State of Terror

by John Brown

  The support soldiers rushed in. The soldier whom Daniel had just spoken with had been killed in the firefight. The other wounded American on the floor bled profusely inside his uniform. Dark red wet spots on the fabric spread. Daniel dropped to one knee by his side and averted his eyes. He didn’t want the soldier to see what he was looking at.

  “Medevac’s on the way, kid.”

  He looked to be about the same young age as Daniel. The wounded soldier stared at him with blank, glazed eyes, and dilated pupils. Daniel took the soldier’s hand in his. The skin was cool and clammy. The soldier’s heart beat rapidly; his breathing came shallow and fast. Dazed, he was going into shock.

  Daniel spat on the floor, failing to clear the dust coating the inside of his mouth and the phlegm in his throat. The spit bomb stirred up a pile of fine powder from the floor, curling lazily up in the air against the backdrop of the blinding sun outside.

  “You’ll be okay, kid. Just hang on.”

  Soldiers surrounded a cluster of damaged buildings. They were told that terrorists were holed up inside. Daniel aimed his rifle at the buildings, moving the sight from window to window. Helicopter gunships thundered ever closer, their blades beating the hot air, rustling the sparse clusters of palms and stirring up choking clouds of dust and sand. Once they came into range their autocannon fire blasted the compound.

  CIA Deputy Officer Boyd “Dirty Bull” Beecham stood immediately behind the soldiers, dashing in a black leather jacket and matching short-brimmed cap, looking like a World War II flying ace.

  “Come outta there with your fuckin’ hands up!” Beecham yelled through a bullhorn. “I repeat, surrender! Come out now! Corporal!”

  He turned to a young man standing next to him who knew some of the language.

  “What’re the right fuckin’ words?”

  The corporal wrote down what to say and Beecham again raised his bullhorn.

  “Okay, listen up, freaks! Ba man biaid! Man alkol neminousham, you little bastards!”

  He repeated it several times, but there was no reaction from the terrorists hiding within.

  “Corporal! Are you shittin’ me? You sure those’re the right fuckin’ words?”

  Sporadic bursts erupted from inside the buildings. Daniel couldn’t see any movement but he fired into the empty windows anyway. The ricochets and blasts went on and on. Finally, Beecham held up his hand to cease fire.

  An army officer came over, surveying the scene with binoculars. They discussed strategy.

  “Damn ragheads been holed up for hours,” Beecham said. He threw his bullhorn on the ground. “Let’s step it up! Shock and awe, baby.”

  In short order, huge, eight-wheeled Stryker MGS armored fighting vehicles moved into position. Laser-guided missiles found their targets, rocking and shattering the structures. Daniel and the other soldiers emptied rounds into the windows and doors and then ceased on orders. Small fires burned throughout the compound, the black smoke curling into the sky. All was relatively quiet.

  Deputy Officer Beecham reached for his binoculars.

  “So where the hell are they? Must be a fuckin’ underground bunker in there.”

  He spat on the ground.

  “Let’s try some a’ that CS gas. That’ll flush ’em out.”

  Soldiers launched missiles from shoulder-mounted rocket launchers, their courses traced by white smoke trails arcing through the air. Blinding explosions lit up the interior of the compound. Fire burst through the windows and door openings. The compound’s roofs collapsed and burned in the inferno.

  Transfixed, the company watched as the buildings were consumed in fire, marveling at the stunning pyrotechnics, better even than the fireworks displays on Independence Day back home. Before long, all that was left were the ruins of the cement walls that had stood against the onslaught.

  His binoculars trained on the action, “Dirty Bull” Beecham shouted into his handset against the background noise.

  “Mission accomplished, sir.”

  Loaded with insurgents shackled to their seats, a convoy of military transport vehicles rumbled down a ravaged urban street. The sides of the matte gray converted school buses were caked with dirt, their windows locked shut and barred with steel rods. The convoy meandered slowly down the street, bumping and lurching in the ruts and potholes, accompanied by troops marching alongside. The few residents to be seen peered fearfully out of their squalid homes, silently watching the procession march past in the rubble. The putrid stench of human waste and rotting garbage fouled the still, hot air.

  Not far away, rioting mobs were busy smashing shop windows and setting cars on fire, unaware of a forbidding column of tanks fast approaching. Warnings blared through the tank’s loudspeakers as they came within range.

  “Turn back! Disperse immediately! Salam dooet e man. Moazeb bash! Rooze khoobi dashteh bashid.”

  Caught up in their mad frenzy, the stern warnings went unheeded.

  Nearly invisible from the ground, Predator drones flew soundlessly far overhead, the small windowless craft whirring in the thin, clear air. Trailed by dense white exhaust plumes, laser-guided Hellfire missiles accelerated to supersonic speed, striking a building thought to harbor insurgents. The building exploded in flame. After a minute, the top floor collapsed to the street below. Overcome by wild panic, the raging crowds scattered.

  29

  Rock ’n’ Roll Time

  “YOU’LL BE OUR GUEST for one night then, Mr.…?

  “Helm. Matt Helm.”

  “Oh yes, of course, welcome, Mr. Helm.”

  Benson got the distinct feeling that the front desk clerk was looking him over, but why? He was wearing perfectly normal, stylishly casual clothes and even carrying a small traveling bag to better blend into the surroundings.

  “It looks like everything has already been taken care of, Mr. Helm. Would you like to sign up for our frequent guest program? Twelve stays earns you one free night redeemable during most weekends and you can also earn one complimentary adult beverage credit during your stay in the lounge.”

  “No.”

  “That’s fine, sir. Please enjoy your stay, and if you need anything, just call down and ask for Richard.”

  Benson opened the door to his room. Anna lounged on the bed, reclining against the headboard, exquisite in a clingy, little black dress. He closed the door and went over to the bed. Long legs and slender, bare shoulders. She looked up at him, her soft fragrance of cinnamon and orange perfuming the air.

  “Beat it,” Benson said. “Scram. Get lost before I call the cops.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic. You need me, it’s part of the plan.”

  “I don’t need any plans.”

  Anna propped herself up on an elbow, her legs splayed sideways across the bed.

  “I have our instructions. We’ll be working very closely together.” She kicked off her heels. “George thought I would provide a needed distraction.”

  “I don’t need any distractions.”

  “Not for you, tough guy; for all those red-blooded men at NSA. I’ll help you get inside.”

  They sat on the bed, studying the maps, drawings, and other documents spread out before them. Benson was impressed with their depth and meticulousness. Only a well-placed insider could have developed all this.

  “Isn’t it fantastic?” Anna said, moving closer to him. “Every detail has been worked out.”

  “That’s what worries me.” He stared off into space. “Something feels wrong.”

  “You just need to relax, you’re all tense. Why don’t we have a drink and unwind a little? I make a mean martini.”

  She rose from the bed.

  “Anna, why are you in this? Why are you risking everything?”

  Anna sat down on the bed next to him.

  “I had no interest in politics; both parties always arguing about nothing. They’re the same, really. But my brother was very involved. He was an antiwar activist — a Registered Political Lobbyist. We were
involved in a few ‘kinetic military actions’ at the time, and who knows how many other secret wars and special ops deployments were in the works. My brother organized protests and rallies, really good at it, too, building huge numbers across the country, generating positive headlines.”

  She was silent for a moment.

  “And one day he disappeared. Months went by. The police were absolutely no help, but I knew George — he’s a good friend — and we tracked him down. George knows just about everyone and everything; the smartest person I ever met, a true mastermind.”

  Anna laid down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as she spoke.

  “We discovered that my brother was arrested for ‘Domestic Terrorism.’ That was two years ago. He was moved somewhere, but we don’t know where, or if he’s still alive or — or dead.” She was in tears.

  Benson laid down next to her. Here was a beautiful, sensitive woman with a depth he hadn’t suspected.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, softly.

  Anna took a breath to calm herself. She said nothing for a while.

  “Your story is like my brother’s. I imagine he’s trapped down there, too; I’m almost sure of it. We’re still searching.”

  She stared at the ceiling again and wiped her eyes.

  “I have a unique position with a certain amount of influence, if I do say so myself. George thought I would be useful to the Patriots, and of course he could trust me. Trust is so critical.”

  She turned to him again, looking into his eyes.

  “I — I work for the Internal Revenue Service. Programming Control and Technology Security Branch.”

  “I need that drink now.”

  Anna went over to the bar, putting ice in martini glasses and pouring out gin and vermouth. Benson watched her from behind preparing the cocktails. He came over to her.

  “Anna, do you have a cell phone?”

  She looked at him curiously but went to her purse and retrieved it. He turned the phone over in his hands.

  Anna handed him his drink.

  “Cheers,” she said, clinking glasses. “To our mission. To liberty.”

  Downstairs, paramilitary police rushed by the front desk and took up their positions to secure the lobby. The senior officer in the party barked orders to his subordinates and then turned his attention to the clerk.

  “You there!” Vice Commander Chauncey Peters, DHS Special Investigations Directorate, shouted to a frightened Richard, flashing his badge to the clerk. “You remain where you are.”

  People in the lobby instantly stopped what they were doing and backed away until they bumped into the walls.

  Benson dropped Anna’s phone on the floor and stomped on it with the heel of his shoe. Anna watched helplessly as he tossed the smashed phone out the window.

  “My phone! What’re you doing?”

  “No distractions,” Benson replied.

  “Where’s the register?” demanded Vice Commander Peters. “You there, what’s your name? Richard? All right, Richard, you will show me everyone who registered in the last two days.”

  IT Specialists attached to the Department of Applied Digital Forensics, Business Data Security Command, set up a remote data center in the lobby, streaming everything to NSA for analysis. They went through thousands of accounts, poring over names, home and work addresses, REAL ID biometrics, detailed travel itineraries, credit card data, and bank records. Computer screens displayed the present locations of current and former hotel guests on a global map. DHS police in camouflage assault uniforms prevented anyone from entering or leaving the lobby. Several hours passed until they found what they were looking for.

  “Homeland Security! Open up!”

  DHS police banged on Benson and Anna’s hotel room door and rattled the handle, trying to force it.

  “Open up!”

  They pounded the door some more.

  “You there, what’s your name?” Peters shouted at the terrified clerk standing at the edge of the group. “Richard? All right, Richard, open it.”

  Richard promptly unlocked the door and ran away at a gallop down the hall. Silently, the police entered, cautiously spreading out. One of them found the bedroom, its door closed, and motioned for the others to come over. Quietly opening the door, they snuck into the dark room and surrounded the bed, their weapons drawn. They saw a spooning couple covered by a blanket.

  “Freeze! Get up real slow,” Vice Commander Peters said. “Hands in the air.”

  Nothing happened. He repeated his command, but the couple didn’t stir. He grabbed a corner of the blanket and tore it away. The pillows had been arranged to look like two people sleeping.

  Benson and Anna stared up at their hotel room from the street, now ablaze with light against the mostly dark building. It was quite late and the street was nearly empty.

  “How did you know?” Anna said.

  “At least no one will bug us now.”

  Benson walked over to an unmarked squad car parked nearby. He peered inside before opening the unlocked door. Anna nervously scanned the street for trouble while Benson squirmed over on his side to get under the dashboard.

  “Tom, what are you doing?”

  “And now for a little distraction of my own.”

  After a few minutes, the car abruptly roared to life. He rolled down the driver’s window. Shifting the car into neutral, he wedged a rolled-up floor mat against the gas pedal. The engine revved to redline, shattering the calm night.

  “Get back!” he yelled over the din.

  Standing outside the car, he gingerly reached through the open window and bumped the transmission into gear with a quick snap of his hand. The car tore off, its tires screeching, sending clouds of burning rubber into the air. The empty car accelerated madly but stayed roughly on course.

  Directly ahead was a compound of historic buildings crowned with gabled roofs of hammered copper. Walls of hand-wrought red brick partly covered with ivy lent a stately atmosphere. A pyramid logo with light shining from a human eye onto a globe of the world appeared discreetly over a command post guarding the entrance.

  “Nice place they have there,” Benson said. “A shame if anything happened to it.”

  The squad car crashed through the front gate and spun wildly in the small inner courtyard, careening into the main building. Plowing into the front wall, it erupted in a fiery blast, orange flames and black smoke reaching into the night sky. Panicked guards ran out into the courtyard, darting back and forth in the chaos. The old brick wall slowly gave way, collapsing on the burning hulk of the police car.

  Spellbound, Benson and Anna watched the explosion from the sidewalk. The sight of the improbably elegant prison compound on fire brought back a flood of bitter memories. What suffering and cruelty lay just beyond those walls? Benson watched the fire with a grim satisfaction.

  A gathering wail of sirens broke his reverie.

  “That should keep them busy for a while. It’ll be dawn soon. Rock ’n’ roll time.”

  “I didn’t know you were capable of something like that,” Anna said.

  “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  Benson pulled the plain, dark car into a vast surface parking lot populated by thousands of vehicles. In front of them loomed two tall buildings covered in black mirrored windows. He turned off the engine and rubbed his eyes. It was midmorning. Physically fatigued but mentally energized nonetheless, he steeled himself for the task at hand.

  “Anna, I—”

  He stopped himself in mid-sentence and turned to look at her for a moment, silent. He took her hand. She squeezed his hand in her own.

  “I think you’re wonderful, too,” he said.

  He kissed her cheek, then got out of the car and opened her door.

  Two cameras mounted over the entrance followed them as they went up the walk. Just inside the front doors was an elaborate security checkpoint, none of it visible from the outside. “Entering Federal Security Zone,” read the sign. “All Persons and Propert
y Subject to Search and Seizure.” Soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders observed Benson and Anna without expression.

  They put their slim briefcases on the conveyor belt and undressed before walking through the body scanners. Anna attracted the attention of the soldiers as she stooped over to slip on her shoes. She put on her blazer and tossed her long brown hair over the collar.

  Upon presenting their identification, a soldier peered intently at their cards, squinting at them and shining a small purple light on each, meanwhile sneaking furtive glances at Anna’s shapely legs set off by a short, fitted skirt. The usual female functionaries in their plain institutional attire and cropped hair passing through here didn’t look anything like this striking woman before him.

  The monitor displayed their pictures, fingerprints, retinal images, and voice prints, finding an exact match.

  “Enter your PINs, please.”

  “Identity Confirmed,” flashed the monitor.

  “Destination?” the soldier asked.

  “Stellar Wind.”

  The soldier gave them badges to clip on their breast pockets.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Olson.”

  He gazed at Anna with a smile, tipping his hat.

  “Miss Lane.”

  Walking down a carpeted corridor, they came to a pair of heavy glass doors featuring the NSA logo of an eagle grasping an antique, prison-type skeleton key in its talons. “Stellar Wind” appeared beneath the logo. A portly military policeman slouched on a stool just outside the doors. He silently took their identity cards, swiping them through the reader and staring at the monitor, waiting for the system to respond. An hourglass symbol slowly rotated on the screen.

  “Please enter your PINs.”

  Anna leaned over, a sexy smile on her face.

  “Thanks, Officer,” she said.

  The MP brightened up at this, returning the smile. He handed them their cards and straightened up on his stool.

  “Thank you, Miss, but to be honest, I’m not really an officer, you know. The thing is, is I joined up to serve my country and all that kinda thing, and this is where they stick me. I’m in a prime a’ my life, ready for action, you know what I’m sayin’?”