The Assassin's Trail (25 page)

Kansas City, MO

Two days later

Kruger was just finishing his morning run when his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and frowned. He hesitated briefly before accepting the call, but finally pressed the answer icon.

“Kruger.”

“Agent Kruger, this is Bill Monroe. I’m a Secret Service agent with the President’s advance team.”

“Good morning, Agent Monroe, what can I do for you?”

“The President will be in Kansas City tomorrow to address the American Bankers Association meeting at Bartle Hall. He would like to have dinner with you and your wife tomorrow evening. Will you be available?”

The only response Kruger could give was silence.

“Are you there, Agent Kruger?”

Finding his voice, Kruger replied. “He realizes I’m retired from the FBI, doesn’t he?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss his reasons. I’m merely coordinating your availability with his schedule. Will you be available to have dinner with the president?”

“Of course, when and where?”

***

“Thank you for joining me tonight, Sean. I’m honored to meet you, Mrs. Kruger.”

Stephanie blushed and said, “Please call me Stephanie, Mr. President.”

“Very well, please have a seat. I wanted to have a private conversation with both of you, that’s why we’re dining in my suite.”

The room was the Presidential Suite at the Raphael Hotel on Ward Parkway, barely a ten-minute walk from their condos. There was a table with seating for four waiting for them as they entered the dining area. Pleasantries were exchanged as a steward poured wine. When he finished and stepped out of the room, the President said, “I was informed last week that, despite Director Stumpf’s delay tactics, you have chosen to retire. Is this correct, Sean?”

Kruger nodded.

The President took a sip of wine. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s disappointing, but understandable.”

Kruger remained silent.

“I don’t believe I had the opportunity to personally thank you for preventing this country from experiencing another 9/11. Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it alone, sir. I had an outstanding team. They deserve the credit.”

“I appreciate your attitude, Sean. Trust me, we need more individuals like you in public service. Too many want the credit without doing anything to deserve it.”

Kruger stared at his wine glass. Stephanie looked at him with apprehension.

“May I be frank with you, Sean?”

“Of course, sir.”

“You are too young to be retiring. Particularly at this time. Since the incident in Fayetteville, we’ve uncovered a serious threat to our country. The short-sightedness of our congressional leaders after the Great Recession has created an environment of discontent in our inner cities. Plus the scrutiny of the news media over the past few years on isolated incidents of law enforcement excesses has also contributed to this discontent.”

“I was told about this several days ago.”

The President smiled. “Good, then I won’t bore you with details. We have a mutual friend, the individual who recruited you for the FBI who—”

Kruger frowned. “You know Joseph?”

“Yes, very well.”

“I knew he had connections, but I had no idea he knew you.”

Chuckling, the President nodded. “Yes, we go back a long way. I assume you know what he does for me?”

“No, not really. He’s always kept that part of himself a closed book. At least to me.”

“And to everyone else, from what I understand. He’s very trustworthy.”

Kruger nodded, “That he is. What does all this have to do with me?”

“A valid question.” The President paused and smiled slightly. “I want you to re-evaluate your decision to retire.”

“With all due respect, sir, no. I’ve made a commitment to Stephanie and I will not break it.”

“I respect that decision. But I’m not asking you to return to the FBI. There are other, let’s say, opportunities, I would like for you to consider.”

“What do you mean, other opportunities?”

“The reason I wanted both of you here is because it would require a move. You would be on the staff of a large university in a city in the center of the country. The position has already been approved by the president of the university and the head of the Psychology Department. They are completely on-board with the idea. You would have a flexible teaching schedule with plenty of graduate students to fill in for you. And you would report to me and only me.”

Kruger tilted his head to the side. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Let me explain.”

After the President completed his proposal, Kruger looked at Stephanie. She smiled, nodded and reached for his hand. Kruger returned his attention to the President and said, “I think we would like to pursue this further.”

The President smiled.

Paris, France

Two months later

Retired Special Forces Major Benedict “Sandy” Knoll sat at a small table outside a busy bistro at the intersection of Boulevard Saint-Germain and Boulevard Saint-Michel. He sipped his espresso and watched an apartment building three blocks away. It was approaching noon, and traffic at the intersection was heavy.

At exactly 11:45 a.m., a man exited the apartment building wearing a white dishdasha and white taqiyah. Casually keeping an eye on the figure, Knoll heard two squelches from his ear bud as the white-clad cleric started walking toward the intersection. It was the signal from a watcher outside the apartment building confirming the man was their target. Raising his coffee cup to his lips, he spoke into a microphone attached to the cuff of his sleeve. “Package is on time. Confirmed as the correct item.”

His words traveled to a nearby van which amplified the signal and beamed it toward a satellite in synchronous orbit high above Paris. The satellite relayed the signal to another one high over Washington, D.C., all in a fraction of the time it took to speak the words.

In a room deep under the White House, four men sat in front of a flat-screen TV watching a detailed satellite image of the intersection in Paris. Twin small speakers broadcast Knoll’s words. Joseph looked at the President of the United States and said, “What do you want to do, sir?”

The President was quiet. He glanced at FBI Director Paul Stumpf and CIA Director Admiral Jeffery Reardon, and both men nodded slightly. Returning his attention to the scene on the TV, the President said, “Proceed.”

Joseph looked at his watch. It was 5:50 a.m. Eastern time. He leaned over and spoke into a small microphone.

“Green light.”

Sandy Knoll heard the reply in his earbud and sat the coffee cup down. He placed a five euro note under the cup and waited. When the white-clad cleric passed by the bistro, Knoll casually stood and followed him.

The man under surveillance was Saleel Ghani, a militant Islamic cleric, whose last place of residence was San Francisco, California. He was also the Imam who had recruited three men to help Aazim Abbas attack Bud Walton Arena over four months ago. His arrival in Paris had gone unnoticed by the French General Directorate for Internal Security until he started inflaming French Muslims about pursuing jihad. Now on a watch list, his name had been passed on to the CIA and MI6.

The President said, “How did you find him, Joseph?”

“The third driver, a 19-year-old from San Francisco named Abdul Bahri, gave us his name. The DGSI notified us of Ghani’s presence in Paris. Apparently, Bahri was not enthusiastic about volunteering for the mission. He told a team of FBI interrogators how Ghani shamed him into volunteering. Then when this young man expressed doubts about blowing himself up for the cause, Ghani threatened his family. When we learned where Ghani was, I sent Major Knoll and three members of this team to watch him.”

The President remained quiet, his concentration completely on the TV monitor.

“They know where he’s going,” Joseph continued. “The Imam is a creature of habit. He’s walking to mid-day prayers at his mosque. He does it every day at exactly 11:45 a.m.”

Knoll kept his distance behind the Imam until he saw what he was waiting for. He quickened his pace and closed the gap until he was directly behind Ghani. A large delivery truck was speeding down Boulevard Saint-Germain toward the cleric. Ghani, as was his habit, walked close to the street to avoid being touched by infidels on the sidewalk. As the truck grew closer, Knoll stepped up behind the Imam and discreetly placed his hand on the man’s back. With a puzzled look on his face, the Imam began to turn just as Knoll shoved him into the path of the large truck.

Joseph and the three other men in the room watched as the truck slammed into the stumbling Imam. The body was pushed ahead of the truck and crushed before the driver could apply the brakes.

They watched as Knoll continued walking away from the accident.

The President closed his eyes and said, “How many more were involved?”

Joseph did not smile as he spoke, “He is the only one we are positive about. I’m sure there are more. But the trail is cold right now.”

Standing, the President nodded.

“Find them, Joseph. Find them and make them go away.” 

J.C. Fields is a life-long resident of Missouri. He has a degree in Psychology and extensive experience with computers.

His first short story was written while still in high school and he continued writing through-out his university days. Writing took a back seat during the family raising years. But in 2006 he opened his laptop and starting putting words on paper again.

Research for the Sean Kruger novels started while traveling extensively throughout the United States. He also has weapons training in both short and long guns.

Currently he resides in Southwest Missouri with his wife and their rescue cat, Asia.