Terror Rising: Book 0 – The Insurgence

by Roger Hayden

  Amid the commotion, Angela found herself back in Chief Drake’s office with Assistant Director Thaxton and Special Agent Sutherland. So far, she had an insider’s view to the investigation that none of her colleagues had been privy too. Chief Drake seemed concerned with her involvement, but beholden to the whims of the FBI. But had it not been for Captain Martinez’s disappearance, Angela knew she wouldn’t have been welcomed in the room.

  The television in the corner played clips of the Chief’s earlier comments to the media in a hastily put-together press conference. The story wasn’t going anywhere. It’s all they were talking about on the news. Drake stood in front of a banner displaying the border agent seal and spoke at a podium with several microphones sticking out like a bouquet of flowers.

  “I can’t release all the specifics on this incident, but I can say that HAZMAT teams conducted a sweep of the area and found no evidence of chemical agents released,” Drake said, adjusting his glasses. “We’ve cordoned off the area temporarily to conduct the investigation, but we want to stress that the surrounding communities are not in danger.”

  A reporter in the back shot his hand up, speaking eagerly and out of turn. “Sir, what info can your agency release about the suspected terrorists who left the scene?” The reporter paused and then looked down and spoke as if reading from his notes. “The Starr County PD reports that they issued an APB on a blue station wagon connected with the vehicle explosion.”

  Taken aback, Drake backed away from the microphone and placed both hands on the podium. He then leaned closer, zeroing in on the reporter. “Nothing has been confirmed at this moment involving a vehicle that fits that description or the activities of the Starr County PD.”

  Chief Drake stepped in front of the television and muted it with a remote. “That son of a bitch. Did you see what he just did to me there?” he asked the room, turning around astonished.

  Assistant Director Thaxton leaned against the front of Drake’s desk casually with her arms crossed. “He’s doing his job,” she offered without sympathy. “Just remember, Chief Drake. Things are going to get a whole lot worse before they get better.”

  Drake walked back to his desk, tossing the remote across several open files lying about. He pulled his chair out and sat, sighing, as Thaxton stood up and walked to the window, examining the full parking lot. Angela sat in one chair across from Drake’s desk as Agent Sutherland stood by the door, turning toward the chief.

  “Sir, the assistant director is right,” he said. “There’s a lot of loose ends out there, and someone has to tie them up.”

  Drake placed both hands on his desk and leaned forward, notably perturbed. “Tell me what your team is doing here then? My people are supposed to be protecting the border, not fighting terrorists.” His eyes shifted directly to Angela as though he were sending her a message.

  Thaxton calmly strolled from the window toward his desk. “To answer your question, Chief Drake, we’re only getting started.”

  Angela said nothing, despite the questions swimming around in her head. She felt no closer to the truth, even with the recent bust. Something felt off-kilter, and each moment that passed made it seem as if she were being dragged further away from finding Martinez.

  Drake then voiced his concerns on that very topic. “Where is Captain Martinez?” he asked Angela directly. “His wife has been calling the station all morning. He won’t answer his cell phone. He hasn’t been seen since last night.”

  “He’s gone rogue,” Thaxton answered. “And we were hoping that his partner could help us find him.” There was a hint of something accusatory in her voice.

  Drake looked at Angela and then rubbed both hands down his drained face. “I’m aware of why you have her tagging along, but I thought you’d have heard from him by now.”

  “We haven’t,” Thaxton said.

  Angela spoke up for the first time, trying to get everyone back on track. “What do we know about the men apprehended today?” All eyes suddenly turned to her, even Sutherland’s, who had seemed preoccupied with his phone. Angela paused, taking notice, and then continued. “IDs? Vehicle registration. They had to be doing something out there. That outpost was unlivable by any standards.”

  “We’ve run their information,” Thaxton said, surprising Angela with a direct answer. “They’re Syrians here on education visas.”

  “Guess class was canceled today,” Sutherland added with a chuckle.

  Thaxton moved in closer, inches from Drake’s desk, looking at him with urgency. “We have only a small window here to question the men before Customs and Immigration and Homeland get involved.”

  Drake set aside a file he was looking at. “Okay? So what do you want me to do about that?”

  “Just keep your agents at bay,” Thaxton said. “And let us do our job.”

  Drake glanced over at his TV in the corner where they were still showing scenes from his earlier press conference. He held out both hands, giving up, and asked Thaxton if there was anything else.

  “Let’s go, Agent Gannon,” Thaxton said, walking toward the door.

  Drake’s head jerked up. “Hey, where are you taking her?”

  Sutherland opened the door as Angela stood, frozen, caught between her boss and the assistant director.

  Thaxton said, “I told you that Agent Gannon’s assistance is crucial to this investigation.” She took a step out the door, and then turned around. “At least until we hear from Captain Martinez—our man in the woods.”

  Angela looked at Drake for confirmation.

  “Very well,” he said, looking down. He then pointed at Angela, speaking forcefully. “But I want to know everything that you’re doing. You’re to brief me periodically. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Angela said.

  He dismissed her, and she walked out with Thaxton and Sutherland at her sides. Offices and cubicles flanked the carpeted pathway before them, and standing outside their doors were Border Patrol agents, who turned in unison with their eyes on Angela.

  She continued past them as conversations died out, leaving behind a vacuum of uncomfortable silence. There was much suspicion in the air. No one seemed to know why Angela was so important to the FBI all of a sudden, and the frustration of being left in the dark resulted in rumors and speculation.

  Angela tried to make eye contact with her colleagues, even smiling at Captain Reynolds, who looked back at her stone faced. For the most part, she just kept her head down and continued walking.

  Up ahead, however, the holding room came into view, where even more Border Patrol had gathered. It was time to investigate the first piece in the intricate puzzle they were desperately trying to solve.

  Discovery

  Angela followed Thaxton and Agent Sutherland into the holding room, entering as a group. Many of her colleagues had gathered at the window, watching, though once inside the room, she could not see them. She wished they would all go away, but such a scenario wasn’t going to happen. All attention was on the suspected terrorists. On top of it all, the FBI had planted their own flag and set up camp.

  The nearest FBI headquarters, in Houston, was more than three hundred miles away, and Angela knew they were in Del Rio for the long haul, or at least however long it took to find whatever it was they were looking for.

  “Okay, gentlemen,” Sutherland said, walking into the room as Thaxton closed the door behind Angela. “Who’s the leader here?”

  Sitting in line on a bench against the wall, the six men looked down, still handcuffed. No one was speaking. Sutherland walked down the line, close to the men’s feet, staring each one down, his long white sleeves rolled up and red tie swaying.

  He was about Angela’s age. His freshly trimmed blond flattop looked similar to any military cut. With his booming voice and direct nature, Angela wondered if he had a background in military service like she did.

  Thaxton took a seat on the empty bench across from the men and beckoned to Angela. As Angela sat next to her, Thaxton handed her
a small notepad and pen. The implied task was clear: Angela was to take notes—anything, she supposed—to satisfy the curiosity of her colleagues about her role in the FBI’s investigation.

  “No one, huh?” Sutherland said, spreading both arms wide as if to embrace them. His pistol rested snugly in his side holster, his cell phone in the other. “Just a bunch of like-minded individuals meeting up along the Rio Grande border.”

  The men remained silent. Angela scribbled into the pad, noting that the suspects were recalcitrant. Sutherland seemed to be lost in thought, pacing, as Thaxton kept a careful eye on the men. The men stared down at the white tile floor, defiant, with deep, angry frowns on their faces.

  “What’s wrong?” Sutherland asked the man at the end of the bench. He had dark hair and a thin goatee, and when he raised his head, he refused to make eye contact with the two women in the room.

  He answered in a thick Middle Eastern accent. “It is an insult to be asked these questions with them here,” he said, briefly pointing across the room.

  “You’re just going to have to deal with it, all right, Mahmoud. Unless you want a one-way ticket back to Syria in the next five minutes.”

  The man’s eyes widened, and he slunk back toward the wall, surprised that Sutherland knew his name and where he was from.

  “Do I make myself clear?” Sutherland asked, leaning down right in the man’s face.

  “Yes. We will talk. But please.” He stopped and signaled toward Thaxton and Angela dismissively. “Not with them here.”

  Sutherland turned to Thaxton, waiting for her response. She shook her head, not saying a word. He then turned back to Mahmoud. “Sorry, Charlie. They stay. You see, that woman there is the assistant director of the FBI. She’s my boss. And she’s the one calling the shots here. Not you. Not me. And certainly not your friends here.”

  Mahmoud looked away with a sullen defeated expression. His friends appeared just as despondent.

  Angela scribbled away, beginning to understand the assistant director a little better: she did things her way.

  “That’s what I thought,” Sutherland said. “Mahmoud, we checked your backgrounds—what little we could find—and discovered that you’re all Syrians, here on expired student visas.” He began pacing the room again like a defense attorney, his leather dress shoes tapping along the floor. He stopped and looked at his watch, then to Mahmoud. “How about we get you back home in about thirteen hours on a one-way flight? Sound good?”

  The men remained silent as Mahmoud jerked his head up, galvanized with fear. “No! You can’t send us back there. They’ll kill us all!”

  Sutherland stooped down right in front of Mahmoud’s shaken face again. “Then tell me everything I need to know, Mahmoud, or I’ll have no other choice.”

  “We were fleeing from ISIS!” Mahmoud said, voice rising. “They accused us of being spies—”

  Sutherland smacked the wall, cutting him off. “You expect us to believe that? Where are your families? What are you doing meeting up in an abandoned outpost?”

  “We’re trying to get our families here. Trying to get citizenship first!”

  “Bullshit!” Sutherland shouted. “You start telling me what I need to know, or we send you to your buddies back home.”

  “We are not terrorists,” Mahmoud said. “I know that you have your suspicions, but I can explain everything.”

  Sutherland sighed and looked up at the ceiling panels and the two long, white fluorescent bulbs that illuminated the room. He pulled a picture from his pocket and held it close in Mahmoud’s face. “This man. He’s a Border Patrol agent. Very important that we find him.” His finger pointed at Captain Martinez’s official department headshot. “What do you know about him?”

  Mahmoud’s eyes tried to adjust. He opened his mouth and shook his head, trying to answer. Sutherland grew impatient and walked down the line of men, slowly walking the picture past their faces. “Answers, gentlemen. We know he was at your meeting place because he’s the one who told us about it.” Sutherland paused. “Right before he disappeared.”

  Mahmoud shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t… we didn’t.”

  Sutherland lashed forward with his open hand and hit the wall just above Mahmoud’s head. “Start talking, damn it! We’ve got one Border Patrol agent dead, one missing, and six Syrians with expired visas in an abandoned outpost.”

  “We were hiding!” Mahmoud shouted.

  The eyes of the other men widened as they looked at Mahmoud, urging him not to say anything more. A man with a facial scar stood up at the other end of the bench, livid.

  “That’s enough, Mahmoud!”

  Thaxton’s hand went to her pistol as she rose from the bench across from the men. “Sit down,” she said.

  Mahmoud froze and stared back at her with contempt.

  “Shakir. Sit!” Mahmoud said in forceful tone.

  The scar-faced man slowly sat as Thaxton stared him down.

  “The truth is…” Mahmoud began. “We are all six of us friends. We came here together. And we are living in fear. Not only is ISIS trying to kill us back home, they have fighters here. There is a fatwa against each of us. We were meeting to discuss where we could go to be safe. There’s too many of them in this state.”

  Sutherland crossed his bulky arms, not convinced, as Angela continued rapidly jotting down words on the notepad.

  “Going into hiding from ISIS after staying past your visas? Not buying it,” Sutherland said.

  “Don’t you see?” Mahmoud shouted, jerking at his handcuffs. “We are men without a country! We thought that we had chance here.”

  “Oh yeah?” Sutherland said. “And what school do you attend? Where do you live? How do you know all these ISIS creeps?”

  “We live together. All of us. We have little money,” Mahmoud said.

  “What’s your major?” Sutherland asked.

  “There is no school!” Mahmoud shouted, cracking.

  Wary of all the back and forth, Thaxton stepped forward, pulled a digital recorder from her pocket, and pressed the stop button. Angela paused in her note taking and stared down at her efforts to keep up, wondering why she had even bothered.

  “That’s enough,” Thaxton said. “We’re getting nowhere fast.”

  “I don’t think that’s the case,” Angela said. As all eyes fell on her, she realized she had spoken out of turn. Thaxton stared back at her with near amusement on her face.

  Having garnered their attention, Angela decided to continue. “I think all of this is pretty revealing.” She paused, trying to read Sutherland’s and Thaxton’s straight-faced expressions. “I mean, don’t you agree?”

  Sutherland sighed and turned to Mahmoud. “I would if I didn’t think it was one-hundred percent bullshit.”

  “I don’t lie…” Mahmoud said softly.

  “What?” Sutherland asked, leaning in closer.

  “I said I don’t lie. Are we here illegally? Yes. Are we Muslim? Yes. Are we Syrian? Yes.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Are we terrorists? No.”

  Thaxton cut in, intrigued. “This ISIS mafia, as you referred to them. You know where they’re operating?”

  Mahmoud shook his head. “Your agent, Martinez. He asked us the same thing.”

  “Well?” Thaxton said, looking down the line of men. Their eyes remained averted from her deepening glare.

  “Only I and Shakir speak English. And we met Captain Martinez outside a mosque service, trying to make new friends. Trying to weed out any ISIS who were after us.” He paused, staring ahead. “We think Martinez was there for the same reason.”

  At the end of the bench, Shakir grunted in anger while shaking his head. Sutherland looked up, annoyed. “You have a problem there, Sha-kir? Something you wanna add to the conversation?”

  Mahmoud raised a hand. “Please. He is only afraid. We are all afraid.”

  Angela scanned the faces of the men. They were groomed and dressed as Americans, but she could see a hopelessness in
their eyes, a despondent, vacant look that didn’t seemed bred in deception. They looked as though they had been through hell.

  “Martinez…” Sutherland said. “Where is he?”

  Mahmoud looked around, reserved and nervous.

  “Eyes up here, Mahmoud,” Sutherland continued, pointing at his own eyes with two fingers.

  Mahmoud began rubbing his hands together nervously. “There is a place we know little about. One of our friends. He went there. He volunteered to join the Islamic State so that we would know where they were. So that, when the time came, we’d have… something to offer.”

  “To offer who?” Sutherland asked.

  “The U.S. government,” Mahmoud continued. “People like you.”

  “Interesting,” Thaxton said, cutting in. “And what is this information worth to you?”

  Mahmoud made direct eye contact with her for the first time, not hesitant in his response. “To put us somewhere where ISIS cannot find us.”

  Sutherland tilted his head back and laughed. “Ah. Sort of like Witness Protection for foreign nationals.”

  Angela’s hand began to hurt from writing so much. She then glanced at the mirrorlike Plexiglas window, wondering about the reaction of her watching colleagues. The sound box had been turned off, preventing anyone outside from hearing what was being said in the room. She was certain that she’d be met with a barrage of questions when she left the room.

  “You told Captain Martinez about this place? This ISIS hideout?” Thaxton asked.

  “Yes,” Mahmoud answered. “He said he would help us.”

  Thaxton turned around thinking to herself, holding one arm by the elbow as her hand rested on her chin. “His last known location was at your meeting place.” She then turned to Angela. “Did you get a call from him after that?”