The Nick Lawrence Series

by Brian Shea

  “Trevor!” Wilks lashed out.

  Declan exhaled and felt the pain of his friend’s loss. No parent should ever have to bury their child. He could think of no worse fate. “Brother, I’m so sorry. How?” Declan asked, assuming that he knew the answer, but needing to hear its confirmation.

  “We were at the Labor Day Launch. He won a free hot air balloon ride. He went up…” Wilks couldn’t finish, and Declan didn’t need him to. “I mean how could this happen?” His voice a shadow of the man Declan remembered.

  “It was no accident,” Declan said. He was afraid of Wilks’s reaction but knew that his friend needed to hear it.

  “Wait a minute. I got that message you left on my phone about seeing the Translator in your town. You think he was behind this?” Wilks said desperately, instantly regretting not calling Declan back, but life often got in the way and a recent argument with his ex-wife had trumped the call.

  “I know he was. He tried to kill my wife and daughter. He’s the one behind the bus bombing here in Connecticut, and I’m sure that we will hear from the group calling themselves The Seven very soon about their involvement in this latest attack.” Declan said this in the hope that this information would snap his friend back into the operator mindset by giving him an enemy to focus on.

  “I’m going to find and kill this asshole,” Wilks said in a strange, disconnected tone. He was capable of doing what he said, but Declan could hear how distraught his teammate was and knew that he needed time to process his son’s death before he could be effective. Wilks was now a shattered man, and a lifetime would not be long enough to reassemble the pieces.

  “I’m working with the feds on this. I promise that I will keep you in the loop,” Declan said. He hoped that the next time he called his friend it would be to inform him that the Translator’s threat was eliminated. Permanently.

  “My Trevor. What am I supposed to do without him?” Wilks’s voice trailed off. The brief bout of vengeful rage he had displayed was now replaced by an inconsolable sadness.

  As the phone call was ending he could hear the muffled sobbing of Wilks through the receiver. It was a sound he had never heard before from this hard man and one he never wanted to hear again.

  “I have my confirmation. This has to do with my old unit. The targets are centered on my teammates and their children.” Declan interrupted a quiet conversation that was taking place between Nick and Izzy when he said this.

  “How so?” Nick asked trying to assimilate this new information.

  “We obviously know about the attack here and the probability that The Translator was also responsible for what happened to my family. The Labor Day Launch falls into that same category of unlikely coincidence. The son of one of my former teammates was among the forty-eight killed in the hot air balloon attack.”

  “As tragic as that is, we at least now have a pattern of behavior established that we can use to direct the focus of our efforts. Where do you think he’s going next?” Nick was energized. It was the first potential lead in the case.

  “Well, there are only two other living members of my team. Alex Morales and Mason Richards. So, we have a fifty-fifty chance of picking the correct location. Texas or Virginia. I hate the thought of being wrong with so much at stake.”

  “It’s better than nothing. I need you to reach out to your guys and let them know we’ll be coming their way.”

  “Already done. Alex is the one that located the picture you used, and Mason gave us the Translator’s name,” Declan said, and could see that Nick and Izzy were connecting the dots on the source of his intel.

  “It’s good that they are aware of the threat. Maybe they will be vigilant enough to spot Khaled. That would be a definite advantage so that we can determine the next target area before he strikes again.” Nick said this and was caught in a wave of dread. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the graphic images from Colorado being replayed. The country would be spun into a frenzy, dealing with two devastating blows that had occurred within eight days of each other. Nick felt desperate knowing that potentially more carnage was on the way unless they could locate and stop the Translator.

  “They’re aware and have been looking out for him. So far nothing has turned up. Khaled seems to be going after the children of my teammates.”

  “Then I think we should start close to the families and work outward from there to find any potential larger scale events that would serve as suitable targets. Tell me what you know about your guys and let’s see if we can start to increase our probability of finding the Translator.” Nick’s eagerness was palpable. Declan liked him. He decided that Nicholas Lawrence would have been a good guy to have on his team. Declan was impressed with the agent’s calm resolve that he was demonstrating under the incredible weight of their circumstance.

  “Alex doesn’t have any children. Mason has a large family with two ex-wives and five children ranging in age from twenty-three to six,” Declan said.

  “I guess that it makes sense that we put the primary focus on Mason and his family. We could send a team to watch Alex, but without children, he seems to be the odd man out. And in this situation, that’s actually a really good thing,” Nick interjected, quickly applying his threat assessment.

  “That makes sense to me,” Izzy spoke up for the first time after a long period of silence following the incident in Colorado. Nick also noted that she seemed to be slightly intimidated and reserved around Declan. That thought brought the return of that increasingly frustrating pang of jealousy.

  “I would agree too, but part of me feels that the Translator has a plan for each member of my old team. We can’t exclude Alex just because he doesn’t have any children of his own. He has a teenage niece and nephew that he adores. It’s actually the reason he moved out to the Austin area. He wanted to be closer to them after he left the military.” Declan never liked to pick the obvious answer. He was a legend among his former teammates for being able to see possible solutions and outcomes that no one else could conceptualize. That was one of the reasons he had earned the nickname Ace.

  “Well, we need to pick one of the two locations to focus our efforts,” Nick said somewhat deflated, realizing that Declan was right.

  “Being wrong will be catastrophic. Even if we pick the correct city, how are we going to pinpoint the attack location? The targets are not related and the only link we have is to your former team. If you are looking at it from a strategic standpoint, what is The Seven’s purpose behind the attacks?” Izzy puzzled.

  “What if that’s the point?” Declan muttered quietly, looking at the agents. “By attacking random soft targets, they create a sense of unpredictable fear. Think of 9/11 and the effect it had on transportation. We still feel its impact a decade later. When has there been another successful domestic plane attack? If The Seven continues to attack small targets that can’t be protected, then the fear would be crippling to the general public. Places like New York and D.C. have always been the epicenters of disaster, but the average American can psychologically distance themselves from those places by saying, that would never happen here.” As Declan spoke, Izzy and Nick seemed to register the impact of his words.

  “With that being said, my educated guess is that the next target will be in the Austin, Texas area.” Declan continued. “Mason was also closest to the Translator when we were overseas. The two had both been educated in Boston and were in the city around the same time frame. It was Mason who had nicknamed Khaled, Boston. Mason’s relationship with Khaled seemed to strengthen after the death of his daughter. Mason invested a great deal of time and energy into trying to make him whole again. I would venture to say that destroying his old friend might be something that Khaled, the Translator, might avoid altogether.”

  “I trust you.” A statement Nick used with very few people. The small conference room of the Wethersfield Police Department contained the majority of people in his life that were on that list. “I will bring Nelson up to speed. We can do that from the ro
ad. Nelson can arrange a private jet out of Bradley Airport. Let’s plan on meeting back here in an hour. I have to take care of something before we go.” Nick was up and moving. Time was not on their side and he had to make arrangements for his mother’s care before he left.

  As Khaled drove, he listened to the newscast on the talk radio channel. The Seven had released their latest statement. Purposefully disseminated to the media.

  You have felt the power and reach of The Seven a second time. Yet, your government has failed to begin its troop withdrawal. They will tell you that it takes time and that they are working on it, but this is a lie. They have no intention of pulling out and we have shown our resolve in continuing our assault on your country until they do. Your government doesn’t care about you and they can’t protect you. The FBI was at the location of the bus attack and could do nothing to prevent it. There will be no further warning. The next message you receive will come if our demand is not met.

  Khaled was impressed with the psychological impact of the message. The Seven were turning the vacillating American public against their leaders. He knew that the media would be flooded with images captured by bystanders of the FBI agent running toward the bus prior to the secondary explosion. This would weaken the confidence in their law enforcement officers’ ability to protect them. It was a brilliant strategic move in this game.

  He began his drive south, crossing from Colorado into the northeast corner of New Mexico. Khaled was confident that all traces of his presence during his short stay in Colorado Springs had been erased. Everything was on schedule as his small, nondescript Honda merged among the sea of eighteen-wheelers.

  31

  Nick used the hour to check on his mother. He met with his neighbor, Margaret, and explained that he’d be out of town for a few days. She agreed to look in on Nick’s mom. She had begun to inquire about his reason for leaving. He deflected, and she dropped it. Margaret was clearly becoming frustrated with her ad hoc role as caregiver. Nick could tell that she wanted to discuss this with him but tactfully avoided the topic. There was no time for that conversation under the pressing circumstance. But he knew that she was right. Nick contacted the Bureau’s health insurance liaison and scheduled for a nurse to visit his mother daily. He knew that she needed more consistent care. A care that he couldn’t provide. Nick promised his dying father that he would step up. He felt that he was slowly failing to honor those words and it did not sit well with him.

  Nick packed a small bag. He kissed his mother goodbye and turned to leave. Nick heard his mother call after him, “Have a good day at school sweetie.”

  “Love you. See you soon,” Nick mumbled. Emotionally deflated, he headed off to rally with the others.

  The hour had passed quickly. They regrouped and the three rode north to Bradley Airport.

  “We’ll be teaming with agents from the Bureau’s satellite office in Austin. The Hostage Rescue Team has been on standby since this became a counter-terrorism op. The lead tac guy will be at the airport when we land,” Nick said.

  The FBI had regional SWAT teams. These guys were tactically trained and assisted in apprehensions or stand-offs when needed. They did this in addition to their primary investigative responsibilities. HRT operated at a totally different level. A full-time tactical team comprised of skilled operators. Deployed from their home base in Quantico, most of them former special forces. Nick had passed selection for HRT. He turned it down. The unit’s operational tempo was intense. His mother needed Nick’s stability.

  “Who’s running the show?” Izzy asked.

  “Apparently we are. I know the ASAC in Austin. We worked together for the few years I was stationed there. Good guy. He’ll give us the support and freedom to get things done,” Nick said, attempting to ease Izzy’s unspoken concern.

  “And where do I fit in?” Declan asked. He needed to know his role. He needed to get close enough to get his shot at The Translator.

  “You’re going to be strapped to my hip. Whatever you know I want to know. The only way we keep up with Khaled and have any chance of getting ahead is to be synced up.”

  “Anything to help,” Declan said dryly.

  They entered the airport through a secure gate. Nick was directed to the hanger. They exited the Impala, grabbed their gear, and headed in the direction of the only plane in the bay.

  The pilot called out from the small jet, “Wheels up in fifteen!”

  The three approached the plane with bags in hand. The unspoken tension and burdensome weight of their responsibility clearly visible on each face.

  Declan used the plane’s phone onboard the jet to update his former teammates.

  “Hey bro. We’re on the move. Five hours out. We’re heading to you as soon as we land. The agents that I’m with want to sit down and talk.” Declan wanted to prep his friend on what to expect.

  “No problem. But like I told you before, Mason seems like a better bet. I think you’re wasting valuable time and energy on me.” Alex said this obviously conflicted by the decision to pick him over Mason Richards.

  “I’ve got a good handle on this. You’ve got to trust me,” Declan said confidently.

  “You know that I do, but I hope that you’re not choosing me over Moose because of our friendship.”

  “When it comes to decision making, you know that emotion has zero to do with my thought process,” Declan reaffirmed.

  Part of him wondered if maybe his friend was right. Their bond was unbreakable. Forged quickly during the hellish conditions of Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. Initially partnered because of their comparable physical skills, the two became fast friends. As swim buddies, they were responsible for each other, but Alex went above and beyond. He saved Declan from a potentially career-ending injury.

  Rock portage training evolutions challenged exhausted SEAL trainees tasked with disembarking their rubber inflatable boats and climbing the jagged rocks of the Coronado beach with the boat in tow. Choppy waves added to the misery. Everything was a race. The prize for winning came in the form of a brief respite from the physical torture.

  During one of these portages, Declan’s right foot had become lodged between two rocks. The surf was rough that day as it was every day during southern California’s unpredictable El Nino weather pattern. Declan stood trapped, unable to release himself. Rocks on one side, the unmanned boat on the other. The ocean’s swell forced the boat at Declan. An impact that would most likely end his chance of completing training. He struggled to free his encased ankle. Alex had recognized the perilous situation that his friend was facing. Without hesitation Alex dove from the rocks. He struck Declan in the chest. Alex’s actions freed him from entrapment before the boat made its impact.

  That moment epitomized their friendship that was further strengthened during their time together in the Teams, especially while in Alpha One.

  “Have you briefed your sister that we are heading your way?” Declan asked his friend.

  “Cassidy is terrified for her children’s safety. She’s willing to do whatever is needed. She wanted to pull them out of school until we catch the Translator, but I convinced her otherwise. I explained that any sudden change in routine might spook him. Cassie’s at my house. So come here when you land.”

  “Sounds good. I’m going to bring Moose up to speed. He seemed okay with us heading out to Texas and agreed with my threat assessment.”

  “Well that’s a first,” Alex said with a laugh.

  “I know, right? Maybe retirement has softened him,” Declan said. When Mason Richards commanded their team he always challenged Declan’s op planning. The perpetual devil’s advocate. It served a purpose. Declan felt that it was healthy to voice opinions during operational planning. Mason usually gave in to Declan’s influence, but not without a fight.

  Declan was not able to assert his will over Richards for the mission that took place in the Translator’s village. The one that subsequently resulted in the death of the Translator’s daughter. Declan
had planned for the assault to take place under the cover of darkness. Riskier in the potential for close quarters battle or CQB. But stealth assaults minimized the potential for civilian casualties. Mason opted for an overt daytime assault using heavy firepower. The results had been catastrophic. Now they were facing the ramifications from that day.

  “See you soon but keep your head on a swivel. If he’s there, then we may already be too late,” Declan said gravely.

  “Don’t forget, I’m a hard man to kill,” Alex replied. No truer statement had been said. Declan had seen Alex walk away from many near-death experiences, most of the time with a smile on his face.

  Declan ended the call and immediately dialed his former commander.

  “Moose, it’s me.”

  Mason Richard’s extreme size had earned him the nickname. Movies had the American public believing that Navy SEALs looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger. A Hollywood misstep. Most operators were of average height and build. Physically fit, yes. But more like an elite class triathlete than a bodybuilder. Moose broke the mold. Six feet four inches and weighing nearly two hundred eighty pounds. His impressive bulk made him unforgettable, giving way to folklore. Although Mason’s most impressive asset was his intelligence. The huge SEAL was a thinking man. Educated at the legendary Massachusetts Institute of Technology, MIT, Moose put his mechanical engineering degree to work in the Teams. He designed some of the equipment for their missions. Explosives were his forte and his creations were nothing short of genius.

  “Ace, is that you? I can barely hear you. You sound like you’re in a wind tunnel.” Old habits die hard. The team rarely used real names when speaking on the phone. Even after years of civilian life.

  “In the air. Heading to DJ. Anything on your end?” Declan spoke louder to compensate for the background noise of the jet.