Chapter 5: An act of terrorism

Casey rented in a dive not far from the Buy More to wait for nightfall. Sleep and thoughts of eating eluded him. Television had zero charm and listening to any kind of music would only stir his emotions, but the lyrics of 'Life during Wartime' swam through his head. It was one of the last songs he heard this morning.

'This ain't no party, this ain't no disco this ain't no fooling around! ...This ain't no mudd club, or C. B. G. B. I ain't got time for that now!… Heard about Houston? Heard about Detroit? Heard about Pittsburgh, PA? You oughta know not to stand by the window somebody might see you up there… I got some groceries, some peanut butter, to last a couple of days. But I ain't got no speakers…ain't got no headphones, ain't got no records to play…'

The lyrics ranted about all the discomforts in the life of a soldier and spy. He popped open his laptop. He had it registered to a phony persona to evade tracking. The Government didn't trust their own employees. He plugged in his flash drive to retrieve more pictures of his family. He started to cry and curse himself for doing so. He'd acted callous, not even bothering to claim their bodies or check if they were among the living.

"I know they weren't…that bomb gutted out the place front to back…there was no way…I would've seen them somewhere." He bemoaned.

If he were to claim them right now, there'd be too many unanswered questions and attention drawn on him. The Intersect mission was top secret and had to remain that way, even if the Intersect itself were gone. Casey curled up on the corner of the bed, scratching his arms and legs from the stiff and itchy fabric of the dull white sheets. He rubbed his temple and closed his eyes momentarily.

All the geeks, nerds, and weirdos gone in a searing instant.

Casey could admit he'd grown accustomed to each of them and their foolish quirks. They put up with his rough and gruff demeanor, especially Morgan Grimes. Casey was just a player in a cornucopia of oddball characters. He sunk his head against his chest, trying to steady his breathing. He couldn't lose his mind. He wouldn't go over that precipice, at least not until it was completely over. He could only imagine what Beckman and the others would say at the disaster conference. They'd be right to strip him of his badge, gun and title. He might as well flee the country, maybe settle down and raise sheep in Scotland or somewhere Celtic and change his name to Shamus O'Grady.

The sun settled into the horizon and cast slices of orange light through the wooden shutters. Casey passed into a fitful sleep. A sudden movement a half hour later immediately woke him. His keen hearing picked up footsteps outside his window. Casey slid down the bed and retrieved a small pistol from under his pant leg. The intruder attempted to look inside.

Casey tumbled off the bed and backed against the door. He curled his fingers over the knob and after the count of three swung it open and lunged at the intruder. A woman screamed and struggled under his iron grip around her neck.

He wagged his gun near her face. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't twist or blow your head right off?"

"If you get off me, I'll explain who I am, Major Casey!" The woman choked out.

Upon hearing his name he let her fall to the porch with a sharp thud. She picked herself up and dusted off a smart, navy blue pant suit. She smoothed back her wavy dark hair. Her mouth curled into a snarl and she glared at him with icy blue eyes.

"That's okay, I can help myself, the NSA doesn't teach manners, do they?"

"Not necessarily in my job description. And no one knew I was here, how did you find me?"

He gave her the once over. She was a sassy one in her late thirties and beautiful, in a power hungry, yet chaste, button nosed sort of way. Attraction was the furthest thing from his mind and his instincts kicked in to trust no one.

"Let me guess, Beckman sent you here to butter me up?" He sneered.

She flipped her hair back and grimaced. "I resent that remark, Major. I'm nobody's boy toy. My name is Agent Rhea Jones."

"Agent for who? FBI, CIA, NSA…Hugh Hefner? I know a honeypot when I see one."

"Very funny. You men are all alike, thoughtless pigs that can't take the heat working around a woman that's even slightly attractive or intelligent. Let's just say I work for a small, but very powerful Government offshoot. I'm part of a newly formed investigative unit for local terrorism. As in, terrorism on U.S. soil." She flashed an official looking badge with a harsh mugshot.

Casey's mood softened, but he kept his guard. He placed the pistol back under his pant leg and somberly watched her every move.

"Terrorism, huh? Is that what your people suspect?"

A flicker of grief passed her face, but was quickly replaced with indignation. "Any act on such a violent and destructive scale should be deemed, terrorism, Major. To make a long story short, we want you to join our surveillance team…only we have exceptional… time…restraints."

He noticed she chose her last words carefully, but didn't read too much into it.

"Go on, you have my attention…for now."

"Our Headquarters houses one of the most innovative and technologically advanced tracking systems in the entire world, not even the White House knows of it yet. We chose to take on this case because it wouldn't send up flares in the Government as much as say…the World Trade Center."

She gave him a pert smile. The ice queen was melting.

"Agent Casey, we need you to look at our feeds. We want you to tell us what's missing…what's wrong, what shouldn't be there…what we should ignore, and what we should pounce on."

Casey smiled wryly. "And just how am I going to do that? Wouldn't it be a little difficult considering the Buy More's a heap of rubble!"

"You have a better idea?"

Casey shrugged and stared at the horizon. Rhea shook her head. "Don't tell me you were gonna go scope it out after midnight? I'm telling you now, that place was picked dry like a turkey after the holidays. Anything the bomb didn't destroy, the looters salvaged. Believe me, Major, it's a big waste of time."

Casey hated when his ideas deflated, but he didn't let his disappointment show. Agent ice cube was right; any substantial evidence disintegrated in the explosion.

"Well then, are you gonna tell me what this exceptional time restraint is all about, Agent Jones? Because I have bigger fish to fry."

"Forget the fish, Major. If you join us, you'll be frying Moby Dick in lemon sauce. I can't explain anything if you refuse. You know how it goes, its…classified information." She glanced at him almost tenderly. "Major, What have you got to lose?"

Casey crossed his arms and heaved his shoulders. "Absolutely nothing. Let me get my bags."

Major John Casey had already lost everything at 11:00 am that morning.