A woman in her thirties was on her knees in the desert. Her hands were tied behind her back.
Lori gasped. The familiar footage was from a recent news report shed seen on TV. She remembered that the woman was an aid worker from England working in the Middle East before shed been taken hostage by extremists. Lori had never seen the video in its entirety. It was too graphic for news networks to broadcast. Standing next to the woman was a man, clad head to toe in black. A black balaclava concealed his face. He held a large knife in one hand and was ranting to the camera before he yanked the womans hair back, exposing her throat and-the knife flashed-Lori turned away.
She knew what followed.
The woman had been beheaded.
32
Dallas, Texas
Music hammered in the hallway.
Empty pizza boxes, beer cans and used napkins were strewn along the floor. Vulgar graffiti bled on the cracked walls near Unit 506 of the apartment complex in South Dallas.
This was Jerricko Titus Blaines most recent address.
From the command post across the street, Dallas FBI agent Trent Doyle trained his binoculars on Blaines unit. Colors and shadows flashed as someone inside moved from room to room.
One of Blaines associates?
Doyle rolled the focus wheel.
The Dallas Police Department had set up the outer perimeter and helped evacuate the buildings residents. Children clutched stuffed toys, and a white-haired woman grabbed her Bible as anxious tenants were escorted out of harms way to a park just beyond the perimeter set up with police tape.
The SWAT team, which had already studied the buildings floor plan, moved swiftly and quietly into position, forming the inner perimeter.
The music still pulsed from behind the door of apartment 506.
This part of Dallas generated a large number of police calls to the neighborhood every day. Over the past six years, five officers had been shot while executing warrants, as the FBI, backed by Dallas PD, was doing today. The five officers had survived, but it was just another reason why Doyle, like all others at the command post, was wearing body armor.
Slowly, he swung his binoculars toward the snipers on the adjacent buildings roof. There were others behind Dumpsters, cars, and in apartment units facing the target.
Inside the building, SWAT members had taken positions on the stairs leading up to Unit 506, and on the landing, the fire escape and the roof. Everyone was in place, whispering reports over their headsets above the thunder of the music.
Given that Blaine was suspected in an ongoing robbery-hostage-taking, the team poised for a no-knock, forced rapid entry. After a final round of radio checks, the commander gave the green light to his squad sergeant. A signal was relayed to the electricity company. Power was suddenly cut. The building became eerily silent, save for the distant yelp of a dog.
Within seconds, deafening flash-bang grenades smashed through windows and heavily armed SWAT members charged through the apartment door and the windows from the balcony, shouting orders to the man on the sofa.
FBI! Get on the floor, now!
SWAT members, guns drawn, forced him to the floor amid the smoke and chaos.
Hey, what the hells this! the man protested while on his stomach as his hands were cuffed behind him.
He was in his twenties. He wore a tie-dye T-shirt and torn jeans.
His wallet was yanked from his back pocket.
He was Eldon Luna, age 24, of Arlington, according to his Texas drivers license.
Hey, what the hell? You hurt my ears, assholes!
The bathroom was checked, closets were checked; special equipment was used to scan the walls and ceiling for body mass. As the smoke from the grenades dissipated, the apartment was inspected two more times. The sound of metal against glass sounded as one agent tapped his weapon against a large rectangular tank in one corner.
Damn! That a python?
Its an Asiatic rock python.
You got a permit for it, Eldon?
Its not mine.
The squad leader radioed his commander, who alerted Doyle and the other agents that the apartment was cleared and declared safe.
By the time theyd entered, Eldon Luna had been placed back on the sofa where he remained handcuffed and under guard. While the other agents tugged on latex gloves and searched the unit, Doyle sat on the coffee table and faced Luna.
Man, I think you dicks got the wrong place. Im going to call a lawyer and Im going to sue your asses off, Luna said.
Yes, you could do that from jail, Eldon, where were going to hold you for seventy-two hours. A lot can happen to you in jail in that time. Oryou can cooperate with us.
Cooperate? Why? I didnt do anything.
Do you know Jerricko Titus Blaine?
Luna said nothing.
Doyle leaned into his space.
Do you want to sleep in a cell tonight?
No.
Answer the question.
Jerricko rents this place.
Where is Mr. Blaine?
Whats this about? Is he in some sort of trouble?
Answer the question.
Hes out of town on business.
Where?
I dont know.
Think again.
I really dont know. Hes been away for a few weeks.
Whatre you doing in his apartment, Eldon?
Hes letting me stay here because my old lady kicked me out.
How do you know him?
I met him at a computer science conference in Fort Worth.
Eldon, tell me what you know about the robbery.
What robbery?
Doyle indicated the cell phone and laptop on the coffee table next to him.
These yours?
Yes.
Weve got warrants to search everything on the premises. Im sure well find all kinds of enlightening evidence once our people probe every aspect of your life.
Luna looked fearfully at Doyle then the other agents.
I really dont know what youre talking about.
You think fast and you think hard. Things will go much better for you if you cooperate with us now. Later will be too late.
Think hard about what? I dont even know what this is about!
Are you involved in the robbery in any way?
I dont know anything about a robbery.
Did you help plot it?
What? Plot what?
How long have you lived here?
About a month.
Can you prove it?
Ask my ex-girlfriend, Karen. Karen McWhinney. She kicked me out a month ago. Ill give you her number.
How did you come to live here?
After the conference, Jerricko and I hung out. He liked to talk about politics and we agreed that America had made some bad policy choices in the Middle East. We had some good talks, became friends. Then when Karen kicked me out, Jerricko invited me to live with him and Rose.
Rose?
His python.
Doyle rubbed his hand over his face. This kid was running him in circles. Tell me about Jerricko.
Easy to live with. Hes quiet, doesnt like rock music. I respected that. He was always in his room on his computer. I could hear him talking to people online or over the phone.
Do you know who he talked to?
No. Im not nosy-why should I know who he talks to?
What did they talk about?
I only heard parts. I wasnt listening because it was none of my business. And usually Im just listening to music on my headphones since he doesnt like it, or watching a movie or something. His TVs awesome.
Can you recall anything about the conversations you overheard?
Not much
Did you ever hear Jerricko mention someone named Dan Fulton? Or anything about New York? Anything about a bank?
Eldon shook his head.
Anything about bombs?
Bombs? Hell, no. Whats going on?
Eldon, I need you to focus and tell me anything you did hear.
I heard some stuff about politics, the news, oppression andstuff about nonbelievers, or something. But I wasnt listening.
Doyle was making notes.
Anything else that sticks out? Anything that sounded strange?
Luna shook his head, then stopped and bit his lip.
Wait. There was one thing that was weird. The last time he called here to check in, he said that if anything happened to him he wanted me to take care of Rose.
33
Santa Ana, California
Lieutenant Sean Baylor came around his desk and greeted FBI agent Wade Darden with a crushing handshake.
Have a seat, Wade. Got everything right here.
Darden, the Bureaus resident agent for Orange County, was handling the FBIs urgent request for the Santa Ana PD to share the personnel records of Lori Wallace, a former officer with the force.
Several file folders waited on the small table where Darden and Baylor pored over them.
Okay, from the top. Weve got her application-she was married to Dan Fulton at the time but kept her family name, Wallace. Theres her education file. Shes got a degree in criminology from Cal State, Baylor said.
Turning over file pages, Darden took his time, reading carefully through Lori Wallaces background investigation, her personal history statement and her psychological evaluation, which included a written exam and an interview with a psychologist.
She passed her medical and excelled on physical agility, the wall, the long pursuit and the body drag. High scores at the range, too, Baylor said.
They continued flipping pages that reflected an exemplary career.
In the four years she was on the job she was mostly on patrol. Shed received several commendations. Letters of thanks from the community, Baylor said. She took a little time off when she had her baby, came back to more commendations.
They turned to pages documenting new assignments.
She did outstanding investigative work and was on track to become a detective, Baylor said. Then it all turned to crap. Its the next folder, Wade.
Darden opened the red folder of reports, pages of statements, maps, drawings, photographs and a list of other items relating to one homicide and a police-involved shooting.
Wallace and her partner, Tim Rowland, a seven-year veteran, are on overnight patrol, Baylor said. They roll up to a corner store for a coffee and come upon an armed robbery in progress. As they step out of their patrol car, the suspect, who had just robbed the clerk of one hundred and sixty-one dollars, is exiting and firing a handgun into the store, hitting a pregnant woman in the arm. Rowland reacts, reaches for his sidearm but the shooter beats him, getting off three rounds, hitting Rowland in the jaw, neck and shoulder above his vest. Rowland stumbles back, collapsing into Wallace, who manages to catch him while drawing her weapon and firing at the suspect.