American Terrorist Trilogy

by Jeffrey Poston

“I’m ready when you are, General. I would be grateful if you could fly us to the Columbus Port of Entry.”

  The general pivoted and waved his right arm graciously toward the waiting helicopter. As the man turned to walk away, Carl knew without a doubt that El Patron was going to betray him.

  Chapter 62

  0721 MST Thursday

  Columbus, NM Border Crossing

  The helicopter lifted off with the roar of the turbines and a tremendous dust storm. Carl felt the aircraft’s vibrations through his boots and through the bench he was sitting on. It banked over the site of the trade. Merc Two’s Hummer and the VW bus burned, releasing a thick column of black smoke into the sky. Carl caught a brief glimpse of Alfonso Reyes’s body laying behind the space left by the departed white Hummer. The man was still moving, reaching out to the departing aircraft. Carl imagined Reyes screaming, begging them not to leave him behind. At least, that’s what he wanted the man to do.

  The Hummer, driven by Luisa Reyes, kicked up a cloud of dust as she got the big truck back onto the unpaved road and raced away to the west.

  Melissa’s head lolled against his shoulder.

  “You feel better now? We’re on our way home.”

  She shook her head. “I feel sick. And dizzy. And my arms hurt.”

  He noticed she had started wringing her hands again. After a few seconds of that she interlocked her fingers. Then she started waving her hands like she was shooing flies. He held her through it all, but a knot of fear was growing in his gut.

  “My arms hurt,” she repeated. She started rubbing the inner muscle of her left arm near the elbow.

  “Here, let me see.”

  The sleeve of the shirt she wore was far too big for her, so he easily pushed it up over her elbow. What he saw made him gasp.

  “Jesus! What did they do to you?”

  Her arm had a dozen needle marks. Some of the tracks were old, with hardened blisters and scabs where she had no doubt scratched them. Others were new, with purple bruises around them. Now her reactions made sense. They had drugged her up repeatedly for some reason, and now she was coming down off her latest high. She was nauseous and increasingly agitated.

  He willed the chopper to fly faster, but it took an interminable twenty minutes before he saw the miles-long metal of the border fence gleaming in the sun. Melissa had fallen asleep, but it was a fitful sleep. Her arms and legs jerked, and she muttered almost continuously.

  Carl held the trembling girl and scanned the troop cabin. He found the general watching him, and he wondered if the man knew what Reyes’s people did to her. The soldiers filled the three bench seats behind him, sitting four abreast. Everyone rocked and swayed as the helicopter encountered air turbulence.

  Closer to the border, Carl heard a subdued whine and several clicks in his left ear, then he heard Agent Palmer’s voice.

  “Mr. Johnson, can you hear me?”

  “Affirmative. I have the package. How are you communicating with me? Do you have another drone up?”

  “You are within range of Marine One’s comm system. We’re using one of the president’s secure channels. What’s your status?”

  The racket inside the aircraft was thunderous, but Carl still whispered. He leaned his head closer to Melissa’s and pretended to talk to her.

  “We’re in a helicopter approaching the Columbus border crossing.”

  Suddenly, Melissa woke up with a jerk that head-butted Carl on the chin. Then she started screaming and flapping her arms at the air in front of her, fighting off unseen demons.

  Carl said, “I need a medic ASAP.” He fought to hold the agitated girl. “And a sedative.”

  He felt the familiar lurching sensation in his stomach as the aircraft quickly lost altitude. The border fence drifted under the aircraft, then the red metal roof of the welcome center passed below. It occurred to him that if he was within radio range of Marine One, then that meant the president was also.

  “Agent Palmer, is McGrath on Marine One?”

  “I’m here.”

  The man’s voice was deep and measured. It sounded like the scripted voice of a man who chose every word very carefully. Carl’s heart raced as he realized he was finally going to meet the man who orchestrated the death of his son.

  “You and I need to have a private conversation. Alone and off comms.”

  In the vista that rotated past the open starboard door, Carl saw an armada of US Army combat choppers, all bristling with cannons and rocket launchers, hovering several hundred yards away between his approaching troop carrier and a fairly bizarre sight.

  On the ground beyond the wall of airborne weaponry sat not one, but five gleaming Marine One helicopters. Carl knew wherever the president traveled, the helicopter—like the limo—was stuffed inside a huge cargo plane and was flown ahead of Air Force One. He never figured he’d see more than one of the presidential transport helicopters in any particular place.

  For a moment he wondered which one the president was on, but then he figured that must be the point of multiple helicopters. Maybe it was sort of like a presidential shell game. Keep the bad guys guessing.

  The general’s aircraft drifted slowly northward and hovered over the center of a wide circle of combat troops in desert camo. All had weapons pointed at the helicopter. Outside the circle, Carl saw a soldier waving hand signals at the pilot.

  Finally, the man held his arms high, crossed at the wrists, and the helicopter touched down. Carl was in motion immediately. He hauled the clinging girl out of the cabin with him. The general hollered at him.

  “Seventy-two hours, Mr. Johnson.”

  Carl nodded. Melissa was so disoriented, she could barely stand on her own. They hunched down under the spinning rotors, but he practically had to drag her along. As soon as they cleared the rotors by a good distance, the helicopter’s engine pitch rose to a scream that tortured their ears. He sheltered Melissa from the hurricane force rotor winds buffeting them as the chopper rose. Then it peeled away toward the border fence.

  Carl turned his attention to the cluster of helicopters on the ground. Four Secret Service agents in black suits ran across the desert toward him. Two of the agents carried a gurney between them and the other two carried automatic weapons. A young man carrying a white bag with a red cross on it followed them.

  He thought about trying to carry Melissa partway toward them, but he knew he wouldn’t get very far. He squatted next to the girl and held her while she trembled. Every few seconds she screamed and shook violently, flailing her arms and legs wildly. The first time she did that he thought she was having a seizure until she calmed down again.

  The combat troops that had encircled the helicopter closed in around Carl and Melissa. They all faced outward, maybe twenty feet away, and formed a protective shield around them. The agents arrived and unfolded the gurney onto its wheels. The young man, who looked about thirty, arrived after the agents and opened his case on the gurney. When he tried to give Melissa the sedative in a syringe, she instantly became violent.

  Carl tightened his hold. “It’s okay, Melissa. You’re safe. They just want to help.”

  She twisted and screamed and writhed and clawed at the young man, and at the two agents that tried to restrain her legs.

  “Wait! Back off! Everybody back off and give her some space.” Immediately, Melissa calmed down and grabbed hold of Carl’s vest. He pulled out a stainless steel canteen and tossed it to the doctor. “Mix it in that.

  “Here, baby girl. Drink up.”

  She refused, twisting her face away. “They made me drink stuff. I don’t want any more.”

  “C’mon, it’s not poison. See?” Carl took a small sip from the canteen. “It actually tastes pretty good. Kinda like cherry Kool-Aid. Have some for me, okay? I know you’re thirsty, aren’t you?”

  She nodded and grabbed the canteen with trembling hands. He helped her hold it steady, and she drank all the sedative water. She quieted rapidly. The doctor took her vitals while the ag
ents got her strapped onto the gurney, then they hustled her across the hundred yards of scrub grass to Marine One.

  Carl trailed the doctor’s team, then stopped when the group began to haul the gurney up the stairs. He saw a very worried President Mallory step aside so the team could get her daughter aboard. Then he saw the man she’d been standing with in the doorway of Marine One.

  Aaron McGrath looked nothing like Carl imagined. He was tall and slender, with close-cut, stately salt-and-pepper hair, and fashionable wire-rim round glasses. He wore a black turtleneck shirt over blue jeans, and his black flight jacket was unzipped midway to his belt. Despite his advanced age, his eyes held the same intensity Carl had seen in Agent Klipser’s eyes, and in Agent Palmer’s. The grayed-out profile photo in Carl’s mind finally had a face.

  President Mallory caught Carl’s gaze for a moment, then she descended the steps. She paused in front of Carl.

  “Mr. Johnson,” she began. She wore jeans and a thick white pullover sweater. For a moment she just stood there, then she surprised him with a hug.

  “Thank you for bringing my baby back to me.” She stepped back and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Thank you.”

  She hurried up the steps, followed by the rest of her security detachment. The big helicopter’s engine began to spool up, but McGrath slowly came down the steps. A few seconds later, the rotors began to spin. The crew chief stuck his head out the door and hollered at McGrath.

  “Sir! Wheels up to the nearest hospital in thirty seconds!”

  McGrath waved his hand over his head, giving the crew chief what Carl always thought of as the universal whirly-bird sign. The crew chief nodded and powered the door up until it was closed. McGrath walked cautiously toward Carl.

  Carl’s gaze slid down McGrath’s slender frame and back up as he assessed the man. He looked fit, and Carl got the impression he still worked out rigorously for a mid-sixties man. He planted every step carefully like he was ready for combat at any moment.

  Carl also worked out every day, and today it had paid off. He’d taken his life test that morning and succeeded. He saved the girl. Still, he wondered if he could take McGrath in a one-on-one contest.

  “You wanted to have a conversation with me.”

  They stood outside the radius of the accelerating blades and eyeballed each other. McGrath reached up and pinched his comm device out of his ear. Agent Palmer must have immediately detected that McGrath was off comm because she called out to Carl.

  “Wait, Carl—”

  Carl pulled out his comm unit also and slipped it into a Velcro cargo pocket. Marine One’s rotors picked up speed and sliced through the air with swishing sounds.

  “I have intel for you.”

  “Intel?” McGrath narrowed his eyes.

  Carl turned away from the blast of dirt as the armada of Marine One helicopters got airborne and flew off to the east. The army combat choppers escorted them. He guessed they were headed to the big hospital in Las Cruces. The combat troops that had established ground security were running toward the last troop carrier, and that too, was powering up. He wondered if they were going to wait for McGrath.

  Carl looked up at the cloudless canvas of the big blue sky. He squinted against the early morning glare of the sun and inhaled the sweet scent of sage in the cool air and kicked at the dirt beneath his boots. There were so many things he wanted to say to the man, but he knew he would receive no closure from venting his thoughts or feelings to a man such as McGrath.

  “The general that flew us up here, El Patron, didn’t just happen by the exchange zone. He wanted his money back. Reyes was just a tool, a pawn who got out of control. Maybe he had his own agenda, I don’t know.”

  “El Patron was on US soil?”

  “He all but confessed to funding the kidnapping through people he called his investors. He knew about the recovery team you had on standby. He knew exactly where they were located, what their response time was, and what their rules of engagement were. And he said he knows for a fact that the president’s people don’t know his identity.”

  Carl paused to let McGrath digest his information.

  “That’s why you wanted to be off comm.”

  Carl nodded and McGrath pulled a smartphone from his pant pocket. He dialed a number and touched the tab for speaker phone.

  “Palmer.”

  “Code Alpha-Six.”

  “Stand by.”

  The line was silent for a while, and Carl got the feeling the code was an instruction for her to clear her command center of nonessential people. While he waited, he stared at the senior covert agent. He watched the man’s square jaw muscles work and wondered what he was thinking. All the death and destruction they had caused over the past few days fighting each other had now brought them to the brink of an alliance. They had both been pawns in a larger conflict choreographed by an unknown common enemy.

  Palmer’s voice returned. “COMSEC level Alpha-Six is active. This channel is restricted to the two of us. It is not being recorded on the mission records.”

  McGrath said, “Johnson has confirmed an executive-level leak.”

  Carl added, “And El Patron’s investors are very highly placed in the Mexican government.”

  McGrath said, “You assume Agent Palmer and I are not the leak.”

  “If you were, you wouldn’t have taken me in the first place.”

  McGrath nodded and Palmer said, “Sitrep.”

  Carl knew she wanted to know the mission status and their personal situation. He summarized his encounter with the general.

  Carl said, “I think Melissa’s kidnapping wasn’t about money. That was just the cover. They did something to her. Drugged her up or something. I think they intended to release her all along, but she’s not the endgame. We need to know what they did to her and why.” He paused. “And we need to know who they are.”

  “Agreed,” McGrath said.

  Palmer added, “Carl, what is your interest in this going forward?”

  Carl took a deep breath and kicked at a tuft of grass. It was true he had almost half a billion US dollars and a presidential pardon. He could retire and disappear anywhere in the world now.

  “These people who financed the general led us down this path.” Carl paused. “They hurt that girl. And me. And a lot of other people. I’d like to see them pay.”

  “As would I,” McGrath said. “If you can ID El Patron, I can put the full might of the US intel apparatus on finding all his known associates.”

  “Mmm-hmmm. That would certainly be the efficient government way to handle it.”

  “You have something else in mind?”

  Carl nodded. “These people have eyes and ears in your camp at a high level. They use the same playbook that you use.” He turned to face McGrath again and looked him straight in the eye. “I use a different playbook.”

  “We’ve noticed.” McGrath studied him for a moment with gray, emotionless eyes. “What would you do, Mr. Johnson?”

  “I’d do something a bit more...public.” McGrath notched an eyebrow in question and Carl said, “If I had a missile right now, I’d smoke that El Patron mu’fucker and see what prominent people on both sides of the border go into hiding. Then I’d go have a chat with them.”

  Apparently, the government man approved of his strategy, because Carl listened to a lot of tactical jargon as Aaron McGrath authorized one of the fighter jets that flew the president’s CAP—Combat Air Patrol—to break formation.

  A moment later, an explosion of sound blasted over the desert as the fighter slammed through the sound barrier. Carl looked up. He couldn’t see the plane, but he saw its white contrail far above. A few seconds later he saw a bright flash as two more smoke trails sped away from the first.

  McGrath said, “Consider El Patron smoked, along with his escort chopper. What do you need for this next phase of the mission?”

  Though he was still following the twin contrails into the distance, Carl was considering the near future in t
erms of logistics, weapons, and manpower.

  “I need Agent Palmer out here. I have a feeling the people we’re going after will make Alfonso Reyes and his crew look like rookies. We better do it right this time.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Can you conference Mr. Garcia on this call?”

  McGrath nodded, and Carl gave him the number.

  “Go for Garcia,” the young man answered. Carl couldn’t help but smile. The kid had his mission jargon solid.

  “Sitrep.”

  “Boss! I thought we lost you!”

  “Almost did. But we lost our team.”

  “Negative. Three and Four called in by backup cell. They got off the hill and surrendered, and they said the attack chopper spared them. I’m bringing them home by commercial flights later today. What about Two?”

  “He’s gone.” Carl gave Garcia a quick summary of the encounter at the trade site. “Our mission is not over yet. Have Three and Four go back to the trade site and get those bonds.”

  “We’re going to keep them, right?”

  “Negative. We earned our fee fair and square, but the bonds belong to the US government. Also, tell them to bring in Alfonso Reyes. Our client would like to ask him some questions.”

  McGrath notched an eyebrow. “You didn’t kill him?”

  “He knows some of El Patron’s people,” Carl said. “It might be helpful if we knew them too.”

  The TER director nodded. “Mr. Garcia, will you have your people deliver him and the bonds to the CIA contact they met earlier? Agent Palmer will make the arrangements.”

  Garcia said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Carl added, “Then have Three and Four stay in-country to provide security for Luisa and Julia Reyes. If El Patron contacted his network, those two ladies are in imminent danger.”

  “Will do.”

  “Set up another op center ASAP. I’ll contact you when I arrive in Albuquerque tonight.” He nodded to McGrath, and he cut the connection to Garcia.

  McGrath regarded Carl. “I continue to wonder how an untrained civilian like yourself has been so successful in this arena.”