They'll Call It Treason (7 page)

January 28 at 10:40
p.m.
EST

Atlanta, Georgia

Ethan listened to the phone call, waiting for something of interest to their investigation. He and Jason had been listening to the audio recordings from David Russell’s phone for the past half-hour.

The hotel room was small and held an odd stench, something Ethan could not quite place. Dull, dark colors were strewn across the room. Dull red bed sheets, dark green window drapes. A loud heating unit sat under the window next to the entrance door.

Jason sat at a small wooden table by the heater, stripped down to a pair of old blue gym shorts he used as pajamas and a sleeveless t-shirt emblazoned with the Captain America shield. Ethan sat across from him in long black and red checkered flannel pajama pants and a black t-shirt with an old-school Batman logo across the front. It was part of a long standing feud between the two about which was better, Marvel or DC. It was not a subject likely to be agreed upon soon.

They had begun their examination with the initial threat called in to the Congressman’s office. One-by-one they worked their way through the man's phone record over the last two weeks.

Russell had sounded worried, even hysterical, in his first call, maybe even a little drunk. When the Congressman’s aide answered, Russell interrupted her, his country accent crackling. He had frantically and repeatedly warned the Congressman not to come to Georgia.

“Don’t let Burr come down to Georgia, don’t let him. Please, don’t let him come.” Worry was evident in his voice, bordering on panic. When the aide tried to calm him down and ask what was going to happen, his response had been vague. “They don’t like him, they don’t want him here. Just don’t let him come to Georgia,” and the phone went silent.

The call had rattled the aide, but the Congressman and the police had written it off as another prank or idle threat. A drunk. Jason and Ethan were not convinced yet. Something told Ethan there was more to it. Something he could not place his finger on.

After twenty-one calls, Ethan and Jason started to form an idea of who the man was. Town drunk still seemed a fitting title to Ethan. There had been several calls to family up in West Virginia. At least four in which Russell was obviously drunk. Two to his wife. Another six to a mistress that Russell had been seeing. They had plans to meet for a night of activities, as his mistress had phrased it, after Russell's wife left town on the following weekend.

“What a douche bag,” Jason groaned as they endured their suspect’s kinky phone calls. “This guy deserves to be in jail.”

Ethan clicked on to the next recording. He was tired. So far the calls had revealed nothing helpful to their investigation beyond the initial call to the Congressman's office. Instead they had learned plenty about the man's infidelity and his love of the phrase, “I tell you.” Ethan hoped talking to Russell in the morning would produce something of more value.

The next call was from an unknown number. Jason immediately took note.

“Where is the phone number that called in?”

It was unusual. Even with traditionally blocked calls, the carrier usually stored the caller’s number. Yet, on this call there was nothing. As if in answer, a deep synthesized voice came on the line.

“Are the others on board?”

There was no greeting, no acknowledgement of Russell’s “Hello.” Just a cold, emotionless, question.

“Yes sir,” Russell responded fearfully. It was not the fear he had displayed when he had called the Congressman’s office. No, it was a darker fear, almost a reverential fear. Ethan could tell the drunk was trembling over the recording.

“Good.” The voice was slow and deliberate.

“Uh… Who is going to knock off the Congr…”

“Shut up, you imbecile.” The cold voice grew to a loud synthesized rage.

“I... I’m… I’m sorry sir,” David apologized.

“Just keep your mouth shut and everything will work out as planned,” then a click as the phone disconnected.

Jason shared a look with Ethan, both knew the investigation had just reached a new level.

“Well, that just got interesting,” Ethan stated as he played the recording again, paying closer attention to the synthesized voice.

“Russell’s DUI charge may have actually just given us the heads up we needed,” Jason pointed out. “Why he ratted to the Congressman in the first place is still puzzling, though. Why would he jump ship before he was in police custody?”

“Good question. His record showed he suffers slightly from bipolar disorder, so maybe that’s playing a part. We’ll have to see if he is ready to tell us more in the morning though.” Ethan noted. “I’ll notify the Atlanta Field Office and the Atlanta PD. Just in case.”

Ethan's heartbeat quickened. They were on to something. The synthesized voice and Russell’s slip had, if nothing else, given them confirmation they were on target.

“What does the Georgia Militia think it will gain from killing a Congressman?” It was Ethan's job to understand what motivated terrorist, to know why they took such extreme actions. Yet, he still could not shake how counterproductive their actions often were.

“I agree, it makes little sense. But it does gain them attention and it scares people. That’s effective too,” Jason concurred. “Either way, it'll have to wait until morning.”

Ethan grinned and nodded to Jason. “Good night.”

Jason pulled down the sheets and slipped in bed. As the lights went off, he closed his eyes. Memories of Amanda and Kallie filled in the black void behind his eyelids. He could hear Kallie’s giggle as he recalled her learning to ride a bike just last year. He felt his hand on her back guiding her, being there for her.

Jason sighed, wishing he had not let himself get so immersed in all the other cares of life. He had missed so much in Kallie’s most formative years, too concerned with lesser things. He promised himself he would not make that mistake again, and he planned to keep that promise.

January 29 at 9:20
a.m.
EST

Atlanta, Georgia – Atlanta City Detention Center

Ethan was on edge by the time they pulled up to the Atlanta City Detention Center in downtown. He was convinced half the driving age population in the city was psychotic. At the very least they needed intensive anger management therapy.

In the span of a five-minute drive they had earned two middle fingers and were nearly pummeled into a snack bar off Mitchell Street. Ethan was ready to walk.

Jason parked the rental sedan on the side of the street near the Detention Center between an Atlanta Police cruiser and a hulking red Chevy truck. The Center was an intimidating structure. Its gaudy ten stories of tan slate was edged with crimson and plated with glass.

They stepped out of the sedan and into the cool morning air. Ethan retrieved his trench coat from the car and slung it around his shoulders. He welcomed its weight and warmth as they walked up the arched stairs and through the front doors. Jason was a stride ahead of him as they entered the concourse of busy officers.

To their right the receptionist sat behind a large sheet of glass with a small opening to speak through. They changed route as they noticed the desk and walked up to the window.

“Good morning, I’m Special Agent Jason Phelps, FBI,” Jason began as he displayed his badge to the chubby man behind the glass, “and this is my partner, Special Agent Ethan Shaw. We’re here to talk with a detainee by the name of David Russell. I spoke with Detective Theodore Haskins over the phone yesterday.”

The man’s expression behind the glass never changed, “I’ll notify Detective Haskins.” His voice sharper than Ethan had anticipated.

As the receptionist picked up the phone and dialed a number, Ethan surveyed the open space. Past a dividing wall that reached just above Ethan’s waist was a field of small cubicles. He watched officers walk back and forth about their business. Phones rang incessantly like no one was answering them.

A few moments later the receptionist turned back to Jason. “Detective Haskins will be down in a moment. If I could have you two take a seat over there until he arrives, please.” He pointed in the corner to a row of folding chairs by a small television monitor.

“Thank you,” Jason said, nodding to the man.

“I hope this doesn’t take long. It's just over an hour before Burr is scheduled to leave the DNC meeting.” Ethan reminded Jason.

The Congressman was slated to address the Democratic National Committee at around 10:15am and then leave for Washington for a vote as soon as his speech was over. Ethan worried he may already be in danger and hated just sitting idly by.

“It’s going to be alright. Like you said yesterday, the Atlanta Police are tightening security at the DNC meeting.” Jason tried to calm him, but he knew why Ethan worried. The Georgia Militia, the likely origin of the threat, was full of former military but he was afraid the threat would still not be taken seriously.

“I know.”

“I’m the one who should be anxious to get out of here. I promised Kallie I’d be home tonight.” Jason allowed himself to hope they would be done and gone in time get back to Virginia Beach, but with the delays, that hope was fading.

Ethan distracted himself with the television. It was tuned in to one of the local news stations, a small news feed scrolling past on the bottom of the screen. The uprisings in North Korea were escalating and the North Korean government was pushing back to suppress their people’s access to “dangerous” information. According to the feed a US Senator from Ohio had already called for the use of American military forces to aid the North Korean rebels.

“Agent Phelps, Shaw?” asked a deep rumbling voice behind them. Ethan turned to find a towering, bulky figure standing behind them. His skin was as dark as a midnight sky.

“Yes, I’m Agent Shaw,” Ethan introduced himself.

“And I’m Agent Greer. Detective Haskins?” Jason responded, remembering that booming voice from their phone conversation the evening before.

Detective Haskins let a grin form across his full lips as he nodded, “Welcome to Atlanta.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ethan replied, refraining from mentioning the horrible traffic. “I trust security at the DNC has been tightened.”

“Yes, we have units stationed at the exit and entrance roads and surveying the premises of the building.” The detective’s deep voice rolled on, “If you’re ready, I have Russell being brought to an interrogation room for you.”

Jason nodded, and the detective turned and walked in the opposite direction, leading them through the maze of cubicles. His gait was long. Ethan quickened his pace to keep up. They reached a door at the other side of the cubicles, past the hustle of officers and the detective punched in a passcode. The light above the keypad went green and Detective Haskins pressed the door open.

Beyond the doorway a long corridor of painted white cinderblocks led ahead.  A glass-walled control station sat to their right as they entered. Ethan caught sight of a plethora of security monitors behind the glass divider. Detective Haskins nodded to the men behind the steel-barred window and a loud electronic squawking signaled the unlocking of the next door as it slid open in front of them.

After a few more loud buzzes and barred doors, they walked into a small room. There was a bare, narrow metal table set in the center with two matching metal chairs on either end.

“He should be here shortly,” Haskins assured them after entering the barren room. He paused and after a deep breath posed a question, “Do you really think Congressman Burr’s in danger?”

Jason responded, “We don’t know. We do have reason to believe Russell’s working for someone or something much bigger than just himself though.”

Ethan stepped forward, “That’s what worries us. If someone with more means, more competence, is orchestrating something, we need to know.”

At that moment the door creaked open. David Russell shuffled in, his hands cuffed with an officer guiding him from behind. Russell eyed Ethan and Jason worriedly as he was prompted to enter and take a seat. The officer locked his handcuffs into the small metal loop melded into the table and then left the room.

Yep, town drunk.

“Mr. Russell, meet Special Agents Jason Phelps and Ethan Shaw with the FBI,” Haskins introduced them pointing to each as he named them. “They want to talk with you about Congressman Burr.”

Ethan sat down at the table across from Russell and slapped a file on the cold surface. He breathed in deep and exhaled.

“David Russell. Age 33, from Sparta, Georgia.” Ethan rattled off a few quick details about their witness. It was cliché, but something about it made him feel like he was in the movies. “Looks like you have a small record. One count of trespassing on private property, two DUI convictions. Oh, yes, and one illegal solicitation of a prostitute.”

“I bet the wife just loves that one,” Jason interjected, masking his distaste for the man.

Ethan did not miss a beat, “So two days ago, you were pulled for a third DUI charge.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair.

“You registered a point eleven blood alcohol level, and as if that wasn’t enough, the K-9 unit found a little something extra. Let’s see,” Ethan made a show of checking the man’s record again. “One hundred and seventy-five grams of crystal meth stashed in the driver’s side door panel.”

Ethan paused and let the information register. He could see the lights moving in Russell’s mind, “Mr. Russell, you could go to jail for a very long time for the drugs alone.”

Jason stepped forward, placing his left fist on the table as he leaned in, “But that’s not all you could go to jail for, Mr. Russell.” David’s eyes widened.

“You mentioned to the officers on the night you were arrested that Congressman Thomas Burr was going to be shot.”

“I tell you, I don’t know nothin’ about that, I was drunk,” David jumped at the insinuation, his country drawl clear. “Sure, I don’t like Burr, but I wouldn’t kill ‘em. I was just drunk, and maybe my thoughts were a flying a little.”

“Then why did you call the Congressman’s office just two days before and warn him not to come to Georgia?” Ethan asked, leaning forward again.

It took Russell a second to speak. “I was drunk then, too.  It helps pass the time.” David’s attention shot back to Ethan.

That much Ethan believed. He remembered David had seemed a little incoherent in the recording. Maybe the man had been drunk, or high, but it couldn’t be mere coincidence.

“What about your little mishap on the phone? Let’s play that one for you,” Jason decided. He had the audio ready on his phone. He tapped the play button, and the recording came to life.

David’s face went white as he heard the synthesized voice and even whiter when his own voice came on the line. He appeared to be re-living the scolding all over again. His shoulders fell as he seemed to realize there was no use holding back now.

Ethan was not surprised to see Haskins’ brow raise at the sound of the synthesized voice. It was not every day that someone went through that much trouble to obscure their identity.

“So, do you still know nothing about it, Mr. Russell?” asked Jason.

David sat still for a long moment, staring at the table. His face pale, his scraggly red beard standing out like a sore thumb. He twiddled his fingers.

“Nothing?” Ethan asked. “David, we know you are aware of some plot to harm Congressman Burr. We need your help to stop it.”

Ethan slowed his voice, almost pleading with the man, “You tried to warn him, he didn’t listen. Let us help you. Let us stop this from happening.”

“If the Congressman is killed, Mr. Russell, you will be held at the very least as an accessory to murder, if not more. Domestic terrorist, perhaps,” Jason informed him. “Combined with your other indiscretions here, that pretty much adds up to the rest of your life in jail. Considering we’re talking about a United States Congressman, your chances of parole are
very
low.”

Ethan interjected, “But if you help us, we can help you. We can provide you with protection, reduce your charges.”

David looked back up at Ethan, staring him in the eyes. “You can’t protect me. Not from them.”

Ethan sensed a sincerity in the man’s voice which unnerved him, but before he could respond, David started to talk.

“You’re probably too late already. They plan to snipe him off when he leaves that damn liberal Party’s meeting today,” David admitted, his drawl heavy, his speech quieter. He was scared, but not of Ethan and Jason.

Ethan took a quick look at his watch. 10:05 am. He turned to Jason; both understood they had little time.

“You said they would use a sniper. Right?” Ethan urged him.

“Yeah, they planned to do it from a distance.”

“Which building?”

“I don’t know, they only had me recruit more people. They didn’t tell me much, I swear.”

Ethan believed him; something in his voice and eyes said he was telling the truth. Ethan wanted to stay to question him more, find out who the sniper was, but that would have to fall on Detective Haskins. He stood up and made his way for the door, Jason following.

“Detective, get some officers down to the World Congress Center ASAP and secure the perimeter of the complex.” Ethan requested. “And find out who the sniper is from Mr. Russell. Let me know as soon as you find out.”

“Yes, sir.” The Detective jogged out of the room and down the hall with them, radioing in as he ran. The doors opened quickly ahead of them as they rushed out.

Ethan’s heart pumped rapidly as he focused on the need to secure the Congressman. The buzzing of passing doors receded from his awareness.

This is not a drill
, he thought
.  This is real.