by Brian Shea
Richards brought them to the kitchen where Trish, his third wife, was cutting the crust off two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “Trish, this is Nick and Izzy from the FBI. And these other two yahoos need no introduction.” Formalities aside, the adults gathered around the table to figure out a plan.
“The security detail left behind by the FBI is weak. They look like they are twelve years old. You saw the guy outside? He is completely useless. The one inside, Acosta, is not much better. I’ve got him roaming around the interior. Figured I didn’t need him down here.” Mason continued, “So, what do we know? Any ideas on how we stop this guy?”
“We brought some toys,” Alex said referring to the large military duffel bag resting by his feet. All of them were wearing bulletproof vests and were armed.
“That’s all well and good, but how do you kill someone you can’t see. This guy is a ghost. We need to draw him out somehow.” Mason had a pensive look on his face as he spoke. “I have a top-notch security system here.” He lifted up a tablet which displayed cameras covering the grounds of the property. He then tapped an icon and the cameras switched to the interior surveillance. “They are continuous and cover the majority of both the inside and outside of the house. Motion sensors are also enabled, but Bozo One and Bozo Two have been setting them off every fifteen seconds so I disabled the audible alert.”
“Okay, well that’s impressive,” Nick said. How could the Translator reach them? He tried to think like the enemy but found it difficult to do.
“So, we have surveillance covered and we are armed for battle, then there really isn’t much left to do, but wait,” Alex said confidently.
“I still feel like we are missing something. This guy is patient. He’s smart and has maintained his ability to stay one step ahead of us this whole time,” Declan interjected, pausing only momentarily before he continued. “We have to draw him out into the open. I assume he’s already here.”
This last statement left everybody at the table silent. The reality that they may have only been an hour or so ahead of the Translator had suddenly dawned on them.
“Like bait? Who the hell wants to be bait for this guy?” Izzy said this voicing her frustration. “I mean, Jesus, you guys refer to him as a ghost. If one of us were to put ourselves out as a lure, then it would be a guaranteed death sentence.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Mason spoke, “We can assume he knows we are all here. I will even concede that he probably has the schematics to my house. I know that I would if the roles were reversed.” Alex and Declan nodded in agreement. Mason added, “But what he won’t have is all of my modifications.”
Declan realized that Mason was right. “We can keep your family here in the bunker and the rest of us can expose ourselves in the house. He is going to have to come for us.”
“I agree. We have another advantage.” Nick paused for effect. “We are ready this time. No more guesswork. He can’t draw us out with misdirection. If Khaled wants to get to your family, then he has to go through us.”
Mason gave an unspoken look of appreciation to the four that had driven halfway across the country to put their lives in harm’s way for his family. He then took his tablet and a backpack full of equipment and the group ascended the stairwell. The secure door protecting Mason’s family hissed, alerting them that the locking mechanism had engaged.
46
Khaled’s attack on the Waffle House had the desired effect. The once robust security detail assigned to Mason Richards’s home had been pulled out to assist in response to the bombing. The two agents left behind were not skilled and appeared to be new to this type of work.
Hiding in plain sight had become a specialty of the former school teacher. He was now wearing the light gray jumpsuit of a lineman technician. He had attached a rectangular magnetic sign to the driver and passenger side doors letting any nosy neighbors know that he was there on official business for a company called Old Towne Electric. The residents of this neighborhood would recognize the reference to the city’s famed historic downtown area, adding a level of validity to his presence.
He parked along the curbing at the end of the cul-de-sac. There was a wooded area that ran beneath the power lines. Just beyond was the visible cedar wood paneling of Mason Richards’s fence line. Khaled walked beneath the overhead wires looking up as if inspecting their quality. A neighbor had stepped out to walk their small dog. Khaled gave a friendly wave and went back to his clipboard. The man barely took notice of him as he went about his evening duties of picking up the droppings of the family pet. To Khaled, the domesticated animal looked more like a large rat than a canine.
There was no resemblance to his last disguise in the new look he had adorned for this mission. He looked more like Kid Rock than the clean-cut Iraqi man that lay beneath the makeup and wig. His long dirty brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail beneath the white plastic hard-hat that he wore. A pair of yellow tinted wire-rimmed glasses masked the shape of his face and distorted his eye color. Khaled had shouldered a heavy bag containing his necessary tools for tonight’s mission. He set the bag down at the base of the telephone pole that overlooked the rear of the target’s property. Night quickly began to fall. A hint of colder weather was present in the slight breeze that accompanied it.
“Hey Acosta, I think that it would be better if we had the two of you outside covering the perimeter. We can handle the inside stuff.” Nick presented this request in a subtle tone. He knew that if he ordered the young agent then the topic of Nick’s administrative leave might surface.
“Sure. Looks like you and your crew are well prepared,” he said with no trace of resentment. Nick had seen that the crop of new agents came in with a sense of entitlement. Maybe a lifetime of societal rewards for mediocrity had played its part in the millennials’ jaded attitudes toward work, but Acosta seemed to have none. “Do you really think this guy is coming?” A trace of nervousness was evident in his voice.
“I don’t think. I know. And we’ve concluded that he is already here. So, do me a favor and don’t get killed.” No humor in Nick’s voice. The seriousness of the statement caused the young agent to pause and take a visibly deep breath before moving out from the kitchen to the front door. Nick could tell that Acosta had no former military experience and that his training at Hogan’s Alley was probably the closest he’d ever been to a battle. Nick had a genuine concern for this young man’s life, but the situation dictated hard decisions.
“I don’t like waiting,” Alex said as he stroked the black exterior of his MP5. The nine-millimeter assault rifle was strapped loosely around his shoulder and centered on his chest using a one-point sling system. The sling, comprised primarily of bungee cord wrapped around nylon webbing, allowed him movement in close quarters and an ease when transitioning to a sidearm.
“Hey Mason, besides the surveillance, what else do you have in the way of defenses?” Declan asked of the large man holding his tablet and examining the live feed from outside.
“Not much else. The basement fortress has always been the defense plan. At least we will have the advantage of seeing him first.” Mason said this with some resignation as though realizing it still might not be enough.
“I’m going upstairs to find a vantage point where I can set up. I’ll be in a room that gives the best angle of the backyard,” Alex said as he stepped away from the kitchen.
“Why the backyard?” Izzy asked.
“Because that’s the direction I would come from.” Alex smiled.
“Use Mike’s room. It overlooks the pool and most of the yard that isn’t blocked by trees. At the top of the stairs take a right and it will be the second door on the left,” Mason directed his former teammate. He delivered his information like a commanding officer, and Nick noted the strength in his voice. He had a presence that dominated the room.
“How many access points are we trying to cover?” Declan asked.
“Front door, a rear slider, and a poolside entrance through the attach
ed cabana.”
“If we are focusing our resources in the most logical direction of attack, then we need to cover the back two with the most manpower.” Declan read the group’s facial expressions of concurrence and continued, “Let’s leave Munson and Acosta on the front door. Nick, you and Izzy set up in the rear living room area with the sliding door. Moose and I will cover the cabana entrance.”
“I sent everybody a group text. This way we can communicate silently, and everyone can have instant updates.” Nick said, contributing his piece to the plan since the Alpha One guys had taken control of the operation.
Alex texted that he was in position. He’d found a good shooting location. Unlike in movies, skilled shooters did not lean out windows when scanning for targets. In the real world, the one Alex and Declan survived in, he had learned to be several feet back from the opening, creating a point of aim without exposing his position. The lights were off in Mike’s room. Alex never turned them on when he entered in case the Translator was already watching. His MP5 was not ideal for the situation, but Alex had trained extensively with the weapon and was accurate at its effective range of one hundred twenty-five meters. He positioned himself in a comfortable seated position on the bed. His legs crossed Indian-style and each elbow rested comfortably on the interior pocket of the knees. This gave him enough height to see out into the backyard and the support to maintain the weapon at the ready for an extended period of time. Set for the impending battle, his eyes scanned the darkness of the yard below.
“Do you now see why Alex and I were so offended at the suggestion that Mason had anything to do with this terrorist shit?” Declan whispered in Nick’s ear as they began moving to their positions. Mason was walking ahead small-talking Izzy.
“He’s a great guy and my suspicions were dispelled the moment we walked in the door. I still can’t figure out how this Translator keeps getting the jump on us,” Nick responded.
“Hopefully it ends here tonight.” The confidence in this statement was tempered with a hint of concern.
47
Nick looked over at Izzy as they huddled behind the large white leather couch located in the rear of the living room. He didn’t know what to expect in the coming moments and wasn’t sure if this position would give them any more of an advantage than standing out in the backyard. If the Translator was to use one of his devastating bombs, then all would be for naught.
There hadn’t been an opportunity to process what occurred between them the other night in her hotel room. Nick knew that now was not the time but hoped that he would have a chance for that conversation. If they survived.
Izzy turned to him, obviously aware that he was staring at her. She reached across and gave his hand a gentle squeeze as their eyes met.
A quick popping sound like that of a champagne cork came from above them on the second floor. It was followed by a loud thud. Nick’s trance was immediately broken, and he moved fast toward the stairwell. “Stay here! Cover the door!” Nick commanded. Izzy nodded her understanding as he disappeared around the corner and could be heard bounding up the stairs.
Nick entered the room labeled with the teenager’s moniker, Mike. Scanning the room his eyes quickly picked up the massive heap on the floor near the foot of the bed. His subconscious took over and his brain reverted to his years of tactical training. Nick dropped to the floor and low-crawled to Alex, who was barely recognizable in his current state. The plush cream of the carpet was quickly being replaced by a thick dark red. The exit wound at the back of his head was massive and his body position had left his legs up, forcing the blood to flow more intensely. Nick knew without question that death had been instantaneous. He stayed low and rolled on his side taking in the small hole in the window pane hoping to get an idea of where the shot had originated.
Nick felt awkward about what he did next but knew that it needed to be done. He sent a text message alerting the others. Alex dead. Long range headshot. Rear window. No visual.
From the lower floor of the house, a loud yell erupted that sounded almost bear-like. Nick knew that Declan had just received the news of his friend’s death. And through text message nonetheless. Nick began his slow retreat out of the room and back to Izzy.
The next message was from Mason. Movement rear fence line. Moving toward the pool area. Nick saw it as he took position behind the couch with Izzy. It was difficult to make out. There was a quick flicker like that of a flashlight and then it was lost in the darkness behind a tree. The two agents waited, breathing more rapidly as their heart rate increased with the sudden release of adrenaline.
“Let’s take the fight to him!” Declan had never lost focus in battle before, but Alex’s death had sent him into overdrive.
“We have to hold our position. Without a target, we become one. I haven’t seen anyone pop back out from behind that tree. I wish we had night vision goggles,” Mason said with a palpable frustration.
“What’s your surveillance showing?” Declan asked. The impatience noticeable in his voice.
“Whoever is out there moved along a path that wasn’t covered by my cameras,” Mason said in disbelief.
“It’s got to be him. He’s that good. Hit your floodlights and I’m going to open up on that tree.” Declan shouldered his Colt M4 Commando and took aim on the tree’s lower trunk. “Sometimes the best way to draw fire is with fire.”
Mason did not argue with his former teammate’s logic. He sent a quick text to alert the others: Going loud. Mason pulled up the controls on his mobile phone and activated the exterior floodlights. The M4 erupted to life in the cadenced beat of three-round bursts of automatic gunfire. The rounds found their mark, chewing the bark off the thick oak’s trunk. Nothing. No movement.
Declan expended the entirety of his thirty-round magazine. Then silence crept in. The waiting felt like minutes when only seconds had lapsed. Then a flash of light shot from behind the tree and moved toward the pool area at an inhuman speed. Its path was lined with the L-shaped center point formed by the rear of the house and the attached cabana.
Gunfire sounded from the cabana and the living room as all of the remaining team members unleashed their rounds at the impending target. The speed and erratic maneuvers of the object, now recognizable as some type of drone, hampered the accuracy of the shots.
The lights of the drone went out as it dropped from the sky, coming to a rough landing on a patio table set along the pool deck. Nick realized that he had been holding his breath and suddenly released the air held tightly in his chest with an audible exhale. He looked at Izzy and shook his head with bewilderment. “That was crazy.”
Izzy opened her mouth to respond when the patio exploded into a blinding white light. The concussive wave of fire that followed brought with it glass shards and splintered wood from the sliding door.
Her eyes were slow to recover from the bright flash of the blast. As she tried to focus. The images around her appeared as though she was looking through a kaleidoscope. Tracers and white halos encircled all of the objects in the once beautiful living room. She pulled herself along the hardwood floor littered with debris. Izzy pawed her way toward Nick who was flat on his back and did not appear to be moving. Desperation and panic filled her at this sight and she increased her pace as best she could. Her right leg was not cooperating as she slid across the floor. Izzy looked back to see that her ankle was twisted in the opposite direction. Her brain registered the damage to her leg and the pain became overwhelming. A queasy feeling began to cloud her thoughts, but she pushed it back, desperate to get to Nick.
Nick’s chest rose and fell in shallow respiration. Izzy had pressed her head lightly against his ribcage, feeling the movement. Her vision was not fully restored, and she had to assess his injuries by touch more than sight. As Izzy moved her hands across to Nick’s far side she felt the wetness on his right arm. Frantically she searched for the source and bit her lip out of shock when she found the large piece of glass lodged just above the elbow. The blood that pulse
d from the wound was a bad sign that the shard embedded had cut the brachial artery.
Izzy relied on the medical training that she received while in the Army. She had to restrict the blood flow with a tourniquet. Izzy removed her shirt and undershirt. She took the thin material of the tank top and twisted it until it was taut. Izzy wrapped the make-shift tie-off around Nick’s bicep a few inches above the wound. She cinched it down using a square knot. Izzy then inserted her small flashlight into the knot and began twisting clockwise until she was unable to turn it any further. She locked the flashlight in place using a cord from a broken lamp. Izzy reached down and felt Nick’s wrist to ensure that there was no pulse in his wounded arm. Satisfied, she looked at her watch and marked “T” on his forehead with the time using his blood as her ink. The effort taken to complete the task was draining under her current physical condition. Izzy sent out a message to the others and slowly she slipped into darkness atop of Nick.
48
The crunch of breaking glass seemed to be echoing from a distant place. A flickering of grayish green began to filter into Declan’s eyes. It took a moment to register that he was looking at his olive drab tactical pants. The last thing he remembered was the drone. He tried to move his hand to wipe what he assumed was blood from his brow, but his arm wouldn’t cooperate. It took a moment to realize that his wrists were secured by zip ties, as were his ankles. The chair was made of wicker, but the interior frame was metal and gave no indication of budging as he struggled against the restraints.
As the fog in his head began to clear, he stared at the man seated in front of him. He looked like a rocker from an eighties big hair band. Thoroughly confused, Declan waited for his head to clear. Everything felt like a bad dream.