Storm Clouds Rising: A Chuck McCain Novel

by David Spell

  Sandra pushed play and Burns watched a man who looked an awful lot like Maxwell Sterling enter a room and take his clothes off.

  “Wait, is that Sterling?” he asked, surprise etched on his face. “The CIA Director? Where did you get this?”

  Dunning didn’t answer, but pointed at the screen. Thomas’s eyes grew wide as Sterling proceeded to have sex with two clearly underage girls. The video ended abruptly with Maxwell still in bed with his victims.

  “That’s all there is but it’s more than enough. It looks like this is just an excerpt from a longer movie but it’s what we have.”

  Burns leaned back in his chair, shaking his head, staring at the frozen image of the CIA Director and two very young teens or even possibly preteens. As a career FBI agent, Burns assumed there was nothing that could shock or surprise him. For the moment, however, he was speechless.

  “Here’s what I can tell you,” Sandra spoke up. “First of all, you’re the only one we trust enough to share this with. The second thing that you need to know is that there are a lot more videos. Not of Maxwell, although there could be more of him, but this is part of a collection of movies of other high-profile people doing a lot of bad things with young girls on Alfie Nicholson’s island. At least, that’s where we think this was happening.”

  “Was that where this was shot?” Thomas asked, pointing at the laptop.

  “That’s our understanding. I’m sure the Bureau’s CSI could glean a lot of info from a thorough processing. Every one of the guest rooms on the island was wired for video and audio.”

  “So, Alfie and his girl both wind up dead and you guys somehow come into possession of this treasure trove of video from Paradise Island? And one of the movies just happens to contain your former boss doing the nasty with a couple girls who don’t look to be over fifteen? How did you get these recordings?”

  “I think maybe the better question here, Agent Burns, is what are we going to do with them?”

  “No, Ms. Dunning, it doesn’t work that way. Maybe in the CIA, you guys didn’t worry as much about following the law, but I don’t have that luxury. Everything we do is scrutinized by lawyers and judges. If this really is Maxwell Sterling, I’d love to see him rot in prison for the rest of his life, but I also don’t want to lose the case because we violated the rules of evidence.

  “Plus, and I’m not pointing any fingers,” Thomas said, “but there could’ve been laws broken in how these video files were obtained. And, let’s not forget, we have the issue of jurisdiction. If this occurred in the British Virgin Islands, the FBI has no jurisdiction there. The best we could do is get with their national police and see if they would be willing to prosecute it.”

  Sandra’s eyes flashed with anger, but she spoke softly.

  “I understand that this is not a perfect situation. But you just watched the Director of the CIA abusing two girls who are aren’t much more than children. Are you telling me that you aren’t going to do anything about it?”

  Burns sighed, unable to meet her stare. He looked back at the computer screen, Sterling’s image frozen on it as he lay in bed with his victims.

  “No, I’m not saying that. You called me out here so you obviously want the FBI involved. What are you thinking? Turn the movies over to us and see what happens?”

  “We have a couple of options,” Dunning said. “One possibility is that we could send this movie to the press. That would be the end of Maxwell’s career in public service, but that doesn’t send him to prison. The better option is you receiving this video anonymously and then acting on it in the most appropriate way.”

  The FBI agent had always been a no-nonsense cop who enforced the law fairly and impartially. He had never been one to take shortcuts where procedure was concerned. The idea of Maxwell Sterling not being held accountable for his despicable acts, however, was too much to contemplate. I’ve got to quit hanging out with McCain and his friends, he thought. Their bad habits are rubbing off on me.

  “Okay,” Burns nodded. “You figure out a way to get these to me anonymously at FBI HQ and I’ll see what I can do. I’m not going to promise you anything because a federal judge will have to review this and sign off on any potential charges we pursue and we’ll need to get the BVI police involved. Plus, Maxwell is a part of the President’s cabinet, so this is going to get really messy. You said you had more movies? What other big names do you have?”

  The woman smiled, pointing at the computer.

  “Let’s just say that the people who have the files are still working on that. You’ll be the first to know if we find any other interesting people in there. Thanks for helping us out. Look for something to show up with your name on it in the next day or two.”

  As Thomas left Sandra’s office, he was almost run over by Chuck, who had just refilled his coffee cup in their break room. The big man was heading back to the conference room where he, Andy, Chris, and Hollywood were studying maps and developing an ops plan for a trip to Matamoros in the very near future.

  “Burns! Just the man I need to see. I was going to call you tonight. How’d you like that video? Sounds like little Max’s smirk is about to get removed, huh?”

  Chuck put his free hand on the FBI agent’s back and guided him towards his office. He stuck his head into the conference room as they passed.

  “Hey, guys, look who’s here! It’s our favorite FBI agent. Give me just a couple of minutes to have a chat with Agent Burns and I’ll be back with you.”

  Fleming, Estrada, and Norris barely looked up, they were so engrossed in their mission preparations. When the two men were seated in McCain’s office, he held up his mug.

  “You want some coffee?”

  “Yeah, sure, why not?”

  “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

  Chuck went back to the break room, poured his friend a cup of the steaming liquid and brought it back to him. Thomas was staring at the eight-by-ten family photo on the big man’s desk.

  “It sounds like there’s a story behind you and your wife’s meeting?” Burns asked, taking a sip from his mug.

  “Yeah. It was a little unconventional. The next time you see her, ask her to fill you in. She loves to tell the story. I guess you were here to see Sandra about Maxwell’s porn movie?”

  The G-Man nodded. “McCain, you were a cop. You know that there are going to be real problems with getting that video admitted into evidence.”

  Chuck nodded. “Yeah, and there’s the little matter of jurisdiction, but sometimes we just have to work with what we have. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. But let’s change the subject. What kind of support could you offer if an unnamed group wanted to go to Mexico to try to capture some wanted gangsters?”

  “You’re not serious? C’mon, McCain, I know you like to jerk me around. I just had to watch the CIA Director doing things that I can’t unsee. I’m really not in the mood for this.”

  “I’m not kidding, Burns. We have some other assets in place and we’re putting an ops plan together now. I’m not going to give you any of the details yet so you won’t have to lie later if anyone asks you about it.”

  Thomas stared at Chuck for an uncomfortable amount of time before shaking his head and laughing out loud.

  “You are one crazy SOB. I never really believed that you’d give it a second thought. Well, it just so happens that I’ve been putting together a file for you, in case we had this very conversation.”

  He reached into his briefcase and withdrew a thick manila folder.

  “This is everything I could dig up on the key players,” the FBI agent said, handing the folder to McCain. “I asked one of our agents in Matamoros to get me everything they had, as well. There are current photos, addresses, vehicle descriptions, and a bunch of other useful tidbits.

  “You keep me in the loop and I’ll do everything I can to help you, on both sides of the border. If you manage to take any of these scumbags into custody, I’ll make sure we have people to take them off your hands, no question
s asked, when you get back onto US soil.”

  Chuck flipped through the folder, pleased with the treasure trove of intelligence that his friend had just handed him.

  “Thanks for this. I’ll dig through it later. I need to get back to work. You still thinking about retiring?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Why?”

  “Just asking,” McCain smiled.

  “If I keep hanging out with you guys, I may get fired and locked up first.”

  Atlanta, Georgia, Tuesday, 1950 hours

  Kevin had not been exaggerating. The four men stood inside the storage facility just east of Atlanta off of I-85, picking through a large assortment of weapons and equipment. Clark, Smith, Walker, and Jones had driven down that morning to select what they would need for their foray into Matamoros. McCain and the others had stayed in Virginia to work on logistics and an ops plan.

  “Dang, Colonel, you got enough stuff here to outfit a small army,” Jimmy Jones quipped in his Alabama drawl, examining an M-16 rifle with an ACOG scope on it. “Or at least a platoon of Marines.”

  “Yeah, we dealt with quite a few gangs after the zombies took over and most of them were well-armed. They’d cleaned out all the gun stores after people started fleeing. Plus, this is Georgia. There were a lot of well-armed citizens who couldn’t get away from the bad guys or the dead guys. We just grabbed their hardware once they weren’t going to need it anymore.”

  Scotty held up a Springfield Armory M1A1 Scout rifle.

  “Check this out, guys. This Scout is like brand new. I think it’s got my name on it,” the former Ranger grinned broadly.

  Smith had been a sniper in the elite Army Ranger Regiment, always preferring the heavier .308 caliber bullet whenever he had the option. For this mission, they were not expecting any long-distance shooting, but the warriors were all professionals and wanted to be prepared for any contingency. Scotty dug through a pile of web gear, selecting a number of magazines and mag holders to go with his rifle.

  Each of the men picked out a long gun and a sidearm from the weapons that Kevin and his National Guard soldiers had confiscated during the zombie virus crisis. The firearms would be cleaned and sighted in over the next couple of days. Kevin grabbed extra weapons for the support team, as well as McCain, Fleming, Norris, and Hollywood. Everything was stacked carefully in the back of Smith’s Dodge Ram pickup and covered with a tarp. The truck was backed up to the rolling door to facilitate the loading and prevent spying eyes from seeing everything the colonel had stored there.

  “What else? Have we forgotten anything?” Clark asked, pushing the tailgate closed.

  Jay raised a hand. “You got anything that’ll go boom?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do, Chief,” the former Ranger said, digging through two boxes until he found what he was looking for. “How about a couple of blocks of C4?”

  Walker’s eyes lit up as Clark handed him two brown-paper-wrapped bricks of explosive and a package of detonators.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” the SEAL grinned, tucking the items into a backpack. “Thanks, Colonel.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” Kevin said, retrieving another box sitting against the back wall. “Night vision. Like I told the general, I returned most of what we recovered or captured to the National Guard. I figured these would come in handy, though.”

  He placed the box in the circle of his companions and withdrew a set of night vision goggles. The men gave appreciative nods, knowing the importance of owning the night. The colonel also had a quantity of military grade walkie talkies that would come in handy during the mission.

  “We’ll take all the NVGs and walkies with us and sort through them when we get home. Remember, the Guard mostly got leftovers from the Army so we’ll have to see if any of them still work, but it’s better than nothing, and if they get lost in Mexico, we aren’t out ten or fifteen grand.”

  A few minutes later they were back on the interstate, heading north for the nine-hour drive back to Virginia. If they were going to catch Villarreal, Guerra, and Sanchez with their guard down, there was no time to spare. Their plan would have them enroute to Brownsville, Texas, in the next few days. Smith had driven the entire way down, so he would sleep as Jones drove them home.

  Jimmy set the Ram’s cruise control for eighty and reached for his phone. He caught himself and stopped, putting both hands on the steering wheel. She won’t answer so why waste your time, he thought. To make it worse, she only lived fifteen minutes away from Kevin’s storage facility. Jones was not one given to melancholy but thoughts of Grace Cunningham often drove him to depression.

  “When’s the last time you spoke with Grace?” Scotty asked, startling the former Marine.

  The two men had worked together for several years and had become close friends. They knew each other’s secrets, like many warriors who had fought side-by-side. Jones didn’t answer right away, focusing on his driving.

  “It’s been a while, over a year,” he finally replied. “She won’t return my calls and doesn’t answer my texts.”

  “Sorry, buddy. That sucks. What happened? I thought you guys were great for each other!”

  “I thought we were, too. She’s never gotten over what happened with her family and it didn’t help that we were living together. That just heaped guilt on top of her depression.”

  Grace had been a University of Georgia police officer on-duty at the Sanford Stadium when the zombie virus had been released two years earlier. The young woman had fought like a warrior, managing to save a group of students, faculty, and parents, leading them all to safety. She had continued to fight for weeks, working alongside National Guard troops and other police officers, trying to hold back the hordes of infected who swarmed across the campus and through the town of Athens.

  Eventually, however, the National Guard had conceded defeat and pulled their troops out. When Cunningham managed to get home to check on her own family, she found a horrific scene. His parents had become infected and had devoured Grace’s younger sister. The police officer was forced to dispatch her father and mother with blasts from her shotgun. As the zombies had multiplied and swept through the area, Cunningham was trapped in the house with her dead family.

  Jimmy and Grace had only met briefly but had exchanged phone numbers during the fight on the UGA campus. The mutual attraction was there, even in the midst of working to eliminate the walking dead. After the cell network had gone down, Jones took it on himself to travel to Athens to locate the woman who had captured his heart. When things had begun to return to normal, Grace took a job as a CDC security guard. She wasn’t ready to jump right back into law enforcement but this position allowed her to use her skills in protecting the Centers for Disease Control staff and facility.

  The young woman had moved in with Jimmy because she couldn’t handle the idea of being alone. Her father had been a pastor, though, and had instilled Christian values in both of his daughters. ‘Living in sin’ with the man she loved had created tension in their relationship.

  “When I told her I was moving to DC to work with you guys at the Agency, I asked her to come with me. That was when she broke it off. She said she needed some time to sort things out. I talk to Eddie every now and then. He said that after I left, Grace took one of open slots in the CDC Enforcement Unit. Eddie put in a good word for her and she got assigned to him.”

  Eddie Marshall had been Jimmy’s team leader with the CDC in Atlanta, while Scotty had served under Chuck. McCain had eventually been tapped to lead the Atlanta operation after Rebecca Johnson’s death. Later, when the big man was elevated to Assistant Ops Director with the CIA, Marshall was promoted to occupy McCain’s office.

  “Well, it’s good that she’s working for Eddie. He’ll take care of her.”

  “Yeah, he says she’s doing a great job,” Jimmy said, quietly.

  Scotty could see that his friend still loved Grace, even after not speaking with her in over a year.

  “Maybe after we take care of t
his cartel, we could come back to ATL for a couple of days? Emily and Grace are friends. I’d love to see Eddie and Candice. We could all hang out and you could give it another shot.”

  Jones glanced over at Smith. At this point, he was willing to try anything. He had even considered driving down and knocking on her door until she opened it or called the police on him. His bearded friend’s idea was probably better.

  “Yeah, I like it. A road trip sounds like a great idea.”

  Matamoros, Mexico, Thursday, 1540 hours

  After El Loco’s demise, Juan had stayed in Atlanta for another two weeks before driving himself and Pablo back to Brownsville. Guerra wanted to make sure his team understood what he needed them to do to fix the things that Cortes and his lieutenants had broken. With a little work, the Atlanta drug market had the potential to be one of the most lucrative in all of America for the NG cartel. Another reason Juan waited was that he didn’t want to give the appearance he was fleeing to the safety of Mexico when things started to get a little hot.

  He doubted that the authorities had found El Loco’s body and even if they had, there was no way for them to know who had killed him. Sure, there had been over twenty witnesses to the beating and shooting. They all understood, however, the importance of keeping their mouths shut lest they face the same fate.

  The Latin King gang member he had stabbed at that bar was another story. There had been plenty of witnesses there, as well, and probably even some security camera footage. The LK gangster had made the mistake of voicing some disparaging remarks about the New Generation Cartel. He had said that the NG was a second-rate gang trying to copy everything that the Latin Kings had done.

  Guerra and his companions had overheard the drunken punk’s comments. Juan had gotten up and gone to the bathroom, but instead of returning to the table he occupied with Tito, Guzmán, and Rodriguez, he had slipped up behind the loudmouth still standing at the bar, boasting of his exploits to the cute female bartender. Shoving the blade of his knife deep into the gangster’s kidney, a hand on his victim’s shoulder to hold him in place as he twisted it for the kill, Juan had whispered in the dying man’s ear.