by Spell, David
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, Sunday, 2140 hours, Local Time
Prince Mohammad Rashid felt his excitement building. The email from the Mexican gangster had caught him at a good time. He needed a new diversion and he had been behaving himself for far too long. The photos of the blonde American girls in their underwear had been like snorting the cocaine he enjoyed so much. The thirty-one year old member of the Saudi royal family would have paid almost any price to have them.
The prince and the cartel leader had met a few years earlier when Mohammad had partied in Cozumel for a week. Corona had invited Rashid to a small dinner party at his mansion in the resort city. It had been an evening of indulgence, with Mohammad enjoying several of Pepe’s best prostitutes and his very best coke. They had stayed in touch, occasionally meeting when the Saudi was in the western hemisphere.
Rashid knew that he needed to be discreet with the two kidnap victims. His uncle, King Khalid bin Saud, had warned him that any other ‘incidents’ would not be tolerated. Mohammad had no idea what lengths the king would go to in disciplining his playboy nephew but the prince did not want to find out.
The first big incident had come three years earlier on one of Rashid’s many trips to New York City to party. The young woman he had met in the Manhattan nightclub had been more than willing to go back to the prince’s suite at the Plaza Hotel, where the Saudi had rented out the top two floors. Once back in the hotel, Mohammad and his date had snorted cocaine together. The stimulation of the drug had the prince ready for sex, while his date wanted to talk and learn more about the royal family.
Rashid had tired of talking, forcing himself on the woman twice over a couple of hours before finally having his bodyguards kick her out. Four hours later, NYPD officers, detectives, and FBI agents were pounding on the prince’s door and things had gone downhill from there. The prince’s personal assistant had attempted to keep the police out, saying that he was protected by diplomatic immunity.
The FBI, however, had already reached out to the State Department and learned that Rashid was not a diplomat and was not protected. The cops had come with warrants in hand, so Mohammad had been arrested and briefly detained before his lawyers showed up and bonded him out. The arrest of a member of the Saudi royal family for rape and false imprisonment was soon plastered all over the world news, infuriating King bin Saud.
In the end, the victim agreed to a compensation package of a half million dollars in exchange for allowing her attacker’s charges to be reduced to misdemeanors. Rashid was given probation, a fine, and a hundred hours of community service which he still had not performed. He had no plans for visiting the United States any time soon.
On his return to Riyadh, the king had summoned the prince to a private meeting in which he had let his wayward nephew know that he needed to grow up and behave with more dignity. Mohammad had apologized profusely for bringing shame on the family, but in his heart, he had no intention of changing. The king’s two sons were the Crown Prince and the Deputy Crown Prince. There were several other cousins ahead of him and he understood that he would never be king. Instead of being disappointed, Rashid continued to enjoy a hedonistic lifestyle, taking advantage of the wealth and notoriety at his disposal.
The second incident had occurred a year later in London. This time two women alleged that the prince had attempted to assault them in the men’s room of a celebrity-studded party. They seemed to know how the game was played, though, and left a message at the Lanesborough Hotel alerting the Saudi that they would be going to the police unless they could come to terms.
Rashid had sent two lawyers and one of his assistants to talk to the women. They accepted a hundred thousand British pounds apiece in exchange for not reporting the incident. The attorneys had the victims sign contracts, money was wired into their accounts, and Mohammad breathed a sigh of relief.
Two months later, however, one of the victims from London sold her story to the Sun, the UK’s largest tabloid. The prince’s face was once again all over the international media, bringing another round of embarrassment to the Saudi royal family. This time, when Rashid was called to the palace, the king’s sons joined him. For the next hour King Khalid berated the younger man, threatening him with exile.
The idea of being kicked out of Saudi Arabia wasn’t that bad in itself. After seeing other parts of the world, the prince had come to loathe the arid desert of his native land. Being exiled to the UK or Germany would be a blessing.
The problem with being exiled, however, was that his uncle would cut his funds off, only allowing him a meager amount to live on. And that was if the king did not decide to have the young man assassinated. More than one exiled prince had disappeared, never to be seen again. The rumors were strong that the State Security Presidency, Saudi Arabia’s intelligence and counter-terrorism ministry, was responsible. With the killings taking place in a foreign land, the king could easily deny any knowledge.
Yes, he would have to be very careful. Mohammad had three mansions in Saudi Arabia, the one in Medina being the furthest away from Riyadh. Just north of the airport, it would be the perfect place to keep his two new friends. He would assign a few of his most trusted bodyguards to make sure his guests did not escape. And after the playboy tired of the girls, there was plenty of desert to bury them in.
FBI Operations Center, Los Angeles, Sunday, 1245 hours
The operations center was bustling as McCain walked into the large room. One of the younger agents noticed Chuck and pointed at the big man, nudging the fed seated next to him. In seconds, the entire room broke out in applause.
McCain looked behind him to see who the applause was for. Joe O’Reilly strolled over, a rare smile on his face.
“Hey, Joe, what’s up? What’re they clapping about?”
“They’re clapping for you, McCain,” Joe chuckled. “They’ve been watching that drone video of you beating the crap out of Marquette Walters all morning. Your guy Smith told them that you’d had some MMA fights and somebody found a few of them on YouTube. I’ve been having trouble keeping them focused. Everybody just wants to watch you fight!”
O’Reilly turned and walked towards his office. Chuck gave an embarrassed smile and waved at the room full of federal and local cops, following Joe into the office.
“If everybody’s watching MMA, I’m guessing things are about under control over on Santa Monica?” McCain asked, seating himself across from O’Reilly.
The FBI agent nodded. “LAPD hasn’t declared the scene safe yet but the incident commander told me that he’s hoping to be able to do so before the day is out. They think they’ve eliminated all the Zs. Now they’re going door-to-door, making sure everybody is safe and that they didn’t miss any.”
After the shootout on the Hollywood Freeway and the interviews at the Ops Center, Chuck, Scotty, and Eric had gotten back to their hotel at 0630 hours. The men had crashed for a few hours before showering and eating a late breakfast. After they were nourished, McCain had sent Smith and Gray back out to Santa Monica Boulevard to assist. Jason had been at the hospital for several hours before being sewn up and released. The wounded FBI agent was now back at the hotel resting, having done his part in this crisis.
“You need a break?” Chuck asked Joe. “I think I got maybe four hours sleep so I’m feeling good if you need to get some rest.”
“I may just take you up on that since it sounds like the worst of it is behind us. Burns should be back any time. He cut out at 0700 for a little rest himself.”
“I need to make some phone calls to the brass back in DC. Do we have any casualty numbers?”
Joe shuffled through the papers on his desk, finding the one that he was looking for.
“Preliminary guesstimates are between a hundred and a hundred fifty. As soon as LAPD says the scene is secure, we can go in, count bodies and get them bagged up.”
McCain felt a surge of relief. One hundred and fifty people killed by the zombie virus was no joke, but considering the multiple thousands w
ho had been killed on the east coast, this was a good report. They had been able to stop the bio-terror virus from spreading deeper into LA, as well as up and down the west coast.
For the rest of the afternoon, Chuck stayed in the Ops center, monitoring the cleanup activity around Santa Monica Boulevard. The LAPD, LASO, CDC Enforcement Unit, FBI, and several other agencies worked door-to-door, slowly and methodically made sure they had eliminated all the infected. McCain called and briefed Admiral William’s assistant, Shaun Taylor. As soon as he disconnected, his phone vibrated with an incoming call from Elizabeth. He realized he had not spoken to her in over twenty-four hours.
“Hey, baby, are you OK?”
“Oh, Chuck, I’m really missing you. I saw on the news that you guys got the terrorists. The police spokesman said they are hoping to declare the emergency over by the end of the day?”
“That’s what it looks like. A few more days for clean up and we’ll be done.”
“That’s great,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “When do you think you’ll be home?”
“Maybe another two weeks. There’s something else that has be dealt with.”
“Two more weeks? Why so long?”
McCain hesitated. “I don’t want to say anything over the phone but it’s related to what happened at Fort Belvoir to the others and to us.”
Beth was silent, processing the information. She had known that, somehow, Chuck would go after the men who had attacked him and the others. Her husband was not the kind of man who would sit around hoping the cartel would leave them alone. He would do whatever he could to strike back at the gangsters and make them think twice before sending assassins after him, his men, or their families ever again.
“I understand,” she finally sighed.
“How are Amy and Tyler?” McCain asked, gently changing the subject.
“Getting better and stronger everyday,” Elizabeth answered. “Grace and I are heading over to the hospital after I get off the phone.”
They chatted for another ten minutes before disconnecting. The big man’s phone vibrated again with an incoming call from Sandra Dunning. He swiped to answer it.
“Hi, Sandra. How are things back home?”
“Well, before I talk about things back here,” she said, “let me congratulate you on the op in LA. We’ve been following it closely and you, Kevin and all the officers out there have done an incredible job.”
“Thanks. After what we dealt with on the east coast, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. It almost seems to good to be true that we were able to contain it so quickly.”
“Well, it sure looks like you did. My analysts haven’t seen anything to indicate that it has spread any further than those few blocks.”
“Thank God,” Chuck commented. “I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if we’d have had a full-scale outbreak in LA.”
“With things wrapping up there,” Dunning continued, “I know that the admiral is flying out tomorrow to meet with you. Have you talked to him?”
“No, just Shaun. I called him earlier and briefed him on the latest.”
Sandra paused before continuing. “The boss is in bad shape, Chuck. He came by here an hour ago and, well, I don’t know how much longer he’s got. He’s in a lot of pain and has deteriorated just since last week.”
McCain had known Admiral Williams for around a year and a half. Even at his age, the former Navy SEAL still seemed larger than life. Chuck respected the elderly man but also genuinely cared about him.
“You still there, Chuck?”
“Sorry, I was just taking it all in.”
“I know. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I wanted to prepare you. I’ll be flying to LA, as well. My team has turned up some very interesting intel for your next operation. I don’t want to discuss it over the phone but it’s definitely going to change the trajectory of your mission.”
“Oh? Well, you’ve got my curiosity up now.”
After they ended the call, Chuck sat unmoving, staring at the wall. What would happen after Williams was gone? He had mentioned Dunning taking over Operations for the Agency. Where would that leave Chuck and Kevin? Sadly, we may find out sooner, rather than later, he thought.
FBI Operations Center, Los Angeles, Monday, 1500 hours
LAPD Incident Commander Jack Grimes had finally declared the scene secure at 1630 hours on Sunday. The police department’s CSI team, along with forensic teams from the CDC and the FBI, had moved in immediately to begin processing the area. A CDC Emergency Management Team was also at the location, coordinating the cleanup efforts. This was a massive crime scene and would take several days to photograph and collect all the evidence. Normally, bodies would not be touched until the CSI Units were finished. Because of the possibility of further infection, however, the dead zombies, along with their dismembered victims, were placed in body bags as the forensic officers worked.
As soon as Grimes made his announcement, O’Reilly had ordered over half of the FBI agents in the Ops Center to report to the CP on Santa Monica Boulevard to assist with processing and cleanup. McCain had spent a quiet Sunday afternoon and most of Monday writing his after-action report from the shootout and arrest of Marquette Walters the night before. He also needed to put together a final summary of how the bio-terror attack had been contained in Los Angeles.
Colonel Clark had volunteered to pick up the admiral and his delegation from the airport and Chuck wondered what this briefing would entail. The events of the previous week were catching up with him and he caught himself nodding off as he typed. This isn’t going to work, he thought, standing, stretching, and grabbing the empty coffee cup off of his desk and heading out to get a refill on the still-bustling work floor of the operations center.
As the strong, steaming liquid filled his cup, the admiral slowly entered the room, his right hand holding onto Shaun Taylor’s left arm for support. Sandra Dunning, a young Asian man, and Kevin Clark followed them in. William’s ever-present bodyguards, Tim and Tom, followed the group, scanning the now quiet operations center. The protectors both made eye contact with Chuck and nodded, having worked with him in the cartel operation in Atlanta.
“Mr. McCain, I would love a cup of that,” the Director of Operations for the CIA greeted his subordinate.
“Of course, sir. It’s good to see you,” Chuck smiled, filling a clean mug with coffee.
McCain could see that the older man’s hands were shaking and his face was pale.
“We can meet in the briefing room, Admiral. I’m happy to hold onto this until we get seated.”
Williams glanced at the big man and nodded. “Good idea. Thank you.”
Five minutes later, they were seated around a long table, Tim and Tom waiting outside in the corridor. Dunning withdrew several manila folders and placed them in front of her. She noticed McCain staring at the man seated next to her.
“Chuck, this is Stephen Chan, my lead analyst. He made the discovery that we’ll talk about in a few minutes. Stephen, Mr. McCain is one of the other assistant directors for operations. You already met Colonel Clark. He’s the third assistant director.”
Williams cleared his throat, ready to get started. The admiral appeared to have gotten smaller since their meeting the previous week, discomfort evident on his face. With a forced smile, he nodded at McCain and Clark.
“Well done, gentleman. I can’t tell you how grateful the President is that you were able to contain this attack. We’re all very sorry at the loss of life for those innocent victims, but thank God, it wasn’t any worse. Excellent leadership, Agent McCain. And Colonel Clark, thank you for laying your ego aside and being willing to serve wherever you were needed. Colonel, your men also did solid work at Fort Belvoir.
“You may not have heard, but the only living attacker at the fort has given us quite a picture of the Tijuana Cartel. He and another gangster were former Mexican Special Forces, having been trained by our people at Fort Bragg. The cartel made them an offer that the
y couldn’t refuse and they’ve been working for Pepe Corona for three years. He told us Corona has a few more well-trained shooters working for him.”
Clark and McCain had not heard this and glanced at each other, stunned at the idea of SF soldiers doing the cartel’s dirty work.
“We’ll come back to the Tijuana Cartel in just a moment,” Williams continued. “Sandra’s team made a dramatic discovery that is going to change how we respond. But before we do that, Chuck, please give us a synopsis of what happened here and how your task force found the rogue FBI agent.”
McCain spent the next thirty minutes recapping what had happened and answering the admiral’s and Sandra’s questions.
“Are Agents Burns and O’Reilly around?” Williams asked. “I’d like to be able to thank them, as well.”
“They’re both at the crime scene, sir. As you can imagine, the logistics of processing an area that large are staggering and they wanted to make sure everything gets handled properly. They’ve both worked tirelessly on this case, Admiral, and they really deserve most of the credit. When this investigation becomes public knowledge, I’d love to see the Bureau given all the accolades we can give them.”
“Thank you for that, Mr. McCain. I’ll make sure to pass that glowing report on to the FBI Director and to the President. I think the Bureau has been in timeout for long enough. There still need to be some changes but I think they are getting back on the right track.”
Williams shifted in his seat, his face drawn in pain.
“Are you OK, sir?” Shaun asked. “Can I get you anything?”
“A glass of water would be helpful.”
As the younger man rushed out of the room, the elderly man withdrew a bottle of pills from the inner pocket of his jacket, popping four into his mouth and dry-swallowing them. When Taylor returned, Williams took several sips of the water and then turned back to the others.