Bedlam is the word that could best describe Damon Brown's confederation of Terrorists after Operation Clean Sweep went down. Other than Washington D.C., East Coast branches were effectively shut down. There was a news blackout, so any news about the raids was coming through hysterical family members or neighbors of the criminals who might have witnessed the sights and sounds of the take down. Among the groups that remained, there was confusion. The Los Angeles group was ready to abandon efforts, and the Washington D.C. group had already scattered, despite their leader, Sammy Miller's threats of physical violence. All alone, Sammy Miller was angry, and he recklessly called Brown on his private number to tell him so.

"What the #$% just happened, Brown?" he screamed into the phone.

"Good morning, Sammy. Is this line secure?" Damon asked, as he packed a few items into a briefcase, preparing to leave his office.

"Take your security and shove it up your #$, I want to know what just went down. A lot of hard work went into building those networks and in a single night the Feds come in and dismantle them all? If that is your idea of security, then you're insane." Said Miller.

"Sammy…Sammy…Sammy….calm down. Everything is under control. Those operations weren't needed any more anyway. Everything we have planned is still operating on schedule." Said Brown.

"That ain't what I hear. All my people are gone! The L.A. folks are ready to bolt, and the Las Vegas guys just gave me a call asking if they should go underground. People are nervous, Damon. So…what's the plan?" said Miller.

"The plan? The plan is to stay put until operations are complete." Brown stated.

"That's it? I don't think you're understanding. Our names and addresses were compromised. The Feds are liable to come knocking on this door any minute. What do you want me to do?" asked Miller.

"Sammy, your portion of the operation is complete. You have done your job. Now, you just have to await your reward. I don't have time to worry about keeping you or the rest of the hoodlums occupied. Think of something. And don't call me on this number again, what are you trying to do? Destroy the Finale?" he asked.


As the call completed, Sammy Miller took his cell phone and threw it across the room. He was even more angry than before. Brown had callously dismissed the entire operation and treated all those who had gone before him as expendable. Was that how he felt about him as well? Miller had a sneaking suspicion that he did, and he wasn't about to be discarded like yesterday's news.

"Alright, Brown" he said to himself. "If you're not going to lead, I will. I am not your fool and at the end of the day, it will be Sammy Miller's name that people remember, not Damon Brown." He said to himself as he grabbed his keys and walked out the door.


Natalie stood over her husband's shoulder as he poured through articles and books that he had taken home from Berkeley's library. Old wounds were ripped wide open the moment he saw Rickover's face, and the same obsession that he had with solving Trudy's murder now possessed his mind as he wanted to know what Brown and Grier had to do with Rickover. They had stopped by Brown's office, only to find it empty, almost as if he had never been there. This made it all the more urgent to find out what he was up to and to stop him.


At daybreak the next morning, she wandered through the Stottlemeyer house to find out where her husband had gone. She found him and Leland at the kitchen table mapping out what needed to happen next. He wanted to know the names of all of the people arrested at the Berkeley rallies and whether or not those individuals were a part of the Law school. He figured that Rickover and Brown were both professors at that point, but Sharon looked like a student, and he was anxious to see if there might be any hits on her name. Meanwhile, he and Natalie were going to look for the significance of Sam A. Perhaps Sam was for Samantha? Or perhaps it was some historical monument that was going to be attacked. Whatever, they all felt that with much of his team now in federal custody, Brown should be considered all the more dangerous. As such, they were burdened with the thought they were in a race against time.

By noon, Leland had gathered together the list and determined there were no Sharon Griers in that list; however, he called Adrian back at the house to let him and Natalie know there was a Sasha Gertsikov whose age and description matched that of Sharon Grier. She was the daughter of a Russian businessman and suspected KGB agent who had his own file with the FBI dating back to the McCarthy era. There was never enough information to convict him of anything, but his radical views had been passed on to Sasha who had been cited several times for disturbing the peace in the late 1970s and early 1980s. In spite of this, she had never been arrested, so there were no mugshots. However, there was still an active warrant for her dating to 2001 which is the last point in time that she was heard from.

"Well, that's more information than we had at this point yesterday." Said Natalie, as Adrian hung up the phone.

"Yes. It is." Adrian responded, walking over to the kitchen table and sitting down by his pile of books. "Hey, I know you mentioned that you were going to go drop the kids off at your parents' house, and then help Ambrose and Heather pick out a suit for him for the convention this weekend. Why don't you drop me off and when you're done, stop back by the library and we go have a nice dinner someplace?"

"Angelica's Bistro?" she suggested.

"Sure. It's been a long time since we've been there. It'll be a great break from this stuff." He said.

She walked over to him and gave him a hug.

"What was that for?" he asked, with a slight smile.

"For not letting stones go unturned." She said, as she turned and walked towards the nursery. "Come on, I told Ambrose and Heather I would meet them at the menswear store at 3:00. If I'm going to drop Lee and Abby off and help your brother, I need to hustle."

"I'll be right there, sweetheart." He said, straightening all of the books up in an even row, then grabbing his notebook and heading towards the door. She met him at the intersection and handed him Lee, while she grabbed the diaper bag and Abby and they headed towards the Davenports with secret service detail in tow.


Preacher Armstrong was abruptly called into Abramson's office late that afternoon just as he was packing up to go home. The head of the FBI was in a panic.

"Armstrong! Get in here now!" he exclaimed. "We've got trouble!"

Preacher put down his things and promptly joined his boss in the office.

"What's up, Chief?" he asked.

"I just got off of the Phone with Susan Fleming, the head of the Department of Homeland Security. The President's niece was at the mall this afternoon with her little girl Emma. She turned her back for five seconds and someone picked up the child and began running. A policeman on duty fired shots at the man, and there was a little blood, so we think he is hit. But, he got away..." Abramson said.

"Oh my! That's awful!" said Preacher.

"It gets worse. Fifteen minutes ago, the DHS received a phone call from a person claiming that he has Emma. He identified himself as Sammy Miller. He said he would give us a list of his demands soon, but that for now, Emma was safe." Abramson said. "Were you able to get anything from that phone traffic to Brown yesterday?"

"Sort of. NSA said they placed a tap on Damon Brown's phone and traced the call back to an apartment in Alexandria. They also said that they recorded a portion of the call and that it was an inbound call to Brown from someone identified as Sammy. So, they sent some agents over to the apartment to see if it was our Sammy, but nobody was home. We've had the place staked out all afternoon." Preacher responded.

"Keep on him. Oh, Armstrong…if he hurts that kid…" Abramson said.

"I understand." Preacher said.

"Stoddard's going to have my hide! Do you know how that would look? I can see the headlines now." Abramson continued.

Preacher furrowed his brow, and then shook his head in disbelief. "Sir. A child's life is at stake. Shouldn't we care more about that than a little bad publicity?"

Abramson looked up at Preacher. "I suppose you're right. Armstrong, when you've been around crime as long as I have, you tend to get calloused towards human life. I've put away some of the lowest creeps you could imagine. And I've seen some of the ugliest scenes that I'll never erase from my mind. Frankly, I don't miss that world.

Politics is a different game, and whatever game I'm in, that's the hat I wear. Politics is a perception game. It may not be reality, but if people perceive it to be – then it is reality. We have to be concerned about image here because the nation counts on us to be strong. As such, we have to mess with the press and hope that they do us right. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"I just want to do my job." Said Preacher. "I got into this to pursue justice and that's the side I always want to stand on. Let my yay be yay and my nay be nay. What you see is what you get."

"I admire that in you, Preacher. Hope you can hold to that integrity. If you can, you're a better man than me."


Adrian and Natalie sat across from one another enjoying the cool San Francisco evening at a restaurant overlooking the Bay. They discussed her day, and then they discussed the case. Adrian's time in the library had been productive.

"We were right about our thoughts on Brown working alongside Rickover at Berkeley. They had offices right next to one another." He said.

"Really?" said Natalie.

"There's more. They went to college together and were college roommates." Adrian said.

"Wow. So, Brown and Rickover were friends? But…I honestly can't see Ethan Rickover spinning his wheels doing political protests, can you?" she asked.

"I can't seem him spinning his wheels doing anything but what he felt was good for his ambition." Adrian said, pensively.

Natalie looked at him and took his hand. "Are you okay?" she asked. "This has to be hard on you. Having this all dredged up again."

"I'm okay." Adrian said.

"Well, if you want to talk…you know if you're feeling weird or anything because, you know…Trudy…you can talk to me. I don't mind." She said.

Adrian looked up at Natalie and smiled sadly, then took her hand and kissed it. "I don't deserve you."

"Oh, stop!" she said, putting her hand to the side of his face.

Adrian looked down at his dessert dish and played around with the remaining morsels with his fork.

"You know, I'm surprised I'm as good with this as I am. You know how much I loved Trudy. I still love Trudy, though she is gone. I'm thankful that I had the time I had with her. But…you've helped me to move on and get past it. You gave me my smile back." He said.

"We've helped each other. Just when we needed each other the most…Who could that possibly be?" she asked, leaning forward and giving him a kiss.

Adrian's dark eyes twinkled against the candlelight as he drank in the sweetness of the woman before him. Somehow, some way, he had to get them away from all of this craziness and back into a feeling of normalcy. But that was a problem for another day.


Jedediah Armstrong entered his house around 6:30 PM and quickly made himself a steak and some left over green beans for dinner. He had just finished and sat down to relax before the television set when his cell phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, all he saw was "PRIVATE".

"Preacher here." He answered.

"Good Evening, Preacher. I hope it is going well for you." Said the voice on the other end.

"It's going fine. Who is this?" Armstrong asked.

"We've never met. My name is Sammy. Sammy Miller." The voice said.

Armstrong sat up straight. "Miller! What..what do you want?" he asked.

"I have the President's grand-niece. Emma, I believe is her name. I want to meet with you. Tonight. At eight-thirty. Korean War Memorial. Come alone or little Emma will follow the path of your wife and child."

**click**

Preacher sat quietly for several seconds and then looked at the clock. It was now 7:45 PM. Silently, he bowed his head and said a simple prayer "Thy will be done" before standing up to leave. He walked over to his closet and opened his gun safe, retrieving his service revolver and two extra clips of ammunition. Then, he looked around the house, picked up his jacket and immediately walked out into the evening. Perhaps tonight would be the night that Selina and J.J. would get their justice.