The Enemy Within (24 page)

McDowell was a climber, an ambitious prima donna with his eye firmly fixed on sitting inside the Director’s corner office someday. Right now his star inside the Bureau was rising fast boosted both by some solid investigative work and by constant self-promotion.

He was also a first-class jerk. He toadied to his superiors and politicians of all stripes, yelled at his subordinates, and generally rubbed most law officers outside the
FBI
the wrong way. He’d also taken Helen’s refusal to sleep with him very hard. She suspected he was the one behind a series of nasty little rumors percolating through the Hoover Building that she was either frigid or a lesbian.

She nudged Lang. “Is Mr. Wonderful here for a reason? Or just to have his picture taken?”

The older man hid a sudden smile. He didn’t like McDowell much either. Then his mouth turned down. “He’s got a reason.”

“Oh, crap,” Helen muttered. “Don’t tell me we’re going to be saddled with him as the
AIC
for this op.”

Lang nodded flatly. The
AIC
, or agent in charge, was the top-ranking
FBI
officer on the scene.

“Perfect.” She eyed him sharply. “Any other pieces of good news you’ve been waiting to dump in my lap?”

“Not at the moment.”

A brawny, balding man with captain’s bars on his state police uniform suddenly pushed through the milling crowd and strode toward them. He held out one large paw to Lang. “John, how the hell are you? Did you bring any of your Bureau cutthroats with you? Or just your ugly self?”

“I brought ten of them, Harlan.” The
HRT
commander shook hands with him and turned to Helen. “This is their section leader, Special Agent Helen Gray. Helen, this is Captain Tanner of the Virginia state police.”

“Pleased to meet you, Agent Gray.” Tanner’s right hand came out again and engulfed hers in a firm, dry grasp. If he was surprised to see a woman wearing the HRT’s black coveralls and body armor, he hid it well. He pulled the pair of them aside to a slightly quieter corner of the office.

“So what’s the drill, Harlan?” Lang asked softly when they were out of earshot of the assorted policemen setting up phone lines and radio gear and laying out maps of the surrounding neighborhoods.

“It’s a mess. A great big god damned mess,” Tanner replied bluntly. He nodded angrily toward McDowell. “But we were getting a handle on things when Jesus Christ over there showed up and announced himself I expect he’ll put that cell phone down anytime and come tell me that God Almighty and the governor have jointly decided to put him in charge.”

Helen winced. McDowell was working his own personal black magic again, pissing off every sheriff and state trooper he came in contact with.

Lang hastily started to offer his own embarrassed apology. “Jesus, I’m sorry about that, Harlan. I wish…”

Tanner shrugged. “Hell, it’s not your fault, John. I knew you feds would butt in sooner or later. Anyway now that you and Agent Gray here have arrived, we’ll just put our heads together and work around J. Edgar Junior over there if need be. Okay?”

Helen nodded firmly and was relieved to see Lang doing the same thing. Tacitly agreeing to side with local law enforcement against their own anointed Bureau superior might not be strictly kosher, but the truth was that they needed the manpower Tanner controlled a lot more than they needed to stroke McDowell’s overinflated ego. For the two
HRT
agents, getting the hostages held inside Temple Emet out safely took precedence over every other consideration, even their careers.

Tanner seemed satisfied. He began briefing them on the latest developments. “My boys and the Arlington
SWAT
have had a pretty tight perimeter set up for the last couple of hours. Nobody’s gotten in or out of the synagogue complex during that time.”

That was one piece of good news, Helen decided. Containing the terrorists and their hostages within known geographical bounds was a key first step. It froze the tactical situation in place and lowered the odds of an accidental contact that could panic the hostage-takers into killing their captives.

“Any further word from the people inside?” Helen asked.

Tanner shook his head grimly. “Not a peep. We’ve tried calling every number listed for the temple, but they’re not answering.”

Helen frowned. That was not a good sign. Close communication was always a crucial part of ending any hostage crisis peacefully. At best, the FBI’s skilled negotiators could often persuade the bad guys to surrender or to release some of their prisoners as a show of good faith. Even at worst, voice contact between the two sides played an important role in keeping the surrounded terrorists on a relatively even keel. And conversations with them always provided significant information on their numbers, behavioral patterns, motivations, and intelligence.

She shook her head suddenly. Unless they could find a way to make contact with the terrorists holding those kids, she and her teams would have to go in after them blind. And that was the way people got killed.

Lang’s grim face showed his own comprehension of the mounting risks. He lowered his voice even further. “Any better idea of the numbers we’re up against?”

Tanner spread his hands. “Zip. But the way I figure it, we’re talking at least two bad guys… probably more.” He gestured toward the windows. “I’ve got troopers out canvassing the neighborhood right now, looking for cars or trucks that don’t belong around here at this time of night.”

Helen nodded to herself. Lang’s assessment of Tanner’s competence had been squarely on target. Pinpointing the terrorists’ vehicles would give them a much better idea of their likely strength. She looked up at the big state police captain. “What about hard data on their weapons?”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “They’re heavily armed. There’s at least one full-auto assault rifle in there. That poor dumb bastard who walked in on them got cut almost in half. No semiauto could do that.”

Helen nodded her understanding.

Lang pointed out the nearest window toward the synagogue. “You know much about the temple layout yet, Harlan?”

“Not as much as I’d like to, which is why I’m having somebody dig the blueprints out of the county records office,” Tanner admitted. He pursed his lips. “I do know it’s a hell of a big place, John. See that large building on the eastern end? That’s the centerpiece. Got a worship hall in there that can seat six hundred and an adjacent auditorium that’ll hold as many more. Plus a slew of offices, dressing rooms, kitchens, classrooms… and that’s just the main building. The whole complex takes up a full city block. And there’s wide-open ground on all three sides facing away from the street.”

Helen fought down the urge to swear out loud. This situation was sounding worse and worse. They were up against an unknown number of enemies, holding an as yet undetermined number of hostages in an unknown location somewhere inside a labyrinth. Just terrific. She focused her attention on the main building, trying hard to concentrate on possible solutions instead of intractable problems. “That roof’s flat all the way around?”

Tanner nodded slowly. His eyes gleamed. “You thinking about working this one from the top to the bottom, Agent Gray?”

“Maybe. I’d like to ”

“Mind if I join your little planning session, Captain Tanner?” Lawrence McDowell’s perfectly modulated voice broke in on the conversation. He looked triumphant. “Especially since your governor has now agreed that I’m in command here?”

“Fine by me.” The Virginia state police officer nodded dourly. He stepped back slightly to make room for the other man.

“Good to see you, Larry,” Lang lied smoothly, apparently determined to avoid a scrap with the agent in charge until it proved necessary.

McDowell smiled thinly. “You too, John.” He glanced at Helen briefly, frowned coldly, and immediately turned his attention back to the two men. “I don’t usually work this informally, but since you’ve already begun, let’s just carry on from here, shall we? Now, as I see it, our first order of business is to conduct a covert reconnaissance of the synagogue grounds. Once we know where these terrorists have barricaded themselves, we can work on establishing communications with them. Our negotiating team is enroute by helicopter. I expect them no later than 0100 hours…”

Helen listened to him regurgitating the Bureau field manual with mounting irritation. The son of a bitch apparently intended to ignore her whenever possible. Very well. That suited her just fine. Let him pass his orders through Lang, then. He could play his insidetrack power games, and she would get on with the business of rescuing those kids.

Suddenly, she noticed him eyeing her again, nervously this time. She made him nervous? Why, for God’s sake? As the agent in charge, he held all the cards here. What kind of threat did she pose to him?

Then she understood his reasoning and hurriedly tamped down a crooked grin. McDowell was deathly afraid that her presence would jinx his chance to be a media superstar. If the press found out that the Hostage Rescue Team’s tactical commander was a woman, they’d trip all over themselves making her the story and not him. He evidently judged everyone else by his own low standards. Didn’t he realise that the very last thing a counterterrorist assault section leader wanted during a hostage standoff was publicity?

She was still shaking her head in disbelief when McDowell finished issuing his orders with a terse “Very well. You know what I want done. Now let’s go do it.”

While a rigid, poker-faced Tanner stormed off to marshal his own forces, Helen followed Lang out into the hall. They walked a few steps away from the crowded doorway and then paused, looking closely at each other.

“Can you put up with McDowell’s shit? Or should I try to have him yanked off this operation?” the
HRT
commander asked abruptly. His tone was dead serious, and he clearly expected a carefully considered response from her. During any hostage crisis, tension between different agencies and different branches of the same agency was normal and expected. But bitter dissension between the overall commander and his ranking subordinates was another matter entirely. When you were dealing with terrorists holding prisoners, success or failure often hinged on a snap judgment made in a split second. Under those circumstances, uncontrolled personal disputes and rancor carried far too high a price in lost innocent lives.

Helen faced her superior full on. She wasn’t going to be sidetracked by personal animosities not now and not ever. Besides, laying her squabble with McDowell in front of the Bureau’s higher-ups was more likely to hurt her than him. He had more pull with the
FBI
brass than she did.

With that in mind, she spoke firmly and with absolute determination.

“I won’t lie to you, John. I don’t like him, and I don’t like his attitude. But I do know who the real bad guys are here. And you know my troops and I are the best there are. You keep McDowell off my back and let us do our job, and I promise you we’ll bring those hostages out alive and in one piece.”

Lang nodded sharply, making up his mind with the swift assurance that characterised all of his decisions. “Okay, Helen. That’s good enough for me.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Carry on, Special Agent Gray. Let’s go pinpoint those terrorist sons of bitches.”

She flashed a quick, lopsided smile at him and then whirled toward the exit, her mind already busy grappling with the tactics necessary to implement her first set of orders.

Above Temple Emet Moving slowly, Helen Gray wriggled closer to the western edge of Temple Emet’s flat roof. Her right hand swept back and forth across the rooftop in front of her, feeling for unseen obstacles or soft spots that might creak under her weight. This close to the terrorists barricaded somewhere inside the synagogue, the slightest noise might result in disaster.

A faint rustle of clothing from behind told her that Special Agent Paul Frazer, her number two, was right on her heels. For a tall man he slithered on his belly with surprising grace, silence, and speed.

It was nearly pitch-black. Dawn was still three hours away, the harvest moon had finally gone below the horizon, and the star-filled sky provided very little ambient light. She had decided against using night vision gear for this part of the jaunt. The goggles amplified all available light, turning even the darkest night into something resembling blue-green daylight, but you paid a price for that in reduced depth perception and peripheral vision. For now she planned to rely on her own, unfiltered senses.

She poked her head carefully out over the edge and peered down into a dimly lit courtyard. Temple Emet was built in a horseshoe shape around a parking lot and a landscaped quarter acre used for dancing and as a playground for children using the school. The tabernacle, a half-built wooden hut, stood abandoned in the center of the open area. Ears of corn and smashed pumpkins lay scattered across the grass and pavement. Her eyes rested briefly on the dark, broken shape sprawled awkwardly near the tabernacle. They hadn’t yet been able to retrieve the body of the man the terrorists had gunned down at the very start of this mess.

She shook her head sadly and looked away, continuing her scan. The dead would have to wait. She was more concerned with finding the living.

Helen craned her head further out over the edge of the roof, studying the main entrance to the synagogue. Shallow steps led up to a pair of massive doors right in the middle of the main building. This was by far the largest and the oldest structure in the complex. The others were clearly add-one built as the temple’s congregation grew and prospered. And an Arlington
SWAT
contingent attached to her command had already carefully combed through those outbuildings and confirmed that they were empty.

She had two of her four snipers posted inside one of those outbuildings, ready to provide covering fire for her six-man recon party if the terrorists spotted them first. The section’s other pair of sharpshooters was deployed inside the beeline about a hundred yards away from the synagogue’s eastern face. Most of the doors and windows in the complex opened onto the inner courtyard, but there were two enormous stained glass windows on the eastern wall. The windows themselves were famous works of art each separate pane contained a representation of one of the Twelve Tribes of Israel.