Against All Odds

by Richard Bard

  “Dude, get your hands off my boobs! Help, police! This guy’s a pervert!”

  By the time the man finally realized what had happened, Lacey had disappeared into the thick crowd.

  “Damned mugger hightailed it out of there faster than a deer in hunting season,” Skylar said as they helped Little Star into the backseat of the Uber minivan. They sat on either side of the monk, who was groggy from the partial dose of the drug he’d been given. If it hadn’t been for his reaction speed, he’d have received triple the amount and they would’ve needed a gurney to cart him out of that bathroom.

  Little Star’s eyes fluttered. “Not muggers.”

  Skylar frowned. “Muggers, as in more than one?”

  Lacey’s mind flashed to the other two men who’d exited the restroom prior to the one with the bag.

  The monk shook his head. His words were slurred. “Professionals. Three of them. I was targeted.”

  Lacey exchanged a worried glance with Skylar, and checked outside the car to see if anyone was watching them. Skylar sent a text, the phone vibrated with a reply, and Skylar leaned forward so she could see the Uber driver’s face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  He smiled. “Robby. Nice to meet you.”

  “Hey, Robby, we’ve changed our minds about where we’d like to go. How about heading toward the beach cities while we figure it out?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  When the minivan pulled into traffic, Skylar whispered to Lacey, “Pete’s going to check our six for tails. You think it’s…you know who?”

  Lacey nodded and mouthed, “Who else?”

  “Damn. At least we got the bag.”

  Little Star shook his head. “W-wrong bag.” His eyes rolled closed, and his head lolled onto Lacey’s shoulder.

  Chapter 29

  Carson warehouse

  July 4, 4:00 PM

  FARHAD SMILED AFTER WATCHING the news on his smartphone. He cued up a particular section of the feed and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  It was four p.m. In a few hours, the face of America would change forever. After all they’d sacrificed, the day had finally arrived. The team was ready, the drone magazines had been triple-checked, and spectators had been crowding the freeways en route to the event at the new Los Angeles sports and entertainment center in Inglewood.

  He regretted that he’d insisted on seeking revenge upon Bronson and his family and friends. As usual, Hadi was right—it had been a dangerous distraction. Bronson had been only minutes away when they evacuated the ranch. What if he’d arrived sooner? They could have lost everything. It had been a foolish risk, one that resulted in the death of Latif, a dear friend. They’d mourned the loss after sunrise prayer, a practice they’d been forced to leave behind years ago but Hadi had insisted on resurrecting that morning. It had been a solidifying event. Latif’s death weighed heavily on Farhad. The blame rested squarely on his shoulders, as did the near miss on their ranch. All they had to show for it was the death of the traitor Ahmed, and perhaps of Bronson’s wife and friends. And the acquisition of a hard drive from a Chinese monk that neither Jamal’s nor Ebrahem’s hacking programs had been able to decrypt yet.

  As Allah is my witness, I will never again fall prey to such distractions.

  “They are ready,” Hadi said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Farhad nodded. They joined the team around the planning table in the corner of the warehouse. It was hot and stifling, and the two open skylights weren’t much help. They could have switched on the ceiling air conditioning units, but refused to do so for fear of attracting attention to the usually empty space. The table was overlaid with a satellite view of the area surrounding the new Los Angeles Rams and Chargers football stadium. It was the largest NFL stadium complex ever built, at nearly three million square feet, featuring a unique sail-shaped roof that was twice the size of the stadium itself, so that it sheltered an adjacent performing arts venue and a huge plaza in between. The cover was open on the sides, and the programmable overhead screen was called the world’s biggest billboard.

  Farhad studied the men surrounding him. Gone were the lighthearted expressions, replaced by grim determination. He acknowledged each of them silently. They’d been over the plan countless times, and each knew the duties of everyone in the room. If one went down, as Latif had, then his responsibilities would be split in an orchestrated design. If all but one went down, then the last man knew what button to push.

  All can follow, all can lead. That was the mantra Hadi had instilled in them long ago.

  Farhad turned to Ghazi. “You’re up. Take us through it.” Ghazi stood and grabbed a pointer from the table.

  “Team one, Sabir and Mahmood. You’ll be in the plumbing van.” The two men nodded. They wore soiled boots, work pants, and blue shirts with Sam and Mike—their American names—embroidered on the front. Like everyone else, their clothes suited their roles in the day’s action. Ghazi pointed to an outlying warehouse district south of the stadium. “You’ll be positioned in the industrial park just over the 405 freeway. The camera drones positioned there confirm the warehouse is still empty. Combination for the padlock on the front roll-up door is…” He gestured to Sabir.

  “Thirty-two, seventeen, twenty-four.”

  Ghazi nodded. “Launch at 6:57 p.m. sharp, but make sure the skylights are opened first. The swarm’s flight path is south on Hindy Avenue.” He moved the pointer to trace the route. “Then east on Arbor Vitae at fifty feet above ground level, straight to Gate C on the west side of the complex. Distance 2.95 miles. Total flight time two minutes, thirty seconds. Once the swarm is launched, Amir, Aasif, and I will manage it from the roving FedEx truck.” The FedEx logos now emblazoned on the white command vehicle would allow it to blend in anywhere. “You will then proceed to the parking lot at the Home Depot here”—he indicated an area not far from the launch point—“and await further instructions in the event any of the other teams require assistance. After the attack, you will proceed to the rally point in Las Vegas, with one important caveat.” He looked up at the group. “Which is?”

  They all spoke at once. “Don’t speed!” In previous meetings, they’d all grinned at this. Not this time. Ghazi nodded, and selected Pirooz to speak next by handing him the pointer.

  “Team two, Mohammad and me, HVAC van,” Pirooz said without hesitation. He used the pointer to indicate an area south of the stadium. “Residential neighborhood one block southwest of Hawthorne muni airport. We all know the place since Ghazi’s been living there for the past year. Pull into the side driveway and park the van in front of the garage in the rear yard. Launch at 6:57 p.m., plus 36 seconds. Swarm will track east out the backyard, over the alley and industrial yard, and then west on Prairie Ave., staying at thirty feet AGL until clear of the end of the airport runway, then climb to one hundred feet AGL to clear power lines for a direct track to Gate C, the south entrance. Distance…” He pointed to Mohammad, who said, “2.28 miles. Flight time one minute, 54 seconds.”

  Ebrahem received the stick next. He tapped its tip on an expansive greenbelt north of the stadium. “Inglewood Park Cemetery. Team three, which is Tarik…” He swallowed. “And Amir.” Latif had previously been assigned to team three. “They will be in the funeral supply van alongside plot number 749, which happens to be the resting place of…”

  He gestured toward the entire group and they spoke in unison. “Mary Fae Farmer, beloved wife, 1908 to 1974. Rest in peace.”

  Ebrahem handed the stick to Saabir, who said, “Launch at 6:58 plus 33 seconds, track south across cemetery ground, then over the L.A. Forum parking lot to enter the stadium from Gate A on the north side. Distance 1.14 miles. Flight time 57 seconds, which means all three swarms will arrive at the gates at precisely 6:59 p.m. plus 30 seconds.”

  The stick passed from one to another as they continued, never skipping a beat. After they finished confirming backup assignments for each team member, as well as contingency plans and escape r
outes, the pointer was handed to Farhad.

  “We’re ready.”

  “Indeed we are,” Hadi said.

  “I have good news,” Farhad added, waking up his phone to pull up the news broadcast he’d watched earlier regarding growing concerns around the country. The American people were frightened following the attacks the day before, and many were hesitant to leave their homes to attend the Independence Day events planned around the country. The president had called a news conference aboard Air Force One this morning, and Farhad played the last part of his speech as the others gathered around.

  “I share your concerns in the aftermath of yesterday’s attacks, and I can assure you that every available resource of our nation has been put to the task of bringing the perpetrators to justice. And mark my words, we will find them, and they will be made to pay. We are Americans, and we will not succumb to fear. We will never shrink in the face of such attacks. Instead, we shall rise above it as one, fueled by the blood and sacrifice of those innocents who perished yesterday, and armed with the knowledge that together we are unstoppable. So to the cowardly butchers intentionally targeting our families and children, I say this. We are a nation unified because of your actions, and 315 million pairs of emboldened eyes are now looking for you. There is no place you can hide where we won’t find you. You hoped to instill fear in the land of the brave? You have failed. Instead, you have awakened a sleeping giant who won’t rest until you, and all who support you, meet justice.” The president paused, and his reddened face relaxed a little. His eyes moist, he stared at the camera and said, “God bless you all, and God bless America.”

  The image faded, and a news broadcaster cut in.

  “That speech was broadcast from Air Force One, and the president’s staff has confirmed that it will soon be landing at Los Angeles International Airport so the president can attend the Liberty and Justice Celebration at the new Los Angeles Entertainment Center.”

  Farhad ended the video and pocketed his phone. The others responded with narrowed gazes and tight-lipped nods. It had been announced a week earlier that the president planned to attend the evening event, but they’d worried he would cancel after yesterday’s attacks. Instead, the president intended to use the event to inspire the populace.

  “He’s leading by example,” Jamal said.

  Farhad huffed. “He’s going to die by example. It couldn’t be better.”

  Hadi said, “Security is going to be tighter than ever.”

  “Sure,” Farhad said. “Twice as many guards, Secret Service around every corner, and bomb-sniffing dogs weaving through the crowds. How will any of that pose an obstacle to our plan?”

  Ghazi shook his head. “It won’t. They have zero contingencies for repelling a swarmed drone attack, because it’s never been done before. Today, we’re like the first army who brought rifles to battle against an enemy wielding swords and arrows. It’s going to be a slaughter. We’re going to make history.”

  When nobody had a response to that, Hadi said, “Make your final checks. We’ll be rolling out in two hours.”

  A minute later, Jamal popped his head out of the truck and called out, “I’m into the monk’s hard drive. You’re not going to believe what’s on it!”

  Farhad hurried over, and the rest followed. Each of the wall displays was playing different videos of Jake Bronson and his wife and teammates. The sound was off on all the videos except the one on the center screen, where the big man Tony said, “He wanted to take down the entire human race—all except his chosen followers—and he triggered the Grid to make it happen. Jake was the only man on the planet who could speak with the aliens.”

  Farhad recognized the piece as part of the Global Terrorist video that had gone viral and condemned Bronson and his friends to lives on the run. But as Tony continued speaking, it became evident his words had been cleverly edited to portray a false message. Farhad glanced at the videos on the other screens. The raw footage the monk had intended to deliver into Bronson’s hands was the one piece of evidence that could clear his name.

  “I guess we’re not the only ones with reasons to want to bring the American down,” Hadi said.

  Jamal shook his head. “The videos were all a clever ruse to frame him.”

  Ebrahem looked up from his workstation. “And guess what? This is the original drive. The editing software still resides on it. With the level of encryption built into it, you can bet it’s never been copied. It’s the only one in existence.”

  Farhad smiled. Allah was with them. They might not have killed Bronson yet, but Farhad would see to it that the man never enjoyed a single day of peace.

  “Destroy it. Immediately.”

  Chapter 30

  Stunt training ranch

  Simi Valley, California

  July 4, 4:30 PM

  JAKE WAS IMPRESSED BY PETE’S DIGS. His stunt training ranch was located at the base of the Santa Susana Mountains between Chatsworth and Simi Valley. The isolated and rugged parcel was surrounded by sandstone boulders, dramatic outcroppings, and oak savannahs—like one might expect to see in a Hollywood western. The grounds included a dirt-bike track, a horse barn with corrals, an expansive obstacle course and training area, and several structures. The four-bedroom house had to be at least sixty years old, but the gymnasium-sized, steel-walled warehouse beside it was less than a decade old. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but the interior was a different matter. The ceiling and two-story walls were insulated against the summer heat, and power for the HVAC system and other systems was supplemented by a solar and wind farm out back. The interior was mostly open. One end contained a dojo, with a variety of handheld weapons on racks. There was exercise equipment, three offices, a fenced storage area with racks of equipment, a kitchen, and a large meeting and lounge section Pete called the ready room, where everyone was now gathered.

  Marshall pushed back from his seat at the long conference table where he’d set up his computer gear. He downed the rest of a can of energy drink, and dropped it into the wastebasket behind him, where two other empties already resided. “We’ve got to get our hands on that drive!” He pounded a fist on the table hard enough that even Lacey, Francesca, Alex, and Sarafina noticed from the kitchen area, where they were making sandwiches.

  Tony, Pete, Skylar, Sam, and Tony’s three SWAT buddies who’d picked up Alex were sitting around the table with Marshall. The SEALs had dressed down when they arrived, and had taken it upon themselves to set up guard positions around the facility.

  Jake shared Marshall’s frustration. Little Star had told them what was on the drive. It had belonged to Jiaolong, the man who’d turned their lives upside down less than two weeks ago. Jiaolong was dead now, but his lead technician, Pak, had survived the aftermath of their explosive escape from Yóulóng Village in the South China jungle. Pak had grabbed the drive to use as a bargaining chip in case the Chinese army caught up with him. But Pak hadn’t counted on Little Star tracking him down to where he’d fled into the mountains.

  “I’m sorry I failed you,” Little Star said, sitting across from Marshall. He’d changed into more comfortable clothes, an earth-colored tunic over baggy pants and moccasins. His bald head shone under the fluorescents.

  “Ha!” Skylar said. “It was our fault you got nailed. Should’ve figured we weren’t the only ones looking for you.”

  Marshall shook his head. “And that’s my damn fault. Not yours.”

  Jake glanced at the trash can, where the smashed tablet lay beneath the empty cans. Since Marshall and the others had only discussed the monk on the tablet, it hadn’t taken long for Marshall to discover it had been hacked. Marshall had crushed the device under his heel, furious with himself for the oversight, particularly when he’d realized that was also how the terror cell had known to bug out before Jake and the SEALs arrived at their hideout.

  “That raw video was our last hope of ever leading normal lives,” Marshall said.

  “Forget about it, Marsh,” Jake said.
“We’ve got bigger problems.”

  “You’ve got that right. The world wants our heads, and a group of terrorists using state-of-the-art tech is leading the pack! What the hell are—?” Marshall stopped himself. “Jeese, sorry…” He inhaled to calm himself. “They’ve got Ahmed. We’ve got to find him. That’s our top priority. I’ve entered the license plate numbers from Sarafina’s photos into the system, but I’ve come up empty. But I’m not gonna stop looking.”

  “And until we do find them,” Sam said, “we’ve got to face facts. The terrorist cell is in the wind, and since they’re obviously part of the same group that initiated the attacks back East, then you can bet they’re planning an attack around here, too.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” one of the SWAT guys said. His name was Walt Baxter, and he and Tony went way back. “We’ve got to consider calling in Homeland.” The other two SWAT officers nodded.

  “And tell ’em what, laddie? That they need to beef up security at the hundreds of Fourth of July events in Southern California? Ye can bet after what happened yesterday, they’re already assholes ’n’ elbows into doing that. No, I wouldn’t be calling ’em just yet, because the moment you do, they’ll be all over ye to know yer source, and when they get wind of the fact Jake Bronson’s involved, we’ll be taken out of the action quicker than yankin’ yer kid’s hand from a hot stove.”