Lethal Diversion

“No threats, no intelligence chatter, nothing?” he asked.

“Not even a hint,” he replied. “I’m posting people at high-value targets, and my field team is ready to move on a moment’s notice, but until we get some hard intel, we’re just staging.”

“What’s your gut tell you?”

“That we’re in deep shit,” Seles said. “We just don’t know how deep yet.”

“Waist-high and rising fast,” Bolan said. He gave the special agent a business card with his cell number on it. “I’m heading out. Call that number if you need me. I’ve got yours already.”

“That come from the White House, too?” Seles asked, half-jokingly.

“Nah. It was on your business card when we met,” Bolan said. He turned and headed back up the risers toward the exit. He saw Hart in her office, a phone pressed to her ear and offered her a grin and a salute as he left.

She’d better get focused on the important things, Bolan thought, because he had a feeling that they were already way behind the terrorists, and weren’t catching up anytime soon.

* * *

HIS REAL NAME WAS Sayid Rais Sayf. That was the name given to him by his parents when he was born in Afghanistan and it was the name that he prayed to Allah with for guidance. But few people in Detroit knew this name—very few, and only those who could be trusted to die without speaking it. Everyone else knew him as Michael Jonas, age forty-two, a successful man who had worked his way out of a tough life, growing up adopted, and was presently at the peak of his career.

As he parked his Audi A8 in the jammed parking lot of the Detroit EOC, he mentally became Michael Jonas. While he was here, he would think as Michael Jonas, react as Michael Jonas, he would be Michael Jonas in all respects, because everything he had worked for could unravel like a spool of thread should any trace of Sayid Rais Sayf show in his face, mannerisms, speech or actions. His car was just one part of the costume he wore, no different than his tailored suit, his salon-styled hair or his accent-free speech.

Coming to the EOC on this day was a risk, he knew, but a small one. His girlfriend, Allison Hart, had agreed to dinner later and he had come by to give her an opportunity to cancel in person. While he must feign ignorance, his true purpose in dealing with her was the same as it had always been: information. Information was power, and because he knew more than they did, he had power over them. As he would even when the bomb went off.

Sayf checked his suit one last time in the mirror; it was a charcoal-gray pinstripe worn with a dark blue tie. Then he stepped out of the car, locking it behind him. It was unseasonably warm for Detroit in late fall, but he wore a long jacket nonetheless. He wasn’t a particularly big man, but he carried an imposing presence in his five-foot-eight, 185-pound frame—and the long coat was a part of that. People saw what they wanted to see.

He walked quickly to the entrance, and saw that he wouldn’t even get past the door without identification, which he casually provided. The policemen at the entrance instructed him to go inside and stop at the security desk. Jonas nodded pleasantly to them both, then went inside. The man at the desk was familiar to him, and he smiled in greeting.

“Officer Robards,” he said. “What’s going on here today?”

“It’s crazy,” he said, reaching for the phone on the desk. “Hang on and I’ll let Allison know you’re here.”

“I can’t go back?” he asked. “Is there a problem?”

Robards shook his head. “No one but law enforcement is getting back there today, I’m afraid. Like I said, crazy.”

Sayf affected a shrug. “I’ll wait,” he said, putting his hands behind his back and walking in a slow circle in the lobby. He hadn’t expected to get into the EOC, but it would have been a nice bonus. As it was, he would have to see how much he could pry from Hart.

It took her nearly ten minutes to come out to the lobby, but she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “Michael,” she said. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“It’s no problem,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

She shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. We’ve had to stand up the EOC. I’m afraid I have to cancel our plans for this evening.”

“You must be joking,” he said. “We have dinner reservations at Opus One tonight!”

“I wish I were,” she said.

“There is...trouble?” he asked. “I didn’t hear anything on the news and the weatherman said the skies would be clear.”

“Let me walk you to your car,” she said, taking him by the arm. “I’ll explain as much as I can on the way.”

He allowed her to lead him back out of the building and into the parking lot. “You seem very upset, Allison,” he said. He already knew that the boat had been discovered and he was quite angry with Malick Yasim, but he would deal with him later. For the moment, he needed to play the solicitous boyfriend.

“I am,” she said. “There’s a...threat to the city. A terrorist threat. Until we can lock it down, I need to stay at the EOC to coordinate our response.” She looked up at him and he was struck again by her physical beauty. She was a very spiritual woman, but she was not Muslim. Like the car or the suit, she was simply part of his disguise.

“I see,” he said. “So it is serious. Should I be worried? What kind of threat?”

She shrugged delicately, then peered around the parking area for his car and started in that direction once she saw it. “We don’t know, at this point, who’s involved or what their plan is, but the threat seems serious enough. I can’t tell you much more, just that the threat is radiological—and I shouldn’t even say that.”

“My God!” he said, pretending surprise. “And you don’t have any idea of what their actual plan is?”

She shook her head. “No. That’s what we’re working on now.”

“Perhaps we should cancel the game tomorrow night,” he suggested. His job as the head of Security for Ford Field—the home of the Detroit Lions—provided both income and a very high-profile cover for his work. “This kind of danger. So many people. It’s Halloween and we’re expecting a full house.”

They stopped at his car and she leaned into him. “Michael, no one can know. Don’t cancel the game yet. That would just start people asking questions and sooner or later, a panic. I’m sure we’ll get it figured out before then.”

“I hope so,” he said. “I’ll call the restaurant and cancel our reservations. And I won’t say anything, but you must promise to keep me informed.”

“As much as I can,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ve got to get back, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Of course,” he said, returning the kiss. His disgust at the public display of affection didn’t show on his face. He unlocked his car and got in. “Call if you need anything. Would it be all right if I increased security at the stadium?”

Hart nodded. “Just do it quietly.”

“I will,” he said. He started the engine, then drove away, quite satisfied. They knew very little and Hart was obviously very afraid. He could see it in her posture, her eyes, and hear it in her voice. Fear was a powerful weapon, too, and those who were scared didn’t make good decisions. It would serve his purposes quite well.

4

The flashing blue and red lights from various law-enforcement vehicles were nearly blinding as Bolan pulled to a stop and parked his car. He wanted a look at the boat, but he’d expected the area to have calmed down by this time. The notion that they were going to keep this situation under wraps was going to be pure fantasy if they didn’t scale things back quite a bit. He left his vehicle and flashed his DEA badge at the two county sheriff’s deputies that stood guard in front of the path down to the beach where the yacht had beached. They motioned him to pass on through without stopping him.

He’d reached the rocky shore, noting the three body bags on the ground, and was contemplating whether to check the boat or the bodies first, when he was stopped by a tall, lanky man in a Coast Guard Chief’s uniform. “Excuse me, sir. Can I help you?”

There was an open honesty to the man’s face that Bolan liked to see in law enforcement. “You must be Chief Cline. I’m Agent Matt Cooper. DEA. Denny Seles sent me your way,” he said.

Chief Cline shook his hand and then a quick flash of recognition followed. “That’s right. I got a text from Seles that he might be sending over another set of eyes. What can I do to lend you a hand?”

“Well, the first thing you can do is send about seventy-five percent of these people home or back to their regular patrol. And tell the others to turn off their emergency lights. All this is drawing way too much attention to the scene. I don’t know why Seles didn’t mention it before, except he’s a man with a lot on his mind.”

Cline looked around, taking in the sight. Bolan knew that when someone was in the middle of something, it was hard to see it from the outside.

“You’re right,” he said. “There are too many people here for a simple boat-run-aground scenario. I’ll start clearing them out immediately. What else?”

“Have you learned anything new since Seles was here earlier?” he asked.

The chief shook his head. “Not really. Our hazmat guys finished their piece just a little bit ago. We’ve got a crane and a semi trailer on the way to offload the container and take it to a secured warehouse. Then we’ll tow the boat itself to a secure docking area.”

“A semi and a crane?” Bolan asked. “That’s about as inconspicuous as all these lights.”