Designated Survivor (23 page)

“True,” Monroe said. “One more thing. Can I take a look at your phone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Totally voluntary,” Monroe said. “I’d just like to take a look.”

“Why?” Graham reached into his inside suit jacket pocket and set the phone on the table.

Monroe picked it up and tried to access it. “Would you mind unlocking it for me?”

“0812,” Graham said.

Monroe tapped the four digits in and it gave him access.

“Really, can you tell me why you want to see my phone?” Graham said. “This is feeling more and more like I’m about to be accused of something.”

Going through the menus on the Android based phone, Monroe found the outgoing calls list.

Grace turned to Arrington in the next room. “What’s he doing? I thought he wasn’t on board?”

Arrington shrugged. “Beats me. He must have seen something we didn’t in his reactions.”

After looking through the call history Monroe turned the phone to show Graham the screen. “Can you tell me who this number belongs to?”

“I have no idea,” Graham said. “I make a lot of calls and can’t remember who all the numbers belong to.”

“This call was made at 1:38pm on Wednesday,” Monroe said.

“I don’t know. I don’t recall making a call,” Graham said. “But I have been a bit busy.”

“Richard,” Monroe said. “The Capitol blew up at 1:38pm on Wednesday.”

Graham sat back in his seat and grew quieter. “What are you saying?”

“This number belongs to a burner phone that was located at the top of the south wing of the Capitol, above the House of Representatives.”

Graham stared at the FBI director.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Monroe said. “We have reason to believe your phone made the call that caused the explosion.”

“That, that’s just impossible.”

“Anything you want to say?” Monroe said.

“No. I just—” Graham’s voice faded. “It’s not possible.”

“I’m going to need you to stay in here,” Monroe said. “You aren’t being arrested at this time, but we’re going to detain you until we have more facts. If at any time you decide you have more to tell me, let the guard at the door know.”

Monroe stood and left the room as Richard Graham sat still, his eyes staring down at the table in front of him. The FBI director came through the door of the observation room.

“What the hell, Jim?” Arrington said. “I thought you were just going to talk to him.”

“I was a prosecutor for nearly twenty years,” Monroe said. “You learn to tell when people are lying. And he’s lying.”

Grace pointed at the monitor still recording the room next to them. “Look at him,” he said. “He’s freaking out.”

“He should be,” Arrington said. “Okay. Now you’d better lock this down and get the rest of the proof. We can’t hold him forever.”

CHAPTER 45

Ormand Baasch got off of the commuter bus and walked down the street to the security entrance of the Homeland Security campus. His chances of being stopped right here were high, but it was the plan Abbasi had set in motion and their only option for quick entry into the machinery building. He stepped up to the guard booth with his wallet already in his hand and watched as a uniformed officer stepped out of the sliding door. Baasch could tell the solidly built black man was strong, even though he stood several inches shy of six foot tall and the bulletproof vest was tight around his abdomen. He had almost a foot on the officer but knew he wasn’t someone to get through easily in combat. The Sig Sauer seemed like an afterthought on the officer’s waist, almost unnecessary. He knew he could take the man down but hoped he wouldn’t have to that day.

“Where are you coming from?” the guard said.

Baasch motioned back toward Centreville Road. “Bus. Don’t have a car right now.” He handed his driver’s license to the officer. “It’s my first day, trying not to be late.”

The officer looked at the name on the license and glanced at the list on a clipboard hanging just inside the guard booth. “I don’t have you on the list.”

Baasch shook his head and looked across the parking lot. “Shoulda known,” he said. “He’s probably sitting there eating a box of donuts, not even remembering I’m supposed to be here today. The placement agency warned me about him.”

The officer looked at Baasch’s blue workpants and grey shirt with his name embroidered on it. “You’re talking about Ferguson, right?”

“Yeah,” Baasch said. “Couldn’t stand the guy but its good work. He’s a bit of a, well . . . ”

“Racist asshole?” the officer said.

Baasch laughed. “You’ve met him, I guess.”

“I see the looks he gives me when he rolls through here in the mornings, usually half an hour late,” the officer said. “I haven’t even seen him yet today.”

“Shit,” Baasch said. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Hold on,” the officer stepped inside the booth and picked up the phone receiver.

Baasch readied himself. If he acted fast enough he thought he could disarm the officer then shoot him with his own weapon, push him inside the booth and make the run across the parking lot to the machinery building within 60 seconds. It would take him at least five minutes to carry out his task but as soon as the officer was found the entire compound would be placed on lockdown. As he continued to consider his options the officer stepped back out.

“Head on over,” the man said. “I’m sure Ferguson will be here soon. Just wait for him there.” The same small white car that transported him a few days earlier for his interview pulled up inside the fence and the officer gave the driver a wave. “Carlos will drive you over.”

Baasch nodded as he took his license back. “Thanks. Really appreciate it.”

“We’re all just workin’,” the officer said.

The gate rolled to the right just wide enough for him to walk through. The three large posts that lowered into the ground to stop cars and trucks from smashing through stayed raised. As he stepped through, Baasch was stiff, waiting for them to try to grab him. He got into the passenger door of the small Chevy and it drove him across the lot and dropped him right outside the machinery building then left him.

Up the three metal stairs to the trailer that housed the office, Baasch pulled out his cellphone and sent a message to Abbasi, letting him know he’d actually breached the compound. The door to the trailer was unlocked and he went in. A Latino man sat in a chair beside the coffee maker on the other end from Ferguson’s desk.

“Hola,” Baasch said. “Como estas?”

“Bien,” the man said. “And I speak English.”

“Whew. I’d reached my limit on how much Spanish I know,” Baasch said. “Coffee any good?”

“It’s shitty,” he said, “Ferguson buys the cheapest stuff he can for us. While he has that thing.” The man pointed to a small table behind the foreman’s desk.

A large black coffee maker that took single serve containers sat there, with a metal rack full of name brand coffee pods beside it.

“Yeah. He seems like a dick,” Baasch said.

The man walked past him and patted his shoulder on the way out of the trailer. “You’ll do just fine here.”

Baasch looked around. He hadn’t seen any cameras on his first trip to the trailer but wanted to make sure. When he didn’t see any he went around to the other side of the desk and pulled the top drawer open. Just inside sat the key ring. He took the keys and was about to close the drawer when he saw the edge of a clear plastic case and he pulled it out. It was an ID badge with Larry Ferguson’s face on the front and the black stripe across the back. He grabbed it and left the trailer.

Around the corner was the secure door to the main machinery building. He held up the ID and swiped it across the pad to the right of the door. After a series of beeps he heard a click and pushed the door open and walked through. He had expected to have to disable an employee and use their badge to gain access. Ferguson’s laziness had made his job easier.

The top end of the huge heating and air conditioning unit was in front of him. He stepped forward to the metal railing and looked down to the lower floor where the six huge boilers sat, pushing hot water through miles of tubing to send warm air through the vents to keep the three large office buildings heated. He had seen a couple of cameras on the lower level and kept them in mind as he worked his way around to the backside to the stairs, keeping his head turned away from the cameras. He jogged down the stairs and jumped down the final two steps and landed on the concrete floor. It was much louder with the machines in front of him and he wouldn’t be able to hear if someone came in up above.

He moved quickly, looking at the gauges and controls lining the metal box, knobs and levers and a row of red switches. Though he wasn’t trained in maintaining the large beasts as he’d told Ferguson, he was very familiar with them. He’d used the heating and cooling systems as a means to drive people from buildings he wished to rob or to pump poisons through the air as a simple weapon. The heating was working hard to warm up the buildings as staff was coming in for the day. At night they let air get cooler to save energy, only having to overcompensate in the mornings to heat it all back up. Flipping switches wasn’t enough. Even Ferguson would figure that out quickly.

From his pocket he retrieved a thin carbon fiber screwdriver that wouldn’t have shown up on a metal detector if they had bothered putting him through one at the gate.

He identified the primary control panel and had the four screws off and lowered the cover to the floor. The different colored wires were all organized and simple to trace. Each of the six boilers was designed with a backup system in case the internal computer sensed something wasn’t working correctly. The load that boiler was carrying would be transferred over to the remaining tanks. Tracing the wires, Baasch found the green line that carried the signal to switch the boiler’s load. He pulled the small black plug at the end of the wire out of the circuit board then used the tip of the screwdriver to bend the contact points back enough to where they wouldn’t have a connection anymore. It was a small break in the system, but one that would have maintenance workers scrambling for hours to figure out.

Having found the proper wire, he performed the same task on the other five boilers quickly, replacing the control panel covers afterwards. From his left pants pocket he pulled a plastic zip lock bag full of playground sand. He unscrewed the side of the motor for the water circulating pump and poured most of the sand onto the drive axle of the motor then replaced the cover, then again carried this out on the other machines with less of the abrasive grains on those.

He estimated it would take at least twenty minutes for the first motor to burn out, which would stop the flow of circulating hot water that the system required to work. The other motors would take longer to burn out.

The hard part was done. Now he just had to wait. He had to come in unarmed and unprotected. Though he was used to working alone quite often, it wasn’t usually on such high security facilities and he would always have a weapon. He followed the venting down the cement hall and stopped in front of the large steel door to the passage to the other buildings and placed his hands on it.

CHAPTER 46

“We have an hour until the president arrives,” Arrington said. “Are you going to have any additional information to provide on why her secretary of transportation is being detained?”

“Working on it,” Grace said. “The team is picking me up in a minute and we’re heading over to his office to look around.”

“You think he’d keep anything there?”

“Gotta look,” Grace said. “We’ve gone through his phone, and except for the one number to the burner, it’s clean. He’s got to have another phone he uses to make contact with Abbasi.”

“You don’t want to ask him about Abbasi yet?” Arrington said.

“No. We need proof in front of him of their connection so he can’t just deny it,” Grace said. “Next time Monroe sets foot in that detention room, Graham is going to lawyer up.”

“Okay, go,” Arrington said. “I’ll call ahead and get you cleared to search.”

“You already did,” Grace said.

“And I don’t even remember doing it,” Arrington shook his head. He began to turn away just as raised voices could be heard across the room.

Grace turned around to see William confronting Director Monroe. Grace and Arrington walked over to them and William turned to them.

“Where is Richard?” William said. “This asshole won’t tell me anything.”

“That asshole is the director of the FBI so I’d watch what you call him, if I were you. Richard is working with us to provide some information that may be helpful for our investigation,” Arrington said.

“You sound just like him,” William shoved his finger in Monroe’s face.

“Let’s calm down and keep in mind who you’re talking to,” Arrington said.

“Where the hell is Richard?” William said. “I’m his chief-of-staff and have the right to go everywhere he does.”

“We’ve told you, he’s helping—” Grace was cut off.

“I don’t want to hear that again,” William said. “Take me to him now!”

“I’m sorry, we can’t do that,” Monroe said. He turned and motioned for Amanda Paulson. “We’re going to get you a ride home. Richard is going to be tied up the rest of the day then we’ll send him home.”

Paulson walked up and Monroe turned to her.

“Get a car here to take him home and make sure he has anything he needs,” Monroe said.

“What I need is Richard,” William said.

“And as soon as we can we’ll have him home,” Monroe said. “Right now we just need your cooperation. Assistant Director Paulson will get you taken care of.”

Grace rode in the back of the black van. Netty was driving and Avery was beside her. They were all quiet, having just driven back from the memorial service, and all were dressed in suits, including Netty.

“How was it?” Grace said.

“Nice. He’d have hated it,” Corbin said. “Not a lot of people.”

“Anyone ask you about how you knew him?” Grace said.

“We kept our distance,” Holden said. “If anyone came too close, I growled at them.”