in help for maximum impact,” Jami added. “Two for the price of one.”

  Jami continued to type. The clacking was loud and frantic. Like our lives depended on finding the address. Maybe they did.

  “1921 Quincy Street,” I heard from the backseat and turned around to look at Jami.

  “You found it?”

  “I think so,” she replied and I saw a smile for the first time since this morning.

  Chris exited at East Capitol Street. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I think that’s northwest Washington, we need to be going in the opposite direction.”

  Chris pulled the vehicle back on 295 south. “Pretty sure we need to take this to 695, but put it in the GPS.”

  I entered the address into the system. We were less than ten miles away and about twenty-five minutes out. I chose the shorter route, but Chris suggested changing it to the route that would have us take Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway. “Trust me,” he said. “We don’t want to drive through downtown tonight, even at this hour. We’ll stay on the edge of the city. It’s a longer drive, but we’ll get there faster.”

  Reed was right about the traffic. He had us in the area in under twenty minutes.

  “I’m looking at maps,” said Jami as we pulled onto Park Road and drove over a bridge as we headed north. “The house is straight through those woods,” she continued and pointed to our right.

  “How far out?” I asked.

  “A couple of minutes.”

  “No, I mean how far through the woods?”

  I turned around to see Jami looking at her screen. “I don’t know. Two, maybe three hundred feet.”

  “Stop the car,” I said. Reed just looked at me. “Stop the car, Chris!” He slowed the vehicle and it came to a stop on the two-lane road and he turned on the hazards. I lowered my window. There was a steep incline to my right and I thought I could make it to the top. “Change of plans,” I said and reached for my Glock.

  TWENTY-NINE

  THE AGENTS ESCORTED Paul and Rich to the interstate. After leaving Bethesda, Paul said he could take the first shift driving back to Chicago and told Rich that they would switch once they got to Cleveland.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said Rich. “You’ve been driving all day. You look exhausted, man.”

  “I’m fine. Besides, there should be a rest area up ahead. We’ll stop and I’ll get some coffee.”

  After passing through Frederick, Paul pulled the van into the rest area in Myersville, Maryland. He parked in the back, taking up two parking spots, and the two got out. As they did, Rich noticed something.

  “You lose your cooler?”
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  Paul looked inside the van, then turned to Rich. “Looks like it. Not a big deal. Nothing I can’t replace.”

  “How’d that happen?” Rich asked as he followed his boss into the South Mountain Welcome Center.

  “Doesn’t matter,” replied Paul and noticed that he had a voicemail. “Go on inside. I need to listen to this.”

  After Rich entered the building, Paul put his phone up to his ear and heard his daughter, Bella. “Daddy?” she said. “Daddy, pick up the phone.” He heard his wife take the phone away from their daughter. “Paul, call me please. I don’t care what time it is, just call me back. Okay? I’m worried about you.”

  Hartmann decided he’d call Judy back after he got his coffee and returned to the van.

  Paul entered the building, picked up a Styrofoam cup, and filled it with hot coffee. Rich did the same. They walked to the cashier and Paul paid for both drinks and the two walked back outside.

  “You know what I think?” asked Rich as they climbed inside the vehicle.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think you left it on purpose.”

  Paul became nervous and set the coffee down in a cup holder. “What are you talking about?”

  “The cooler. I think you left it on purpose back there, Paul.”

  “I just misplaced it. I told you it didn’t matter,” said Hartmann.

  “I know you did. I was walking out from the building and I saw you hand it to the man named Carson.” Rich paused waiting for his boss to give an explanation, but he just stared at him. “What was in there?”

  “Forget about the cooler, okay?” replied Paul as he called his wife back to ease her mind while trying to get Rich to stop thinking about the cooler and what he had seen take place. Judy answered on the first ring.

  “It’s me. We’re in Maryland and heading home now.”

  “We haven’t heard from you all day. Bella missed you a lot today. When will you be home, Paul?”

  Hartmann looked at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s an eleven hour drive, so we should get in by noon.”

  Paul turned to his left and looked out the mirror. Something caught his eye. Movement. A woman appeared. It was her. The woman Paul had met earlier that morning in Chicago.