by Lewis, Rykar
Siraj and his men had decided that it would be better all around to take the back roads instead of risking going through the checkpoint. Undoubtedly the Border Patrol checkpoint guards were looking for them, and Siraj didn’t like those odds.
Suddenly, the terrorist in the passenger’s seat tapped Siraj on his shoulder and pointed up ahead.
“There it is,” he told his leader. “Thanks to Allah.”
Siraj vainly tried to muster a pleased look as he sped up and turned onto the gravel road that changed to plain dirt up further. He planned to shut off the vehicle’s interior lights and headlights when they were parallel to the checkpoint, which would allow them to pass unnoticed. If they were spotted on the dirt road, however, their chances for living were even worse than if they had gone through the checkpoint. So Siraj was taking every precaution he could to make sure that his shaky plan didn’t completely fall apart.
“Be on the watch,” Siraj ordered his men who were beginning to strap on their night-vision goggles. “Let me know about anything you see.”
After driving a while, they could see the lights of the checkpoint almost straight across from them on their right side. Siraj turned off the lights and adjusted his goggles. It would be hard to drive even with night-vision so he’d have to take things slowly. That was fine with him. He was in no hurry to die, and the sooner he arrived at San Antonio, the sooner he would be forced to die.
Without warning, the headlights of a Border Patrol SUV came shining over a hill.
“Look,” one of the terrorists yelled. “Ghazi look.”
“Be quiet you fool,” Siraj countered. “I see it.”
The vehicle was still a ways away and from what it looked like, the Border Patrol driver hadn’t spotted them yet. Siraj figured he had about a minute to escape. But where could he escape? He could try and drive behind one of the many sand mounds, but would he get stuck in the soft sand? Should he stay and fight? He had more men than what was in that single SUV, but he wouldn’t after backup was called for.
Siraj hastily decided to drive behind one of the sand mounds. It seemed to be the only thing that would give them even a small chance. He drove through the sand and parked behind a large mound. He quickly shut off the engine but left the keys in the ignition. Then he grabbed his pistol, made sure it was loaded, and waited, since that was all he could do.
The SUV came closer until it finally reached the point where the terrorists were located. Siraj held his breath and gripped his pistol so tightly that he thought it might break. Much to his relief, the vehicle did not decrease its already-slow pace as it rolled by. Siraj watched until its taillights were not visible.
When he finally felt safe, he turned on the engine and let out a long-held breath.
“That was too close,” he uttered, as he steadily stepped on the accelerator. “Way too close.”
* * *
Parks’ cell phone rang and he immediately answered it. “Major Parks.”
“Yeah, this is Edd Somers over at the JTTF Field Office. We’ve found them.”
“Go on sir,” Parks urged.
“They’re on a back road, trying to skirt around a checkpoint. They would have gone by unnoticed but one of the Patrol’s SUVs spotted them.”
“What’d they do sir?”
“Nothin’ happened. The terrorists probably think the SUV didn’t see them. Let’s hope it stays that way because it’ll give you the upper hand by having the element of surprise.”
“Yes sir, but where do we fly to intercept them?”
“They’re going to end up on Highway 90 once they come off those dirt roads. Somewhere west of Del Rio will be the location where you’ll have to take them out. You got a plan of attack?”
“Yes sir.”
“It’d better be good, because we’re counting solely on you.”
“I know sir,” Parks assured, giving the thumbs-up to Solomon.
“Then get going.”
Parks and Somers ended the call and Parks quickly gathered his team into the Blackhawk that had been waiting for them.
“We’re headin’ west of Del Rio,” Parks informed his team as he strapped himself in. “The Border Patrol found the terrorists on a back road.”
“That’s nice. But KP, did we have to take a Blackhawk?” Solomon moaned as he readied a barf bag. “You know what helicopters do to me, right?”
Parks shook his head. “No, but I can guess. You’ll be fine, just keep it in the bag, all right?”
Solomon shut his eyes and gripped his seat as the Blackhawk began to rise into the sky. After it rose a few hundred feet, it leveled off and began heading east. Solomon was keeping his eyes closed but Parks was looking out the window into the black night, thinking about what could go wrong with his plan. There seemed to be nothing that could, but in truth, there always was something. He just didn’t know what yet.
* * *
The Blackhawk touched down a couple hundred yards from the highway and dropped off the team and its necessary equipment. Then it took off into the sky again and left the team alone by the barren highway. Solomon’s team members had Remington sniper rifles, Parks’ carried SMAWs, and each man had a sidearm, a radio, and night-vision goggles. Parks went over the battle plans one more time just to make sure that everyone understood everything.
“Solomon, you and Eric go down and set up the Enforcer,” Parks commanded. “Base your line of snipers on that tire strip, okay?”
“Okay,” Solomon agreed.
Just as the two took their first step to go retrieve the tire strip, lights from a car shone over the hill. As the vehicle passed by the team, Solomon and Lee turned to Parks.
“Do we really need the tire strip?” Solomon questioned, pointing over his shoulder at the vehicle.
Just as he spoke, three or four sets of lights appeared on the road. The first car passed the team, and then another, and another, and another.
“I guess we don’t really need a tire strip then,” Parks nervously confirmed when the last car passed. He knew that without a tire strip the terrorists would have nothing that would stop them besides a bullet through the head. A lot more pressure would be on Solomon to shoot the driver and stop the vehicle now that a strip was not going to be used.
“Don’t worry, I can handle it,” Solomon promised, just as though he’d been reading Parks’ thoughts. “They won’t get away.”
“I sure hope not. Every man needs to do his part or this plan’s going to fail. Does anyone have any last-minute questions, concerns, or comments?”
A unanimous “no” was the reply so Parks took his part of the team to their positions. Norse was on his right, and Corley on his left, and each man was spaced about fifteen yards apart.
After a few moments, Parks pulled out his night-vision binoculars. He put them to his eyes and began scanning up the road, searching for any vehicle. As far as he could tell, none was around, but he kept looking and tried to stay awake. He was blessed enough to have this second chance to save the operation, and he was not going to let anything go unnoticed. If he did, the entire operation could be compromised.
* * *
The checkpoint had been passed and now Siraj had a straight shot to San Antonio. He should have been pleased but he wasn’t. He felt as though he was running into a trap and was about to be caught and killed. He and his team were approaching the border town of Del Rio, and there were still many miles to go before they reached their destination.
Siraj knew that he could easily jump the border into Mexico somewhere near Del Rio and then be free to go wherever he pleased. The thought was alluring to him but the more he pondered the ways that would allow him to do so, the more he realized it would be an impossibility without the consent of his fellow terrorists. And there was the catch. How would he get his men to agree with him? He knew they didn’t feel the way he did; they wanted to carry out this operation. So how would he convince them that going to Mexico and running away would be the right thing to do? There was no w
ay they would go for that unless vun Buvka ordered them to do so. But vun Buvka wouldn’t do such a thing. Not unless he used them as sleeper agents, and if he decided to do that, he would place them inside the U.S., not Mexico.
Then an idea hit him. He could order his team to spread out across the United States and lay low until the U.S. slowed down the search for them. Then, when the opportunity presented itself, they could carry out their own private operation. In doing so, Siraj would buy himself several more months to live. And maybe if he played his cards right, he could vanish and be done completely with terrorism. But for now, he could spread his terrorists across America and then call vun Buvka and explain the whole situation to him. It didn’t matter if his boss approved or not. What could he do? Every law enforcement official, Border Patrol worker, special agent, and almost every U.S. Government worker that carried a gun was on the lookout for vun Buvka’s mug. If he dared to come into the U.S., he’d be found and killed before he could ever reach Siraj. In a way, the Americans would be protecting Siraj without even knowing it – without even wanting to.
Now all he needed to do was find a good reason to use such a plan. One that would not rouse suspicion in his men. But didn’t he already have a good reason? Practically every state and federal agent was watching for them. There was really no way they could reach San Antonio. Somehow Siraj felt that the Border Patrol SUV had really seen them and reported it. For some reason he still felt that he was driving into a trap.
Without looking at any of his men, he drew in a deep breath and blurted it out. “We will not reach San Antonio,” he confirmed, not betraying the fear he felt. “Too many people are looking for us. Perhaps someone has already seen us and knows where we’re going. We are heading into a deathtrap and we cannot continue. The Viper Team Seven lies ahead. I can feel it. We can turn and head west across state lines and into New Mexico. That will allow us time to throw off all of those hunting for us in Texas. From there, we can divide the C4, split off into different places, and lay low until the Americans have forgotten us. Then we can fulfill our own separate attacks with ease, unbeknownst to the Americans.” Siraj looked at the terrorist in the passenger’s seat and asked, “Well, who is with me?”
Silence followed for several minutes before someone in the back spoke up. “Mr. Siraj, you are right. If we continue with our plans, we will die before we can attain success. Your way is the only sensible way to go. I’m with you.”
Siraj smothered a smile and fixed his eyes on the road. “Is he the only one?” he demanded to know.
A moment passed before the others reluctantly agreed. When they did, Siraj whipped the vehicle in a U-turn and headed west instead of the planned course. What he didn’t know, and what he never would know, was that if he had kept on his course, he would have crossed the area where the Viper Team Seven was waiting, in just a half mile.
37
Friday, March 21st – 0500 hours
Somewhere Near Del Rio, Texas
Parks was certain of one thing: the terrorists were not going east. The Border Patrol reported that there was a possibility that they had been trying to get into San Antonio, but from what Parks was seeing, nothing was backing up that idea. The team had been in position, waiting, watching, for hours, and nothing besides American Citizens had passed by. This is hopeless, Parks thought. If they were coming they’d have come by now.
He knew he needed to make a vital decision, again. He had to make the call of when to call it quits. There was no use in sitting out in the barren deserts of Texas watching for something that wouldn’t come when they could be used better elsewhere. But what would happen if the terrorists were just about to come? He had asked himself that question a hundred times since he arrived, and he really couldn’t come up with a plausible answer. But instinctively he was doing more harm than good waiting around, and he had to get back into the game before it ended with defeat.
Picking up his gear, he walked over, called Norse and Corley, and then radioed in to Solomon. “VIPER BRAVO, this is VIPER ALPHA. Forget it, it’s useless. The targets must have taken a different route. We’re coming over. Do you copy? Over.”
The reply was instantaneous. “Roger that, VIPER ALPHA. I fully agree,” Solomon said back. “We’ll be lookin’ for you. Out.”
“Come on guys,” Parks ordered his two-man team as he began to walk across the road to join Solomon. “I can’t believe this happened.”
“What exactly did happen?” Corley asked.
Parks shook his head but didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer. He was upset, disappointed and completely confused. He didn’t know where to turn, what to ask, or what to do. Everything had fallen apart since the sleeper’s house. If only he’d done the job right the first time he wouldn’t be in this mess. He knew that if Norse would have done his assignment right and not second-guessed authority, the house storming wouldn’t have failed as it did. He had been thinking about that all night, and he had narrowed the reason down to two things. One, Norse hadn’t taken his job seriously since Parks had given it to him; two, he wanted Parks to fall flat on his face so he purposely made a halfhearted effort. Either way the same rule applied. Norse was the reason the operation had failed, and he needed to be dealt with. But ultimately, Parks knew he was to blame. As someone once said, “Everything rises and falls on leadership.” It was true. Parks should have straightened Norse out before they embarked on this operation. He had waited too long, and now he might have to deliver the bad news of a failed mission. His last hope was that he’d have a third chance.
* * *
Three days after Operation FIRST FIGHT, Parks and his team flew into Andrews. His team had worked through the JTTF Field Office for those days until the terrorists were confirmed lost. So, disappointed and tired, the Viper Team Seven had climbed on BIG BIRD and headed back home to report the bad news to the National Security Advisor.
After they landed, the team loaded into ICEBERG and drove to the White House. They picked up their vehicles and headed home since it was past midnight and too late to report about the mission.
At 0600 Monday, March 24th, Parks gathered with his team in front of the EEOB.
“I’ll go report to the National Security Advisor now,” Parks said. “You guys can go ahead and do PT at the gym. Solomon, you take charge. When I’m through with the briefing, I’ll come over. Most likely I’ll be there around 0730 or so.”
Solomon zipped up his jacket since the day was getting colder and replied, “Okay, KP, have fun. We’ll see you later then.”
“Right,” Parks moaned as he left his team and walked toward the White House. He knew that what he had to say to the NSA would not be pleasant and that he was going to get in loads of trouble. But he had to do it anyway and the sooner he got it done the better.
Walking up to the guards, he showed his badge and was allowed inside the white mansion. He didn’t want to be here at all. He didn’t want to say what he had to. In fact, he didn’t even want to see the National Security Advisor. He hated reporting his failures, and even more so when he had as much responsibility as he had now. Lives of innocent American Citizens were in his hands and when he failed to achieve success in his operations, there was a chance that those citizens could be killed.
Pulling himself from the negative thinking, he continued walking down the hall until he came in front of the NSA’s office door. Parks had been told to report to him without the need for giving notice that he was coming. He wasn’t sure if it was better that way or worse, but that was what he was ordered to do so he didn’t have any choice.
With deep dread, Parks grasped the door knob, turned it, and opened the door. He quickly stepped inside the office, closed the door, and stood at attention. At first he didn’t see the National Security Advisor, but he eventually spotted him from the corner of his eye. Looking upset and tired, the man was on his cell phone pacing his office. He was on the far side of the room and was so captivated in his conversation that he didn’t realize Parks w
as even there.
Like any good Marine, Parks didn’t move and just waited for his boss to finish with his call. Smith was yelling into his phone now, and as Parks stood at attention he began to think that his timing was terrible. What he had to talk to the NSA about would make him mad enough but if he was already angry, Parks was dead.
As he continued to stare at the wall in front of him he became aware that either Smith had not realized he was there or he was completely ignoring him. Five minutes passed and not so much as a nod had come from the upset National Security Advisor. It was eating a lot of the time Parks would need for the briefing, but that was fine by him. The less time he had to spend with his upset boss the better.
The clock made it all the way to 0610, then 0615, then 0620. Parks had been standing at attention for so long his legs felt like deadweights. Finally when Smith crashed onto the couch that faced away from where Parks was, he came to the conclusion that it would be a long while before the NSA would hang up the phone. He thought maybe he should slip out of the office and come back at a better time.
Just as he was gathering the courage to make an attempt to leave, the National Security Advisor made one last command into his phone. “Just come over to my office as soon as you can, Admiral!” Smith yelled. Then he snapped his phone shut and threw it across the room where it landed on a leather chair.
The NSA sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair before walking to his refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water. At last he turned and strolled over to his desk.
“Oh, Parks,” he stated in surprise. He seated himself behind the massive desk. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
Parks swallowed hard and could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he contemplated how to go about the explanation. “Uh, sir I–”
“Yes, I know. You came by to tell me about the failed operation.” Smith finished for him. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Major.”