by Spell, David
Without raising his voice, Omer had chastised the two men for not having their guns with them in the rest area. He stressed that each of them needed to be prepared at all times to eliminate any obstacles to their mission. The two felons accepted the criticism, both wishing that they had been the ones to put the bullet into the cop’s head.
Seven hours later, they had pulled through the open gates into the parking lot of the OK Islamic Community Center.
“Wait here,” Deniz ordered. “Let me go have a chat with the imam.”
A knock on the open office door caused Imam Sulaimaan Abdullah to look up in surprise from his desk at the stranger.
“As salam u alaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh,” Omer greeted the cleric.
“And to you, my son. How can I help you?”
Fifteen minutes later, Omer returned to their vehicle. “Pull around behind the building. The imam is letting us use the guest quarters.”
Deniz had studied Abdullah’s file carefully and felt that he could trust him. The imam had lost family members to an Israeli bomb in the Gaza Strip. Omer also knew that Sulaimaan was funneling money from his mosque to fund the war against America and Israel throughout the Middle East.
Without going into too much detail, Deniz let the cleric know that he and his men were on a mission for Allah that would cause all true Muslims to rejoice. A gift of five thousand dollars to the OK Islamic Community Center sealed the deal and Abdullah agreed to let the men stay for two nights.
“Brother, it is an honor to extend hospitality to weary travelers,” the cleric had said, sliding the envelope containing the cash off his desk and dropping it into a desk drawer. “It will probably be best to stay inside while you are here. I’ll have food sent over. While I’d like to think that all of our members are faithful servants of Allah, I’m not sure that we want to take a chance of anyone asking questions about the strangers staying here.”
The guest house had two bedrooms. Walters and Davis shared a room, while Deniz and Ali took the other. True to his word, one of the imam’s young assistants brought food over within the hour and by eight o’clock, the four terrorists were all asleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
Decisions
Fairfax, Virginia, Monday, 1630 hours
The Department of Homeland Security’s headquarters was located in the heart of Washington, D.C., an area that was still not completely clear of the infected. For the time being, the DHS was renting several floors of an office building in nearby Fairfax, Virginia. Chuck sat at his desk, staring at the two folders. After a few minutes of contemplation, he slipped the one on his right into a desk drawer.
He was scheduled to meet with his team at 1700 hours but still wasn’t sure how he was going to break the news. They were professionals who were trained to follow orders but they wouldn’t like it. His team was angry and ready to go to Mexico to deal with the cartel, but the mission in California was going to have to come first.
Chuck had called Beth on the ride back to Fairfax and she helped him to put things into perspective. The upcoming operation on the west coast wasn’t classified, but would still be considered sensitive. McCain knew that anything he shared with his wife would go no further.
“Your men respect you and would follow you into Hell. They may not like it, but they’ll do it. Your guys know these terrorists need to be found and stopped.”
He knew that she was right, but his own moral compass sometimes felt like an anchor, pulling him away from where he wanted to focus his energy and fury. In the end, he took a deep breath and began planning. As he flipped through the file on Omer Deniz, McCain’s cell phone vibrated with an incoming call. He glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was Josh Matthews. Chuck swiped the screen, answering the call.
“Josh? How you doing?”
“Hey, Chuck. I wasn’t even sure you’d answer, being a bigwig fed and all.”
“Ha! I am pretty busy saving the world, but I always have time for my favorite rookie. What’s up?”
“How you feeling? That head wound healing up OK?”
“You know how hard my head is. Yeah, I’m fine, just pissed off. You hear anything from the investigation? I don’t expect Henson or Saunders to keep me updated.”
“Well, as a matter-of-fact, I did. Being a sergeant has its privileges and I managed to get a copy of their investigator’s report and the autopsy results.”
“Autopsy results?” Chuck grunted. “Did it say that those bastards died from something other than lead poisoning?”
“No, that was definitely the cause of death,” Josh chuckled. “What’s interesting, though, is that the toxicology report shows a weird drug cocktail in all of them except the driver. By the way, the docs are saying that the driver will be paralyzed from the waist down and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, which will probably be in a federal prison. The dead guys were all under the influence of a cocaine and PCP mixture.”
“Cocaine and PCP?” McCain asked, incredulously. “That explains a lot. I hit that first guy dead-center with a blast of 00 buck and he kept fighting. The head shots were what put them down. When those two were running away, I know I got one of them in the back with a blast from the shotgun and I put a couple of nine mil rounds into the other one, but they still managed to get to the van.
“I’ll have to check up here and see if the guys Andy’s wife and son shot were taking the same drug. Amy and Tyler killed two, but a third one was wounded and managed to get away.”
“Wow!” commented Josh. “That’s some nasty stuff. I’ve dealt with a lot of people on cocaine. They just don’t feel any pain. I had that one guy on PCP right after you cut me loose from FTO. I think it was my second or third week by myself, a med call. I got there before the ambulance and the victim’s wife waved me in, telling me he was having an allergic reaction to his meds.
“When I walked into the bedroom, this guy jumped me, slamming me against the wall and choking me. I couldn’t pry his hands off my throat so I started punching him in the face. I must’ve landed twenty punches with no effect and was starting to lose consciousness. I was just about to shoot him when the ambulance and fire department showed up. They managed to get the bastard off of me and down on the floor so I could handcuff him.
“At the hospital, they found that I had broken almost every bone in his face, shattered his nose, and knocked out four of his teeth. Some POS doctor reported me to Internal Affairs. I was a rookie and thought they were going to fire me. Turns out, Mr. PCP had a long history of assaulting police officers and nothing ever came of it.”
“Yeah,” McCain said. “I tangled with a few clowns on PCP and crackheads myself, but I’ve never even heard of mixing the two drugs together. Anything on the investigator’s report I need to know about?”
“No, it’s fairly straightforward. Jerry and Eve actually did a pretty good job with this. I’m sure that call from the DHS kept them motivated to get it right. It also helped that the driver, Francisco Alvarez, is cooperating, hoping to get a reduced sentence.
“Francisco confirmed that this was a hit team sent by the Tijuana Cartel. According to him, he wasn’t given a choice. They paid him twenty grand to drive the killers to Atlanta, but he was told that his family would be executed if he didn’t complete the mission.”
“Has anyone verified that bit about his family?” Chuck asked.
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. McCain heard his friend exhale.
“Saunders called El Paso PD and got them involved. They went to Alvarez’s house but they were too late. The cartel had gotten there first, Chuck. Two kids, his wife, and an old woman had all been beheaded. The sergeant Eve talked to said it was the worst crime scene he’d ever seen.”
“Those animals,” McCain said, softly, taking a deep breath. One way or the other, he was going to bring some retribution down on the gangsters.
“Yeah, I figured you’d want to know. I’m not exactly sure what your job description is with
the DHS but I know you have a way of dealing with things.”
McCain glanced at the time. 1651 hours. “Look, Josh, I’ve got a meeting in just a few minutes. Thanks a lot for all this. Can we…”
“One last thing, Chuck, and I’ll let you go. I wanted to check and see if you had any openings at Homeland? I know I don’t have the resume that you do, but you know that I’m a solid operator and a team player.”
Chuck was silent, surprised by his Josh’s request. McCain had never even considered the idea that Matthews might want to make a career change and go federal. In reality Matthews was the perfect candidate for Chuck’s team.
When his friend didn’t answer, Matthews spoke up again. “It’s OK,” he sighed. “I understand if you don’t have anything or you don’t think I’d be a good fit. It’s just…I guess I’m wanting to make a difference at a higher level. I’d like to be a part of whatever you are doing.”
“Josh,” McCain answered after finding his voice, “I think you’d be a great fit and I’d love to have you join us. I’m still pretty new at this position myself, so let me do some checking and see what I can find out about our hiring policy.”
“Really?” The relief in Matthew’s voice was evident. “Thanks, Chuck. I don’t want to put you in an awkward spot and if it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings. It never hurts to ask, right?”
“Definitely. Keep your fingers crossed and I’ll let you know something as quick as I can.”
As soon as he disconnected, Chuck called Shaun Taylor.
McCain was surprised to find Andy Fleming in the briefing room with Scotty and Eric. Chuck was five minutes late because of his last phone call.
“Andy? You don’t need to be here, buddy.”
“Thanks, Chuck, but I had to get away from the hospital for a little while. Amy and Tyler are both stable and the doctors over there are taking great care of them. Elizabeth is sitting with Amy now. Gi and Emily are both working today so they’re in good hands.”
Chuck nodded. “Well, it’s good to see you and its important that you hear what we’re about to go over.”
The big man recapped the briefing he had received earlier that day. He saw them all click on as he discussed the rogue FBI agent and the apparent plans to attack key cities in California.
“I know we all want to strike back at the cartel. The admiral assured me that’s the next item on his agenda, too, but first, we have to find and stop these terrorists. Scotty, Eric, we’ll be wheels up at 1100 hours tomorrow heading to Los Angeles. Pack for a couple of weeks, I guess.
“What about me? You aren’t leaving me behind on this?” Andy queried, his brow creased with worry.
“No, I have a special assignment for you. You guys remember Josh Matthews?”
“He’s that SWAT cop you used to work with, right?” Fleming answered. “He and a few of his guys guarded the remote CDC site while we went after the cartel in Buckhead.”
“That’s him. He’s a solid operator. I trained him, so he should be good,” McCain chuckled. “He called earlier asking if we had any openings. The reason I was late was because I was checking with Shaun to see if we could hire him. Shaun was with the admiral when I called and they gave us the thumbs up to take him on.
“Andy, I’d like to get Matthews up here by the end of the week. I need you to run him through an orientation and get him sworn in. Then, have him shoot a couple of days with our buddy Roy. After you’re satisfied that Josh is squared away, you can bring him to LA if we’re still out there.”
Fleming nodded slowly, grateful to McCain. He felt the internal pull of wanting to stay close to his wounded wife and son, while at the same time wishing he could be with his teammates as they pursued dangerous terrorists. Chuck was making the decision for him.
“This ought to be interesting,” Chuck added. “We’ll be working with Kevin’s people and the CDC, but the FBI will set up a task force to manage all the assets. And the local cops will play a big role, as well.”
Gray grimaced. “This sounds like a goat rope. Who’s in charge?”
“I am,” McCain answered. “The admiral assigned an FBI agent, Thomas Burns, as my deputy. He’s a good guy. He was with us that day our roadblock got overrun in Atlanta.”
“I thought he was dead,” Scotty commented, a surprised look on his face. “He got shot in the chest and I didn’t think he was gonna to make it. By the time we got him to the hospital, he’d lost a lot of blood and his BP was really weak.”
“No, he’s very much alive and very appreciative of us saving his life.”
“So, we go to LA and then what?” Eric asked.
“The FBI is going to be using all their resources to try and find these bastards. We’ll be on hand to move in for the takedown when they locate them. I’ll be calling Eddie and Tu as soon as we get done and get them moving, as well. The tangos may or not have any of the virus but I feel better working with guys we’ve worked with before.”
“Just to clarify,” Scotty spoke up, “what kind of takedown are we talking about?”
“We’re still cops,” Chuck smiled, understanding Smith’s question. “If they present a threat, we’ll take them out. If we can safely arrest them, that’s what we’ll have to do. From our past experience, though, we haven’t been able to take many of these scumbags alive.”
“Let’s hope that trend continues,” Scotty said, smiling grimly.
Tijuana, Mexico, Monday, 2030 hours
Pepe sipped his Jose Cuervo 250th Aniversario tequila and reread the report in front of him. He had received the notification on Friday night that the attack against the Americano federale, McCain, had failed. At the time there had been no other details.
Earlier today, he had heard from one of the Mexican-American officers at the Metro-Atlanta police department conducting the investigation who was on the cartel payroll. The corrupt cop had photographed the investigator’s report and emailed it to him. Now, Corona had the complete picture of what had happened in Georgia.
The cartel leader’s anger boiled as he read the detective’s summary of the incident. This McCain had taken out his entire team: three of the assassins were cut down inside of the house and he had shot the other two as they fled, striking them both in the back, the cowards! Why were they running away?
They were later found dead in the van with the wounded driver, who was cooperating fully with the authorities. That traitor’s family had already paid for his failure. Francisco Alvarez would eventually be dealt with as well. The cartel’s reach was very long.
Pepe had heard that McCain was a dangerous man but had believed that five of his hardened cartel soldiers would be more than enough to deal with him. He hoped the next update that he was about to receive would be more encouraging. Corona had dispatched a pair of additional hit squads to Fort Belvoir to kill the other two gringo federales that Maria had photographed in Atlanta. Jose had no contacts on the military base just outside DC and there had been no news coverage of the attacks.
It had only been earlier that day that he had finally heard from one of his men. Marco ‘el Lobo’ Gonzalez was one of Pepe’s most trusted guns. He had completed every mission that Corona had ever given him. When he finally reported in by text on WhatsApp, it was obvious that there had been complications. El Lobo had asked for a time when he could call in on the encrypted satellite phone he had been given.
At 2035 hours, Corona’s phone vibrated and he swiped the screen to accept the call. The Israeli arms dealer who had sold him the twenty phones for two hundred thousand dollars assured the cartel leader that there was no way the gringos could crack the encryption software on the devices. Corona knew that the gringos’ intelligence machine was very powerful but he needed to know what had happened with the other teams.
“Hola, Jefe.”
“El Lobo. It’s been three days. What happened?”
“Señor, my team accomplished our mission. Neither the gringo or his woman was at home, so we burned their house down. It was con
nected to a row of three other houses, a townhouse. We took out the whole building.”
“Bueno, bueno. That’s good news. What about Hombrecito? How did he and the others do?”
“Jefe, Hombrecito is dead. We think his men were killed, too.”
Pepe felt the rage building inside of him but didn’t say anything.
The assassin on the other end of the line kept talking. “Hombrecito got to the place where we had agreed to meet after the mission. He had been hit twice, once in the stomach and once in the chest, señor. He told us that his two guys went in the front door and he came in the back through the kitchen. There was a lot of shooting from the living room. Hombrecito said he shot the federale’s woman and was sure that he’d killed her. She had a gun, too, though, and managed to shoot him before she died.
“We waited at the meeting place for a few minutes but the rest of Hombrecito’s team never showed up. We had to carry him to the boat. I think he was dead by the time we got out on the water. We had parked our van in a public recreation area so we couldn’t take him with us. I tied the anchor around his leg and we dumped him overboard.”
“Where are you now?”
“We’re still in Maryland, señor, at the safe house. I was going to ask if we could come home now?”
“No!” Pepe snapped, briefly wondering why his soldier had taken so long to contact him. They had probably spent the last two days drinking and smoking weed. That would be something he would address another time.
“We lost another team in Georgia,” Corona added. “You stay there for now. Let me check with some of my other sources. I may send you back to kill some more gringo federales.”
“Back to the military base, señor? I bet they’ve increased the security. It’ll be tough to get back in.”