by Roger Hayden
Angela turned to see a few of the Outlaws gathering near a rock near where Hendrickson was standing, RPG launcher in hand. A few of the men dragged the militant driver over to join the others, tossing him on the ground. He pleaded with them in Arabic and was met with swift kicks to his side.
“We need him alive!” she said with force.
Everyone stopped and looked over at her, surprised and unresponsive. She gazed past them to see a man hand Hendrickson an RPG to load. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Hendrickson responded with a smile. “Haven’t shot one of these in a while. Let’s see who can take them out first.”
“I’ve got this!” Burke said, lying in position, eye against the scope.
Angela stood between them, unsure if Hendrickson had a point. But she had seen Burke in action and trusted his judgment. “Let Special Agent Burke handle this,” she said. “He knows what he’s doing.”
The trucks were dangerously close to the gate. The police fired at them, but were met with a barrage of gunfire as the trucks following the lead vehicle pulled up on both sides of it, forming a flank. It was World War III down there, and whoever was ready on their end needed to act fast.
“You brought me here for a reason,” Hendrickson said, aligning the front sight and taking aim.
Burke fired his first shot. The rifle blasted like a cannon and exploded the head of one of the militants packed in the back of the center truck. The drivers exchanged more relentless gunfire with the overwhelmed security team and police officers, picking them off one by one. Angela held up her binoculars again, shaking with rage.
“Where the hell is the military?” she shouted. “Why aren’t they posted here?”
Burke fired another shot, through the back of the center truck taking out the driver. The truck swerved quickly and crashed into the nearest police car, sending the militants flying into the air. The two other trucks halted as the men in the back fired at the remaining security detail as they fled for cover.
Just as Hendrickson steadied his aim, a new threat appeared on the far side of the plant. Another line of trucks—similar to the ones at the front gate—tore through the field with steel front guards bolted to the front of their hoods. The intention was clear: breach the gate however possible.
Angela whipped to the side and watched the terrorist team advance on their target like kamikazes on a suicide mission. Burke continued his steady firing at the front-gate team, sending the militants scrambling. There were fifteen, maybe twenty of them, and he couldn’t afford to let one slip by.
Angela spotted a bagman in the group, rushing toward the gate. “One o’clock. The man with the bag. Those have to be the explosives!”
Burke fired a shot through the man’s back, sending him barreling down in a bloody heap. He shifted his rifle carefully, side to side, firing upon the remaining militants. Five dropped in an instant. Then five more. A few panicked fighters eventually turned around to see from where the shots were coming from. Those who stopped were killed. Angela had never seen anything like it. Burke was some kind of machine on that rifle.
Hendrickson hesitated no more, took a step forward, and launched the first RPG, which exploded in front of the convoy, sending them off track as the trucks swerved around the blast.
“Damn,” he said. “Missed ’em.”
Shaggy-haired Jim handed him another rocket. “This’ll be the one, boss. Guarantee it.”
The militant driver tried to crawl away, shouting out in Arabic, only to receive another kick to his side by Tara. Angela couldn’t keep track of everything that was going on. Burke had seemed to take out most, if not all, of the team at the front gate. He paused in his firing scanning the area.
Angela held the binos to her face just as she heard the second blast from the RPG launcher. Startled, she dropped the binos and turned to the side as a furious explosion erupted fifty feet from the gate. A massive fireball flowed into the sky, red and angry, as though the sun itself were rising in front of their eyes.
Hendrickson had managed to hit one of the trucks as the two others flew past the explosion, determined to break through. Several of the militants fell out the back of the trucks as they swerved and increased their speed. With one more rocket left, Hendrickson wasted no time loading his launcher. He aimed just as the first truck crashed into the fence, tossing more militants into the air. The fence bent forward, but managed to keep them at bay.
“Allahu Akbar, you sons of bitches,” he said, launching the rocket.
In the blink of an eye, another massive explosion blasted the second truck into pieces. Satisfied with the front-gate situation, Burke turned his focus to the one truck remaining. It crashed into the fence, uprooting it at its base with tires grinding across the thick pavement. Burke fired at the truck, hitting a frenzied militant who jumped out the passenger side. He hit the ground as Burke continued his assault, firing two successive rounds through the rear of the vehicle. Angela crouched down, binoculars to her eyes as she watched blood and guts burst onto the shattered rear window.
The truck stopped, and for a moment there was no movement among the wounded and dead bodies. Burke paused as Angela remained fixated ahead. Thick clouds of black smoke billowed into the air from the fires below. The approaching sound of helicopters became more evident with each passing moment, underscored by the howl of warning sirens. The Cavalry was close, and they needed to make themselves scarce.
Just as Burke was about to rise up, Hendrickson fired his last rocket at the truck, blowing it to pieces, hot metal, rubber and glass rising in a cloud of smoke. He lowered the launcher as a wild fireball discharged in the air, and then he looked at Angela, then Burke, who glared at him with anger.
“What?” he said, shrugging. “I had to make sure.”
11
Finding Asgar
They regrouped and left the overlook, leaving the bodies of terrorists in their wake. At this point, Angela didn’t know what they’d say to the authorities if they were stopped or arrested. She only hoped they could get back on the road and evade them. Martinez sat in the back, tired and in pain, as Burke remained steely eyed at the wheel. The militant driver was in Hendrickson’s van. The terrified man was currently their only real link to Asgar’s terror network, as all the other fighters were dead.
Just like everything else that day, the surreal nature of so much death and gunfire had left Angela shaken. Had they succeeded? She was sure that they had. Were those trucks the full extent of Asgar’s army? The authorities would have to take it from there and find out. She looked ahead at the open road, a monotonous stretch of asphalt set within the largely vacant industrial sector. She took a breath of relief, but their mission was not quite over yet.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Some place we can lay low for a while and get some answers from our new friend.”
“You really think he’ll talk?” Martinez asked.
“I do,” Burke answered. “He just needs the right convincing.”
Martinez leaned forward, still in a state of shock. “I can’t even believe what the hell just happened back there.” He ran his hands through his hair, frantic. “Did we get them all?”
“All signs point to yes,” Burke said.
Martinez seemed irate. “You got the Outlaws all fired up. They won’t stop until they get Asgar’s head on a platter,” he said, seeming disturbed by everything that had happened.
“We need all the people we can get,” Burke said.
Martinez scoffed. “Hell. You were ready to go it alone about twenty minutes ago.”
Twenty minutes, Angela thought. Was that all it took? The firefight had seemed to last for hours. They were on the road now, reaching what she hoped would be their last target.
“I certainly was,” Burke replied. “But sometimes things turn out differently.”
“They sure do,” Martinez said. He then pulled his cell phone out, ready to make a call. “I need to talk to my wife. She’s proba
bly worried sick. I can only imagine what they’re saying on the news.”
Angela’s attention turned to the radio for the latest updates. In a near-panicked tone, the broadcaster relayed the scant details of several explosions reported at the Dallas nuclear power plant. “Authorities cannot, at the moment confirm if this was indeed a terrorist attack.”
Burke spoke up as though he were thinking out loud. “You know, it’s possible that no one will ever know what we did today. They’ll never know how close they all came to dying.”
“I don’t care,” Angela said, studying the road map. “I just want this whole nightmare to be over.”
“Soon enough,” Burke said.
Up ahead, a long line of police cars came speeding into view, their lights wildly flashing. Angela’s heart stopped as Burke continued to exhibit nothing but calm in the face of authority.
“Shit!” Martinez said. He fumbled and dropped his phone, then ducked to stay out of sight. The cruisers zipped past them, going over a hundred. Angela could practically feel their force as wind gusted against the windshield and shook the car. Burke continued undeterred as the Outlaws followed behind.
“Honey, it’s me,” Martinez said into his phone. He paused, listening. “It’s okay. Everything is okay. We’re fine.” He paused again as she spoke. “I can’t say too much, but I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
Angela turned around, eager for a status. “How are the girls? “Can I talk to them?”
Burke suddenly cut in, glancing at Martinez in the rearview mirror. “You need to end that call. Use your head.”
Martinez paused, hesitating.
Angela turned to Burke, dumbfounded. “Are you kidding? I need to speak with my daughters.”
“Hang up the phone!” Burke demanded.
“I have to go. I love you,” Martinez said. While still on the phone, he looked up to see Angela glaring at him. “Um. Gloria. How are the girls?” He paused and put the phone on speaker, holding it up as Burke sighed.
“They’re fine, don’t worry,” Gloria said. “Very lovely girls. They’re sleeping right now.”
Angela turned back around in her seat, feeling somewhat satisfied. At least they were resting. Martinez told Gloria that he loved her and then hung up, looking at Burke. “You may be a good shot, Special Agent Burke, but you’re an even bigger pain in the ass,” he said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Burke said.
Angela stayed out of it. They continued down a narrow windy road as an orange hue flickered far in the distance behind them. The fires were still burning from the power plant. To their side, downtown was a madhouse, and according to reports, they would face checkpoints at every turn. They needed a place to regroup. Some place safe, isolated, and away from all the madness. Her finger trailed the map to the nearest route west along Interstate 30.
“Closest city over is Irving. Lots of farm country out there,” she said.
“Sounds like a plan,” Burke said.
Martinez leaned forward, more collected after his brief conversation with his wife. “What do you think Asgar is going to do after learning that his attack failed?”
Angela hadn’t considered that question yet. Her prime focus had been in stopping the attack. Now that the job was done, there was no telling what Asgar would do next.
Burke thought to himself. “I’m guessing he has a backup plan. Something hasty no doubt. He’s losing and he knows it.”
“He may be desperate, but he’s absolutely committed to his cause,” Angela said.
A highway exit came into view and they could already see both the east and west bound lanes, bumper to bumper. They would have to look for alternative routes out of the city. Irving seemed like their best bet. Martinez called Hendrickson to let him know of their plans and as he talked, Angela closed her eyes, just for a moment, and imagined the time when everything was over and her daughters were back in her arms. Once that time came, she would never let them go again.
At a crowded table, under the low light of a hanging bulb, Asgar suddenly flipped the table over, tossing papers all over the room. His lieutenants looked down nervously as Asgar shouted in Arabic to no one in particular.
What had happened?
Who had interfered with their plans?
How could his men have failed him?
They had lost contact with the strike team an hour prior. The attack, presumably, had been unsuccessful, and over twenty of his men were feared dead or captured. They heard reports of an attack prevented at the Dallas power plant. The news had infuriated Asgar and pushed his need for vengeance. Documents floated down, landing at the men’s sandaled feet as they waited for their leader’s rage to subside.
Bosra, Asgar’s loyal guard, stood in the corner silent and observant. The tension in the air had escalated, with the premonition of things to come. The men knew of the bomb and of their leader’s plan. He could kill them all and millions more with the push of a button. Many of them had accepted martyrdom, but the timing seemed much too sudden. Perhaps their leader would hold off for the time being.
Asgar clutched the chair in front of him, breathing heavily with his head hung low. He spoke slowly as gray hair hung down, covering his face. “We made several calls throughout the city. Over fifty anonymous threats. How were the authorities able to stop us at the power plant? How did they have the manpower?” He raised his head snarling, and stared holes through his men.
Tarik, one of the head lieutenants, raised his hand to speak. “Perhaps, my leader, they have more resources than we believed.”
“More than we believed?” Asgar snapped. He held out his palm, counting on each finger. “Only a small percentage of Americans work in law enforcement. Even less serve in the military. The FBI employs an estimated five thousand agents. One and a half million serve in their entire military! ISIS has two hundred thousand trained fighters throughout the world, and our numbers are growing. There is no excuse!”
Asgar spun around, grabbed a chair, and hurled it over his men as they ducked down. The chair crashed against the concrete wall, splitting in two, the noise echoing in the air.
Tarik folded his hands together, pleading. “We’ve accomplished so much, my leader. Now is not the time to get discouraged. As you’ve said before. It is Allah’s will.”
His words seemed to resonate with their leader. Asgar took a step back and after a few moments, calmed down. “You are correct, Tarik. This latest obstacle changes nothing. The caliphate continues as planned. The Americans will die regardless.” He took a deep breath, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the remote detonator, to the awe of his men—some of whom feared the inevitable move Asgar was proposing. “Brothers. Once I push this button, we will achieve true martyrdom.” He then lowered the remote and placed it back into the pocket of his thin robe. “But we must first send one final message to the Americans, claiming our acts in the name of Allah and the Islamic State.”
The lieutenants nodded along, eager to hear their leader’s plan in detail.
“We will do this tonight. And once our message is broadcast, we will send them into hellfire.”
Wasim, a brooding, muscular man, stepped forward to interject. “Perhaps, my leader, there is another way.”
The room went silent with shock. Few dared to publicly question or contradict their leader, but Wasim seemed fearless, despite his timid tone.
Asgar turned to him, skeptical. “Another way? What is this about another way?”
All eyes turned to Wasim as he elaborated. “With all that we’ve accomplished so far, why should we end it here and now? There’s still much work to be done. An entire country at our mercy. Is there no other way?”
Asgar scratched his beard with a smile. “I understand where you are coming from, my Brother Wasim. So many of our brothers’ lives have been in this conquest. Is it necessary, as you ask, that we perish too?” He then stepped forward with resolute fortitude. “Paradise awaits all those who die in the name of Allah. We
have to strike at the right moment. The Americans are closing in.” He raised his arms to address the entire group as one. “If we die tonight, my brothers, we die as one. Everything we do together. Everything we do under the guidance of Allah.”
Bosra shifted from his position in the corner of the room, rifle in hand, as though he was prepared to end the meeting at Asgar’s behest. The men noticed and shuffled to the door.
“That is all for now,” Asgar said. “Go among yourselves and pray. There is much still to be done.”
He then lifted the small table and turned it back on its legs. As the men exited the room, Asgar turned his head toward them to offer his parting words. “Do not fear what is coming, my brothers. Do not fear anything at all. Put your trust in Allah. He will guide the way.”
It was close to nine when they reached the outskirts of Irving, a safe distance from the chaos in Dallas. Burke led their convoy through the rural town as Angela looked around for a spot where they could stop. Old homes on acres of land thinned out, giving way to endless forest and brush. Angela pointed to a dirt trail on their right, where a faded rusty sign said Moss Lake.
“Looks like a good spot to me,” she said.
Burke nodded in agreement and turned off the road as the Outlaws followed, headlights flickering in the rearview mirror along the bumpy dirt road. They emerged from a narrow path among a cluster of redwoods and could see the vast, still water of the lake with the moon reflected on its surface. A silhouetted line of trees overlooked the lake, peaceful and serene. With such natural beauty surrounding them, it was hard to believe that the world was in so much trouble.
The plan was clear enough. They needed time to extract information on Asgar’s whereabouts. Their main link was a man they had captured. The militant driver who had so far told them nothing. It was a long shot, but it was the best chance they had, given the prospect of Asgar’s persistence in attacking Americans. The lake looked isolated and free of any onlookers. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around, only them, and it was time to get some answers.