Corps Justice Boxed Set: Books 1-3: Back to War, Council of Patriots, Prime Asset (44 page)

One of the favored ways these groups stayed
out of the reach of the law was to conduct clandestine meetings in
mosques. Terrorists knew the American President drew the line at
entering these holy places of worship. One of the pillars of his
election was to repair the American relationship with the Muslim
world. What sounded like a noble goal had turned into an open
invitation. Ever since the Presidential inauguration, foreign
fighters who’d managed to enter the U.S. flocked to mosques and
made them their base of operations.

This particular cell, though new on the
intelligence radar, was already very accomplished. Recruitment in
the Detroit area increased alarmingly. As one of the hardest hit
areas as a result of the recent economic downturn, young Arabs were
easy targets.

The politician remembered grilling the FBI
representatives that stood before his committee. He couldn’t
believe they were incapable of doing anything. Their reply was
always the same: “Our hands are tied.”

He’d thought the agency would somehow get
creative. It scared him to think that America’s enemies could so
easily infiltrate his country. Something must be done.

A week later, he happened to run into former
President Hank Waller. The two men were members at the same
exclusive country club in Annandale. They’d been acquaintances in
the halls of Washington for years. Over martinis, they caught up on
each other’s lives and commiserated on the trajectory of the
American economy. Smoking cigars in the member lounge, the
politician broached the subject of terrorists on American soil.
Waller’s brow furrowed. He could tell something was bothering his
old colleague.

The politician proceeded to rail against the
current President’s asinine policy of treating terrorists like
prisoners of war. He went on to describe a laundry list of
potentially important operations that never launched just because
the President wanted to be careful about offending the
international community.

“Damnit, Hank. This man is making us look
like a bunch of pussies!”

Waller calmed his friend and asked if there
was anything he could do to help. Maybe a friendly meeting with the
new President?

“That won’t help. He’s got his guard of
cronies that make sure no one rocks the boat. During the election,
he was all about reaching across the aisle; working together to
affect change. Now he won’t talk to a soul if his staff catches
wind that they’re trying to push an opposing agenda. The man is
playing emperor in his ivory palace!” huffed the tired
politician.

He’d continued by describing the case of the
suspected terrorist cell in Detroit. “I mean, they are on OUR soil
and we can’t lift a finger until they jaywalk or murder someone.
It’s ludicrous.”

Waller hadn’t promised anything. He’d simply
told him that if he ever needed to vent again, his door was always
open. After all, he was retired. Both men laughed and promised to
stay in touch.

The politician didn’t think about the
conversation until two weeks later. FBI reps were set to give his
committee an update on the Detroit operation. What he received was
far different.

“Sir, just this morning, we found out that
the Detroit terror cell has been…well, it’s been eradicated,”
informed the obviously confused FBI agent.

“What do you mean it’s been eradicated, Mr.
Pratt?” the politician questioned suspiciously.

“Well, sir, the two leaders of the cell and
their top lieutenants were found this morning in front of their
mosque.”

“And…?”

“They were all dead, sir.”

The politician sat back and digested the
news. Certainly the FBI hadn’t had anything to do with it?

“Were we involved, Mr. Pratt?”

“No, sir! In fact, we got the tip into our
regional office at five this morning. I think we knew about it
before the mosque did,” Pratt paused, seemingly trying to formulate
his next comment. “There’s more, sir.”

“More? I can’t wait to hear this, Mr.
Pratt.” The politician rolled his eyes turning to his
colleagues.

“This was a warning, sir.”

“How so?”

“Each man lying on the ground held a large
poster board with a message and a package. I have a picture for you
here, sir.”

“Why don’t you save us some time and read
it, Mr. Pratt,” the politician recommended impatiently.

“It says ‘America welcomes all races and
religion. What we don’t tolerate is terrorists trying to kill our
country and our people’.”

The committee sat back in shocked silence.
Although quietly rooting for the vigilantes, the politician
understood the possible fall-out.

“Thank you, Mr. Pratt. If you’ll please
leave copies of your documentation we will call on you again
soon.”

The politician had tried not to rush as he’d
taken his assigned packet. It seemed that whoever had murdered the
terrorists had first done their homework first. Each man had a
nametag stuck to his shirt. They were given names like PEDOPHILE,
COWARD, and BLASPHEMER. In each package, they’d included the
evidence to explain their nicknames. One man had a DVD showing
close to six hours of the dead man having sex with ten-year-old
prostitutes. The next man’s package contained a thumb drive with
hours of audio. Each recorded conversation was the dead man talking
with one of his colleagues. They were laughing about the naïve
recruits that strapped bombs to their bodies. The man actually
said, “I would never be stupid enough to do that. They are so easy
to convince in this country.”

The transcripts went on and on. These men
were obviously guilty. To cap it all off, the killers also provided
audio, video, and schematics recovered from the deceased
terrorists. The plans detailed an operation soon to be executed.
They were targeting public elementary schools. The captured video
showed the terrorists casing local educational institutions at the
start of the school day. Based on the information provided, the FBI
had already raided the terrorist safe house and uncovered crates of
automatic weapons, RPGs, and hand grenades.

The politician was impressed by the daring
killers. Whoever had conducted the investigation and the subsequent
killings were professionals. Someone was secretly doing things
right.

Over the next week, more and more intel was
mined from the contents of the Detroit safe house. No one cried for
the loss of these men. Surprisingly, once the truth of the dead
terrorists’ background and operation leaked to the press, the local
Muslim community understood and calmed. They knew it was a warning
to other would-be terrorists and not a threat to them.

The politician marveled at the effect of the
killings. While listening to the testimony of countless FBI
representatives, he started to wonder how the initial investigation
leaked to the covert masterminds.

During one particularly
boring hearing, the conversation with President Waller popped into
his head.
Could it be? Is that the
leak?
At first, the politician chided
himself for his indiscretion. A plan formulated in his mind. Maybe
if he let another piece of actionable intelligence slip to Waller,
the problem would take care of itself.

The politician had found out long ago that
in the corridors of Washington’s elite, there was no such thing as
knowing too many of other people’s secrets.

That night, he carefully went over every
supposedly dead-end operation he knew about. These would commonly
be called ‘cold-cases’ in a police department. He liked to call
them ‘grey cases.’ They lived in a grey area where either the
evidence could only be collected through less than legal tactics or
the suspected criminal was untouchable due to the person’s station
or status under current law.

Federal agencies hadn’t ‘officially’ given
up on them, but the mix of current regulation and the sitting
President made convictions nearly impossible. After much
reflection, the politician knew the perfect case to leak.

+++

The next day, he placed a call to Hank
Waller’s office. Because of his status in Washington, he was
immediately patched through. During the brief chat, the politician
never mentioned the Detroit operation. Instead, he invited
President Waller to play eighteen holes at the Army-Navy Club the
next week.

Waller quickly checked his schedule and
confirmed that he could make the tee time.

The following week, the two competitive men,
surrounded by a roving Secret Service team, did their best to
out-putt and out-drive each other. After the ninth hole, the
politician steered the conversation to the increasing problems on
the U.S.-Mexico border.

“It’s pretty pathetic that the President has
his attorney general crucifying these border guards. Did you hear
that last week we actually had one of our outposts shelled?”

Waller looked up in surprise. “As in mortar
shelled?”

“Yes,” the politician knew he had Waller’s
attention. “The drug cartels are getting their hands on anything
they want. What’s next, heavy artillery?”

“Why aren’t we doing anything about it?”

“These guys aren’t idiots, Hank. They sit
just on the other side of the border and wage war. We don’t cross
the border because Mexico is our ally. Problem is, the Mexican
authorities are completely overwhelmed. They’ve got their hands
full in major cities where hundreds of people are being murdered in
broad daylight. What do they have to gain by helping us protect OUR
border? Hell, a lot of their revenue comes from illegal immigrants
coming over here and shipping money back to Mexico.”

“So why doesn’t the President put the screws
to Mexico? I know we’ve done some joint ops before. We can help
them if they need the help.”

The politician laughed. “Are you kidding?
When was the last time you saw the President put the screws to any
foreign leader? I think the only country he’s had a real pissing
contest with is Israel. And they’re our allies! No, he doesn’t like
making waves. He’d rather send drones into Pakistan than bitch slap
a neighbor.”

“That sounds pretty harsh,” Waller
scolded.

“It’s the truth, Hank. Come on. You’ve been
in the hot seat. You know how it goes. Give these guys an inch and
they take a whole country.”

The politician went on to tell the
ex-President about the powerful cartel that was changing the face
of the border war. Led by a secretive gangster, the expanding
organization now played gatekeeper for other cartels looking to
ship their illegal goods into America. The mortar attack was
suspected to be the work of the same cartel.

Waller listened intently. The politician
wouldn’t know until nearly a month later that Waller had passed the
information on to a secret band of warriors.

+++

This time the results of the clandestine
operation came from the DEA representative to the politician’s
committee. The man described, in detail, the load of intel that had
recently been anonymously sent to their office. As a side note, the
DEA man reported that the head of the border cartel had recently
been found and gagged outside the regional Mexican police
headquarters. Attached to the man were ten kilos of cocaine and
enough video evidence to incarcerate him and his associates for
hundreds of years.

So these covert warriors weren’t just
killers. They had the ability to deliver criminals alive to the
authorities when appropriate.

The politician filed the thought away. He
then set about having his contacts get him information on President
Waller’s conversations and travels. He hadn’t known the exact
identity of the organization conducting the covert operations, but
he would soon.

The highlights of the almost two-year secret
investigation filled the space the size of a large manila envelope.
It was a pity he’d have to break up the party, but it was for the
greater good: America’s future.

+++

Cal and Brian sifted through the contents of
the envelope. There were pictures of Council members together at
various locations along with snippets of conversations. It sounded
like someone had paraphrased after listening in. Maybe some of
their Secret Service Agents?

All the documents felt more like a
precursor. They were incomplete. Something was missing. What was
it? What were they getting at? They seemed to be saying, “If you
think this is a lot, just wait until you see what else we’ve
got.”

Maybe it was just a fishing expedition.
Maybe whoever ‘they’ were didn’t know anything. They were making
one point painfully obvious: by delivering the envelope right to
their suite, they knew where they were AND they knew about their
connection to the Council of Patriots.

Cal picked up the secure phone next to Neil
and dialed a number from memory. It was a number he swore he’d
never use. He waited as the secure connection went through.

Hank Waller answered, “Yes?”

“Mr. President, we have a problem.”

Chapter 29

Las Vegas,
Nevada

12:28pm, September 18th

The group of Japanese men sat around the
conference room table, chatting with colleagues as they waited for
their host to begin.

Kazuo Nakamura looked around the room and
remembered days long gone. These men truly were like family. Their
histories were forever intertwined.

+++

Kazuo’s father, Akemi Nakamura, had been
close to fifty when his son was born. His first wife, who’d left
him childless, died six years earlier. His second wife was
twenty-five years his junior. He’d married her simply to produce an
heir.

The second wife produced a son, but died
from complications during his birth. Young Kazuo was raised by an
elderly housekeeper and occasionally allowed to enter his father’s
world.