Secession II: The Flood

by Joe Nobody

  Washington immediately ordered one of the U.S. Navy’s carrier battle groups to enter the Mediterranean Sea, more a sign of disgust with Texas than a perceived need to protect an ally.

  A virtual parade of military helicopters ferried journalists, reporters, and government bigwigs from Ankara and Istanbul to the remote berg where the hostilities had been initiated. There, the three dead Texas soldiers were touted as proof of the new Republic’s aggression and heinous acts.

  Texas, for her part, claimed that the soldiers had been abducted or acted alone. Several senior officers, as well as government spokesmen in Austin, tried in vain to tell the world that the incident was a false flag… or perhaps the act of unstable individuals. Not many outside the Republic believed their side of the story.

  ISIS did as they always do, using the event as a propaganda extravaganza. Donations and foreign volunteers poured into the caliphate.

  It was against this background that Zach and Sam were called into Major Putnam’s office.

  “The president wants both of you on a plane to Istanbul, Turkey immediately,” the major began. “Under duress, the Turkish officials have agreed to let our people examine the bodies and evidence surrounding this event. I don’t envy you, as you’ll be walking into a highly hostile environment.”

  Zach was a bit surprised by the assignment, and the shock was apparent in his voice. “Why us, sir?”

  Putnam frowned, but then lowered his voice. “You two had quite the little adventure over in Arkansas, and despite our cooperation, the U.S. authorities are threatening to press charges against both of you. While we would deny the extradition, the entire situation could get out of hand, especially in light of the recent clash in Syria.”

  The major paused, glancing between the two rangers standing in front of his desk. “That’s the official reason,” he stated clearly. “And then there’s President Simmons’s awareness of certain actions you took in Jerusalem, Ranger Bass,” he continued in a lower voice. “Unorthodox actions, I might add. It seems our boss is of the opinion that your can-do attitude might be necessary during this investigation.”

  “Yes, sir,” Zach replied, not sure if he was being scolded or not.

  Putnam clearly wasn’t impressed. “Be that as it may, I need two rangers in Turkey reviewing every shred of evidence. Colonel Bowman and I have both been on the phone with several Army officers during the past few hours. They claim there is absolutely no way any of our troops wandered across the border and attacked a foreign outpost. As one of the dead men’s sergeant put it, ‘They couldn’t find their way to the latrine after dark, sir. No way they humped two kilometers at night, stumbled onto a village, and initiated a firefight.’”

  Major Putnam then shoved a thick envelope across the table. “Here are your travel arrangements, letters of introduction, and diplomatic passports. Every ounce of information we have about this incident is included. In addition, a copy has been emailed to both of you. While in-country, you are authorized to wear a sidearm and have the same authority as an Interpol detective. Any other questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Now get over there and clear our nation’s name. Get to the bottom of this, and do so quickly. The future of the Republic may depend on it. Dismissed.”

  On the way out, the major’s admin stopped the two law officers. “Ranger Bass, a courier left this package for you a short time ago.”

  Zach glanced the envelope and shrugged at Sam. “What the hell is this?”

  The duo continued out into the hall, Zach pausing to open the package.

  Zach withdrew an 8x10 glossy, his face quickly tensing into a grimace. There, clear as a bell, was the man he’d been chasing since all the bullshit in Syria had begun. Zach’s blood started to boil.

  “What is it, Zach?” Sam asked after seeing his face.

  Zach handed her the picture and returned to digging in the package. He produced a single, handwritten page.

  “This is the man with Butcher at the restaurant,” the note began. “He is known to us as Ghost. No other name. The man he is sitting with is Abu el-Zaharias, one of the most wanted individuals in the world. He was an up and coming star in Saddam Hussein’s secret police and military intelligence services. As of late, he is one of the six highest-ranking leaders in ISIS. We have reason to believe Ghost is closely associated with Abu, and may be operating in Texas or the U.S.A. Be careful, Zach. My sister sends her regards.”

  The note was signed, “David.”

  Zach whistled, and then glanced at his partner, giving her his famous, “I told you so,” look.

  Sam read the letter and said, “You’ve been insisting for months that there was some mastermind behind the oil tool shipments, the kidnapping in Jerusalem, the counterfeiting, and the hijacking. You’ve felt all along like someone was managing an organized attack against Texas. I hate to admit it, but you might be right after all.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Zach replied. “Because if I am, a lot of people are about to get hurt.”

  Chapter 13

  Zach slept most of the eight-hour flight. Sam tried but couldn’t get out.

  Instead, she spent a majority of the trip studying the case folder and doing background research. When the pilot announced they were approaching Istanbul, she rattled Zach from his slumber.

  “Coffee,” he first growled, followed quickly by, “these seats weren’t intended for anybody over six feet.”

  Sam had already ordered her partner a cup before the stewards had put everything away. The dark brew was just above cabin temperature, but Zach was thankful for the influx of caffeine.

  Wheels down was uneventful, as was passing through customs. “These diplomatic passports are the shit,” Zach informed his partner. “That was easy.”

  A man of short stature was waiting for them, holding a handmade sign reading, “Bass Temple.”

  “Sounds like a great fishing hole,” Zach remarked.

  “That would be Inspector Supervisor Tula… Nihat Tula,” Sam replied, looking at the folder and stumbling with the pronunciation. “He is with Istanbul PD, which is spelled P-O-L-I-S here… just so you know.”

  Zach figured he’d go with ‘Inspector,’ just to be safe.

  Tula greeted the two travelers with a warm smile and vigorous handshake. His English was accented, but excellent. “I attended Oxford in an exchange program,” he stated. “I also worked with Scotland Yard during my master’s program.”

  The rangers followed their liaison to the parking area, Zach noting the tiniest police cruiser he’d ever seen. He threw Sam a skeptical glance.

  “You’re very tall… both of you,” Tula observed. “But our drive today is short. I will requisition a larger vehicle tomorrow. I assume you wish to first investigate the location where the incident occurred?”

  Sam shook her head, “No, sir. Actually, we’d like to see the coroner’s report on the three Republic soldiers in your country’s possession.”

  “As you wish.”

  Somehow, Zach managed to fold himself into the backseat. Sam had to ride with one bag on her lap, as the trunk couldn’t handle their modest luggage. Tula drove like a maniac, which seemed the norm in Istanbul.

  The police station wasn’t far from the airport. Zach had made a mental note to take in as much of the ancient city as possible, but the desire proved problematic. Between the inspector’s constant swerving and Zach closing his eyes in fear of a collision, the Texan noticed little of Europe’s largest city.

  It took a few moments for the circulation to return to Zach’s legs after they arrived. Waiting politely for the Texan to uncoil from the vehicle, Inspector Tula asked Sam if she was a medical examiner or a police officer.

  “I’m a Texas Ranger,” Sam answered, a bit confused by the question. “Before that, I worked Homicide in the city of Houston.”

  “I see. Then I must ask why you wish to see the medical report. Do Texas inspectors ordinarily trouble themselves with such things?”
/>   Sam wrote it off to a difference in culture, and thus policing practices. “We use all evidence at our disposal. Often, victims’ blood panels can tell us if they were drug users, were afflicted by certain diseases, or had been intoxicated in any way. It’s one of many things we will want to see during the course of our investigation.”

  Their host merely nodded and then turned to see if Zach was ready.

  The trio entered a modest, four-story office building that was the main headquarters of one of Istanbul’s many police districts. Unlike most big city stations in Texas, the facility was calm and orderly.

  As they walked past several uniformed officers, Zach got the first hint of hostility from the faces of several passersby. No one said a word, but the frowns and scowls were unmistakable.

  Tula walked straight to a bank of elevators, and then the Texans were shown into a small but comfortable conference room. “I’ve reserved this workspace for the duration of your stay,” the Turkish cop announced. “I hope you’ll find the accommodations acceptable.”

  “Thank you, this is more than we expected,” Sam responded.

  After making sure his guests didn’t need any water, Tula left to retrieve the requested report. Sam began yawning.

  “You look like shit,” Zach teased. “If you’re going to work in international espionage and law enforcement, you’ve got to learn to catch a few winks on the plane.”

  “Oh, yeah, right, Mr. Bond. Thank you for sharing your years and years of accumulated wisdom with little, ol’ me.”

  Tula returned, a thick folder under his arm. “These are all of the medical reports.”

  Sam opened the extensive pile of documents and discovered the first problem. “Damn it. I should have known,” she said, looking up at Zach. “These aren’t in English.”

  “I’m to be your translator,” replied the inspector. “What is it you wish to know?”

  “Well, let’s start with the official cause of death, please.”

  Flipping through several pages, Tula finally found the answer. “Basically they bled to death from shrapnel wounds. One man suffered a gunshot to the head, but according to this report, that wound was post-mortem. He had already hemorrhaged to death. Another two minor bullet wounds to his shoulder and thigh, but those were noted as having been survivable.”

  “Does the shrapnel metallurgy match NATO issued grenades?” Zach inquired.

  Again, they waited while the inspector searched the file. “Unfortunately, there is no way to answer that right now. That test has not been returned as of yet.”

  “How about the blood work? Did it show any foreign substances?” Sam questioned.

  This time Tula flipped and flipped, going through the entire file. “Odd,” he finally announced. “I don’t see any test results relating to the blood. I know they would have been performed. Someone must have forgotten to put them in the file.”

  The inspector then excused himself, explaining that he needed to make a call. While he was gone, Zach helped himself to the dossier. While he couldn’t read the words, he could study the pictures.

  One such image was taken at the scene. It showed the three dead Texas troopers lying in the distorted positions of battlefield dead. Zach grunted and then slid it across the table for Sam to view. “Notice anything odd about that picture?”

  After a bit, she shook her head and answered, “Sorry. Nothing looks out of place to me.”

  “I checked the weather report for the night in question. It was still over 90 degrees when the firefight occurred. Supposedly, those three men humped just under three kilometers carrying about 30 pounds of combat gear each prior to an out and out skirmish. But there are no sweat stains. Look under that one man’s arm. Fresh as a daisy.”

  “Maybe the perspiration evaporated?” Sam challenged.

  “You’ve worn body armor before. Those guys had on even less breathable Kevlar than what we wear. You know how hot it gets. They trekked all that distance, uphill, and at an impressive pace, I might add. They had to be scared. Nobody goes into a gunfight without nerves. Yet I don’t see a single perspiration line on any of them. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Then how did they get there?”

  Zach shook his head, “This wouldn’t be the first time somebody planted dead bodies to throw off the cops. Who knows, but it sure doesn’t look like they walked in to me.”

  Sam rubbed her chin in thought. “It would be interesting to see the blood analysis. If they had recently exerted themselves, it would show in their oxygen levels.”

  Tula returned just then, a sour look on his face. “My apologies, but the report you seek seems to have gone missing. The autopsy was performed by our doctors at a military medical facility. I’ve left a message for them to return my call. Until then, would you like to check into your hotel? I’m sure you must be tired after such a long flight.”

  Sam had to agree, noting that she could use a meal and a shower. She also asked if she could take the file with her. “Of course,” her host instantly replied. “Now, let me find someone to get you to the hotel… someone with a larger car than mine.”

  Ghost sat quietly on his balcony, his eyes taking in the numerous ships traversing the Golden Horn, one of Istanbul’s most famous landmarks.

  A natural harbor and protected estuary, archeologists had uncovered evidence of its use by humanity dating back to 6,000 BC.

  Like the city of 14 million that encircled it, the waterway had experienced numerous masters, including the Greek, Roman, and Ottoman Empires.

  Despite the beauty and rich history that surrounded him, the Arab operator longed for home. His desire wasn’t based on some emotional need, nor did he require any rest. It was an instinct for survival.

  He had prevailed through countless missions spanning decades by following a few, simple rules. One of his primary guidelines was that he didn’t linger in the vicinity after an operation was completed. Remaining in Turkey was an exception, and it wasn’t sitting well in his gut.

  There were two reasons why he broke the cardinal rule.

  First and foremost, he was waiting for his payment from ISIS. The last message from Abu instructed Ghost to wait for the compensation to be delivered in Istanbul.

  The mercenary had paid his team from his own funds. Not a meager sum by any measure, but their execution had been flawless and professional. Even more importantly, Ghost didn’t have to worry about any of them suffering from loose tongues. Nothing shifts a man’s allegiance like an unpaid invoice, he realized.

  The second justification was more of a professional necessity. The critical nature and stakes involved in the false flag mission were enormous. For the operation to realize maximum benefit, the ruse had to continue for as long as possible.

  While Ghost had no interest in their cause or beliefs, ISIS represented a prime source of revenue and the single largest threat to his eternal foe, the Assad regime in Damascus. Turmoil was a moneymaker for men in his line of work. Ghost benefited from the industry of chaos.

  It seemed like every hour the tension between Turkey and Texas was escalating, and that was good for business.

  He was well aware that his deception along the border wasn’t perfect. Such a complicated endeavor always left behind clues and evidence. None of that would matter after a hot war broke out.

  Not only would additional opportunities for his services be presented, but the amount he could demand in compensation would also increase tenfold.

  But the real reward, what motivated Ghost the most, was the fact that Damascus wouldn’t likely survive the conflict. Either Texas or Turkey would eventually take control of Assad’s stronghold. The thought made him smile.

  So he remained in Istanbul, waiting for his payment and making sure no one got too close to the truth.

  Turkish television was now covering dozens of funerals, the nation mourning her fallen sons. Public ire was stoked even further by the Prime Minister’s visit to the hospital… brave, young soldiers shown with missing lim
bs and bandaged faces.

  The world held its breath, sensing war on the horizon.

  Ghost rose from his seat, glancing at the breathtaking vista one last time. Returning to his hotel suite, he picked up a large, leather briefcase from the bed and flipped the combination locks.

  After snapping open the catches, he removed several vials of a thick, red-purple liquid. The Texas soldiers’ blood samples.

  He stepped to the closet and unlocked the room’s safe. It wasn’t the best security, but it would keep nosey staff members from taking note of the unusual items. Wrapping the tubes in a fresh bag of ice, he shoved the package into the steel cavity.

  A thin file folder soon joined the blood, valuable information that Ghost didn’t want being read by the wrong eyes.

  He’d destroy it all tomorrow and erase all evidence of his involvement, after he had been paid.

  Major Richard Hoffer stabilized his F-15 Eagle at 22,000 feet, scanned his instruments, and then glanced out the canopy to check on his wingman. As usual, the captain was right where he should be.

  A member of the Texas Air Force’s 2nd Combat squadron, the Lone Star Gunfighters had been flying sorties over Syria since the invasion had begun. Hoffer had been in the region before, having spent the early part of the career with the U.S. Air Force and then transferring to his home state’s forces after the secession.

  His first mission to Iraq had been almost 15 years ago, just as the insurgency was becoming a serious issue for the U.S. ground troops. He’d deployed a total of three tours.

  In those campaigns, Hoffer and his squadron had experienced very, very little combat. And that was just fine with the major.

  Hoffer and his squad-mates anticipated this war would be very similar. The military capability of ISIS resembled that of the insurgency in Iraq; neither foe possessed any aircraft. Air to air combat wasn’t a possibility.

  Syria, however, did command a significant number of military airplanes, and there was no predicting how Damascus would react when thousands of the Republic’s troops rolled ashore. Most of the Texas airmen believed Assad’s planes would remain grounded, unwilling to challenge the superior force now plying the skies over their homeland. They had been correct.