Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
P at frowned. “Basketball jerseys?”
Anna nodded. “Yeah. Riad just came home with a shopping bag. He pulled out six Washington Wizards jerseys.”
Pat’s pulse spiked. “Six?”
“Yep.”
Blade was already pulling up his phone. “Wizards have a home game on Saturday. Capital One Arena. They’re playing the Lakers.” His eyes lifted from the screen, sharp with understanding. “That’s a big game.”
Pat inhaled sharply. “That arena seats twenty thousand people.”
“And it’ll be packed to capacity,” Blade added. “Not to mention the bars and restaurants around Penn Quarter. Thousands more outside.”
“Fuck,” Pat growled. “That’s the target. They’re going to send six suicide bombers into the arena.”
A thick silence blanketed the office.
The Capital One Arena wasn’t just a stadium—it was the heart of downtown D.C. Shops, offices, public transit hubs. Tens of thousands of people moving through the area on a game day. A mass casualty attack here would be catastrophic.
Anna’s voice cut through the tension. “Director of Homeland Security is on her way in.”
Pat gave a terse nod. “Ready the boardroom.”
Ed Hollis from the FBI appeared in the doorway. “Pat, we’re still working on the kidnappers’ location. Keep us posted if they make contact.”
In other words, if they sent a ransom demand, or an ultimatum.
“Will do.” He shook Ed’s hand. “Thanks for the assist.”
Jasmine watched the exchange, worry lines etched deep into her forehead. Pat’s chest tightened. He wanted to reach for her, reassure her. But right now, comfort wasn’t the priority. He had a fucking crisis unfolding, and he needed to get his head straight.
“I’ll wait in your office,” she murmured, offering a weak smile.
Pat nodded. “I’ll be in as soon as I can.”
Blade shot him a look.
“What?” Pat asked, defensive.
Blade smirked. “Nothing. Just didn’t realize the office doubled as a safe house now.”
“She’s safer here than at my place,” Pat muttered.
“Whatever you say, Pat.”
Anna breezed past them. “I’ll get the boardroom set up. We’ve got company coming.”
Pat turned back to Blade. “What’s the latest on Gemini?”
“The Waheed brothers have gone dark,” Blade said. “Laying low. Cole’s watching them. Phoenix’s still on Al-Jabiri’s tail.”
“Good. Tell them to stay sharp. If we’ve got six bombers, that means there are four unknowns still unaccounted for. I don’t see Al-Jabiri or Riad strapping on vests and walking into the arena.”
“You never know,” Blade muttered. “They’re crazy enough.”
“Riad, maybe. But not Al-Jabiri. He’s not the self-sacrificing type. He’s the puppet master and a goddamn coward.”
Blade relayed the updates over comms while Pat stepped into his office to check on Jasmine.
She was curled up on the couch, her shoes kicked off, her face pale and drawn. She looked so small, so fragile compared to the fierce woman he’d kissed senseless last night.
His arms ached to pull her in. To tell her everything would be okay. But he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, crouching in front of her.
She lifted her phone, showing the blank screen. “I keep checking, but there’s nothing.”
“We will find Ryan,” he said. “We know he’s not with Al-Jabiri. He’s being held by two of their men.”
Her green eyes flickered with hope. “You promise ?”
Pat exhaled slowly. “I’ll do everything in my power.”
She nodded, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “I feel so helpless. Is there anything I can do?”
Pat shook his head.
She sighed, clutching her hands together.
He enfolded them in his big one. “I understand. I went through the same thing when Izzy was taken.”
Jasmine flinched. “The worst thing is the dread. The not knowing . It’s killing me.”
Pat squeezed her hand. “You’ve gotta stay strong. Ryan’s going to need you when we get him home.”
She sniffed but gave a little nod. “I know.”
Pat left her alone and went to the boardroom where Anna had set up multiple video feeds on large screens mounted to the wall. On one was the stadium schematics, and on the other, the live intel feed from Al-Jabiri’s house.
Three men in dark suits and somber ties filed into the war room, their expressions grim. Behind them came two operators in tactical gear—seasoned team leaders from the Counterterrorism Division, or CTD, as the brass liked to call it. The government sure loved a good acronym.
The Secretary of Homeland Security arrived last, escorted in from the underground parking garage.
“Madam Secretary, good of you to come,” Pat said, shaking her hand firmly.
The austere woman, clad in an expensive navy-blue suit and low heels, gave him a sharp nod. “Unfortunately, Commander, you’ve left me little choice.”
No one had called him that since his Pentagon days.
“This is my aide, Bruce,” she introduced, nodding to a slender, bookish man beside her. She didn’t bother introducing the tall, stone-faced bodyguard shadowing her, her personal security detail.
Pat acknowledged the agent with a glance. The guy wasn’t just for show.
The Secretary swept into the room. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
Pat gestured to the others seated around the long conference table. “I believe you’re already familiar with Director Brian Carmichael from CTD.”
She nodded. “Commander. Good to see you again. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be under these circumstances.”
“Madam Secretary,” Carmichael responded with professional stoicism.
Pat continued the introductions. “Brad Garretson from the Joint Terrorism Task Force and Digby Mercer from the CIA.”
The Secretary acknowledged them with a curt nod.
“And this is Colonel Brett Farrow, lead tactical officer from CTD, and his deputy.”
Both men gave short nods. Their battle-hardened expressions made it clear they were here to act, not talk.
Pat had worked with most of them before. Blackthorn Security was the government’s off-the-books unit—their ace in the hole when all else failed.
As they settled in, Anna rolled in a cart stocked with coffee and tea, setting it discreetly against the wall before exiting.
Pat took his place at the head of the table.
“As you’re aware, we’ve had Amir Al-Jabiri and his network under surveillance for weeks,” he began. “We suspected they were planning a large-scale attack. This morning, we confirmed the target.” He clicked the remote, and the projector screen lit up with an aerial image of Capital One Arena.
“The attack is set for this Saturday. Lakers versus Wizards. Sold-out game.”
The room went silent.
“Capacity crowd of twenty thousand,” Pat continued, “with thousands more in the surrounding bars and streets.”
The Secretary exhaled sharply. “Jesus.”
“Al-Jabiri’s cousin just purchased six Washington Wizards jerseys from a sporting goods store. We believe they intend to blend in with the fans before detonating suicide devices inside the arena.”
“Six bombers?” Carmichael muttered. “Christ.”
Garretson swore under his breath. Mercer didn’t speak, just steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, eyes calculating.
“This has the potential to be catastrophic,” Pat said. “Given the scale, we escalated it to your attention immediately.”
The Secretary nodded. “Rightly so.”
Pat clicked again, bringing up surveillance photos. “We have agents posted outside Al-Jabiri’s residence, as well as the Waheed brothers’ apartment. The Waheeds are suspected of constructing the devices—likely crude, homemade explosives packed in backpacks. They were seen purchasing raw materials, including nails and chemical compounds, from a local hardware store.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Carmichael growled. “Why haven’t we taken them yet?”
“We can,” Pat said evenly. “But the decision is yours. My team has them under constant watch.”
The CTD commander leaned forward. “I say we move. Take them down before this escalates.”
Pat nodded. “We’ll need snipers in place, tactical teams on standby, and mobile units to intercept anyone who tries to run.”
The Secretary drummed her fingers on the table. “What do we have on Al-Jabiri himself?”
Pat exhaled. “Not much. He hasn’t committed a crime— yet. The only thing linking him is his cousin’s shopping spree. The Waheed brothers, on the other hand, have been assembling materials consistent with IEDs, but we have no visual confirmation of the devices themselves.”
“So it’s all circumstantial,” Mercer murmured.
“Exactly.”
“If we wait, we risk a mass-casualty event,” Carmichael said. “We can’t afford another Vegas Strip bombing.”
The reference sent a chill through the room. That attack had been one of the deadliest in the country’s history.
The Secretary’s gaze hardened. “What do you propose, gentlemen?”
“We need to catch them in the act,” Mercer said. “It’s the only way to ensure convictions.”
Pat shook his head. “We’ve only ID’d two of the bombers—the Waheed brothers. The other four are ghosts. They’ve had no visitors, no known contacts, no movements that suggest a larger network. If we wait until they enter the arena, we risk missing them.”
“What about cell activity?” asked Garretson.
Pat sighed. “They use prepaid burners. We’ve intercepted nothing of value. Whenever they make calls, it’s outside, in crowded areas.”
Carmichael swore.
“We have to assume the remaining bombers are unknown assets,” Mercer said. “Independent cells. Could be new recruits, or imported assets we haven’t flagged yet.”
Silence fell.
Finally, Pat spoke. “There’s also Adam McCarthy.”
The Secretary nodded, but the others looked puzzled.
“Who the hell is that?” Carmichael asked.
Pat clicked to another slide, a photo of a middle-aged man in a lab coat.
“Adam McCarthy was a chemical engineer at the Defense Technology and Research Institute. Two months ago, Al-Jabiri’s men abducted him and forced him to construct an incendiary device. It’s unclear whether he completed it or not. A short time later, he was found dead at home. Apparent suicide.”
A heavy pause followed.
The Secretary folded her arms. “We could cancel the game.”
Mercer shook his head. “They’ll just reschedule. And we’ll have lost our only opportunity to stop them.”
Carmichael exhaled sharply. “Agreed. This is our one shot.”
The tactical commander leaned forward. “We tighten security at the arena. Every bag and backpack gets searched. We flood the crowd with agents, watching for any suspicious behavior.”
“We’ll have eyes on the Waheed brothers,” Mercer added. “We take them down the moment they make contact with their assets.”
“That still leaves four unknowns,” Pat reminded them.
The room went quiet.
“We catch them at the gate,” Carmichael finally said. “Anyone carrying a pack or acting suspicious gets stopped. If we ID a threat, we neutralize it.”
The Secretary hesitated. “Can we mobilize in time?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Carmichael said. “We have CTD teams on standby.”
Blackthorn Security would be there too. Pat would made sure of that.
The Secretary surveyed the room. “We reconvene tomorrow at 1600 hours. I want a finalized tactical plan in place. Carmichael, you’ll coordinate with CTD. Mercer, you’ll handle intelligence. Commander Burke, your team will be embedded at the arena. Copy everyone here on operational logistics.”
They all nodded.
She stood. “Then let’s get these bastards.”