The American Agent (An American Agent Novel Book 1)

by Eric Dabbs

"Alex, there's one other thing."

  "Yes?"

  "God forbid, but if it becomes necessary, a six man Navy SEAL team, specializing in weapons of mass destruction, is being relocated to the Bataan. But their coming from the other side of the world. If they can make it in time, they should be ready to dismantle, and if needed, disarm any nuclear device recovered. So it’s critical that you secure the bomb and wait for them to arrive." Washington hesitated for a moment. "Alex?"

  "I'm here."

  "Good luck...and God speed."

  "See you when this thing is all wrapped up, sir." Alex ended the call, the pressure weighing on him like an anvil as he prepared for the showdown of his life.

  "So when do we roll out?” Agent Reed asked with a gleam in his eye, looking eager to light up the place, his M4 carbine rifle at his side.

  How would Alex handle this question? He glanced up from the hand-held computer, his eye leaving the guard movement at the airbase three hundred yards away. He had to figure out a way to stall the two agents for as close to four hours as possible without giving away the vital knowledge of the approaching warship.

  "Washington has ordered us to wait before going in...for four hours," Alex replied, and then lowered his gaze to the visual of the airbase again.

  "Why? We're in position; why do we need to wait?"

  "Yeah," Wilson said. "What's the Chief got in mind?"

  "I don't have the slightest clue."

  "He wants us to wait four hours," Reed blurted. "And he won't even tell us why."

  "He said it was classified." Alex fired back, letting the last word hang in the air with a fierce glare so it would sink in.

  "Classified…”

  "That's right. If the Chief wants us to wait, then you can be certain he's got a good reason behind it." In all reality, Alex hadn't told Washington of his suspicions about a traitor, mainly because he had no real proof. Keeping the fine details of the mission under wraps was a personal choice he'd have to navigate around. "Look, we'll stake out here. I don't want to go rushing in unprepared. This is life and death. It needs to be well thought out and planned. Besides, we have our orders."

  "The plan we just went over sounded pretty solid to me,” Reed said.

  Wilson stared at Alex, letting his gaze linger before drifting over to Reed. "He may have a point. A little more surveillance can't hurt. We can do some more close-ups on the base in night vision. It might reveal more detail we didn't notice before. Make sure we know what lies in the shadows."

  "Valid point, I guess," Reed said. "But waiting isn't necessarily what bothers me the most. It's not telling us why?"

  "I'm sure it's just flow of information," Alex replied. "Everyone is always on a need-to-know basis. We'll know when we need to."

  As Alex returned his attention to the guard movement, he breathed a sigh of relief. He could stall for now, but he didn't know for how long.

  46

  Alex managed to stall Reed and Wilson for a painstaking two hours, a feat, in and of itself. He had doubts whether he could pacify them for one hour, much less two. They spent most of the time scanning the base in night vision as Agent Wilson suggested. The effort paid huge dividends. The east side of the complex was lit up with bright flood lights, but the west side remained in total darkness. The night vision display revealed several armed guards at ground level and another on top of the roof. That meant to access the roof by the rear staircase, they'd need stealth and coordination.

  "Come on, Alex." Reed wagged his head. Armed with the information their surveillance had provided, he pushed to move forward with the operation. "We're wasting time while those terrorists get ready to drop a nuke on one of our cities."

  "He's right" Wilson said. "If we're just waiting to get permission from the Pentagon, or the President, or the U.N.—if it's just a formality—come on, man. They could be minutes from putting that bomber in the air."

  Great. Now both of them were ready to move in. "I agree," Alex said. "I just think we should wait a little longer."

  "I think you know what we have to do," Reed said.

  "I know, but…”

  "But what?" Reed spat fire from his mouth. Figuratively, he was about to blow a fuse. "We all know orders are made to be bent a little."

  "No. Orders are supposed to be followed. To the 'T'."

  "Maybe in a perfect world," Reed grimaced, "but I don't know if you've noticed it—this is not a perfect world—and those terrorists will set fire to our world while we sit and watch."

  Alex groaned with the turmoil wrestling on the inside of him. He could tell them about the Bataan's approach in the Atlantic, or he could give into the pressure and make the call to proceed with the mission, even if it meant going in early, way ahead of their backup.

  But he couldn't risk alerting a mole that the Marines were coming. They might put the bomb in the air ahead of schedule.

  "All right," Alex said. In the back of his mind, Washington's bald scalp and big mouth shouted at him, warning him to hold off at least another hour. He blew a gust of air from his lungs and swiveled the camera on the tripod to the right. "But we'll leave the camera zoomed in on the hangar. It'll alert Washington if and when that stealth bomber hits the tarmac."

  "So, it’s a go?" Reed said.

  "It's a go. We'll use our comm system for communication. I'll take point, you two will be my wingmen."

  "Got it," Wilson said.

  "Remember the objectives. Get in. Get out. Use lethal force as necessary. Let's do this."

  Reed and Wilson acknowledged his orders with bobs of their heads. After they donned their headsets with comm microphones in place, Alex disconnected the hand-held computer and placed it in a pocket on his fatigues. The camera contained a built-in uplink that allowed it to continue shooting its signal to the satellite in the sky.

  Alex had everything he needed. The computer. The homing device. The sat phone. And lastly, the locator card for the stealth bomber. If he had a chance to insert the card into the control panel behind the stealth bomber's cockpit, the British could regain control of the plane and return it to its home in England. That's if Flight Lieutenant Hollingsworth hadn't damaged the bird's instruments beyond working condition. In his mind, he saw the stealth bomber, its wide wings and dark streamlined fuselage.

  He snapped out of his vision of the hangar.

  First things first.

  Infiltrate the airbase and complete their objectives, one at a time.

  47

  The three men hustled, cutting a path down the southern hillside like black wraiths in the night in their dark combat fatigues. When they reached the western edge of the airbase, a hundred yards away, they switched to the heads up display of their night vision goggles. They knelt on the sparse grassy surface, Reed and Wilson to each side of Alex.

  They clutched their M4 carbine assault rifles, poised, ready for action.

  "Three on the ground as expected," Alex whispered in his comm mic. "Spread out. We'll eliminate them simultaneously."

  Alex waved his hand to the right and to the left.

  Reed and Wilson bolted to their positions. Set-up on their targets.

  The guards on the west side stood thirty yards apart. Alex charged forward, stopped, and kneeled. His man stood in front of the staircase. Reed's man was located around a corner, down from Alex's target. And Wilson's patrolled near the south end of the complex.

  "Go silent," Alex said as he screwed a suppressor on the end of his M4. He hesitated, waiting for both agents to do the same. "Ready...fire on three."

  Alex took aim. "One."

  His finger grazed the trigger. "Two."

  He applied a hint of pressure. "Three."

  The M4's spat their bullets, sounding like someone had shut a car door abruptly. The rounds reached their targets within a split second of each other, bursting through the temple or forehead with lethal efficiency.

  The bodies fell to the ground, the jostling of clothes, arms and legs collapsing in a heap of dead w
eight.

  "To the stairway," Alex said. "I have the fourth guard."

  He flew to his feet and sprinted to the bottom of the stairs, gestured to the roof. Reed and Wilson were at his side in seconds.

  Alex crept up the steps and halted near the top. The guard appeared, a dark green figure against the lighter green night sky behind and above him. The man faced him, oblivious to his presence. Alex brought the man's chest into the crosshairs of the M4 sights and pulled the trigger. The guard flew backwards and impacted the flat roof with a harsh thud.

  The man lay still…a soulless body.

  Alex waited for his wingmen to join him.

  "The ventilation shaft," Wilson said.

  "Let's get it open. Reed, you're up."

  Agent Reed dropped to his knees next to the steel grate, and using a black handled knife, pried the edge of the square cover up, and then lifted it out of its resting place with a final jerk. He set it to the side. The shaft led into the heating ductwork, which according to the blueprint Washington supplied, was visible from the floor below with no drop ceiling to conceal the long ducts.

  "Quiet in there," Alex said, thinking of bullets riddling them with holes from beneath. "The metal is thin and pliable under pressure."

  The three men lowered themselves down into the dusty hole and pulled the steel grate back into place from above. The enemy might find their dead soldiers outside, but maybe they wouldn't discover which way Alex, Reed, and Wilson went.

  Inside the ductwork, they crawled on all fours, Alex leading the way until they came to a large vent on the floor of the metal tunnel.

  Alex said, "It'll be best if one of us goes it alone on objective one. I'll handle it. You two stay put for now. When I get back, I'll tap the vent cover. That'll be your signal to drop down."

  "Ten-four," Wilson chimed in. Reed agreed as well.

  Alex set his M4 down. He'd have to leave it behind; it'd only get in the way, and it might clank on something as he went about the task of completing the objective. But he still had the Glock pistol if he got in a pinch. Through the dust-laden slits of the vent, the area was clear of enemy combatants, but he had a limited view of the hallway beneath him. He opened the cover with the tip of his Ka-Bar knife and then dropped to the concrete floor below. Alex reached up and pushed the cover up where Reed snagged it and pulled it shut.

  He turned his attention to the interior of the old airbase.

  Dark, dingy stains streaked the gray walls at the corners where they met the ceiling and floor. Cobwebs hung suspended in the air. The dim lighting gave the place an ancient feel. It reeked of oil and metal shavings. A machine shop must have been nearby. Alex hurried in the direction of the hangar. The corridor was empty, but up ahead, a set of double doors came into view. He nestled against the metal frame and nudged open one of the doors.

  Several men talked in Arabic.

  Alex entered the hangar and took cover behind a row of fifty-five gallon drums, labeled as jet fuel. He peeked over the top of a drum. The stealth bomber occupied the center of the large space. Its charcoal body ran in aerodynamic lines from its cockpit, to its sweeping hawk-like wings, to its sound-reduction exhaust nozzles.

  Voices rang out from the other side of the bomber. Sounded like a large number of men. That's when Alex noticed a moving truck similar to the one in Marbella with its rear door open. It sat off to the side between himself and the stealth bird.

  He spotted the stainless steel body of the bomb. On this secret base, there was no need to cover it with a tarp.

  Alex surprised himself with his silent movements, creeping across the concrete and into the back of the truck. His first thought was to swipe the thermos-sized cylinder containing the plutonium. That would put a quick end to all of this, unless they had another one as a reserve. He cracked open the compartment.

  It was empty.

  He sighed. He had to get on with the objective.

  Next, he opened the panel to the timer.

  Footsteps clacked on concrete. Boots. Combat boots to be exact, which sounded to be headed in his direction. Alex's fingers quivered as he used the tip of his knife to pry the casing off the timer. With it lifted out of place, he stuck the magnetic homing device to the bottom side of the metal frame. Quickly, he returned the casing of the timer to its original grooves and secured it in its rectangle hole. Objective one complete.

  The boots halted at the rear of the truck. Out of sight.

  In Arabic, a man ordered a subordinate to return the plutonium cylinder to the bomb. Fortunately, Alex could translate the rapid fire sentence. Moments from now, Coraco's men would be swarming like angry bees around a nuclear hive.

  After giving the order, the man moved away from the vehicle.

  Alex knew he had to vacate the back of the truck, and fast.

  Peeking around the edge of the opening, one of the men had his back to him, walking away in the opposite direction. Alex jumped to the floor, landing on light feet, and darted for the metal drums ahead of him. He reached the safety of the hiding place in time to see a cluster of men gathering around the rear of the transport truck. Two of them climbed into the back.

  Alex shook his head. They were placing the plutonium cylinder into the bomb, and he still needed to get to the stealth bomber and insert the locator card, an addendum to objective one. But he couldn't hang around. That would have to wait until later. With a sense of urgency to get on with the rest of the mission, Alex slithered through the double doors back into the long corridor. Minutes later, he was tapping the vent cover.

  After a short pause, the face plate swung down, and with a grunt and a huff, Reed and Wilson landed on their feet in front of Alex.

  "Did you complete the first objective?" Reed asked

  Alex snorted like he was dejected, but the truth was, he was miffed that Reed always pressed the issues. "No...I couldn't. There were too many of them. I tried to get close to the bomb, but I couldn't."

  Reed smirked, tossing Alex's M4 in the air. "I thought you were a Navy SEAL."

  Alex snatched the weapon from its lazy arc and stiffened. He resisted the urge to wipe the smirk off of Reed's face with a right hook. "I'm not a miracle worker."

  "We can still complete objective two," Wilson said.

  "Exactly what I was thinking. So let's get on with it. Shall we?"

  Alex sensed the mounting tension between Reed and himself. The agent was used to being in charge until Alex came along. He'd have to get over it, though. In silent and tentative agreement, the three men started for the generator room, but Alex couldn't help the feeling that he should be bringing up the rear of this procession, instead of taking point with a pair of guns pointed at his back.

  48

  Old light fixtures from a bygone era hung from the ceiling in twenty foot increments—the oblong bulbs crusted over with a thick layer of dust and sticky bug debris—creating a dim twilight effect in the areas in between. Alex crept down the long corridor, followed by Wilson and Reed. The place reeked of mildew, a musty odor that made Alex's stomach churn. To say the least, it was not an inviting atmosphere. The World War II airbase hadn't been used since that time, and now it was a staging arena for a diabolical terror plot.

  Alex braced his M4 against his right shoulder, the stock collapsed for close quarters combat, his eye peering down the rifle's sights with his finger on the trigger, ready for action. He motioned toward a door up ahead on the right. Reed and Wilson mirrored his movements, their assault rifles in firing position. Objective two was next. According to intelligence, the base hadn't been supplied with electricity since 1946. The aging generators provided it's only source of power. The blueprints placed the room that housed the gas operated units behind the door ahead.

  Alex stopped at the door. "Ready?"

  Wilson and Reed nodded.

  Alex twisted the knob. It squeaked as he pushed the door ajar. The sound of the humming generators leaked through the inch wide crack in the passageway. He peeked into the room, saw n
o movement inside, and then entered, sweeping his rifle from side to side, searching for a threat, but finding none.

  "Clear," Alex said.

  Wilson appeared behind him, then Reed.

  Wilson went to work, lowering to a knee and setting his backpack on the floor. He unzipped it and started removing the C4. Alex knelt beside him to help ready the explosives.

  "A corridor extends past the generators," Reed said, jabbing his M4 in the general direction.

  Alex glanced up and saw him peering beyond the last of the three decrepit power units that sat side by side in a row.

  Reed turned to Alex. "I'll check out the hallway."

  "Be careful."

  "Don't worry, I have no desire to die tonight." Reed started inching down the hall.

  "Two bars per generator," Alex said to Wilson. "That should be enough to neutralize all three of them."

  "It'll blow them to kingdom come. But a little overkill won't hurt." The big agent grinned like this was the most exciting part of the mission.

  Down the corridor where Reed went, a metallic object clanged against a solid surface.

  Wilson's eyes grew large, caught Alex's gaze. "What was that?"

  "I hope it wasn't what I think it was. We both know what a gun sounds like when it hits concrete."

  "Keep your hands where I can see them," a thick accented voice said from down the hallway.

  "Who's there?" Alex peered in the direction of the last generator. "What have you done with Reed?"

  "He's fine...for the moment," the voice replied from the shadows.

  Reed appeared from around the corner, held at gunpoint by none other than Hakem al Mushaf Raziz. Raziz shoved the barrel of an AK-47 into Reed's back and nudged him along. Behind the terrorist, another half dozen armed men emerged from the corridor.

  "Lay all of your weapons on the floor...slowly," Raziz ordered.

  With their rifles leaning against a generator, Alex and Wilson removed their handguns from their holsters and lowered them to the concrete.