For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Crystal spends the night at Josh's and sleeps most of the night, something quite rare for her. Sydney tries to connect Jordan to Sloane while Vaughn tries to assure her there's no connection to be made. Josh is let in on the fact that Sam's the new target and is told to keep it from Crystal, which he doesn't like.
Sam arrived at the campaign headquarters early and bearing Starbucks coffee for the pair of CIA agents and himself. Entering the building, he headed back for his office, surprised to hear voices coming from it. He stopped just outside the door to listen to what was going on inside.
"Just where the hell do you get off?"
Sam recognized the voice of Scott Holcomb. A very angry Scott Holcomb.
"It's a matter of intelligence, Mr. Holcomb. California doesn't exactly have a clean record of keeping candidates alive to see election."
And that was Jack Bristow. Sam realized this... was not going to be good.
"Lightning doesn't strike twice, not in one Congressional district in a matter of five months."
"One dies of natural causes, the other gets assassinated. That's not exactly the same lightning strike."
"It's not exactly plausible either!"
"How do you know?"
"Ten years of campaign experience tells me that candidates don't get killed. Not on a Congressional level."
"Local candidates get killed. Presidential candidates get killed."
"Congressional candidates don't."
"Do you really want to have those words come back to bite you in the ass?"
"Do you really want me to revoke your campaign credentials?"
"Don't threaten me, Mr. Holcomb."
"Don't tell me how to run my campaign, Mr. Bristow."
"You're going to get someone hurt by being this open."
"He's running for Congress; he has to be accessible!"
"Not after hours. Not in fundraisers or at parties or at home."
Sam reached for the door handle and opened it. "How 'bout this novel idea?" Sam said, entering. "How 'bout you guys listen to me?"
"Sam..." Scott said, standing up.
"Good morning, Scott. Good morning, Jack."
"How much of this have you heard...?" asked Scott.
"Quite enough, thank you. You're going to let Jack have his way. If that means we're closing off some avenues of information, we're doing it. You're not pulling his credentials. You're not getting him removed from my campaign. If you don't like it, tough. That's the way it's going to be."
"Sam, I don't think this is a good idea--" began his campaign manager.
"You don't get it. This isn't your call to make. Gather the staff for a meeting; I'll address them in regards to the required changes."
Scott glanced at Jack, whose face was emotionless. Sighing heavily, he exited the office quickly, storming down the hall.
Sam reached out, closing the door behind him. "Starbucks?"
"Thank you," Jack said as Sam handed him a coffee.
"Fun morning."
"Yeah."
"Where's your cohort in crime?"
"Weiss?"
Sam nodded.
"He's at the headquarters right now."
"Something wrong?"
Jack shook his head. "He's scheduled to see another briefing shortly."
~~~
Weiss knocked on Marshall's door. There was no answer but he could see the lights were on through the frosted glass door. He could even see Marshall standing inside. Frowning, he opened the door. "Marshall?"
"Six men... staggered flights... names through an algorithmic process... all say Victor Jordan..."
"Marshall!" repeated Weiss.
The short technician almost fell over his chair. "Oh, oh... Agent Weiss."
"What's going on?"
"I think..." He stood. "I think this is it." He hit a button on his computer and a printer came to life. "I ran all the names on all the passenger manifests like you asked. I put them through all sorts of decoders. Five and six layer ciphers, anything and everything I could think of and I hit it. Just now, I got it. There are six flights coming to LAX. The first is set to land in two hours," he said, grabbing the first page of the print out. "All the aliases, when run through the cipher, came up as 'Victor Jordan.' Each person will land an hour apart from each other. They're flying in from DCA, BWI, and Dulles as well as from Richmond, Norfolk, and Newport News. All of the flights took off after the surveillance team in D.C. picked up that they were leaving for California. Richmond, Norfolk and Newport News are kinda far from D.C., but their flights left later, giving them plenty of time to have taken a small charter from one of the D.C. area airports to the other state airports or they could've even driven down, given the mileage and the speed of cars, and nobody's on interstates really late at night, and they would've been driving pretty late and had really weird-timed flights anyway."
"Two hours before the first one lands?"
He nodded.
"Thanks, Marshall; can I have the print out?"
"Oh, sure, sure. I've still got the information on the computer."
Weiss nodded, and grabbed the papers from the printer before dashing out. Marshall smiled--proud of himself, but then remembered he told Sydney he'd contact her with the information. He sat back down at his computer and e-mailed a copy of the decoded names and the flight information to her before beeping her with a text message to check her e-mail. He also forwarded the information to Director Conrad.
~~~
Josh looked pale as he waited in his office for the meeting with the President, Ron Butterfield, and Rob Conrad. He returned the phone calls from the night before but only halfheartedly listening and responding. His best friend was the target of an international assassin. Having been shot at a political outing, he kept picturing Sam being shot while moving from one campaign stop to another. He was getting rather ill.
Donna poked her head in between calls. "Are you all right?"
"Hm?"
"Are you all right?" she repeated.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You look kinda... I dunno. Did you sleep okay last night or did your childhood friend keep you up till all hours?"
"We slept. She hasn't called, has she? Rebekah?"
She shook her head.
"Let me know if she does."
"Sure."
"What time's my meeting with the President?"
"Fifteen more minutes."
He exhaled. "If she calls when I'm in there, have her page me and give her the number."
"You're going to take pages when you're in the Oval Office?"
"I'll have it on vibrate; it's fine."
"Josh..."
"Just do it; it might be important."
"She's a staffer for a Congressman."
"And she's privy to all sorts of information that I may need."
"You're not making much sense."
"Don't question me on this, okay?"
She frowned. "Okay."
"It just... It might be really important."
"I said okay, Josh."
"I'm going on to the meeting," he said, standing up and pulling his suit coat on.
He meandered towards the Oval Office, looking decidedly distracted. Will Bailey and Toby Ziegler were in the Roosevelt Room and watched through the glass doors as he vacantly made his way around the room, towards the Oval, then turn around and head back, with a more determined look on his face, to Margaret's office. The two Communications senior staffers glanced at each other then returned to their meeting with economic advisors.
"Margaret... Does Leo have any free time today?"
She looked up at him. "He may have two seconds between this meeting and the next, but I really can't guarantee it."
He sighed.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No... Not really. What time is his schedule through?"
"Unless nothing runs long," she said, giving him a knowing look, "eight-thirty."
"So I should come by around ten if I want to talk to him in person."
She nodded. "If a meeting cancels on him, I'll call you."
"Thanks," he said, heading back towards the Oval. Ron Butterfield was already lingering at Debbie's desk. "Good morning, Ron."
"Josh," he responded with a nod.
"The President's in another meeting, Debbie?" Josh asked, looking at her.
She nodded. "Should be done shortly. In fact, Charlie's in there trying to rope Ambassador Marbury out of there as we speak."
"That'll take a while," muttered Josh. He exhaled. "Any clue what's keeping our fourth?"
"Director Conrad?"
Josh nodded.
"He's running a little late. His assistant called, said he was getting new information off the wire before coming out here."
"New information?"
Debbie nodded.
"What kind of new information?"
"She didn't say; I'm sure the Director wasn't at liberty to."
Josh nodded and turned from her desk for a moment, pacing slightly in the small office, before returning his attention to her. "Any clue if it was good information or bad information?"
"I couldn't discern it from her tone of voice, no."
"You sure?"
"Quite positive."
He sighed. "All right."
"You seem awfully tense," she commented, turning her attention to her computer.
"You're like the twelfth person to ask if I'm all right today. I'm fine."
"I didn't ask if you were all right; I was simply making an observation."
"Observations do not need to be made about me today."
"It's understandable to be nervous about this," Butterfield said. "With what happened at Rosslyn and what could happen in Orange County."
Josh looked up at him. Before he could form a response, Rob Conrad entered.
"Guess I'm not late yet," he said, holding a leather folder with the CIA seal emblazoned on it.
"Not yet, Director Conrad," Debbie said.
The door to the Oval was opened, and Charlie led the British Ambassador out of the office. "The President will see you three now," Charlie announced.
Josh exhaled, and followed the CIA Director and the head agent of the President's Secret Service team into the Oval Office.
"Good morning," said the President, standing behind his desk. The three returned the greeting and Bartlet gestured towards the couches. "Have a seat, please." He grabbed a file folder off his desk and headed over, sitting down in one of the wingback chairs. Only after the President sat did Ron Butterfield and Rob Conrad take seats, on opposite couches. Josh stood behind the President. His job was to back the President up and he would.
"Mr. President, if I may speak first," Conrad said.
"All right," Bartlet said with a nod.
He opened the leather folder and handed him a copy of a report, which Bartlet started flipping through once he put his glasses on. "As you can see, Mr. President," he said, handing another copy to Butterfield and one to Josh, "we have flight information with Jordan and his men on flights to L.A. They are currently in the air, with the first to land in a little over an hour. We're mobilizing the L.A. office to LAX in order to apprehend the first man off the plane. Starting in the next," he glanced at his watch, "ten minutes, the L.A. office will be getting a briefing on Victor Jordan, his deeds, his history, as well as on his organization, Red Crescent Order, to better prepare them for taking down Jordan and his men once they're off the plane."
"So, theoretically, this is going to be over in the next eight hours," Bartlet said, skimming the report.
"Yes, sir."
"So, there should be no problem with this weekend's trip to California?"
"None, sir. I called Tom Connolly," he said, referring to the FBI director, "and he's cleared us to take down the men as they arrive as well as offered us assistance."
"Ron, do you have any concerns or questions?" asked Bartlet, removing his glasses and looking at his head Secret Service agent.
"Are you certain these aliases are correct?" Butterfield asked, looking at Conrad.
"There's a high probability they're correct," admitted Conrad.
"How high?" Butterfield continued, taking the question Josh had just formed in his head.
"Probably eighty percent."
"And if these aliases turn out to be wrong?" asked Butterfield.
"Then we've got some days to figure out what we're doing next."
"Well, here's the thing," said Bartlet. "I'm going to California this weekend. There's no maybe about it. Ron, if you have concerns about that, you need to work out security with the CIA."
"Sir, matters of your security aren't negotiable," said Butterfield.
"Matters of politics are," said Josh, speaking up for the first time since entering the Oval. "It's a political move. The President is going to California to help a Democratic candidate run for office. If he backs out, then Sam loses. Game over. We're not going to let that happen and you're not going to stop us."
"Due respect, Mr. President, security outweighs political gain," Butterfield rebutted.
"Agent Butterfield, we're going," Josh said, putting his foot down.
"Mr. President, you have to understand the ramifications of this. I was discussing it with Josh before the meeting. If you thought Rosslyn was bad, this is going to be worse. There's going to be a definite threat from a highly trained assassin, not skinhead kids who fired off some potshots."
"So, we bite the bullet and use tents in California since we didn't at Rosslyn," Josh continued.
"You can't play a shell game against an assassin, not one as smart and as ruthless as Jordan," Conrad said.
"Crystal survived," said Josh.
"And that's a rare thing. In his tenure as chief killer, he's left six alive. Five were killed once he discovered it. Crystal's gonna be next," said Conrad. "As much as I don't want that to happen, this guy is determined. He's going to pull off a political assassination to get a victim who lived--who barely lived. You've seen the pictures, Josh. It was bloody and brutal and he could go through the entire Presidential entourage in California. Unless we catch him, which, our chances are good that we will. A large portion of CIA resources are aimed at this guy right now. He's threatened one of our own and we don't take kindly to that, especially when it also involves the family of our agent and our boss. You just gotta give us time. You may have to postpone the visit."
"We can't," said Bartlet, shaking his head. "This has been planned for far too long."
"Which could be part of the reason Jordan changed plans," said Butterfield. "He's going to California to pull Crystal into the open by killing her cousin and, who knows, if the President's right there, too, and he has an extra bullet, it could be done. With all due respect, Mr. President, you have to reconsider this."
"We've considered it," said Josh.
"I wasn't talking to you," Butterfield said, shooting a sharp look his way.
"We understand the ramifications. We get that this is dangerous. We get that this could be deadly. Of all people, you don't have to tell the President or I how dangerous guns are. But you have to understand that we're willing to chance it. Your job just got tougher, Agent Butterfield, and I apologize for that, but you're gonna have to deal with it."
"Mr. President," began Butterfield.
"We're going, Ron," Bartlet said. "I suggest you talk with Rob here about the potential for success of catching these men. And I suggest you two do it elsewhere."
Butterfield and Conrad jumped to their feet when the President stood. Muttering their thanks, the two headed out.
Josh watched them leave and the door close before looking at Bartlet. "Sir..."
"Hm?"
"Why can't I tell her that they're about to catch them?"
"It's Rob's decision."
"We just overruled both Conrad and Butterfield."
"It's an internal matter, Josh."
"Yes, sir," Josh said, fighting a sigh as well as a rebuttal.
"Thanks for backing me up."
"Thank you, sir," he said, taking his copy of the report from Conrad and slipping out of the Oval.
~~~
Crystal stood at the front of the main conference room, where Rob Conrad had given the briefing the day before, and lectured about Victor Jordan, his ties to the Red Crescent Order, as well as his only family--his father, a European media mogul. She gave a thorough history, imparting all the knowledge she had about the organization and Jordan to the fresh-faced agents sitting before her, and to those she could see only via teleconference from Los Angeles.
Among those in L.A. were Marshall and Weiss. Weiss made notes occasionally while Marshall watched with rapt attention.
"Jordan rose to power in the Red Crescent Order ten years ago. Before that, he had been one of his father's right hand men, organizing ruthless corporate takeovers." Crystal regaled the agents with stories about kidnapping CEOs and CFOs families in order to get the deeds and titles to the companies. As with a seeming majority of kidnapping cases, the victims were never returned to their families alive. Jordan enjoyed watching the gamut of emotions play across the faces of the corporate executives before offering to let them join their families in the afterworld. Nothing stood in his way; he had no problems plowing through people to get the acquisitions his father wanted.
"It became too commonplace; he wanted a challenge," she continued. "He left his father's corporation and took up with various terrorist groups, starting in the Irish Republican Army before moving onto the more aggressive, more covert Red Crescent Order. They're not wave-makers. They prefer to jump in and take over operations from other groups. Perhaps he finds it comforting and familiar from his days in corporate takeovers. Because the organization is never fully put to use at any one time, Jordan easily got permission to take off for this jaunt into assassination with his team of merry men.
"I've heard this question tossed around quite a bit this morning: why target the escaped victim first? Why not kill the family first? His victims are usually highly trained in specialized operations, like me. Like Mossad agents. Like MI-6 agents. You start messing with family of intelligence officers, you turn them into renegades, rogue agents who throw the rulebook out the window and decide to take care of the matter themselves. They become irrational. You can't deal with irrational people, and he knows that.
"Jordan also knows the advantages and disadvantages of family ties. Charles Renard provides a healthy amount of funding to the Red Crescent Order. He knows he needs his father protected, not out of a sense of family ties, but out of an economic savvy. He loses his father; he loses his key investor."
Crystal closed the notebook in front of her, not that she'd been looking at her notes at all during her presentation. "Are there any questions?"
Weiss spoke up. "Would he hurt the family member to get at the victim? Without killing the family member, just threatening him?"
"It's not in his pattern."
"Was it his pattern to be a terrorist when he was a corporate employee? I mean, would he change his pattern, for the thrill or because he's figured out that you, Agent Seaborn, are underground so as to keep his attention on you and not your cousin?"
She shrugged slightly. "Anything's possible."
Another agent in L.A. spoke up: "Do they travel in disguise?"
"Not typically. Heavily armed, yes, but he's not into covert traveling. If he gets caught, he gets caught. He's never *been* caught, however. Like the local and state law enforcement here, smaller police organizations overseas don't want to touch him. They refuse to apprehend him because he's such a violent, murderous man. Having been at ground zero of one of his attacks, I can't really say that I blame them." She waited for a moment, but there seemed to be no more questions. "Anything else?" When she was given no response, she picked up her notebook. "All right. If you have any more questions that you think of later, you can reach me at my extension, twenty-three hundred, or e-mail to cseaborn@odci.gov and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks."
The lights in the conference room came up to full power and Crystal headed out, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she started for her office. Her assistant, Melissa sat at her desk just outside of her office. "Mail came through."
She nodded. "Can I get a bottle of water by any chance?"
"Sure thing."
Crystal entered her small office and closed the door behind her. She had a sparsely decorated office. There was a filing cabinet with a small television on top against one wall, and a government-issue metal desk from an earlier decade in the center of the room. The office had one window but it seemed all but useless as it faced a brick wall. Sighing slightly, she dropped into her desk chair and turned on her laptop. An envelope had been dropped on her desk--her mail. All in all, the office had one personal item. It was a framed three-and-a-half-by-five picture of a young Crystal in a Princeton sweatshirt with a young Sam in a graduation robe and mortarboard. It was taken the day of Sam's commencement from the university on her sweatshirt.
She picked up the envelope. The return address appeared to be from a local legal firm. She didn't wonder that much about it. Her father had been a prominent criminal attorney in the metro D.C. area for decades. It could have something to do with a former partner in her father's firm or even something to deal with Sam's campaign and legal questions regarding it.
Opening the envelope, she pulled out the tri-fold letter and opened it. It was not a letterhead. It wasn't even a letter; there was no writing on it but rather a symbol. A red crescent. More than that, a white powdery substance had been folded inside the paper.
Without hesitating, she picked up her phone and dialed Conrad's direct extension.
"Conrad," he answered.
"Shut off G-Wing and get a Haz-Mat team to my office stat. Evacuate non-essentials."
"Crys--"
"I've got a letter with possible anthrax from Red Crescent."
"That doesn't fit the pattern--"
"Screw the pattern, Robby! Shut down G-Wing, stop the ventilation system through here, send me a goddamned Haz-Mat team and evacuate the non- essentials!"
"Stay on this line, Crys."
She hoped Melissa was still en route to the cafeteria to get her that water. Glancing over, her laptop had come on and it was querying her for her password. After hearing the air system turn off, she balanced the phone on her shoulder and typed in her password before pulling up her e- mail program. She typed Sam's e-mail address into the to field, bypassed the subject, and jumped right into the body message. With one quick sentence entered, she hit send right before the Haz-Mat team entered.
"Robby, if you're taping this, I have to go now. There better be one hell of a good team in L.A. with Sam."
~~~
In Los Angeles, Weiss frowned and looked at Marshall after the satellite briefing. "If Jordan never changes to kill the family first... why is he coming here?"
Marshall shrugged. "I don't know."
FBI Assistant Director Kendall, a CIA liaison to the L.A. office, entered the room. "Agent Weiss. You're needed at LAX with the strike teams."
Weiss stood. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, following him out.
Stay tuned...
Lines from the next installment:
Josh entered first, with Toby on his heels. "Leo?"
"There've been some developments," the Chief of Staff said gravely.
"What kind of developments?" asked Toby.
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Crystal spends the night at Josh's and sleeps most of the night, something quite rare for her. Sydney tries to connect Jordan to Sloane while Vaughn tries to assure her there's no connection to be made. Josh is let in on the fact that Sam's the new target and is told to keep it from Crystal, which he doesn't like.
Sam arrived at the campaign headquarters early and bearing Starbucks coffee for the pair of CIA agents and himself. Entering the building, he headed back for his office, surprised to hear voices coming from it. He stopped just outside the door to listen to what was going on inside.
"Just where the hell do you get off?"
Sam recognized the voice of Scott Holcomb. A very angry Scott Holcomb.
"It's a matter of intelligence, Mr. Holcomb. California doesn't exactly have a clean record of keeping candidates alive to see election."
And that was Jack Bristow. Sam realized this... was not going to be good.
"Lightning doesn't strike twice, not in one Congressional district in a matter of five months."
"One dies of natural causes, the other gets assassinated. That's not exactly the same lightning strike."
"It's not exactly plausible either!"
"How do you know?"
"Ten years of campaign experience tells me that candidates don't get killed. Not on a Congressional level."
"Local candidates get killed. Presidential candidates get killed."
"Congressional candidates don't."
"Do you really want to have those words come back to bite you in the ass?"
"Do you really want me to revoke your campaign credentials?"
"Don't threaten me, Mr. Holcomb."
"Don't tell me how to run my campaign, Mr. Bristow."
"You're going to get someone hurt by being this open."
"He's running for Congress; he has to be accessible!"
"Not after hours. Not in fundraisers or at parties or at home."
Sam reached for the door handle and opened it. "How 'bout this novel idea?" Sam said, entering. "How 'bout you guys listen to me?"
"Sam..." Scott said, standing up.
"Good morning, Scott. Good morning, Jack."
"How much of this have you heard...?" asked Scott.
"Quite enough, thank you. You're going to let Jack have his way. If that means we're closing off some avenues of information, we're doing it. You're not pulling his credentials. You're not getting him removed from my campaign. If you don't like it, tough. That's the way it's going to be."
"Sam, I don't think this is a good idea--" began his campaign manager.
"You don't get it. This isn't your call to make. Gather the staff for a meeting; I'll address them in regards to the required changes."
Scott glanced at Jack, whose face was emotionless. Sighing heavily, he exited the office quickly, storming down the hall.
Sam reached out, closing the door behind him. "Starbucks?"
"Thank you," Jack said as Sam handed him a coffee.
"Fun morning."
"Yeah."
"Where's your cohort in crime?"
"Weiss?"
Sam nodded.
"He's at the headquarters right now."
"Something wrong?"
Jack shook his head. "He's scheduled to see another briefing shortly."
~~~
Weiss knocked on Marshall's door. There was no answer but he could see the lights were on through the frosted glass door. He could even see Marshall standing inside. Frowning, he opened the door. "Marshall?"
"Six men... staggered flights... names through an algorithmic process... all say Victor Jordan..."
"Marshall!" repeated Weiss.
The short technician almost fell over his chair. "Oh, oh... Agent Weiss."
"What's going on?"
"I think..." He stood. "I think this is it." He hit a button on his computer and a printer came to life. "I ran all the names on all the passenger manifests like you asked. I put them through all sorts of decoders. Five and six layer ciphers, anything and everything I could think of and I hit it. Just now, I got it. There are six flights coming to LAX. The first is set to land in two hours," he said, grabbing the first page of the print out. "All the aliases, when run through the cipher, came up as 'Victor Jordan.' Each person will land an hour apart from each other. They're flying in from DCA, BWI, and Dulles as well as from Richmond, Norfolk, and Newport News. All of the flights took off after the surveillance team in D.C. picked up that they were leaving for California. Richmond, Norfolk and Newport News are kinda far from D.C., but their flights left later, giving them plenty of time to have taken a small charter from one of the D.C. area airports to the other state airports or they could've even driven down, given the mileage and the speed of cars, and nobody's on interstates really late at night, and they would've been driving pretty late and had really weird-timed flights anyway."
"Two hours before the first one lands?"
He nodded.
"Thanks, Marshall; can I have the print out?"
"Oh, sure, sure. I've still got the information on the computer."
Weiss nodded, and grabbed the papers from the printer before dashing out. Marshall smiled--proud of himself, but then remembered he told Sydney he'd contact her with the information. He sat back down at his computer and e-mailed a copy of the decoded names and the flight information to her before beeping her with a text message to check her e-mail. He also forwarded the information to Director Conrad.
~~~
Josh looked pale as he waited in his office for the meeting with the President, Ron Butterfield, and Rob Conrad. He returned the phone calls from the night before but only halfheartedly listening and responding. His best friend was the target of an international assassin. Having been shot at a political outing, he kept picturing Sam being shot while moving from one campaign stop to another. He was getting rather ill.
Donna poked her head in between calls. "Are you all right?"
"Hm?"
"Are you all right?" she repeated.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You look kinda... I dunno. Did you sleep okay last night or did your childhood friend keep you up till all hours?"
"We slept. She hasn't called, has she? Rebekah?"
She shook her head.
"Let me know if she does."
"Sure."
"What time's my meeting with the President?"
"Fifteen more minutes."
He exhaled. "If she calls when I'm in there, have her page me and give her the number."
"You're going to take pages when you're in the Oval Office?"
"I'll have it on vibrate; it's fine."
"Josh..."
"Just do it; it might be important."
"She's a staffer for a Congressman."
"And she's privy to all sorts of information that I may need."
"You're not making much sense."
"Don't question me on this, okay?"
She frowned. "Okay."
"It just... It might be really important."
"I said okay, Josh."
"I'm going on to the meeting," he said, standing up and pulling his suit coat on.
He meandered towards the Oval Office, looking decidedly distracted. Will Bailey and Toby Ziegler were in the Roosevelt Room and watched through the glass doors as he vacantly made his way around the room, towards the Oval, then turn around and head back, with a more determined look on his face, to Margaret's office. The two Communications senior staffers glanced at each other then returned to their meeting with economic advisors.
"Margaret... Does Leo have any free time today?"
She looked up at him. "He may have two seconds between this meeting and the next, but I really can't guarantee it."
He sighed.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No... Not really. What time is his schedule through?"
"Unless nothing runs long," she said, giving him a knowing look, "eight-thirty."
"So I should come by around ten if I want to talk to him in person."
She nodded. "If a meeting cancels on him, I'll call you."
"Thanks," he said, heading back towards the Oval. Ron Butterfield was already lingering at Debbie's desk. "Good morning, Ron."
"Josh," he responded with a nod.
"The President's in another meeting, Debbie?" Josh asked, looking at her.
She nodded. "Should be done shortly. In fact, Charlie's in there trying to rope Ambassador Marbury out of there as we speak."
"That'll take a while," muttered Josh. He exhaled. "Any clue what's keeping our fourth?"
"Director Conrad?"
Josh nodded.
"He's running a little late. His assistant called, said he was getting new information off the wire before coming out here."
"New information?"
Debbie nodded.
"What kind of new information?"
"She didn't say; I'm sure the Director wasn't at liberty to."
Josh nodded and turned from her desk for a moment, pacing slightly in the small office, before returning his attention to her. "Any clue if it was good information or bad information?"
"I couldn't discern it from her tone of voice, no."
"You sure?"
"Quite positive."
He sighed. "All right."
"You seem awfully tense," she commented, turning her attention to her computer.
"You're like the twelfth person to ask if I'm all right today. I'm fine."
"I didn't ask if you were all right; I was simply making an observation."
"Observations do not need to be made about me today."
"It's understandable to be nervous about this," Butterfield said. "With what happened at Rosslyn and what could happen in Orange County."
Josh looked up at him. Before he could form a response, Rob Conrad entered.
"Guess I'm not late yet," he said, holding a leather folder with the CIA seal emblazoned on it.
"Not yet, Director Conrad," Debbie said.
The door to the Oval was opened, and Charlie led the British Ambassador out of the office. "The President will see you three now," Charlie announced.
Josh exhaled, and followed the CIA Director and the head agent of the President's Secret Service team into the Oval Office.
"Good morning," said the President, standing behind his desk. The three returned the greeting and Bartlet gestured towards the couches. "Have a seat, please." He grabbed a file folder off his desk and headed over, sitting down in one of the wingback chairs. Only after the President sat did Ron Butterfield and Rob Conrad take seats, on opposite couches. Josh stood behind the President. His job was to back the President up and he would.
"Mr. President, if I may speak first," Conrad said.
"All right," Bartlet said with a nod.
He opened the leather folder and handed him a copy of a report, which Bartlet started flipping through once he put his glasses on. "As you can see, Mr. President," he said, handing another copy to Butterfield and one to Josh, "we have flight information with Jordan and his men on flights to L.A. They are currently in the air, with the first to land in a little over an hour. We're mobilizing the L.A. office to LAX in order to apprehend the first man off the plane. Starting in the next," he glanced at his watch, "ten minutes, the L.A. office will be getting a briefing on Victor Jordan, his deeds, his history, as well as on his organization, Red Crescent Order, to better prepare them for taking down Jordan and his men once they're off the plane."
"So, theoretically, this is going to be over in the next eight hours," Bartlet said, skimming the report.
"Yes, sir."
"So, there should be no problem with this weekend's trip to California?"
"None, sir. I called Tom Connolly," he said, referring to the FBI director, "and he's cleared us to take down the men as they arrive as well as offered us assistance."
"Ron, do you have any concerns or questions?" asked Bartlet, removing his glasses and looking at his head Secret Service agent.
"Are you certain these aliases are correct?" Butterfield asked, looking at Conrad.
"There's a high probability they're correct," admitted Conrad.
"How high?" Butterfield continued, taking the question Josh had just formed in his head.
"Probably eighty percent."
"And if these aliases turn out to be wrong?" asked Butterfield.
"Then we've got some days to figure out what we're doing next."
"Well, here's the thing," said Bartlet. "I'm going to California this weekend. There's no maybe about it. Ron, if you have concerns about that, you need to work out security with the CIA."
"Sir, matters of your security aren't negotiable," said Butterfield.
"Matters of politics are," said Josh, speaking up for the first time since entering the Oval. "It's a political move. The President is going to California to help a Democratic candidate run for office. If he backs out, then Sam loses. Game over. We're not going to let that happen and you're not going to stop us."
"Due respect, Mr. President, security outweighs political gain," Butterfield rebutted.
"Agent Butterfield, we're going," Josh said, putting his foot down.
"Mr. President, you have to understand the ramifications of this. I was discussing it with Josh before the meeting. If you thought Rosslyn was bad, this is going to be worse. There's going to be a definite threat from a highly trained assassin, not skinhead kids who fired off some potshots."
"So, we bite the bullet and use tents in California since we didn't at Rosslyn," Josh continued.
"You can't play a shell game against an assassin, not one as smart and as ruthless as Jordan," Conrad said.
"Crystal survived," said Josh.
"And that's a rare thing. In his tenure as chief killer, he's left six alive. Five were killed once he discovered it. Crystal's gonna be next," said Conrad. "As much as I don't want that to happen, this guy is determined. He's going to pull off a political assassination to get a victim who lived--who barely lived. You've seen the pictures, Josh. It was bloody and brutal and he could go through the entire Presidential entourage in California. Unless we catch him, which, our chances are good that we will. A large portion of CIA resources are aimed at this guy right now. He's threatened one of our own and we don't take kindly to that, especially when it also involves the family of our agent and our boss. You just gotta give us time. You may have to postpone the visit."
"We can't," said Bartlet, shaking his head. "This has been planned for far too long."
"Which could be part of the reason Jordan changed plans," said Butterfield. "He's going to California to pull Crystal into the open by killing her cousin and, who knows, if the President's right there, too, and he has an extra bullet, it could be done. With all due respect, Mr. President, you have to reconsider this."
"We've considered it," said Josh.
"I wasn't talking to you," Butterfield said, shooting a sharp look his way.
"We understand the ramifications. We get that this is dangerous. We get that this could be deadly. Of all people, you don't have to tell the President or I how dangerous guns are. But you have to understand that we're willing to chance it. Your job just got tougher, Agent Butterfield, and I apologize for that, but you're gonna have to deal with it."
"Mr. President," began Butterfield.
"We're going, Ron," Bartlet said. "I suggest you talk with Rob here about the potential for success of catching these men. And I suggest you two do it elsewhere."
Butterfield and Conrad jumped to their feet when the President stood. Muttering their thanks, the two headed out.
Josh watched them leave and the door close before looking at Bartlet. "Sir..."
"Hm?"
"Why can't I tell her that they're about to catch them?"
"It's Rob's decision."
"We just overruled both Conrad and Butterfield."
"It's an internal matter, Josh."
"Yes, sir," Josh said, fighting a sigh as well as a rebuttal.
"Thanks for backing me up."
"Thank you, sir," he said, taking his copy of the report from Conrad and slipping out of the Oval.
~~~
Crystal stood at the front of the main conference room, where Rob Conrad had given the briefing the day before, and lectured about Victor Jordan, his ties to the Red Crescent Order, as well as his only family--his father, a European media mogul. She gave a thorough history, imparting all the knowledge she had about the organization and Jordan to the fresh-faced agents sitting before her, and to those she could see only via teleconference from Los Angeles.
Among those in L.A. were Marshall and Weiss. Weiss made notes occasionally while Marshall watched with rapt attention.
"Jordan rose to power in the Red Crescent Order ten years ago. Before that, he had been one of his father's right hand men, organizing ruthless corporate takeovers." Crystal regaled the agents with stories about kidnapping CEOs and CFOs families in order to get the deeds and titles to the companies. As with a seeming majority of kidnapping cases, the victims were never returned to their families alive. Jordan enjoyed watching the gamut of emotions play across the faces of the corporate executives before offering to let them join their families in the afterworld. Nothing stood in his way; he had no problems plowing through people to get the acquisitions his father wanted.
"It became too commonplace; he wanted a challenge," she continued. "He left his father's corporation and took up with various terrorist groups, starting in the Irish Republican Army before moving onto the more aggressive, more covert Red Crescent Order. They're not wave-makers. They prefer to jump in and take over operations from other groups. Perhaps he finds it comforting and familiar from his days in corporate takeovers. Because the organization is never fully put to use at any one time, Jordan easily got permission to take off for this jaunt into assassination with his team of merry men.
"I've heard this question tossed around quite a bit this morning: why target the escaped victim first? Why not kill the family first? His victims are usually highly trained in specialized operations, like me. Like Mossad agents. Like MI-6 agents. You start messing with family of intelligence officers, you turn them into renegades, rogue agents who throw the rulebook out the window and decide to take care of the matter themselves. They become irrational. You can't deal with irrational people, and he knows that.
"Jordan also knows the advantages and disadvantages of family ties. Charles Renard provides a healthy amount of funding to the Red Crescent Order. He knows he needs his father protected, not out of a sense of family ties, but out of an economic savvy. He loses his father; he loses his key investor."
Crystal closed the notebook in front of her, not that she'd been looking at her notes at all during her presentation. "Are there any questions?"
Weiss spoke up. "Would he hurt the family member to get at the victim? Without killing the family member, just threatening him?"
"It's not in his pattern."
"Was it his pattern to be a terrorist when he was a corporate employee? I mean, would he change his pattern, for the thrill or because he's figured out that you, Agent Seaborn, are underground so as to keep his attention on you and not your cousin?"
She shrugged slightly. "Anything's possible."
Another agent in L.A. spoke up: "Do they travel in disguise?"
"Not typically. Heavily armed, yes, but he's not into covert traveling. If he gets caught, he gets caught. He's never *been* caught, however. Like the local and state law enforcement here, smaller police organizations overseas don't want to touch him. They refuse to apprehend him because he's such a violent, murderous man. Having been at ground zero of one of his attacks, I can't really say that I blame them." She waited for a moment, but there seemed to be no more questions. "Anything else?" When she was given no response, she picked up her notebook. "All right. If you have any more questions that you think of later, you can reach me at my extension, twenty-three hundred, or e-mail to cseaborn@odci.gov and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks."
The lights in the conference room came up to full power and Crystal headed out, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she started for her office. Her assistant, Melissa sat at her desk just outside of her office. "Mail came through."
She nodded. "Can I get a bottle of water by any chance?"
"Sure thing."
Crystal entered her small office and closed the door behind her. She had a sparsely decorated office. There was a filing cabinet with a small television on top against one wall, and a government-issue metal desk from an earlier decade in the center of the room. The office had one window but it seemed all but useless as it faced a brick wall. Sighing slightly, she dropped into her desk chair and turned on her laptop. An envelope had been dropped on her desk--her mail. All in all, the office had one personal item. It was a framed three-and-a-half-by-five picture of a young Crystal in a Princeton sweatshirt with a young Sam in a graduation robe and mortarboard. It was taken the day of Sam's commencement from the university on her sweatshirt.
She picked up the envelope. The return address appeared to be from a local legal firm. She didn't wonder that much about it. Her father had been a prominent criminal attorney in the metro D.C. area for decades. It could have something to do with a former partner in her father's firm or even something to deal with Sam's campaign and legal questions regarding it.
Opening the envelope, she pulled out the tri-fold letter and opened it. It was not a letterhead. It wasn't even a letter; there was no writing on it but rather a symbol. A red crescent. More than that, a white powdery substance had been folded inside the paper.
Without hesitating, she picked up her phone and dialed Conrad's direct extension.
"Conrad," he answered.
"Shut off G-Wing and get a Haz-Mat team to my office stat. Evacuate non-essentials."
"Crys--"
"I've got a letter with possible anthrax from Red Crescent."
"That doesn't fit the pattern--"
"Screw the pattern, Robby! Shut down G-Wing, stop the ventilation system through here, send me a goddamned Haz-Mat team and evacuate the non- essentials!"
"Stay on this line, Crys."
She hoped Melissa was still en route to the cafeteria to get her that water. Glancing over, her laptop had come on and it was querying her for her password. After hearing the air system turn off, she balanced the phone on her shoulder and typed in her password before pulling up her e- mail program. She typed Sam's e-mail address into the to field, bypassed the subject, and jumped right into the body message. With one quick sentence entered, she hit send right before the Haz-Mat team entered.
"Robby, if you're taping this, I have to go now. There better be one hell of a good team in L.A. with Sam."
~~~
In Los Angeles, Weiss frowned and looked at Marshall after the satellite briefing. "If Jordan never changes to kill the family first... why is he coming here?"
Marshall shrugged. "I don't know."
FBI Assistant Director Kendall, a CIA liaison to the L.A. office, entered the room. "Agent Weiss. You're needed at LAX with the strike teams."
Weiss stood. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, following him out.
Stay tuned...
Lines from the next installment:
Josh entered first, with Toby on his heels. "Leo?"
"There've been some developments," the Chief of Staff said gravely.
"What kind of developments?" asked Toby.