Sam Wick Ultimate Boxset

by Chase Austin

  Outside the building, Police had already cordoned off the area with tens of Cruisers in position, but the unexpected explosion sent the whole setup into a tizzy. The concrete blocks flew out of the market with speed to wreck three Cruisers and badly injure five officers. Even the nearby Jefferson Station felt the tremors.

  Stan’s ears were still ringing. His left shoulder and rib cage had a stinging pain, but he needed to determine what was left of the shooters. He took a few seconds to realign himself and then carefully got out of the cabinet. Outside, the visibility had dropped to nil. There was dust and smoke all over. He couldn’t see the roof but realized that since it was not on him yet, it probably was holding well. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision, but nothing changed. The smell of burning flesh and wasted blood had started to overwhelm him.

  The counter was ruined beyond imagination. Stan had survived because of the dual steel wall of the cabinet. If he had been outside, there was no chance he would have been in one piece to see this. Using the leftovers of the counter he slowly stood up, but in the effort his knees hurt like hell. He knew that he had stirred the hornet’s nest, and more would come looking for the reason of the unexpected blast. In a way this was good since all he now had to do was wait.

  And he didn’t have to wait too long. A faint outline appeared in the dust, walking limply, with a rifle in his hand. The shadow stopped at some fifty yards away. Stan knew that the man might have spotted him too standing in the dust. But despite pausing, he didn’t shoot. Maybe he was still considering if Stan was friendly.

  A costly delay.

  Stan brought his SIG to bear and immediately saw the reaction as the shooter’s barrel came to life, sweeping across the area around him. But Stan fired first. The terrorist fired a millisecond later. They both missed.

  Stan’s bullet flew off-target, but it caused the shooter to flinch, which bought Stan half a second for a follow-up shot. He didn’t miss this time. The man shuddered as the bullet punched his chest. But the hit couldn’t silence the assault rifle. Glinting lead raced towards Stan and before he could duck and find a cover, one of the bullets tore into his belly. His shot-up adrenaline didn’t make him feel anything. He squeezed the SIG’s trigger again, firing the third round as fast as he could. It found the gunman’s neck. His cervical column severed, the assault rifle was silenced. Stan knew that he had hit his mark.

  Not knowing if anyone had lined up on his muzzle flashes, Stan decided to sit on his knees and immediately regretted that decision. “Damn it,” he muttered. Somewhere in his abdomen region, blood had started to leak. He could feel that a bullet was inside.

  Fortunately, no return fire came his way giving him precious time to slowly take cover behind the still intact part of the counter. While sitting, the immediate thought in his mind was to call Jessica – his colleague in the Vesuvius team. He lurched forward and took out his cell from his back pocket.

  “Shit!” he muttered under his breath. It was broken.

  Chapter 22

  Farmer’s Terminal Market, Philadelphia

  Saif opened his eyes and watched the haze. Dust and smoke, with visibility hovering at zero. The blast had thrown him far away from where he was standing. The blast wasn’t planned. Not even expected. He had no idea how it went off. The plan was to use the RDX to take down the whole building, but that wasn’t until they had sprayed enough bullets.

  Footsteps. Lots of them. The uniforms were coming in. His rifle was nowhere to be seen, and he didn’t know where to find it. The untimely blast had ruined everything. They had failed in their mission. Now he had to find a way to kill himself.

  With his right hand’s support, he tried to get up, but his body wasn’t ready. His left leg wasn’t moving and hurt like hell. He lifted his head to see what was wrong with it, but the haze made it harder. The only way he could do it was by using his hands. His left hand started to scan his leg, and a cry escaped his mouth. Multiple steel rods had punctured through his left leg. The realization made the pain ferociously intense. Tears trickled down his cheeks. With both his hands, he swept around to find his weapon or something to kill himself, but all he could find was rubble and dust.

  The boots were closing in. He looked sideways for his teammates to help him out. Nothing. He was alone.

  Two tactical robots rolled inside the building, before the first man would put his first step in. Covering all bases, their job was to give the infantry a heads up on what to expect inside. The blast’s impact was severe at the left flank of the market, but the rest of the building was intact, albeit in a mess. The steel counters had taken most of the impact on themselves, making sure that the age-old building didn’t give way.

  The two robots slowly scoped the area for any hostiles. The 360-degree cameras fitted at the top relayed the live feed to their operators’ laptops. No hostiles spotted yet, but a large area still remained unswept. The SWAT team was doing everything by the book.

  The first operator heard whispers and murmurs from the right flank of the market on his headphones, and the robot turned in that direction. Some thirty yards away, among the rubbles and dust, the operator soon discovered the first set of fearful eyes through the mounted camera. The flank had multiple survivors, still under a mild wreckage but breathing. The second robot, sweeping the left flank, found the first duo of the militants under the debris. Assault rifles in their lifeless hands. Their eyes open in shock.

  “Two dead hostiles.” The operator quickly informed his team through his microphone.

  “Where?”

  The operator gave the location.

  “Anything on the right flank of the building?” The captain asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Update me once the sweep is done.”

  “Yes sir.”

  It took another thirty minutes before the sweep was completed. Then, slowly the SWAT team started to branch out in the market. The dust had started to settle, and the carnage had started to take a shape. The medics followed the officers, ready to tend the injured. The uniforms’ first priority was to find the survivors.

  One of the officers rushed to the two dead hostiles and squatted beside them to check their belongings for their identities.

  “Medics needed here now,” another officer yelled at the medical team.

  “Sir, you need to see this,” yet another officer hissed in his lip mic to the captain.

  “What is it?” the captain asked.

  “We have eyes on an injured shooter.”

  The captain didn’t need another invite to spring into action. He was halfway through to the first hostile when his radio cackled again. Another terrorist spotted, and closer. He decided to change his destination while barking orders. Uniforms closer to the two terrorists moved in tandem to get in positions.

  The first thing the sergeant closer to the second hostile saw was a gun similar to his own, a SIG, in the right hand resting on the floor. The man’s back was partially visible, rested against a steel counter.

  “Hands in the air where I can see them,” the sergeant yelled. The man might be a terrorist, but he was on American soil and the law had to be upheld.

  There was no response, as if the man didn’t hear him.

  “Hands in the air where I can see them,” he yelled again. The man didn’t even flinch.

  “The hostile isn’t responding. He could be dead,” the sergeant informed the others behind him. The uniforms kept on tightening the semi-circle, their SIGs leveled at him.

  The first sergeant loomed closer to the man and kicked his gun. It slid away from the man’s reach. The second sergeant then slowly covered a big arc to see the face of the man from the right side. The man’s eyes were open, staring into oblivion. His other hand was on his stomach. The first sergeant exchanged cues with the second and then inched forward. He held the hostile’s hand to check his pulse.

  “Need a medic here, fast,” the second sergeant yelled. A minute later, one of the medics came rushing. The two uniforms took a
step back to give him room. He checked Stan’s vitals and then looked at the sergeants. His face explained everything. The first sergeant quickly checked Stan’s pockets and found a wallet Credit cards, some papers, and a social security card.

  The captain reached in time to hear what the medic had to say. “Cause of death?” he asked

  “Possible excessive bleeding. Bullets in his abdomen region,” the medic replied.

  “Any id?”

  “We have his SSN.” His sergeant spoke this time. The man was American.

  “Transfer the body to the morgue and find everything about him and his family. I’m going to check the second hostile,” the captain ordered without battling an eyelid.

  Two of the sergeants who had found Saif and his dead partner, amidst the rubble, stood in silence as a team of medics tried their best to get Saif out of the steel rods, alive. The blast had made one of the pillars fall on them, taking the duo by surprise. Two AK-47s lay a few feet away.

  Occasionally the medics paused and checked the whole situation again. It was a delicate case; any haste would mean the imminent death of the man. Two others held Saif carefully while a third one cleaned the area around his legs to look more closely at the steel bars.

  “I need him alive.” The captain had finally reached the spot and fired his first order.

  “We’re trying our best, but you need to stop yelling,” one of the two experienced medics snapped back at the captain. He knew his job and didn’t need a reminder of what needed to be done.

  “Let my boys know if you need any help.” The captain remained unfazed by the rebuke and moved to check the rest.

  Saif, who was semi-conscious, looked at the captain and his lips moved, whispering, “I have done what I came to do. Kill me now.” The medics ignored his pleas. The two sergeants looked at each other and then looked at the captain who had just stopped in his tracks to listen to Saif’s murmuring.

  “I need him breathing. Make sure of that.” He reiterated his orders to the two sergeants. They both nodded in the affirmative. He was a high-value capture, and they all knew his value.

  Chapter 23

  Onyx Hotel, The Marina, Houston

  With their loaded Kalashnikovs held high in the air, Shahrukh and Yakub had stepped out of the men’s restroom, into the reception area of the Onyx.

  Once they were in range, Shahrukh started to fire blindly at the reception, killing eleven guests on the spot, and then flung a grenade that exploded near the reception counter at the far end. Yakub took care of the entrance, killing three guards. Two of the guards standing away from the entrance, seeing off some departing guests, heard the shots being fired and fled the scene before the bullets could reach them.

  Both Shahrukh and Yakub deftly changed magazines and sprayed a few more rounds inside to ensure there were no survivors. The attack was brief and violent, lasting a little over two minutes. The shots, the screams, and the explosions were quickly swallowed up by the chaos of a busy Onyx afternoon. Once the shooting stopped, six more militants entered the hotel. They knew where they had to head next in the building and moved towards the first floor, where the rest of the haversacks were placed.

  In the hotel, a couple was halfway through their meal at the Lobby Bar, when they first heard a firecracker-like sound, followed by the screams as people ran to take cover. They weren’t alone. Three other tables were also occupied in the bar with guests having their breakfast. The couple saw a gun-wielding terrorist through the glass door of the restaurant and quickly ducked under their table. Shahrukh didn’t enter the Lobby Bar but crossed it, looking for something else. Yakub walked behind him, firing from the hip into the elevator area, killing more guests. Shahrukh and Yakub’s bullets crackled wildly down the shiny marble corridors. Then they heard the gunshots on the first floor. It could mean only one thing; the rest of the six teammates had found their rucksacks. Shahrukh and Yakub then rode an elevator to the first floor of the hotel, leaving thirty-something bodies on the ground floor.

  Briella, along with everyone else present in the Marina mall, heard the gunshots and became immediately alert. The sound was coming from the Onyx, where Olivia worked.

  “We need to find her,” she said, looking at one of the two boys she was with.

  “It’s not our job. Police will find her. We need to leave now,” the boy retorted.

  “But…”

  “We are not heroes! It’s a police job to save people. We can’t do anything.” The other boy tried to sound convincing.

  “Everyone please, move towards the right-side exit.” The announcement happened in tandem.

  Briella still took out her cell phone. She needed to tell Olivia about the shootings.

  Olivia mistook the shots fired on the ground floor for firecrackers from the wedding reception organized at the Bellaire of the Onyx. She had just finished her second month as a trainee at the hotel and barely knew her way around the maze of rooms.

  She was in the server room of the hotel on the second floor overlooking the poolside. The room was a converted guest bedroom. It was one of the most vital spaces in the hotel. Inside, floor-to-ceiling IBM servers streamed and backed up data from the Onyx’s ninety-three hotels. The office was located directly beneath the grand dome of the hotel.

  The shots continued. Then an explosion reverberated through the hotel.

  Olivia immediately reached for her cell phone to call her mother, and saw Briella’s missed calls. There was a message too: ‘Shooting at Onyx. Hide’.

  Chapter 24

  Onyx Hotel, The Marina, Houston

  Martha was in the kitchen when her phone rang. The ringer was on mute and she hadn’t got the time to unmute it. The phone rang three times but no one picked it up.

  Olivia searched desperately for her father’s number. William Helms was in his office when he saw Olivia’s name on his phone.

  “Dad,” Olivia was petrified.

  “Olivia! What happened? You okay?” Helms immediately sensed the fear in his daughter’s voice.

  “Dad, I heard gunshots in the hotel. What’s happening?”

  “Gunshots?” Was Onyx under attack? Helms had no idea until now. “Olivia, stay where you are. Stay hidden. Don’t go out. I will come and get you. Tell me where you are exactly?”

  Olivia slowly explained the way to her office. Helms heard it with utmost silence.

  “Dad, I don’t want to die. Please, please come soon.” She had started to cry.

  Even someone like Helms, who dealt with life and death day in and day out, couldn’t control his emotions. His daughter was in danger and he would need all his strength and resources to save her and so many others who were in the hotel.

  Chapter 25

  Situation Room, White House | Time: 3 and a half hours since the attack

  General David Shelton traveled to the White House with his four aides, one each from the Army, the Air Force, the Navy, and the Marines. The CIA director, Walter Raborn was also in the room. When the President and Raborn entered the Situation Room, the five military men simultaneously snapped to their feet. Raborn got up too. Hancock nodded in return and went to sit on his leather chair at the head of the table.

  Patrick Mattis, the Secretary of Defense, Frank Allen, the President’s National Security Advisor, and Samuel Baker, the President’s Chief of Staff, arrived soon after, and were seated on both sides of the President. General Shelton glanced at Baker and then looked at the file. According to him, Baker was a nuisance, especially in a time-sensitive matter like this, and he didn’t like his presence in the room, but it was not the time or the place to air his personal thoughts. It would have taken the focus away from the more pressing issues.

  “Gentlemen, William Helms is with us via video conferencing,” Mattis informed everyone.

  Helms had just got off the phone from the FBI Director who was also connected via the video conferencing. He hoped that at the end of this, he would have some answers on how the offense would be planned, especially i
n Houston. On Mattis’ insistence, he had not taken that flight to DC and now except the video-con, he had no way to be in the discussions. The agenda at hand was to apprise Hancock of his options and give him a realistic estimate of the time it would take to move the right assets into position. Full-blown attacks were underway for the last couple of hours and the snail-paced government bureaucracy still had no tactical plan in place to stop the mayhem.

  “What’s the status?” Hancock asked.

  “Mr. President, three hours ago more than twenty trained terrorists attacked six American cities. A total of six cities have been hit. A mall and a hotel in Phoenix, two malls in San Diego and a luxury hotel in Indianapolis were hit by five suicide bombers. Union Square Park in Manhattan, Onyx hotel in Houston and Farmer’s Terminal market in Philadelphia were attacked by three teams of six to eight members in each. Of these three cities, Farmer’s Terminal market in Philadelphia is now under control. Manhattan is the worst hit and the terrorists have taken refuge in a hospital near the Union Square Park. In Houston, gunshots have been heard from the Onyx, a 7-star hotel in the Marina mall,” Mattis said.