by Spell, David
As Thursday wound down, Fleming paused. “So, let me tell you what’s going on with the rest of your training. Normally, I don’t do this much firearms instruction but the guy that we normally use is unavailable until next week and Chuck wants us in California ASAP.
“We’ll be in the range tomorrow and Saturday. My plan is to fly to the west coast on Sunday morning. Hopefully, they won’t have killed all the terrorists before we get out there.”
“Sounds good,” Josh responded, surprised again at how fast things were moving.
San Bernardino, California, Friday, 0230 hours
The San Bernardino Lodge was exactly what Omer had been looking for. The rooms were small, smelly, and had bugs in the kitchenette. They were, however, able to rent two rooms for only a hundred dollars a night with no ID check. The Indian clerk did not ask Kimani a single question, merely handing him two keys in exchange for three nights payment. Deniz did not want to take a chance on being recognized by someone who had seen him on the news, allowing his teammates to take more of an assertive role.
After sleeping for several hours, they had met in Omer and Samer’s room, outlining the plan for the evening, each of them munching on a sandwich. Marquette had walked down to a convenience store a half block away and purchased a bag of sandwiches, chips, and water. Each of the men wore dark clothing and listened carefully, sensing that they were about to make history.
Tonight’s action was just a practice run. Davis drove as they cruised the streets of East Los Angeles pinpointing their target areas. They paid special attention to the areas under the bridges and to certain street corners as Deniz wrote down key locations in a small notebook. After four hours, they finally ended up back at their motel.
As he collapsed onto his bed, Omer felt that his destiny was just in front of him. They needed to make a few more purchases after the team woke up. The jihadists would make one more practice run tonight, scoping out the same areas as well as expanding their search, going a little deeper into the city. Saturday night, though, would be the launch of the holy war on America’s west coast, striking a powerful blow against the Great Satan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Unwelcome Visitors
FBI Los Angeles Division, Friday, 1330 hours
The hurry-up-and-wait aspect that accompanied most operations had never been McCain’s strong suit. He spent most of his time walking the busy floor, interacting with the seventy-five FBI agents, LAPD officers, and others who were working tirelessly to dig up any type of a clue as to where Omer Deniz might be and what possible targets they might be going after. Earlier, he had spoken with the supervisory FBI agents in San Diego and San Francisco, making sure that they were doing everything that they could to protect those cities, as well.
Thomas Burns was on a DHS Blackhawk helicopter enroute to San Francisco to meet with the federal task force that had been initiated there. Tomorrow, he would fly to San Diego and do the same. Even though he was in charge, McCain was still an outsider and having Burns show up at the other two operation centers would carry a lot of weight. Tu Trang was on that helicopter for San Fran, as well, along with several of his CDC agents. Trang had also sent four of his people to San Diego, attempting to spread their resources among the three cities.
Eddie Marshall and his CDC enforcement agents had met with their LA counterparts earlier in the morning and were now out on the busy streets of the big city. If the terrorists were driving to California, they would have to sleep somewhere. The CDC agents, along with several of the FBI’s Hostage Response Team members were cruising east and central LA, checking mosques, Islamic centers, and cheap hotels.
Marshall had paired his agents with members of the FBI’s elite Hostage Rescue Team. The feds occupied black Dodge Durangos, each team patrolling a different sector. Chuck knew that it was a long shot, but he felt better having some heavy hitters out on the street, just in case they turned something up. Of course, the bad guys might not even be coming to LA. If McCain was a betting man, though, the City of Angels was too good a target for Islamic terrorists to pass up.
Eric Gray and Scotty Smith had driven over to the Los Angeles Police Headquarters to meet with the officers tasked with viewing the citywide surveillance camera system. All of the LAPD’s helicopters were airborne along with their four drones. The police department drones, however, were small and unarmed. McCain had asked the admiral for three of the Air Force’s unmanned aerial vehicles.
Now, an armed Predator drone was flying over each of the three targeted cities. These aircraft also provide higher grade cameras than those on the LAPD’s, including FLIR (Forward-Looking Infrared Radar) which would target body heat on suspects. Chuck understood that Los Angeles was a massive, sprawling city and locating Deniz and his terrorist team was not going to be easy.
Chuck was pleased with the security measures that Kevin Clark had put in place on Fort Belvoir, knowing that his wife and friends were in good hands. The garrison commander, another full colonel, had not been happy with having an outsider tell him how to do his job. The terror attacks on his base the previous week, however, revealed some gaps that Colonel Clark had identified and provided resources to help plug. The Ranger tab on Clark’s uniform convinced Colonel Jefferson to allow the newcomer to help him secure his base.
Kevin was now in San Diego “borrowing” some resources from the Marines and the Navy. Thousands of people had died in the bio-terror attacks on the east coast. The White House had vowed to use every means necessary to find and stop these terrorists from a repeat on the opposite side of the country.
What else should I be doing here? McCain wondered. They now had pictures for each of the four suspects and those photos were being plastered all over the news up and down the west coast, as well as Fox and CNN. Every beat cop in California had copies of the photos and the vehicle information for the Marquis.
Movement caught his attention on the far side of the big room. An agent rushed into O’Reilly’s office carrying a sheet of paper. By the time Chuck walked over, Joe was alone, his head in his hands as he stared at the computer printout in front of him on his desk. The burly agent handed McCain the paper as he walked in.
“They found the Marquis,” O’Reilly said, dejectedly. “Or what was left of it. It was torched just outside of Oklahoma City. Now, we’re back to square one. We don’t have anything.”
Potomac Heights, Maryland, Friday, 1930 hours
El Lobo disconnected the call, turned the satellite phone off, and removed the battery. Señor Pepe wanted them to finish the job and tonight would be the night, the boss had ordered. Marco Gonzalez had tried to talk the cartel leader out of it. Infiltrating a military base once was one thing. To attempt it twice had the makings of a suicide mission.
Corona had been adamant, yelling, cursing, even questioning El Lobo and his men’s machismo, their manhood. The Wolf chuckled to himself after the call. Pepe knew what to say to motivate his men.
The additional gangsters had joined them the previous night, bringing his team to six. They had brought short-range walkie-talkies, allowing them all to coordinate their attack. Pablo and Nazario, the two former SF soldiers, had not had much to say, keeping to themselves in the safe house, cleaning their weapons and loading magazines for their rifles.
Marco wished he had more shooters but after smoking some of the special cocaine, he knew that he and his team would become supermen. When they managed to get onto the base later tonight, they would do what they did best: kill.
CIA Headquarters, McLean, Virginia, Friday, 2030 hours
The newest Assistant Director of Operations for the CIA, Sandra Dunning, was operating on fumes. She had not been home for more than a couple of hours all week, and then only to shower and change clothes. What little sleep she had gotten had been in the form of catnaps on the couch in her office.
When she wasn’t napping she was in the operations center, monitoring her team as they worked to locate an FBI agent-turned-terrorist. The CIA had access to resou
rces that the FBI did not and Dunning was pushing her people to use every single one of them.
Another, smaller group of analysts were digging out every piece of useful intelligence that they could find on Jose Corona and his cartel. She wanted to know everything there was to know about him, his family, his lieutenants, and what his relationship was to the other Mexican organized crime syndicates. Whenever the admiral gave the OK to launch an attack on the cartel, Sandra wanted to make sure that there were no surprises.
Sandra had been furious when the FBI had jumped the gun and arrested Maria Sanchez. She had asked them to wait to get as much intel as they could. Her arrest would alert the cartel that something was going on.
At the same time, the CIA agent understood why the Bureau had acted quickly. Their organization had been wracked by one traitor and scandal after another. They were not going to let Sanchez do any more damage. Once their internal affairs team had accumulated enough evidence to prove that Maria had been passing information to a cartel leader, she had been taken into custody.
One of the things that the FBI did very well, Sandra had to admit, was interrogations. They had some world-class interviewers and one of her contacts at the Bureau had told her that the young woman was already spilling her guts and asking for a spot in the witness protection program. It remained to be seen whether or not Sanchez would be given immunity in return for her testimony against the Tijuana Cartel.
At the same time, Dunning knew that sending the dirty agent to a federal prison would mean a death sentence for her. The reach of the cartel was long and they did not tolerate anyone who betrayed them. Sucks for her, Sandra thought.
The Bureau’s IA team balked at sharing their investigation with the CIA. A call to the FBI Director, though, got Dunning the promise of the interview transcripts by Saturday morning. Maria Sanchez might very well hold the key to the CIA’s response to the attacks on their agents on US soil. The admiral had made it clear that was the next item on their agenda.
The assistant director of operations was confident in her and her team’s abilities. These were the first two operations that she was working on, however, in conjunction with McCain and Clark and Dunning wanted to let them know that she could be counted on to provide all the intelligence they needed. They both came across as the consummate professionals. If they were all going to be working together, she wanted to establish from the very beginning that they could depend on her to carry her share of the load.
Fort Belvoir, Virginia, Saturday, 0150 hours
Fleming was instantly awake as his phone buzzed, a sudden fear sweeping over him. Are Amy and Tyler OK? They were just a week removed from being shot. Have there been complications? He didn’t recognize the number and swiped his finger across the screen, answering it.
“Fleming.”
“Agent Fleming, this is Sergeant Whitehead in Base Operations. We’ve got a situation, sir, that I think you’re going to want to see. Can you come over here? ASAP if possible.”
“Sure, I can be there in ten minutes. Can you give me some idea of what’s going on?”
“Yes, sir,” Whitehead replied. “The drone has picked up six subjects infiltrating the base. Four on one side and two on the other, coming in through the forest.”
“I’m on the way.” Andy disconnected the call, grabbing at his BDU pants laying on the floor.
As Fleming continued to dress, he opened his bedroom door and rapped on the next one down the hall.
“Matthews! Wake up and gear up. Your training’s about to get real!”
A few minutes later, Andy and Josh rushed into the base operations center. Both warriors had on their body armor and helmets with night vision goggles attached. Their rifles were slung across their chests, their pistols in holsters on their hips. Kevin’s security team leader, Ricardo Gonzalez, was also present. Gonzalez had been Clark’s first sergeant in the National Guard unit Kevin had commanded, but Ricardo had a lifetime of military experience before he had joined the Georgia National Guard. When the colonel had gone to work for the Agency he had taken Ricardo with him as his assistant.
Gonzalez nodded at Fleming and Matthews, a phone pressed to his ear as he issued instructions to the CIA security force around the base. Sergeant Whitehead waved the two newcomers over to a large computer monitor.
“Our drone is out of Andrews Air Force Base. The operator picked up a vehicle dropping those four guys off on the main road east of the base. It’s about a two-mile hike to the middle of Belvoir. They’ve covered almost a mile so far.”
The screen showed four figures, all carrying long guns, making their way through the thick tress and underbrush. Whitehead typed in a command on the computer keypad and the view changed.
“These two,” he pointed at the screen, “drove to the far west corner of the base, parked in a wooded area and are hiking in, as well. This is real time. The drone operator is letting us see what she’s seeing. Oh, and I’ve checked. We don’t have any training missions taking place. These six intruders are all armed and have been designated as hostiles.”
When he disconnected his call, Gonzalez joined them around the computer monitor.
“I’ve got six of my men at the hospital” Ricardo told them. “Four are outside Amy and Tyler’s rooms. The other two are positioned inside on the first floor, near the front entrance. The building is locked down and my guys are close enough to protect the rear doors, as well.
“My other four are guarding Chuck’s townhouse. Elizabeth, Emily, and Grace are there and all three ladies are armed. Sergeant, you said that the base commander had activated the quick reaction force?”
“That’s right. The colonel’s on his way over here and the QRF should be gearing up now and ready to go in a few minutes.” Sergeant Whitehead hesitated, glancing between the three feds. “The colonel’s a good man, but it might be good if we have some suggestions for him on how this should be handled. He’s a take-charge kind of guy but this isn’t something that any of us have ever dealt with before.”
Fleming nodded, reminding himself that he was a guest on this Army base. These people had been very good to them, allowing he and his teammates to stay here as they continued working to eliminate the many infected. The base hospital had saved his wife and son’s lives. He didn’t want to step on Colonel Jefferson’s toes.
“Sure,” Andy spoke up. “Here’s what I’d recommend, if the colonel will authorize it, of course. Have the QRF go after the four coming in from the east. Set up an ambush here,” he pointed at a spot on the screen near where the forest ended. “If your guys are seasoned and have combat experience, they may even want to confront them in the woods. Either way would work. What’s this building here?”
“That’s the community center, sir,” Whitehead answered.
“That area looks like a good spot for the QRF to set up. While they are dealing with those four, me and Matthews will go take care of the other two. We might even get lucky and take one of them alive for questioning.”
Gonzalez and the others stared at Fleming, not sure they had heard him correctly. “Andy, I can pull a couple of my guys to send with you. Two on two isn’t what I’d call an overwhelming advantage.”
“Thanks, Gonz, but we’ll be fine. I think you’ve got your men deployed perfectly. Josh and I will have the element of surprise. No worries.”
Andy stared at the computer monitor and pointed again, this time to an area on the other side of the base. “This is just an admin building, right?”
“That’s right. Offices and classrooms,” Whitehead answered.
“Okay, we’ll insert into the woods behind that building. Gonz, if you’ll direct us in by radio, we’ll be waiting for them.”
Fleming motioned at Matthews to move and spoke over his shoulder, “Please thank the colonel for his help and let him know I’ll be happy to debrief him after we deal with these intruders.”
Josh was used to being awakened from a deep sleep. As a SWAT team leader he was always on call and mos
t requests for SWAT came deep in the night. He had been surprised, however, to hear Andy volunteer the two of them to confront a pair of intruders attempting to infiltrate the military base. Sure, they had worked together before, when they had worked to clear Peachtree Meadow High School of its zombies. That was inside a well-lit school, dealing with Zs. Zombies did not shoot back.
Now, they were going out into terrain that neither one was familiar with, in the middle of the night to confront armed bad guys. Good times. I guess I did ask for this, he told himself, quickly checking his equipment as they walked back out into the darkness.
Fort Belvoir, Virginia, Saturday, 0225 hours
Pablo and Nazario had served in the same SF platoon for two years. Pablo had been a sergeant, Nazario a corporal before leaving the Mexican army to work for the cartel. The gangster who had recruited them had not threatened or coerced them, merely slipping them each an envelope of a thousand dollars as they sat sipping drinks in a small Tijuana bar. All he asked in return was that they would meet with Pepe Corona.
The meeting with the cartel leader had led to their new employment. Their current salaries were ten times what they had made in the army. The two soldiers had quickly found that working for the criminal organization provided them with opportunities that they would have never had through legal means. Corona had not threatened them, either, but he did point out that every year many federales and soldiers lost their lives in their fight against the drug cartels.