PLEDGE OF HONOR: A Mark Cole Thriller (15 page)

PART TWO

1

‘Ma’am, with all due respect, I think this is a bad idea.’

Ellen Abrams held the gaze of Dennis O’Hare, the Director of the Secret Service, before responding.

‘That is duly noted Dennis, thank you. But I’m going, and that’s all there is to it. So that you can sort things out, Adam Gregory and the British government have agreed to move the date of the memorial parade from Saturday to Sunday, to give us an extra day’s preparation, we can’t really ask for any more than that.’

And Abrams knew that people were already objecting to
that
, questioning why such a thing should be arranged around the security arrangements of the US president. But those organizing the event understood that her presence there would lend a weight to the proceedings that was worth waiting for. Whether you loved or loathed America, there was no argument that it was still the most influential nation on the planet; where it went, others would follow. The presence of Ellen Abrams would ensure that the world would sit up and take note of the memorial procession, and the anti-terror protests which would run side-by-side. And, as she’d discussed with Vinson, everyone from Argentina to Zimbabwe was going and it would certainly be noted if she was missing.

‘That’s still not enough time,’ O’Hare persisted. ‘Your schedule is normally prepared months in advance, and we need that time to fully recon the sites, make preparations and all the rest of it. It’s Thursday evening already, and Sunday’s gonna be here before we know it.’

‘And yet everyone else in the world will seemingly manage,’ Abrams jokingly chided. ‘I thought you guys were the best.’

Despite her humorous tone, O’Hare bristled. ‘We
are
the best,’ he said. ‘Everyone else’s protective details are just doing what they’re told, despite it not being the smartest thing to do. Self-defense 101 – is it better to have some lessons in how to fight, and walk down the dark alley short-cut to get home? Or is it better just to stay the hell away from the alley in the first place?’

‘I understand your point of view,’ Abrams said. ‘But by the same token, is it wiser for you or one of your agents to jump in front of a bullet intended for me, or to get the hell out of the way?’

‘That’s our job, ma’am,’ O’Hare said quickly, before realizing the point she was going to make as a result.

‘Well, I’ve got a job to do too,’ Abrams said, ‘and sometimes – unfortunately – it involves a certain element of risk. So I
will
be going to London for the memorial parade on Sunday, and you’ll just have to try and make it as safe as you can.’

‘Yes ma’am,’ O’Hare said, resigned to his fate.

‘Besides which, Britain has some of the best security personnel in the world. Great police agencies, first rate intelligence, and top-drawer military units. I really don’t think there’s going to be anything to worry about.’

It was true, too – she was sure that the Brits would have security for the event sewn up tight; they would be at their highest alert status, and absolutely determined to make sure that nothing like this week’s attack ever happened on their soil again.

The procession itself would follow a loop from Westminster Palace, north to Trafalgar Square, then back southwest along the Mall, past Buckingham Palace on Constitution Hill to Hyde Park Corner, before heading back to Westminster on Birdcage Walk. It was expected that upwards of fifty world leaders would be there, led by Adam Gregory and key members of the British royal family.

Members of the public had been invited to join them, and – although impossible to accurately gauge – it was estimated that over a million citizens would follow. Anti-terror protests and demonstrations had been organized throughout the city, with Hyde Park, Covent Garden, Regent’s Park, Trafalgar Square and St. James’s Park hosting the largest.

After the procession itself, a memorial event had been organized that would extend into the evening, which would see a candlelit vigil and a combined Church of England and Jewish service.

It had first been suggested that the mass be held at Westminster Abbey but – with so many people wanting to attend – it was decided to find a larger place to house the event.

In the end, the decision was a no-brainer. Wembley had been the seat of the incident, its school and synagogue attacked; it was also home to Wembley Stadium, England’s largest stadium and one of the biggest in Europe with a seated capacity of ninety thousand.

It was the perfect choice for the event, both practically and symbolically, and Abrams knew that she was in for an emotional evening. With the permission of relatives, the bodies of the dead would lie in their coffins right in the center of the stadium, a stark and horrifying reminder of what had happened, and something of a call-to-arms, an illustration of what Britain and her allies – America chief among them – were fighting against.

Other rallies and marches were being organized in other UK cities, and all over the world too. There were going to be several here in DC, with the one on the National Mall – fronted by Vice President Clark Mason, in Abrams’ absence – expected to have a turnout of several hundred thousand.

There were expected to be counter-protests too, of course – the usual thing, groups arguing against the west’s military involvement in Middle Eastern affairs, apologists for the terrorists and so on; and on the other side, there could therefore well be
counter
-counter-protests led by anti-immigration, xenophobic nationalist and neo-fascist groups. It could well be a recipe for disaster, of course – O’Hare certainly thought so – but Abrams was confident in the Brits’ ability to handle it. As well as using their own large police force, including recalling people off leave, they had also been sent reinforcements by France and Germany; their anti-riot police had apparently come over earlier that day, and had already started training and preparing alongside their British counterparts.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ O’Hare said, ‘I’ll get back to work then. I have a lot to do.’

‘Of course,’ Abrams said. ‘Thank you for your time, please keep me updated with the schedule I’ll be following.’

‘Yes ma’am,’ he said, and after they’d exchanged farewells and he’d left the room, she sat back down and poured herself a drink.

She had no children of her own – despite a desire to have them, circumstances and her political career had too often got in the way – but she couldn’t help but be shaken to the very core by what had happened in London.

A massacre of innocent children. What could be worse?

And so her visit to London wasn’t purely a symbolic political stunt, or a wish to make up for Obama’s absence in Paris.

She truly wanted to go there, in order to pay her respects to the poor, innocent dead.

‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ Colonel Manfred Jones said, extending a hand to Mason in the Vice President’s drawing room at One Observatory Circle.

‘Congratulations for what?’ Mason asked as he shook the colonel’s hand, placing a drink into it just a moment later.

‘I hear you’re the leader of Sunday’s memorial march,’ Jones said, ‘seeing as Abrams won’t be there.’

‘I guess I am,’ Mason said, ‘although I don’t feel too joyful about it, to be honest. With what happened, I’d sooner the opportunity had never been created in the first place.’

‘Of course,’ Jones answered quickly, ‘I’m not suggesting for one second that what happened in London was anything less than a tragedy. But sometimes,’ he said as he swirled the amber liquid of his brandy in the cut crystal glass, ‘a tragedy for one person represents an opportunity for another. I’d suggest you work hard on your speech, anyway. If it’s more inspiring than the president’s, all the better for you, I would think.’

Mason looked into his own drink, and finally nodded in agreement. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it is an opportunity I shouldn’t waste, no matter what caused it.’ He gestured for the chief of the military’s Joint Special Operations Command to sit down on the leather button-back Chesterfield sofa that was positioned adjacent to the open fireplace, before taking his own positon in the wing-back chair opposite.

‘Is that why you came?’ Mason said. ‘To offer advice about Sunday?’

Jones laughed. ‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to give you some good news.’

‘More good news?’ Mason said, putting the drink down on the inlaid cocktail table that sat between them and rubbing his hands greedily. ‘I’m always open to good news. What is it?’

‘You remember the girl I told you about last time?’

‘The Japanese girl? Michiko?’

‘Yes,’ Jones confirmed. ‘We think she’s of major interest, but we don’t really have the resources to track her without some major questions being asked, remember?’

‘Yes,’ Mason said, his eyes narrowing as he thought back to their last meeting.

Jones had decided to use the request for a JSOC Black Hawk helicopter as the basis for his initial investigations, the last ‘unofficial’ use of JSOC resources authorized by Jones’s predecessor, before the accident which took General Miley Cooper out of the picture and installed Jones in his place.

It had been flown to Subic Bay in the Philippines for a brief mission; reports indicated that it had nine passengers on the outbound flight, ten inbound. Records didn’t provide names, or any hint as to the identity of the tenth person.

The mission flight times, however, coincided almost precisely with a supposed gang shoot-out at a Yakuza safe house just outside Manila, not too far from Subic Bay. The gang shoot-out story was made rather hard to believe, however, by the fact that only the bodies of one gang – the Omoto-gumi – were found. It was far more like a military assassination squad had hit the place, and hit it hard.

The Omoto-gumi name had rang a bell somewhere in Jones’s subconscious though, reports he’d read into Mason’s own research into the Paradigm Group. He’d looked back over the notes, and found details of another shoot-out, this one at an Arizona ranch housing a homegrown terrorist group known as Aryan Ultra.

A Japanese national had been arrested on the scene, and it was felt that she was a sex worker. Without papers – except for a passport that identified her as Aoki Michiko – she had been shipped straight back to Japan by ICE; it later transpired that she was wanted in Japan for her connections to the criminal family known as the Omoto-gumi.

And further digging showed that a Japanese national by the name of Aoki Michiko had been given US citizenship only a few short months ago, authorized directly by the president herself.

Her current place of residence?

Washington D.C.

Her place of work?

The Paradigm Group.

He hadn’t put all of the pieces of the puzzle together yet, but it appeared that Michiko seemed to be a large part of it; and if they could get to the girl, they could start to break the Paradigm Group wide open.

She had reportedly often been seen in the company of Dr. Alan Sandbourne, expert in international relations at the Paradigm Group but the man Clark Mason believed was really an ex-government assassin codenamed ‘the ‘Asset’.

What was the link between the two of them? There had been a man arrested alongside Michiko back at the Aryan Ultra ranch in Arizona, but he had never been booked, released without charge and never seen again. Had that been Sandbourne?

Mason believed that the man was the head of a covert unit, using the Paradigm Group for cover, and it certainly seemed that it could actually be the case. But he was too hard a man to get to, as was Bruce Vinson, the think-tank’s devilishly clever director.

But the girl? She was just seventeen, not even an adult.

There was room for leverage there, for sure.

But how to investigate her without drawing attention to themselves?

‘So don’t keep me in suspense,’ Mason complained. ‘What do you have?’

‘I had a phone call earlier today,’ Jones said, ‘from Director Noah Graham of the FBI.’

‘You what?’ Mason asked, stunned. ‘What did he want?’

‘Information,’ Jones answered. ‘You hear about the FBI agent involved in that chase through London today?’

Mason nodded his head.

‘Well, it turns out that he may not have been a member of the FBI at all. Graham claims that his background doesn’t stand up to close scrutiny, and when he challenged the president about it, she pretty much told him to back off. He agreed, but he was pissed. Pissed enough to call me, inquiring if I knew anything about any of our special ops guys being used over in London.’

‘You think it’s Sandbourne?’ Mason asked, breathless.

‘Well, I did some checks, and it seems that the good doctor isn’t at work this week. Not at home either.’

‘So what did Graham say?’

‘Well, he
is
loyal to Abrams, I’ll give him that. But he’s also loyal to the Bureau, and doesn’t want to see its reputation damaged. I gave him a little taste of our suspicions, just to whet his appetite, see if he would be willing to help us.’

‘And?’ Mason asked impatiently.

‘And he has authorized a bit of off-the-books surveillance on this Michiko girl. He’s as anxious as we are to get to the bottom of this.’

‘And if he discovers something’s going on?’