by Brian Shea
“It may already be too late as it is.” Nick said this grimly.
Declan pulled out his phone and called Mason. “Hey Moose, it’s Ace. We’re still in Texas but will be heading your way soon.”
“How’s Alex and his family?” The raspy voice of Mason crackled on the other end.
“He missed. They’re good. He’s going to be with me when we arrive. It’ll be like a mini-reunion.” Declan felt both excited and edgy, gathering his old team together for this mission. “The Translator is better than we thought. He has been three steps ahead of us this whole time. I don’t think we can risk exposing your children.”
“What do you want to do then?” Mason asked.
“Your house is pretty secure, right?” Declan knew the answer having been out to the place and lovingly referred to it as the compound. “Bring all of your children to you. Treat it like a lockdown until we get there.”
“The FBI security team leader said that HRT was on its way here to provide protective services. I am sure that we will be fine. When do you think you will arrive?”
“We’ll be leaving here in less than an hour, but it will take us two days. The Bureau cut us out. So, no fast-flying jets for us. And we can’t fly commercial with the goody bag of supplies we’re carrying.” Declan said this knowing that two days was an eternity in a situation like this. His only solace was that he assumed that the Translator was also traveling by car. Even with that being the case, they were behind him by at least a day if not more.
“I’ll take care of things on my end. Keep me posted if anything changes,” crackled Mason.
“Sounds good. Steak Sauce out.” Declan clicked the phone and ended the call.
“Steak Sauce,” Izzy said smiling.
“What. It’s just a thick and delicious marinade added to a perfectly cooked steak, enhancing the flavor of the meat.” Alex answered in a smart-ass tone and then smiled, “Just something we used to call ourselves. Long story and if I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Alex laughed bringing his dimples to life.
“They know,” Declan advised his friend. “No secrets between us now.”
42
Your government cannot protect you. Look at their incompetence in stopping the last three attacks. They will tell you that they are close to catching us, but they are not. They are lying to you. Just as the politicians are lying to you now about pulling out of Iraq. The American military can mobilize in a matter of days, yet here we are two weeks later and not one soldier has left our country. Your lives are in the hands of your government officials. Our demand is simple. Leave Iraq and the bombings stop. Stay and they never will. You, the American people, will never feel safe again.
The powerful message’s impact resonated. Much of this had to do with the fact that The Seven’s presentation was a departure from traditional terroristic rants made by extremists. The Seven never raised their voices. They spoke in perfect English. The seven covered faces sat abreast at a table. Numerous references had been made to the symbolic image of Christ’s last supper. The members in the video were set against a backdrop that could have been mistaken for the oval office. The polished quality of the video itself was clear and professionally made, unlike the grainy videos of past groups.
The news channels fed this message to the American people day and night. They had become a silent partner in the spread of fear and panic across the United States. Raw video footage had begun to trickle in of protests and violent clashes with law enforcement. Crowds formed in protest outside the White House and various federal, state, and local law enforcement agencies, calling for action. The looting had begun. As in any state of emergency where protective resources are redirected or drained, there will be those who take advantage. The looters never took necessary household items. It was always liquor, sneakers, and clothing. But the Seven’s message had motivated these smash and grab opportunists to add a new item to their shopping list… guns.
Khaled enjoyed the fruits of his labor that played out on the television set as he sat in the corner of the café, enjoying his morning espresso. He was no longer Darius Johnson of Austin, Texas. His new identity was Francis “Frank” Belfort of Evans, Georgia, and his license plates reflected this. He had lightened his complexion slightly and used green contacts to give his dark eyes a hazel appearance. The change was impressive and to any passerby, he would look as though he were the byproduct of an inter-racial relationship.
The nondescript Honda had several aftermarket storage containers installed that could only be accessed by pressing a specific combination of knobs and buttons on the radio and A/C affixed to the dashboard. Commonly referred to as “traps”, these storage spaces enabled criminals to stash contraband. For Khaled, these containers held the tools of his trade. He was confident that no police officer would ever find them if he happened to be stopped and searched. He had no fear of these local law enforcement agents and therefore showed no signs of nervousness as he passed them along the roadways on his long journey from Texas to his next objective.
“Jesus. You have had a rough go,” Jay responded to Nick’s debrief of his recent encounter with Khaled and his subsequent administrative punishment.
“Yeah. It’s not how I saw this thing playing out. I really thought we were going to get the drop on him in Texas. None of us can figure out how he knew to place a decoy on the boat. He’s never taken that extra step before.” Nick was hoping that Jay’s connection in the world of counter-espionage would shed some light on their situation.
“Maybe he had decoys set on all the other attacks, but never needed them because you guys weren’t close enough to pick up on it.”
“Maybe. Something just felt off. Alex’s sister received the invitation for the boat trip just prior to our arrival in Texas. It was like he knew we were coming and wanted us to find that.” Nick was still skeptical that there wasn’t something more going on behind the scenes with the Translator.
“Do you think he has someone on the inside?” Jay said this knowing the implications.
“The thought had crossed my mind. No surveillance cameras have picked him up anywhere. There hasn’t been one validated sighting of him since this thing began. And the most troubling part is that he is always a few steps ahead of us.”
“Who else knew that you were heading to Texas?” Jay was buying in that there was a leak, or worse, a co-conspirator in the ranks.
“Nelson was the only one who knew the details when we left Connecticut. The Austin office knew that we were arriving but had no additional info until we landed. Even Haggerty and the HRT guys had arrived under the assumption that they had been mobilized for the terrorist, but they were not briefed until I met with him and ASAC Fitzgerald.” Nick was trying to find the link as he spoke.
“The only one in question would be Nelson from your agency. It’s also disconcerting that he was quick to pull you out after the stadium attack. It doesn’t show good judgment but doesn’t give me anything definitive either. I can look into him and let you know what I find.” Jay had unmatched resources in the area of picking apart someone’s hidden secrets, and Nick had used this on more than one occasion in the past.
“Thanks. I hope it’s nothing and I can go back to thinking that Nelson is just an idiot and not a potential terrorist,” Nick said, trying to add levity to the situation.
“How’s Enright working out?” Jay asked mischievously.
“Solid guy. Like I said before, I wouldn’t be alive to talk to you if he hadn’t stepped in. His former teammate, Alex Morales, has joined our merry little militia.”
“I still haven’t found much more on their team, but I did find a little something. Apparently, the one device recovered from that failed attack was analyzed and documented by Mason Richards.” Jay let this information settle with his friend.
Nick looked in through the plate glass window of the Whataburger at Declan, Alex, and Izzy, sitting at a corner booth. The group had stopped in the outskirts of Dallas at the Texas fast food stapl
e after passing through the Metroplex and onto Interstate 30. They still had about twenty hours of driving before they arrived at Mason’s house in Virginia. “Wait a minute. So, you’re telling me that their former unit commander was the one who did the workup on the bomb maker?”
“Yes. Why do you sound so shocked? It makes sense because that unit obviously operated in the realm of counter-terrorism and were experts in the field,” Jay said, trying to understand Nick’s reaction.
“Because Declan has been talking to Richards this whole time. He forwarded him the same picture that I sent you and he told Declan that he would have to check his notes.” Nick breathed and slowed his rate of speech, realizing that he must have sounded panicked. “You are telling me that an expert in a field comes across an intact device from an infamous terrorist and can’t give any insight without looking for some notebook! That doesn’t make sense. I would imagine that he would be able to recall some pertinent details immediately. Why would he give Declan the runaround?”
“I didn’t realize that Richards had been advised about the bomb. Knowing that, I’m a little suspicious. Hard to tell what that means though. People who operate in units like Alpha One have a tendency to be extremely guarded. I’ll see what I can find.” Jay hung up.
Nick stood with the phone down by his side, processing this new realization. He walked slowly back toward the group, trying to make sense of it all.
“Anything from your source?” Declan asked, taking a large mouthful of his made-to-order cheeseburger slathered in jalapeños.
“What did Richards say about the bomb stuff?” Nick asked softly.
“What do you mean? Why?” Declan reflexively became protective of his former commander, not sure what Nick was getting at with his question.
“Don’t get so defensive. I’m just trying to sort out some information I received.” The tension between the two began to grow.
“What information? You’re asking me a veiled question about my former commander. I need to hear you speak in plain language about what it is you are getting at.” Declan shifted his position at the table so that his shoulders now squared to Nick’s. Even in his seated position, Declan looked menacing, as if he was a tiger about to pounce.
“Easy boys. Let’s figure this out. We’re all on edge and we need to slow things down.” Izzy’s voice seemed to have an instant effect on both men. She could see some slack in their previously rigid shoulders.
“Sorry. I should’ve been more direct. No secrets. My source said that there had been one bomb analyzed from the Dust Devil’s attacks overseas. By Richards,” Nick said, offering the clearest explanation without exposing Jay.
“Hmm. I mentioned to you that Mason remembered something about a similar type of bomb that he disabled when we were overseas, but that he had to find his notebook to get the details.” Declan said this with a hint of confusion in his tone, unable to make the connection that had Nick so upset.
“You and Alex are experts in secret squirrel stuff, right?” Nick continued without allowing an opportunity to answer his rhetorical question, “I have some expertise too. Most recently in regard to the human trafficking cases that I worked during my time out here. The point is, I could tell you just about every detail of one of my victims’ assaults and the people responsible. I could do this without ever wasting time looking for my old case file or notebook.” Nick let this sink in with the group and in particular, with Declan.
“Shit. That’s something I never even thought about.” Declan began rubbing his temples as though suddenly inflicted with a migraine. “Too much going on trying to out-think the bad guy that it never crossed my mind.”
“Declan, are you saying that you think Mason has something to do with this?” Alex was now becoming unnerved.
“I don’t know what it means, but I know this. The Translator has been outmaneuvering us this whole time. There are only a handful of people that have been aware of our plans thus far.” Declan was calm in his delivery.
“So, what about Nick’s boss, Nelson? He knew where they were going at all times,” Alex said, frantically trying to find reason in this madness.
“What would be his rationale? He has no connection to Khaled. Plus, he put Nick and Izzy on administrative leave. Why would he do that if he wanted to keep tabs on us?” Declan sighed. The weight of what he was about to say next burdened him. “Mason was close with Khaled when we were in the village. Closer after his daughter’s death.”
“You are talking about Mason “Moose” Richards for God’s sake! A legend among legends. Do you really need me to remind you?” Alex was intense, and his charismatic boyish charms were no longer present.
“I know who I’m talking about.” A low rumble formed in Declan’s voice, “And I’m not saying that he did anything, but if we don’t look at this from every angle then we are bound to fail.” Declan looked dead into the eyes of his life-long friend. “And we don’t ever fail.”
“True.” Alex conceded to his friend’s logic.
“Okay, well I’m going to need a cold shower after watching that little testosterone show,” Izzy said with a giggle that disarmed the entire group and brought out a hearty laugh from the men.
“I guess we will have a better feel for things when we get to Virginia and meet with Mason face to face,” Nick said. “Let’s keep everything status quo so that we don’t tip him off any further. That’s if he’s involved. If he’s not, then we have to get ourselves there sooner rather than later to have any chance of protecting his family.”
“Agreed. And let’s keep our minds open, as well as our options,” Declan said, placing a reassuring hand on Alex’s shoulder.
The group returned to Alex’s SUV with full stomachs. The rear compartment was filled with their assortment of weapons and gear. Alex offered to drive for a few more hours as they continued their race east against the Translator, and whatever The Seven had planned next.
43
Declan had slept for two hours and awoke refreshed. He had learned to sleep for twenty minutes or two hours to achieve the optimal rest state. A study had been done on fighter pilots, running continuous combat sorties. It revealed that the goal for maximum uninterrupted short interval sleeping was twenty minutes or two hours. Anything in between usually left the subject groggy and with slowed reaction times. Something Declan could not afford then or now. He looked over at Alex, who was rubbing his eyes. “Pull off bro, I got this.” Alex conceded to his friend’s request without a word of protest.
Declan drove on into the darkness. After several uneventful hours, the SUV passed through Little Rock, Arkansas. The group had decided that they would drive continuously, taking shifts and rotating as needed. The thought was that the time they had lost in the wake of the stadium attack would be gained when the Translator stopped to rest.
Declan heard stirring from the middle seat and Izzy’s head slowly rose up. He watched her as she gathered her bearings. She saw Declan looking at her in the rearview mirror and gave a tired smile. She then leaned forward toward the center console and asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the others, “Hey there, how are you holding up?”
“I’m good. Been awake a lot longer than this and in a lot worse places than a fancy SUV,” Declan whispered in response.
“Do you want some company? I don’t think that I can fall back asleep.”
“Sure.”
Izzy was silent for a moment and then said, “Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
“I don’t see why not,” Declan said, keeping his voice in a hushed whisper.
“What happened that night of the shooting?” Izzy asked this with no trace of judgment in her voice.
“I’m sure you and Nick did your research on me before you came to my house that day. Did you read my file?” Declan asked matter-of-factly.
“We did. To be honest, Nick and I were shocked at the outcome. That guy gave you no choice, but your department decided to go after you on some policy violations. It didn�
��t make sense to us at face value.”
“There’s a little history between the chief and me,” Declan said, cocking his eyebrow.
“Enough so, that he would bury you in a righteous shooting?” Izzy still couldn’t fathom how a guy like Declan Enright had been fired.
“I guess so because it happened. And the fallout left my family drowning in debt.” Declan had momentarily forgotten that he was talking to one of the agents investigating his armored truck robbery. He knew that if they survived the next few days that eventually Nick and Izzy would continue that investigation. He wondered how that would play out.
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you and your family. So, are you going to tell me why your chief hated you or are you going to let my imagination run wild?”
“I’m sure that you already know that I used to be a Narc?” Declan saw the nod of Izzy’s head in the mirror. “I was working a low-level heroin case. Nothing too crazy, but the target was dealing primarily to high school kids. Because of this, there was pressure for my unit to make a case. We didn’t have much on the dealer except that it was a female. I had signed up a confidential informant that was able to buy into her. So, I set up a buy/bust operation. The dealer ended up trying to flee in her car but crashed into a tree a block away. After a very short foot chase she was apprehended, but not without a fight. The cuffs eventually went on and she had some minor scrapes and bruises from the altercation.” Declan paused for effect, allowing Izzy to process the story.
“That sounds like some straightforward police work. Why am I not seeing the problem? What did your chief get bent about?”
“The dealer was his daughter.” Declan smiled.
“Well holy crap. For an Irish guy, you have some shitty luck.” Izzy laughed, shaking her head and then continued, “But he couldn’t do anything to you for doing your job.”