by Lewis, Rykar
The lady looked Parks directly in the eye and with deep sincerity said, “I’m very sorry about your brother. I do appreciate his service, and yours. But to answer your question, God still can’t let him into Heaven unless he accepted Jesus as his personal Lord and Saviour. Do you see what I’m saying?”
Parks hardly knew what to say. “I can’t believe that, ma’am. I don’t see how you can say that God won’t allow our selfless military men into His Heaven unless they accept Jesus. Maybe that’s your perspective but I just don’t see it, ma’am.”
“I tell you what,” the lady replied softly, “we’ll pray for you. We’ll ask God to give you that understanding, and I’m sure He will.”
“Thank you ma’am,” Parks acknowledged politely.
“All right then, would you like me to pray with you now?”
“Uh, no ma’am,” Parks responded a bit too quickly. “But again, thanks for stopping by.”
“Of course. Would you like us to come by some other time and visit with you?”
“No ma’am, I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Thanks for your time and have a nice evening.”
Parks nodded and closed the door. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He had never been to church much except on Easter Sundays and an occasional Christmas, and that was kind of the way he liked things. But even if he did want to attend a church, he couldn’t now since he had to work so much.
Oh no, he thought when he suddenly smelled smoke. I’m sure my hot dogs are fried harder than a rock by now.
39
Tuesday, March 25th – 0530 hours
Juarez, Mexico
Alka vun Buvka stepped off the Gulfstream V and looked around. It was early in the morning and the famous warm Mexican sun was not up yet, making the weather quite cool. A small one-man aircraft was sitting not a hundred yards away, and vun Buvka was wondering if that would be his means of getting into the U.S.
“Mr. vun Buvka,” the male flight attendant said, “your bags.”
Vun Buvka spun around and grabbed his luggage. “Thank you. Do you know if that is going to be my transportation plane?” he asked, as he nodded toward the aircraft. “It seems rather small, wouldn’t you say?”
The man cleared his throat. “It has to be small. And yes, that’s the one.”
Vun Buvka snickered. “How very efficient.”
“It’ll do the job, believe me. Now, you know how to fly one of those things, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Terrorists are always learning how to use equipment that might help them in their work.”
“Very well, Mr. vun Buvka,” the man conceded. “Do you have any questions? If you do I’d ask them now because besides being able to contact the boss, you’re on your own once you cross over the border.”
“I have nothing to ask.”
“Good. Then you’d better get out of here before someone wanders over and recognizes you.”
Vun Buvka consented and walked over to the aircraft. He threw in what few items he had brought along and then seated himself in the pilot’s seat. After a long breath and a quick look back at the Gulfstream V that would be waiting for him to return, he started the engine.
I hope I don’t die trying to fly this plane, he thought. I think I’d rather die at the hands of some American.
* * *
President Winnfield studied the faces of each man that was sitting in the Situation Room. He had called the meeting with the majority leaders and the whips of both houses of Congress, the Speaker of the House, and VP, on the premise of what to do about the terrorists. Of course, he wouldn’t address that there were terrorists in the U.S. because he didn’t want to tip his hand about the Viper Team Seven, but rather he was going to present a solution to prevent future terrorists from crossing into the U.S. from the southern border. It was a demanding issue.
“Gentlemen,” the President began with confidence in his voice, “I thank all of you for attending this meeting; it is of utmost importance, I assure you. I would like to address the matter of a fence on our southwest border. A matter which has already received funding, yet for two administrations has not been completed for some reason or another.” The statement aroused sneers from several of the men in the room. “However,” Winnfield continued, “the past administrations are past, thank God, and now we can make this fence a reality.”
“Let’s all face the facts, gentlemen,” he went on. “With the recent terrorist attacks in January, we have no other choice than to make sure our nation is more secure.” Several heads bobbed up and down in agreement. “I believe a large step to achieving that goal would be to construct a fence on our southwest border. Senate Majority Leader Task from Texas, and the House whip, Congressman Payson out of New Mexico, can both agree, I’m sure, that in most places a river guards our country from illegal aliens. That should not be so. You see, it’s like an open door for terrorists to come into the Continental United States. Does anyone not see what I’m trying to say?”
“I completely agree with you, Mr. President,” Congressman Payson of the Republican Party voiced. “The innocent citizens of the southwest are being negatively affected because our borders are not locked down as they should be. Once the illegal aliens come into our nation, there’s no stopping them – drug dealers, murderers, thieves, you name it. We have to keep them out.”
The President nodded and then looked to Senator Task. “And do you have anything you’d like to say regarding this issue?”
Task, a Tea Party Senator, wriggled in his seat before making direct eye contact with Winnfield. “Mr. President, I fully agree. It is our lawful and moral duty to do what’s best for the innocent people of the United States. I am under the impression that it’d be best if we locked down the border with Mexico. Mr. President, we don’t have a choice. We have to do this. The project already has funding, let’s just get the fence built.”
“Thanks for your input, Senator,” the President acknowledged. “I couldn’t agree more. I believe we need to start building it as soon as we can.”
“Mr. President, I feel it’s my duty to say that I am in full agreement with this matter of a border fence,” Republican Senator Egan from New York stated. “The approximately fifteen hundred miles along our southwest border is probably the most dangerous in the U.S. Protecting our borders from illegal aliens has been something heavy on my mind for quite a while, and I am also under the belief that the sooner we construct the fence the better.”
“Many thanks, Senator,” Winnfield responded. “Does Congressman Willie have any comment? I’d like to get anyone’s input on this matter.”
“Well, I’d like to take it even further, Mr. President,” House Majority Leader Willie, a strong Tea Party conservative from Montana, replied. “Although Montana isn’t really affected by illegal aliens from Mexico, I believe it would still be in the best interest of Americans as a whole if we went ahead with this fence. But as I said, I’d like to take an even further step toward securing our southwest border. I would say that we all can come to the agreement that we need Border Patrol agents on the ground, making sure nobody tries to use that fence as a hurdle. A fence is a good precaution, but a fence guarded by Border Patrol agents would be an even greater precaution.”
“I’d say that’s something we need to look into, Mr. President,” Congressman Payson agreed. “If we’re going to take a step for more secure borders, why don’t we try and take a leap instead?”
The President smiled with a heartfelt satisfaction. “You got it, guys. We’ll work in a heavier Border Patrol guard along with the fence. Something else we may need to do is to better secure the airspace and waterspace around the U.S. That issue may come up in the near future.”
“Mr. President, may I ask a question?” Speaker of the House Dann interrupted.
“Of course, what is it?”
“Well sir, just how probable is another 1/16? I mean, if you’d have asked me if there would have been another attack like 9/11, I’d have sa
id no way. But obviously one came. Is this fence really going to thwart another attack? I mean it’s great for stopping everyday illegal Mexicans from crossing into our country, but will it stop terrorists?”
The President knew that Dann hadn’t a clue about the whole situation of how the terrorists had chewed up the Border Patrol agent that guarded the border of New Mexico. He also knew the unpleasant answer to Dann’s question.
“Congressman Dann, may I say that a person can only do so much to stop terrorism,” Winnfield explained. “In our case, we responded to 9/11 by locking down our airspace because it played a role in the attacks. I’m not saying our weak border protection had a part in 1/16, but that could be the cause of future attacks if we don’t do something. The fence, the Border Patrol guards, the War on Terrorism, it’s all in the line of trying to keep our nation as secure as possible from terrorism.”
“All right, Mr. President, I understand that. But I’m asking if this will work. Would it really prevent terrorists from coming into the U.S.?”
Winnfield paused a moment before slowly and carefully answering. “I believe that every step we take – no matter how small it may be – toward securing our nation against terrorism, the better off we will be. The truth is, I don’t know if it will prevent terrorism completely. It will help keep our nation safer from illegal aliens – that I know. And all we can do is try.”
“Is there something else we can do? It just seems so hopeless when it’s put like that.”
“There isn’t much else,” the Vice President said. “We just don’t know what to think about anything yet. We will eventually though.”
Egan pushed on the table and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, well hopefully this fence will give the picture that we don’t want to play.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” the VP warned. “Whoever is to blame had been planning 1/16 for a long time, given how well everything went, and I don’t think a fence will keep them out of the playground.”
“Are you against the fence, Mr. Vice President?” Payson questioned in dismay.
“Not one bit. In fact, I discussed this with the President yesterday and we decided we had to have a fence on our southwest border. I’m just agreeing with the President; that shouldn’t be the end of our security measures but the beginning.”
“He’s got a valid point,” Task voiced. “We are still very vulnerable due to the progressive mindset of the administrations of the past. We’ve done a lot but there’s still a ways to go. We need to hurry on the national security end of things before some hostile nation gets any ideas.”
“That’s the truth,” the President agreed. “We’ve been doing all we can, I just hope we can get deterrents fast enough. There is so much to do.”
The President knew he had to get defenses set up as quickly as possible. Someone was attacking the U.S., and he needed to stop them. Take one step at a time, he told himself mentally. Finish one thing and then move on to the next. It’ll all work out.
* * *
Vun Buvka hadn’t been in the United States since last January, and as he flew over the Mexican border into El Paso, he knew this could be his last visit. As much as he didn’t want it to be, he had to be prepared just in case some unfortunate mistake occurred.
Quickly looking down to the ground of Texas, he realized that he would be approaching the airstrip in just a few minutes. His boss had secured the strip and had assured him that no one would be there that would recognize him and that the plane would still be there waiting for him when he returned. Vun Bukva wasn’t so confident that no one would recognize him, especially when it was a sure thing that his face was on the homepage of the FBI’s website as being the number two terrorist. The usual joy he experienced when he thought of his rank did not come this time, however. Deep inside his gut he knew he would have to play this game wisely if he wanted to win. Unlike last January, now vun Buvka was infamous. This time, the Americans had a team that was specially trained to kill him and his accomplices; so during this operation, he had to be on the alert like never before.
The airstrip came into view and he slowed the aircraft and decreased altitude. “We’re coming in for a landing!” vun Buvka yelled to himself over the noise of the plane’s engine.
He guided the small plane down, down, down, until he felt the wheels slam against the runway. Then he slowed until he was going at a snail’s pace. He steered off to the side to where several sheds were located and chose an empty one that looked like it hadn’t been used for a while. At last when the plane was inside, he shut off the engine, peeled off his goggles, and leaped out of the cockpit.
“Hey you there,” a Texas-accented voice gruffly called from outside the shed. “What can I do for you, Mister?”
Vun Buvka wheeled around and moved his hand to his pistol that was shoved in his belt under his jacket.
“I said, what can I do for you?” the man repeated in a frustrated voice. “You’d better have a good reason for parking your plane in my shed.”
Vun Buvka’s mind reeled for an answer. Was this the right airstrip? Didn’t his boss say he had it all worked out? Then why was this man acting like this?
“I...you...well, you weren’t expecting me?” he finally spit out.
“No, I wasn’t. Now do you want to tell me who you are and why you put your plane in here? This is a personal airstrip you know.”
Again the terrorist was at a loss of words.
“Mister,” the man said, walking closer to vun Buvka, “I asked you a question. Are you going to give me an answer or do I have to call the police and have them make you tell me?”
“What is your name?”
“Never mind. Now what do you want?”
“I need to keep my plane in a safe place for a few days, maybe longer,” vun Buvka hesitantly told him. “Would you be interested in renting this shed to me?”
The Texan’s eyes lit up and his hard face softened. “How many bucks you willin’ to pay, Mex?”
The terrorist was surprised that this man actually thought he was a Mexican. That was very good news for him.
“Fifty a week,” vun Buvka threw out. “But you have to keep my plane in perfect condition.”
“A hundred.”
“All right.”
“Good, let’s see the money,” the man ordered impatiently.
Vun Buvka reached in his pocket and pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. “Satisfied?” he asked, keeping the bill just out of the Texan’s reach.
“Yeah, I’m satisfied.”
“Good.” The terrorist handed the man the hundred dollars and didn’t bother to hide his pleased look. “I’ll give you a hundred more up front if you keep your mouth shut about me being here.”
At that the man’s grin faded. “What are you talkin’ about? Who are you, where are you from?”
Vun Buvka reached back in his pocket and found two hundred-dollar bills. “All right I’ll double it. Two hundred dollars just for holding your tongue. I’m sure you can do that.”
“Look, Mex, I don’t fool easy, I know you just came up from south of the border. Are you some illegal jerk tryin’ to make a fortune in the States or somethin’?”
“If I were, would I have enough money to rent such an expensive facility, and would I be flying a plane such as mine?”
The man pondered this and then snatched the money from the terrorist’s hand. “You got a deal. But look, if you ain’t back here in a week, I confiscate that there plane. Any questions or comments?”
Vun Buvka sighed. He certainly hoped he’d be back in a week. The only reason he wouldn’t be is if he died.
“I take your silence as a ‘no,’” the man piped up. “Now get off my property, only your plane’s allowed to stay here.”
The terrorist reached into his plane and grabbed his luggage. “I wouldn’t want to stay here a second longer than I had to. But thank you very much.”
The man only grunted in response and walked away.
So this is w
hat the boss calls a secured airfield? vun Buvka asked himself. He just picked a personal one somewhere on the border and hoped I could persuade the owner to store my plane.
Vun Buvka was beginning to wonder if his boss would even be any help on the rest of this job when a silver Suburban sped into the airfield owner’s driveway. The driver of the vehicle stopped and waved for vun Buvka to come over.
Well at least he did secure a vehicle, vun Buvka told himself. If nothing else, that’s something to be grateful for.
* * *
Parks and his team were taking training to the next level. Today they were performing extreme hand-to-hand combat situations. They were gathered outside the gym in the small grassy area which would serve as their training field, and everyone seemed to be ready to start.
“Solomon and I will go first,” Parks declared as he pulled off his Marine uniform jacket. “We’ll go easy and slow at first, and to start with we’ll use the moves we are most comfortable with. Everyone got that?”
“Yup,” Solomon replied as he stepped out of the group. “Any rules?”
“No. You ready?”
Solomon nodded and the training session began.
At first, everything was slow and deliberate, and each of them would purposely do foolish things so the other could defend himself easily. Parks would throw a punch and Solomon would duck or dodge it, and Solomon would perform a kick and Parks would counter it. But when both men saw each other’s skill, they decided to step things up a little.
Parks threw a perfect punch with his left arm and Solomon’s hand flew out and grasped Parks’ arm right around the elbow. Then, he stepped up and used leverage to throw Parks down onto the grass. Next, Solomon tried to dive onto Parks but just before he could, Parks rolled out of the way, making the agent slam onto the ground. In perfect unison both men stood up. Now it was Parks’ turn to take the defensive, so Solomon pivoted around and delivered a kick that would have knocked the wind out of anyone. The Marine blocked the kick with his arms while simultaneously grabbing Solomon’s foot and stepping into him.