Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers
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During the lengthy drive, they had plenty of time to discuss their options and strategize. Once everything settled in, and Martinez realized what was at stake, he was taken with the cause and ready to do what was necessary to stop ISIS from carrying out their most heinous attack. He sat in the back seat, actively reaching out to every contact he had in the Outlaw militia. They wouldn’t be hard to convince, he explained. The Outlaws were always looking for a good fight. But there was no report on the numbers yet, who they could count on, and when they were expected to meet up.
Angela let him do his work as he made multiple phone calls and tried to explain the situation the best he could.
“Hudson, we need all the guys we can get,” he said, now on his third or fourth call. “Shit’s about to hit the fan real soon. We know where they’re going to strike, and it’s going to happen soon.” Martinez paused as a loud, uncompromising voice came through the phone. “Look, I understand a lot of people are leaving. But if they hit this nuclear plant, you’re not going to get far enough in time to escape the radiation. We have no other choice but to stop it.”
Angela sat in the passenger seat, watching the road ahead as traffic moved steadily along the four lanes—that was, until the next checkpoint. The gridlock on the eastbound interstate, separated by a dry canal, was a clear sign of what people were thinking. True fear was evident in every motorist they passed. The news on the radio was abuzz with terror warnings and reports detailing emergency measures implemented throughout the state.
“The president is expected to address the nation within the hour with an urgent message to all Americans. Several aides, speaking on condition of anonymity, have revealed that the president is prepared to ask Congress for authorization of war against the Islamic State, something many believe the administration has taken great lengths, over the years, to avoid. But with thousands of Americans dead, women and children among them, and ISIS sleeper cells still at large, many analysts say that the president has no choice but to take definite action against a ruthless terror organization that has made no secret of its war against the United States.”
Burke shook his head and took a drink from his water bottle. He hadn’t said much the past hour, and Angela was curious to know where his head was.
“Better late than never,” he said, in reference to the report.
Angela, however, had doubts. “What does that do for us now?”
“Guess it’ll keep more of them from coming here. Take out the leadership.”
“But ISIS is everywhere,” Angela said. “Iraq. Syria. Libya. Europe. Where would they even start?”
“I don’t know. They’ve spread like an infestation,” Burke said.
He paused and glanced at her, his voice somber. “They get to those nuclear reactors before we get there, we’ll die along with everyone here.”
“We have to survive,” Angela said, pulling her blonde hair into a ponytail. Her worn but finely shaped face remained intense and focused. She was physically smaller than both Burke and Martinez, but so far had been able to handle herself well in every situation calling for physical strength or bravery. They had made it this far.
“Let me ask you this, Agent Gannon,” Burke continued. “Say we get there and the plant is well secured and under control. Would you be satisfied?”
Angela stopped and thought to herself. “Of course I would, but I would recommend keeping an eye on the place. At least until Asgar is found and the threat eliminated.”
Burke let out a heavy sigh. “That was exactly what I wanted to do. Find that son of a bitch and end this.”
“We’re doing the right thing,” Angela said. “You have to believe that. I need you with me on this.”
Burke held out a hand above the steering wheel gesturing with a “well” stance. “I’m here, aren’t I? Been with you every step of the way, right?”
Angela nodded, hoping for just a bit more enthusiasm on his part. But they were so tired.
A massive gray cloud encompassed the sky ahead. Flickers of lightening could be seen from miles away. They weren’t counting on a storm in their midst, but there was so little under their control that they had to face whatever was coming.
Angela pulled her phone out, wanting nothing more than to talk to her daughters. She was afraid for them, even though it seemed as though they were safe—for now. She figured, if anything, that it was time to check in with Chief Drake. He could at least tell her what the status was on security for the deadliest targets in Texas. Last they spoke, he was distracted and antsy—clearly overwhelmed by the unfolding chaos. Perhaps he had a better handle on things now.
His first words on the call were less than encouraging.
“Gannon? Where the hell are you? The FBI has been up my ass all day!”
“I’m safe, sir, but I can’t get into all the details. I need to know if they have placed adequate security at the power plants. Dallas, specifically. We have information that ISIS is ready to attack. Could be a matter of hours.”
“Dallas?” Dark said. “Is that where you’re at?”
She glanced at Burke with a look of panic across her face. “No sir. But I’m greatly concerned from the intel we received.”
“Are you still playing CIA, Agent Gannon?”
“Sir?” she said.
“You and that Burke are nothing but trouble. The gruesome twosome. You wanna do someone a favor, get to the station now and talk to the FBI so they can focus on these terrorists and stop asking me about you.”
She could tell from the way the conversation was going, there was no reaching the chief. A sudden suspicion came over her that the call was being listened to. “Are they with you now?”
“What?” Drake scoffed. “Agent Gannon, you are way out of line. This insubordination I will not stand any longer. Tell me where you are!”
“I’ve got to go,” she said, hanging up. She looked at Burke with a defeated expression. “That could have gone better.”
“Forget it,” Burke said. “We’ll just have to stick with the plan or die trying.”
“Wonderful advice,” she said with a near smile.
Ending his latest call, Martinez leaned forward. He was lying across the seat with his injured legs propped up. Angela thought about the promise she made to Gloria. She intended to honor her word and make sure to keep Martinez in the background. By the looks of him, she didn’t think he’d object.
“I’ve talked to about ten Outlaws so far. Seven have committed. The other three are out of state.”
“Ten men?” Burke said.
“I’m just getting started,” Martinez said, defensively. “You have to understand. A lot of these guys do prepping. And when the shit hits the fan, as in this scenario, they take their families and leave.”
Burke pointed to the eastbound lane to his left. “Doesn’t look like anyone is getting very far with that plan.”
“I’m sure I can get more guys in on this thing. They believe in protecting this country, and everyone I’ve talked to so far knows how the government dropped the ball.”
“You’re doing great,” Angela said, trying to keep him motivated.
“Just keep making those calls,” Burke said. “I don’t know how many jihadists we’re looking at here.”
Martinez leaned back against his seat, dialing the next number on his list. Seven wasn’t a bad number considering the last minute nature of everything. Burke kept driving at a steady rate of ten miles over the speed limit, trying not to draw any attention.
Angela’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she closed her eyes and took a breath in an attempt to control her nerves. She thought of a time in the future when the entire ordeal would be over, ISIS defeated, and the country safe. It seemed like a fantasy, far out of reach. But the thought of having her daughters near, together and safe for the rest of their lives, kept her going.
The Outlaws
They reached Dallas in the afternoon, hoping like nothing else that they had made it in time. From the
highway, it was clear the city was in chaos, with gridlocked traffic leading in one direction: out of the city. The exodus was similar to what they had seen all across Texas, and it didn’t show any signs of slowing down. Lines of military cargo trucks roared past them along the shoulder of the road.
Roads and exits were blocked off by police. Helicopters hovered in place, watching over the city. News vans were parked along the side of the road, satellite antennas extended high into the air. It almost looked as though the terror attack had already happened. But if that were the case, Angela believed they would already be dead.
“Good thing we don’t have to go in there,” Burke said, pointing to the heart of the city’s booming skyscrapers.
Angela was relieved too. According to her phone GPS, the power plant was twenty miles outside the city. Just for good measure, she had a state map opened, looking for possible backroads or detours around the blockades. For whatever reason, traffic authorities had boxed in traffic, funneling it to only certain areas leading in and out of the city.
The four-lane westbound highway they were on was slightly more forgiving than the lanes headed in the opposite direction. Angela looked toward the city, its buildings reaching into the light-indigo sky. It was an architectural competition, with lofty, rectangular eyesores, some with pointed tops and blinking lightning rods, others flat, with their checkered windows and neon lighting, and each one seemed a symbols of pride for the renowned city.
Under any other circumstances, Angela could see herself visiting and enjoying a day of cultural exploration there. But all of that was under a shocking threat. A threat that most Texans, judging by their hasty withdrawal from the city, seemed to finally get.
Martinez was tied up on his phone like a telemarketer on a busy day. So far, he had confirmed fifteen Outlaws through nothing beyond sheer persuasion. Burke had taken Interstate 30 from Fort Worth. They would have to remain on course if they hoped to reach the Dallas nuclear power plant within the hour. That was, if Angela could find a way around the traffic that wasn’t currently blocked off.
“It makes no sense,” she said, looking around in wonder. “Why bottle us in like this?”
“It’s all about control,” Burke said. “Security, surveillance, and containment. The hallmarks of martial law happening before our eyes.”
Angela could see the armored trucks driving through the city and the overwhelming presence of police in riot gear and army soldiers taking positions at several blocked areas. There was an indisputable militaristic feel to the city. Perhaps it was for the better. The radio news elaborated on the mounting panic sweeping through the city.
“Local officials have advised residents to stay in their homes and not to travel. Hundreds of businesses, restaurants, and bars have closed their doors indefinitely during this time of crisis. Over one hundred and forty-five people are reported dead following the Oak Park massacre, making it the deadliest terror attack in American since 9/11.
“Officials in San Antonio, where a similar attack took place, killing an estimated two hundred people, are working to shut down all travel in and out of the city, as thousands of residents cope with unspeakable loss and horror in their own backyard.”
“The president addressed the nation briefly today, vowing to put an end to the violence sweeping across Texas, perpetrated by ISIS-affiliated terrorists.”
Angela said, “He can start with the power plant.” Perhaps they were chasing a ghost. She hadn’t been to Dallas in a while, but the sight of the city saddened her. Sirens wailing to no end. Flashing road signs blocking off traffic. Businesses closed and vacant as far as the eye could see. It was hard to believe how quickly things had turned so bad. How on earth had it ever come to this?
Martinez lowered his phone after finishing what seemed like his hundredth call. He let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair.
“How we doing back there?” Burke asked, tapping the brakes as traffic slowed again to a halt and stretching his neck to see if there was an alternative route. But with so many roads closed off, they didn’t have much choice but to remain on the highway.
“Eighteen,” Martinez answered. “We’re getting close.”
Burke contemplated the numbers as Angela examined the map for an opening.
“We need more,” Burke said.
“I’m doing all I can,” Martinez said with clear frustration in his tone. He leaned forward and clutched his chest in pain. Angela turned around, concerned.
Burke told him, “Go easy, Captain Martinez. I promised Gloria that I’d get you home in one piece.”
Martinez took a deep, calming breath and leaned back in his seat. “I’m fine. Just some chest pains.” He paused and held his cell phone up, scrolling the contacts.
“I wouldn’t go near that power plant with any less than twenty,” Burke said. He then turned to Angela. “How many did we face in the compound? Twenty? Thirty, maybe?”
“At least twenty,” Angela said.
She hadn’t thought about the shootout as often lately, not with so many other things going on. Nor about her miraculous survival either, though she knew they had been lucky. When it came to life and death, it was best not to gamble. Yet, if she believed that to be the truth, she wondered what she was doing in Dallas.
Recalling the shootout, what she could remembered clearly were the deafening gun blasts on both sides. The white flashes and glimpse of bodies collapsing to the ground in pools of blood. She still had a slight ringing in her ears from it.
“If Asgar is serious about this attack, he’s going to put all his remaining resources into it,” Burke continued. “What else does he have left?”
“Hey, Wiseman, this is Martinez,” Martinez said from the back seat, phone against his ear. “Need your help, man, we’re in some real trouble here.”
“No shit!” a voice said loudly through the phone.
“Listen to me,” Martinez said. “I’m not talking about what you’re seeing on the news. There’s something much, much worse in store for us.”
Martinez continued to explain, as Angela traced the route along the road map. Her GPS signal was going in and out on her phone—ultimately proving unreliable. She looked ahead as though seeing a clearing. “In a half mile we can get off the highway and take Deermont to the industrial sector. Lots of back roads, but at least we’ll be out of this mess.”
“Sounds good to me,” Burke said. “I was starting to get a little worried.”
Angela raised her brow. “You too, eh?”
Martinez continued making his plea on the phone with one of the Outlaws. Many of them, it seemed, took some convincing. The notion of driving into Dallas after a major terrorist attack was dangerous enough. Luckily for Martinez and the group, many of the Outlaws were just waiting for an opportunity to get even with ISIS. Killing militants to prevent a nuclear explosion was about as enticing as it got. They couldn’t turn it down.
All in all, Martinez managed to reach twenty committed Outlaws. They were all to meet outside Fair Park near Cotton Bowl Stadium, mere miles from the nuclear power plant. Both places could be crawling with police, but the location would be easy to find, even amid the chaos.
They exited off the interstate onto Deermont Lane, an older area with several seemingly vacant warehouses and only moderate traffic in front of them. For a moment, there wasn’t a police car around, but Angela knew that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.
Burke turned his head back slightly to address Martinez. “These Outlaws. They some kind of biker gang?”
Martinez took his eyes off his phone for one moment to answer. “Not necessarily. They are known bike enthusiasts, but I don’t think they want to bring any unnecessary attention to themselves right now.”
“So what does that mean?” Burke asked. “Are they gonna be in station wagons or something? Compact cars? PT Cruisers? What are we looking for?”
“Hendrickson…” Martinez began.
“Hendrickson?” Burke asked.
Angela turned to Burke as the car rattled on the bumpy cracked pavement of a narrow backroad. “These guys are from all over. But thankfully they’re close enough to get here.”
“What time did you give them?” Burke asked.
Martinez glanced at his phone. “I told them as soon as they could. Most of them should arrive within the hour.”
“It’ll be a miracle if we pull this off,” Burke said.
Angela nodded while eyeing the map. The car bumped as they passed over some old train tracks, weeds sprouting up between the ties. To their right, a truck weighing-station sat idle, absent any trucks or personnel. Like any other building or business in the area, it looked closed down. Perhaps that would help them move more freely around the city. It seemed to be doing the trick so far.
“About three more blocks to Fairfield Park,” Angela said. “Then you take a left.”
Suddenly a police car appeared ahead, racing toward them in the opposite lane with its lights flashing wildly. Angela gripped the armrest on her door, feeling a sense of anxiety.
“Everyone stay calm,” Burke said, trying to sound calm himself, and in control, as usual. His dark sunglasses concealed what Angela assumed to be tired eyes. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had gotten some sleep.
Martinez was too preoccupied to even notice. “Hendrickson, listen to me,” he said into his phone. “We don’t have a lot of time. I need you to get your team out here pronto. The city is on lockdown, so try to avoid all major roads if you can.”
The police car rushed past them like a rocket. Angela could breathe a little easier, but she didn’t think it was the last one they would be seeing.
Cotton Bowl Stadium came into view, its high, circular colosseum-like walls a striking sight in the distance. There would be no sporting events that day, and the closer they got to the main road, the more clearly they could see a barrage of army trucks, Humvees, and trailers set up in the parking lot. Soldiers in desert-pattern camouflage uniforms moved throughout, setting up GP medium tents as though the formerly empty stadium lot had been claimed as an operations center.