Storm Clouds Rising: A Chuck McCain Novel

by David Spell

  Damian had been surprised by the bearded man’s speed. Most of the bodyguard’s initial burst had struck the shield in front of the machine gun but one round had slammed into his body armor and a second had ripped into his left bicep. The cartel soldier had fallen backwards in the turret, just catching himself before he had tumbled down into the humvee.

  His left arm pulsated with pain as blood dripped onto the seat below. Sanchez steadied himself, grabbing the machine gun again to continue firing. The American was wounded but was now firing his pistol into the hummer. A powerful impact smashed into the gangster’s right leg, just above the knee.

  Sanchez quickly shifted his weight onto his left leg and aimed at the bearded man’s head, holding down the trigger, and firing a ten-shot burst that sent him to the ground. A red mist hung in the air where his head had been.

  Damian swung the machine gun around to fire into the Yukon. The pain in his right leg was becoming unbearable and he felt the blood pumping out. He dropped inside the hummer and grabbed the tourniquet off of his vest, hurriedly wrapping it above his right knee and cinching it down tightly, cursing loudly in pain.

  The driver, Chapo Avalos, was not moving and Sanchez could see the blood and brain matter dripping from his head down onto his chest. The other two sicarios were outside his humvee, firing from the cover of the passenger side doors. Satisfied that the tourniquet was working, Damian reached up, grabbing the sides of the turret, and pulled himself back into position. Within seconds, the machine gun was chattering again.

  When Tom bailed out the passenger door, his primary goal was to eliminate the machine gunner in the turret in front of them. Because Shaun had been able to steer to the right, the warrior had some cover using the right side of the engine block, but had no cover from behind him. He knew he had to act fast.

  The former SEAL Team Six member quickly fired two short bursts at the man behind the M-249 machine gun. One of the 5.56mm rounds caught Little Ricky in the throat, spraying blood onto the top of the humvee. Two more bullets struck the gunner in the face, sending him sprawling into the backseat of the vehicle.

  Sledge hammer blows pounded Tom’s back, his body armor stopping most of them, but another round tore into his lower back, knocking him into his door, the searing pain coursing through his body. The muscular man felt himself falling but grabbed the side of the hummer for balance and turned to face his attackers. Both of the passenger side doors stood open on the rear vehicle with an armed man behind each.

  Tom saw their rifle muzzles flash but did not hear anything. He willed himself to get his Colt up even as round after round from the attackers tore into his armor and unprotected flesh. The former commando felt his legs giving way as his life blood pumped out of him onto the asphalt. With a last surge of strength he fired a long burst at the attacker closest to him, being rewarded with a loud scream and the sight of a body falling backwards.

  The Virginia State Trooper turned right out of the small parking area and could immediately see the chaotic scene a hundred yards in front of him. A military hummer, no make that two, he realized, had an SUV pinned in between them with soldiers firing machine guns and rifles at the big vehicle. Civilian motorists were trying to flee, several vehicles having collided in their haste to escape the flying bullets. Others had simply abandoned their cars, running down the road, looking for a place to hide.

  Danny Barber hesitated as his police car got closer, slowing down to assess what was happening. Who were the good guys and who were the bad guys here? He could see several figures down and motionless on the pavement. The machine gun on the rear hummer continued to hammer its rounds into the Yukon.

  “707 to dispatch, I’ve got two military humvees and a black SUV. The hummers appear to be engaging the other vehicle.”

  At that moment, Barber saw the government license plates on the front of the Yukon. A second later, a figure in camo fatigues ran up to the SUV from the rear hummer, snatching open a side door, and raising his rifle to fire into the passenger compartment. Before the gunman could get a round off, however, he recoiled backwards and spun around, falling face first onto the roadway, his weapon dropping beside him.

  Suddenly, glass shattered around the officer as bullets smashed into the hood and windshield of the police car

  “707 to dispatch, I’m taking fire from the humvees. I need backup, radio!”

  “10-4, 707, backup is enroute. Also 707, be advised, we’re getting an emergency request from a CIA vehicle at the same GPS coordinates of your location. The CIA also has units enroute.”

  The trooper cut his wheels to the left and stopped thirty feet behind the front military vehicle. He kicked his door open, ducking low and drawing his .40 caliber Glock Model 22 pistol. Machine gun fire raked the passenger side of the police car, blowing out the rest of the windows as Danny took cover behind the front tire. He kept his head down but raised his pistol, shooting at the two Hispanic-looking men firing M-16s at him. Barber didn’t hit anyone but his gunfire forced them to duck and retreat to the other side of the humvee.

  Inside the Yukon, Shaun gripped his MP5 submachine gun, keeping his head low. He could see Tom lying on his back, just feet away outside the front passenger door, blood pooling around him. Taylor wanted to help his friend, but the withering gunfire was intense, as bullets were now starting to penetrate the windows and roof of the SUV. Plus, his primary responsibility was to protect Sandra Dunning. He had no idea what had become of Tim. Everything had happened so fast.

  Shaun had hit the emergency button on the dashboard, sending a signal to the CIA and the local police. The GPS transponder on the vehicle gave the authorities their location, indicating that they needed assistance ASAP.

  “Ma’am, we’re going to have to run for it if help doesn’t get here soon.”

  There was no reply. “Director Dunning?” he raised his voice, chancing a glimpse over the rear seat.

  Sandra’s body lay crumpled in the same place where Tim had left her, crouched in the floorboard. Taylor could see blood pouring out of two wounds on her back. Sudden movement caught his eye as a gunman rushed up to Sandra’s door and yanked it open. Just as the thug pointed his rifle at Dunning, Shaun fired half a magazine from the submachine gun, stitching him from his groin to his face, sending the thug face down on the pavement.

  Taylor knew he needed to get back to where Sandra lay to assess her injuries. Tim and Tom had drilled into the younger man that the worst thing he could do in a crisis was to freeze up. He had to keep moving, doing what he could.

  Gunfire continued to pop all around him as he carefully checked the area to see if any of the other attackers were going to charge them. The machine gun fire had finally slackened off and Shaun threw himself over the driver’s seat, landing next to his wounded boss. He felt for a pulse on the director’s neck. It was there but was weak as blood continued to flow out of her. The first aid kit was in the back of the Yukon, but the rear bulletproof glass was gone, shattered by the repeated pounding of the machine gun rounds.

  The young man saw one of the gunmen from the front hummer crouching by the rear of the military vehicle, leaning around the corner to shoot at something or someone. Maybe our help has finally arrived, he thought. The bodyguard brought the MP5 up and sighted on the man’s back, squeezing the trigger. The 9mm hollow points tore into the gangster’s spine, continuing into his chest cavity, destroying his heart and lungs. The gunman tumbled onto his left side as Shaun changed magazines. The young man took a deep breath, and then raised himself up far enough to reach for the first aid kit.

  A police car suddenly appeared from the opposite direction. Sanchez raised the muzzle of his machine gun, firing bursts into the hood and windshield and then raking the passenger side as the officer stopped sideways in the road. The cop dove out, blindly firing his pistol over the engine compartment. The shots forced two of the cartel members from the other hummer to retreat.

  Damian swung the M240 towards the rear of the cruiser, sighting in on
the gas tank. The fierce resistance of Dunning’s bodyguards had already caused this assassination to take much longer than it should have. We need to end this quickly, but I’ve got to kill that cop first, he thought. As the cartel soldier squeezed the trigger, there was only a click, indicating that he was out of ammo.

  The Mexican quickly ducked into the humvee to grab an ammo can, his wounds sending jolts of pain through his body. He hadn’t even bandaged the wound on his arm yet as it continued to ooze blood. Later, he told himself. He picked up one of the green metal cans and started to climb back into the turret.

  Sudden movement from the back of the Yukon startled him. A young man, the driver he recognized from the pictures, was reaching into the back of the SUV. He and Damian saw each other at the same time. The sicario reached for the Beretta hanging on his hip. Before he could draw it, however, the driver raised a submachine gun and fired through the hummer’s windshield. Multiple rounds hammered into the sicario’s body armor, but two also ripped into his right arm and shoulder. The thug lost consciousness as he collapsed into the floorboard.

  Juan Guerra had stopped several hundred feet back, watching the events unfold. The plan was to ram the Yukon, lighting it up with machine gun and rifle fire. One or two of the soldiers would confirm that Dunning was dead, preferably by putting a couple of rounds into her head. The military vehicles would be abandoned since they were too conspicuous to escape in. The hit squad would grab their weapons and dive into Juan’s pickup or the white van driven by another of his men.

  The gangster tried to raise Sanchez on the radio but got no answer. Juan called Little Ricky but got no reply from him, either. At the moment, neither of the machine gun turrets were being manned and the shooting appeared to have slackened off.

  Guerra could see camo-clad bodies scattered around the scene, but knew he had to try and get any surviving team members out. The police car on the other side of the front hummer was going to prevent the van from getting to the assassins. It was up to him. Juan took a deep breath, drew his 9mm Sig Sauer P226 pistol, and shoved it under his right leg for easy access.

  “Get ready, amigo,” Guerra told his passenger, Daniel Guzmán. “We’ll see if we can get them out of there.”

  Daniel was one of Juan’s most trusted compadres. He nodded, pulling the action back on the AK47 that he held, the muzzle pointing at the floor. Juan accelerated towards the scene of the shootout. He had to steer around three vehicles blocking the road, but was able to maneuver in behind the rear hummer. Guerra held the horn down for a few seconds, hoping to get the cartel members’ attention.

  Shaun kept his head on a swivel, watching for additional threats, but was also focused on stopping Sandra’s bleeding, holding thick pressure bandages against her wounds. Suddenly, a car horn blasted from nearby, startling him. The young man glanced up and saw two men in camo fatigues running his way from the front humvee.

  He grabbed his submachine gun as the first gunman approached the Yukon with his M-16 pulled into his shoulder. Taylor fired out of the open rear door, his 9mm rounds catching the gunman in the left side before the MP5 locked open. The Mexican stumbled but kept running as the second assassin fired his M4 at the SUV, continuing towards the second hummer. The rounds slammed into the director’s vehicle, but none struck flesh.

  The bodyguard drew his pistol, debating on whether or not to step out and engage the gunmen as they paused at the rear hummer. His primary responsibility was to Dunning, he told himself, watching the attackers drag a wounded comrade to the blue pickup that he had seen trailing them earlier. They threw the injured man onto the backseat, the other two men diving in behind him. The blue Silverado accelerated, squealing its tires as the driver performed a u-turn, taking them back the way that they had come. Shaun realized that all the gunfire had ceased as the sound of approaching sirens filled the air.

  McLean, Virginia, Monday, 1015 hours

  Chuck McCain parked his government-issued black Suburban on the shoulder of the road behind a long row of both marked and unmarked police cars and climbed out. The entire area was awash with flashing blue and red lights. The Virginia State Police had the bridge cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape as CSI teams began to process the area. The big man showed his ID to the trooper manning the roadblock and was quickly waved through.

  The first thing that he had done after receiving notification of the attack on Director Dunning was to make sure that Beth and Ray were safe. Kevin had told him that this appeared to be the work of a Mexican gang. Chuck understood how serious that was, having been attacked in his Georgia residence almost two years earlier by an assassination squad from the Tijuana Cartel. McCain had been slightly injured in that gunfight but had managed to kill all of his attackers.

  Hit teams had also been sent to assassinate Fleming and Smith. Andy had not been home at the time, but his wife and son had both been shot and seriously wounded. Fifteen-year old Tyler Fleming acted quickly to protect his mother, managing to shoot and kill two of the sicarios as they burst through the front door, before collapsing from a 9mm round to the abdomen. Amy Fleming had also exchanged gunfire with the assassins before being struck in the upper chest.

  Neither Scotty nor Emily had been present when the cartel paid them a visit, but the hit squad set fire to their town house, burning down an entire row of homes. One of their neighbors had perished in the blaze.

  Chuck had no idea if the Tijuana Cartel was seeking revenge for the damage that McCain and his men had caused them. Ops Director Williams’ last act before his death was to put together a mission against the Tijuana Cartel inside of Mexico. As it turned out, the leaders of the three largest Mexican crime syndicates had been meeting together in one location, discussing how they could work together to increase their influence in the United States. Two of the cartel heads were killed during the ensuing shootout, while the third was wounded and brought back to the US for trial.

  After hearing of the attack on Dunning today, McCain had called Josh Matthews and Eric Gray, requesting them to come to his apartment. The two men were actually already together, heading for the crime scene to see how they could help. When Chuck told them what he needed, they quickly changed directions, rushing to their boss’ home. Emily Smith and Amy Fleming came over, as well, until their husbands could get a better idea of how serious this new threat was. Seventeen-year old Tyler Fleming was also with his mom, his Kimber .45 tucked under his shirt. Matthews and Gray wanted to be where the action was but also knew that if it had been their families who had been targeted before, their safety would also be top priority.

  Chuck then sent Jimmy and Hollywood to Kevin’s residence to guard Mrs. Clark at their home in Alexandria. They, too, wanted to respond to the scene, but followed orders without question. The two agents understood that if this cartel was targeting the Agency, it would only be a matter of time before they would be involved.

  As a career police officer, McCain had seen his share of crime scenes. This, however, was one for the record books. Blood-stained, sheet-covered bodies lay scattered across the roadway. Two National Guard humvees pinned Director Dunning’s vehicle in between them on the narrow bridge. The attackers had picked the perfect place to launch an ambush, he realized. The Yukon had been shot to shreds. Most of the bulletproof glass was gone and the armor siding showed the effects of the relentless barrage of machine gun and rifle fire. The sunlight glinted off of the hundreds of empty brass casings scattered around the area.

  A number of other vehicles were inside the crime scene, many of them riddled with bullet holes, attesting to the indiscriminate fire of the attackers. Chuck had heard on the news during his drive over that one civilian was dead and four were wounded by stray rounds. Plastic yellow markers were already in place, marking the empty casings and other evidence that would be collected later. Several CSI team members with cameras worked methodically through the crime scene, photographing every detail.

  The big man paused to stare down at a set of black boots stickin
g out from under a sheet next to the driver’s door of the rear humvee. The area where the head should be was stained red. A shattered set of Ray-Bans lay next to the sheet and McCain recognized them as the style that Tim and Tom wore. A heaviness filled the former cop’s heart.

  The existing protocol designated Kevin as the Acting Director of Operations. As soon as they were notified of the attack on Dunning, Clark had sent McCain to the scene on Chain Bridge Road and he had rushed to the Sibley Memorial Hospital. Sandra was alive, but just barely, undergoing emergency surgery. The acting director then ordered Andy Fleming, Jay Walker, Chris Norris, and Scotty Smith to report to him at the hospital to set up security for the wounded director. The FBI would be handling the investigation, but Kevin had sent Chuck over as an observer, to learn what he could about what had happened.

  As Chuck slowly made his way through the area, careful not to touch or disturb anything, he saw two familiar figures on the far side of the crime scene. The Assistant Special Agent in charge of Counter Terrorism for the FBI, Thomas Burns, was speaking with the CIA Director, Maxwell Sterling. Burns was in his fifties, ruddy-faced with thinning, light colored hair. Sterling was short, with a pale complexion, a perfect smile, and what had to be at least a five thousand dollar suit. The CIA Director had a four-man security detail spread out around him watching for any potential threats.

  McCain and Burns had gotten to know each other professionally during the bio-terror attacks. They had fought together while trying to stop a hoard of zombies surging out of Atlanta. The command post had also been attacked by Muslim suicide bombers just as the Zs were overrunning their position at I-75 near the Braves baseball stadium. As the suicide bombers rushed towards the defenders and their CP, another terrorist had sprayed the scene with an AK-47.