Storm Clouds Rising: A Chuck McCain Novel

by David Spell

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I-69 EAST, North of Brownsville, Texas, Wednesday, 0645 hours

  Clark had alerted Gabby when they had been intercepted by the Border Patrol, letting her know that they would be landing at the airport. She had immediately pulled the van out, locked the gate of the Black Rifle Outdoor Shooting Range, and then sped towards the airport. She didn’t know what was going to happen but she was supremely confident in the abilities of Colonel Clark, Mr. McCain, and the general to get them out of whatever situation they found themselves in. Gabby stopped at a convenience store and bought bottles of water, sandwiches, and an assortment of other snacks for her teammates. They would stop after they had been driving for a while to have a real meal.

  After they had transferred Villarreal to the FBI and piled into the van, Vargas had set the GPS, aiming them towards home. Everyone changed out of their BDUs and back into street clothes as they drove, stuffing the tactical clothing back into their duffel bags. The long guns were slid under the van’s seats, the warriors not wanting to have to answer a state trooper’s questions if they were stopped.

  As soon as the team hit the road, McCain called Elizabeth to let her know he was on the way home. He could hear the relief in her voice. He felt torn between the satisfaction of having just punished the New Generation Cartel and the stress of causing his wife to worry.

  “Okay, Chuck,” Jimmy said, a few miles down the road, “out with it. What did you tell Mr. Border Patrol back there? When I saw all those guns pointing at us, I was already thinking about what I might get my masters degree in during my stay in a federal pen.”

  McCain smiled and recounted his conversation with Supervisory Agent Stephens.

  “You just told him you weren’t going to tell him your name or what you were doing after entering Mexico illegally, killing some people, kidnapping a gang leader, and then crossing the border illegally back into the US?” Chloe asked, incredulously.

  The big man shrugged. “I was just playing for time. I sure didn’t want to give Villarreal to them. Burns had said he would have people he trusted come get him. I think the fact that I know how to speak ‘cop’ helped. You were an officer in the Army, Chloe. I’m sure in pinch, you could still speak the lingo.

  “Nice touch, Kevin, on getting the President on the phone. His words had the desired effect.”

  “That worked out well,” the colonel admitted. “The general and he must be even tighter than we thought. President Asher called back in less than ten minutes. And that would’ve been about 0700 in DC.”

  “It’s just not normal for the President of the United States to call to tell federal law enforcement to stand down,” Eric said. “Is there something else going on here that we need to know about?”

  Chuck and Kevin locked eyes, both remembering the general’s admonition about keeping the President’s involvement a secret. It would be difficult to do that after this morning’s events.

  “The President and General Perkins are close friends. Like the colonel said, they are very tight. President Asher has indicated that he is interested in what we’re doing, but has chosen to stay in the background.”

  “He’s a good guy,” Walker spoke up. “I met him right after he got elected. Several of us Team Six members got invited to the White House after we, well, let’s just say, we took care of some high-profile ISIS leaders.”

  McCain could see the wheels turning in everyone’s heads as they processed the fact that the Commander-in-Chief was aware of what they were doing. He knew that they had other questions that would have to wait.

  “We’ll talk more later when we debrief,” Clark spoke up. “Right now, I’m ready for a nap.”

  CIA Headquarters, Wednesday, 1035 hours

  Sterling had both texted and called Sharpe and Hughes. The texts had not been answered and the calls had gone directly to voice mail. Maybe they were returning to Nicholson’s island retreat again, he thought. His cell phone vibrated, showing an incoming call from a number he didn’t recognize.

  “Yes?”

  “Is this Director Sterling of the CIA?” a clipped British accent asked.

  Maxwell paused a moment before answering, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “It is. Who is this?”

  “Sir, this is Commissioner Matthew Mitchell of the British Virgin Islands Royal Police Force. Sorry about that. It’s a bit of a mouthful, I’ll admit.” the voice said, apologetically. “It seems that we’ve arrested a friend of yours.”

  Commissioner Mitchell apologized again for bothering Sterling but felt that he needed to let him know what they were dealing with. An American with no ID had been found by the hotel maid as she came in to clean his room. The man was still asleep, covered in white powder with a large pistol laying on the bedside table. The startled woman had contacted her supervisor, who notified the hotel manager, who had contacted the police.

  The chubby, bearded man had woken up as the officers were placing handcuffs on his wrists. At first, the suspect had been disoriented, resisting arrest and ending up with a nasty gash over his eye when he fell to the floor. After a short struggle, he was finally handcuffed. Of course, the suspect had asked what he was being arrested for. The police officers showed him the two kilo bricks of cocaine and the Kimber .45 pistol.

  “That was when he started crying, saying, and I quote, ‘She set me up. I trusted her and that bitch screwed me over.’”

  “When the officers got him to the station to conduct a proper interview, the suspect realized that his wallet, passport, phone, and computer were all missing. And that’s when things took an even more interesting turn.”

  Maxwell took a deep breath to calm his nerves, realizing that he was dealing with a situation that had the potential to cause his political hopes to unravel.

  “Commissioner, I’m sure there’s point to all of this. I’m a busy man and it sounds like this is just a dumb American who got caught partying a little too hard on vacation. I think you must’ve gotten the wrong number by mistake.”

  “Director Sterling, you took my call. That tells me that you might want to listen a little longer. As I was saying, when we got the suspect to the station and he realized the serious nature of the charges, he started crying again and asked us to call you. The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States of America. He said that you two were friends from college.”

  Maxwell closed his eyes tightly. This can’t be happening, he thought.

  The police commissioner continued. “We deal with madmen all of the time, as you can well imagine. This madman claimed to work for the CIA and even knew your cell number. What are the odds? Would you like to tell me what is going on here, Mr. Director? Were you conducting some type of cloak and dagger operation in the British Virgin Islands?”

  “Of course not, Commissioner. It’s nothing like that,” Sterling answered, thinking quickly. “That man is only a contract employee for the Agency. He specializes in computers. The problem is that over the last year he’s developed a cocaine addiction. When he’s straight, he is a valuable asset.

  “He notified me that he was going to the BVI for a vacation. We haven’t had any work for him in a while, and we knew he had a problem with coke. I guess we hoped some down time might help him work through his issues.”

  Mitchell chuckled. “According to Interpol, Ethan Sharpe does more than specialize in computers. He breaks into them. We’ve got half a dozen agencies from around the world that would like to have a chat with Mr. Sharpe. Does your friend normally travel with a pistol, Director?”

  “No, Commissioner, I have no idea why he had a gun. What do you anticipate happening with his case?”

  “Oh my, Director, it doesn’t look good for Mr. Sharpe. Two kilos of cocaine and possession of a firearm. I’d expect you won’t see him for at least twenty years. Now, he could try and work out some kind of a deal with the prosecutor if he was, in fact, down here on some type of mission for the CIA.”

  “I told you, he doesn’t work
for us.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Director. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, sir. I’m sure we’ll have a chance to chat again sometime.”

  The phone clicked in Sterling’s ear. He stared at the receiver, a feeling of nausea sweeping over him. What had that woman done to Ethan? Did she know? How had everything become unraveled so quickly?

  The director took a deep breath, willing his emotions under control. He needed to find Jennifer Hughes before she could blackmail him or worse. He grabbed the handset for his desk phone and punched in Vijay Sable’s extension.

  Leesburg, Virginia, Wednesday, 1740 hours

  Jennifer Hughes held a mug of hot tea as she sat with Sandra Dunning and General Perkins. She had spent the last forty-five minutes recounting her past five days. When she had arrived at Century’s office an hour earlier, a man identifying himself as Sam Mercer had let her in, taking her to Dunning’s office.

  The sight of a familiar face was just what the young woman needed and she had collapsed into her former boss’ arms, crying for several minutes. Sandra had let her cry it out and get her emotions under control before introducing her to the general. Jennifer had held nothing back, her audience letting her speak without interruption.

  Hughes had passed the photos around, watching the looks of disgust on their faces.

  “I have three hard drives and five thumb drives. They all require a password. Shaun told me that Gabby is working with you guys. What should I do? Should we let her try and break into the hard drives or should I go directly to the FBI?”

  Jen noticed that General Perkins gave a slight nod to Sandra.

  “Let’s do both,” Dunning said. “We acquired videos similar to what’s probably on those hard drives you have. Stephen Chan is here working on a couple of other projects but we can have him get started trying to crack them. We’ve already given a ten-minute clip of the CIA Director, probably the same video those stills came from, to the FBI and they’ve opened an investigation.

  “Stephen is working with you guys?” Jen asked surprised. “I didn’t know that. He’s really good!”

  Sandra smiled. “Yes, he is. With the data you recovered on Alfie’s island, there’s no telling what else we might have. I think it would be best to keep everything under wraps here until we can figure out what all we have. As we get into the hard drives, we can pass the files on to the FBI. I’ll have Stephen get started first thing in the morning and Gabby should be back in the office with everyone else on Friday.”

  “Shaun said he was on a training assignment?”

  “Something like that,” Perkins answered, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Where were you going to stay tonight, Jen?” Sandra asked.

  “I’m not sure. I had thought about going home, but that’s probably not a very good idea. Are there any decent hotels in Leesburg?”

  “What would both of you think of staying the next night or two at my place?” Perkins asked. “It’s beginning to look like Sterling was behind the failed attempts on Sandra’s life. With you now having disappeared, Jennifer, and having beautifully set up his buddy, Ethan, there’s no telling what he might do. Plus, if you both come home with me, Mabel is much less likely to be angry at my being late again.”

  Washington, D.C., Thursday, 0730 hours

  The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency sat in the backseat of his armored SUV on his way to the office, attempting to focus on his phone as he checked his email. There were several from the day before that had never been dealt with. After the phone call from the BVI Police Commissioner yesterday, Sterling had summoned Ops Director Sable to his office, giving him an edited version of the conversation. Maxwell played up the part of the story in which Jennifer had framed Ethan so that she could make her escape with important intelligence in her possession. He ordered Vijay to pull in some of his agents to locate Hughes.

  Sterling was working quickly, trying to get his affairs in order before he turned in his letter of resignation. The Democratic Convention started next Thursday and he intended to deliver his letter to the President on Wednesday. It was difficult for him to concentrate, though, hoping that Sable would have some good news for him this morning.

  Maxwell had not slept much the previous night with a rogue agent on his hands. Amari had sent over two staffers who spent three hours after dinner going over their talking points. He and Saleem were scheduled to have a conference call today to make sure everything was lining up.

  The director was seated behind his desk by 8:05 and called Sable to join him. The Indian-American looked nervous, seated on the other side of Sterling’s big desk.

  “So, what have you found out?” Maxwell asked, sipping a mug of coffee.

  “We’re still working on it, sir. For the moment, she’s disappeared.”

  Sterling waited for the man to continue, but nothing was forthcoming. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, the Ops director spoke up, his voice shaky.

  “We know that she landed in Jacksonville, Florida at 1615 hours. The CCT video from the airport showed her getting into a taxi at 1735 hours. We’re still trying to track down the cab driver to find out where he took her. I have a team of four assigned to the case. I’m meeting with them at 10:00 for a status report. Depending on any new intel they’ve come up with, I’ll decide whether to send them to Florida or have them stake out her apartment.”

  “Vijay, I gave this to you almost twenty-four hours ago,” Maxwell’s voice rose angrily, “and you have nothing to report to me? Who are the people that are working on it? Are they incompetent as well? Agent Hughes was attempting to locate important intelligence related to the funding of ISIS and now she’s dropped off the grid. I want her taken into custody or eliminated ASAP!”

  “Eliminated?” Sable repeated, uncertainty in his voice.

  “Yes, Vijay, eliminated. Please don’t tell me I picked the wrong man to run the Ops Directorate?”

  “No, Mr. Director. Of course not. I apologize. With all of the transfers and personnel moves, it took me a few hours to find the right people to assign to this case. Most of our agents with tactical skills have moved on. We’re still rebuilding.

  “I have a team of three men and one woman. The acting team leader was Army Special Forces for ten years and has been with us for less than six months. The rest are also brand-new agents, having completed their training less than a year ago. I’ll go meet with them right now and see what they’ve come up with.”

  Maxwell wanted to lash out at Vijay again, but instead he forced himself to control his emotions as he watched Sable leave, his tail between his legs. Maybe the four operatives that he had picked would be able to track Hughes down. It shouldn’t be that hard now that she was back in the US. If not, Sterling was going to have to log back into the Islamic dating site and leave a message for Lara. He hoped he could get this under control without Bashir finding out about it.

  Manassas, Virginia, Thursday, 1320 hours

  Aaron Richards parked a half block down from where the hot rogue agent lived. He found that Jennifer’s address was a loft apartment in one of the restored homes in the historic district. Richards told his partner, Angela Upton, to wait with their vehicle. The other two agents were on the next block over as a backup team. Aaron knew he was going to need to act quickly before a nosy neighbor called the police on him.

  Normally, a team of two would make entry if they expected their target to be present. There had been no indication that Hughes was home, however, and Richards told his team he would go in by himself. In reality, the CIA agent was hoping the woman was hiding inside. That way, he could deal with her himself. He certainly knew what he wanted to do to her before he killed her, he thought, smiling to himself.

  The former Special Forces soldier had been surprised when Director Sable had assigned him as the team leader over the three green agents. Of course, he was a rookie at the CIA, as well, but Aaron also had twelve years in the Army under his belt, two as a paratrooper and then ten more as a
Green Beret. He would still be in the Army if that bastard of a first sergeant had not crawled his ass about getting frisky with that cute Afghan teenager. She had obviously wanted him but First Sergeant Thompson had threatened to have him court-martialed.

  It hadn’t been much of a fight. Richards lived for violence, landing a couple of heavy punches before being pulled off of the senior NCO, the older man receiving a bloody nose and a swollen left eye. In the end, the brass had decided that kicking Richards out of the Green Berets was punishment enough. Aaron couldn’t face the shame of going back to a regular unit so he turned in his paperwork and got out.

  The CIA had hired him, his SF background something that they desperately needed after having made some serious changes in the Ops Directorate. The training had been easy and there was even some talk about having Agent Richards teach some of the close quarter battle courses at the farm. This was a perfect chance for him to get Director Sable’s and maybe even Director Sterling’s attention.

  Sable had briefed the team the previous day on Hughes’ rogue status. She had been sent on a mission to recover information related to the war on terror. Instead, she had set up her partner, an Agency contract employee, to be arrested by the BVI police and had then dropped off the grid after flying into Jacksonville, Florida, and renting a car. Vijay had told the four-person team that their goal was to attempt to take Jennifer alive so that she could be thoroughly interrogated by the CIA.

  If that didn’t work, however, deadly force was authorized. She was obviously working with ISIS or an organization which supported the terror group and needed to be dealt with before she shared important intelligence with them.