Crescent City Chronicles (Books 1-3)

by Judith Lucci

  “Wait,” John held his finger up. “Do you hear that?”

  Rob listened carefully, his hand cupped around his ear. “Sounds like a truck on the farm behind us. Maybe the caterers got lost. The log said they should arrive around 0700 or so.”

  “No, no,” John cautioned as he rubbed his ears to try to hear clearly. “It sounds like someone running in the woods. Sounds like sticks breaking.” He turned his head toward the sound again, his white hair the color of the falling snow. The iciness of his blue eyes intensified as he listened.

  Rob adjusted his field glasses to view the pasture and forests in the distance. He listened, but shook his head. “I don’t see or hear anything except the wind blowing through these tall pine trees and the chattering of my teeth. It could be a deer or some other animal,” he speculated.

  John’s face was grim and his eyes alert. “Check with the Command Center in the main house and see if there’s anything on the monitors and camera feeds. Also, get visuals to be sure the perimeter has not been breached. I know I heard something,” he added, as he peered through the snow into the woods and continued to listen.

  John grabbed Rob’s field glasses for a better view, as Rob adjusted his earwig and spoke briefly into his microphone, “Base 1, do you read?”

  After a series of clicks, the sound of a man’s voice answered, “Base 1, Reading you loud and clear.”

  “Seth, anything unusual going on down there?” Rob’s voice was low and quiet.

  Seth Farmer, a long-time electronics and security specialist, stared at the numerous readouts and camera monitors in front of him, “Nope. Nothing but deer and a bunch of cattle too dumb to move out of the snow into the barn. All’s quiet. Why? What ‘cha got?”

  John interjected abruptly, “Thought I heard something in the woods down by the creek. It could be the caterer’s truck, but I don’t think so. It sounded more like someone or something running through the woods.”

  Seth listened carefully and replied, “We don’t see anything here. No visuals. The gate cameras and sensors aren’t picking up anything yet, so I don’t think it’s the caterers. You got anything else?”

  “No,” John replied, “but if I hear anything else, I’ll want you to send up a quad copter with FLIR camera to check perimeter surveillance.”

  Seth scratched his head and replied thoughtfully, “I can do that, but don’t know how useful it’ll be in this weather. If we get much more snow, the optical sensors won’t work because of the snow and ice.”

  John sighed. Security at Wyndley Farm was the best money could buy and then some, but in lousy weather, most of it was useless. After the attack upon Congressman Adam Patrick Lee and his wife in New Orleans before Thanksgiving, Congress had appropriated the necessary funds to design and build an extraordinary state-of-the-art security system for the Lee’s Virginia home. The main house was equipped with a security system that included internal and exterior video surveillance, electronic keypad locks, heat sensors, infrared technology, and a safe room, while the perimeter security was nothing short of amazing.

  The Lee estate consisted of over 1,200 acres of farm and woodland deeded to the Lee family in a land grant by the King of England in 1756. The perimeter of the estate was surrounded by a hurricane fence six feet tall with razor wire at the top. The fence was embedded with sensors measuring motion and vibration, which often resulted in false positives when animals or branches picked up activity. The security around the outer perimeter, on a good weather day, was so sensitive that it picked up the sound of a cow chewing her cud. The location of the least quiet sound was indicated on a topographical map display on a monitor; agents could quickly investigate by ATV or 4x4s. The system also displayed three-dimensional color images of any suspect behavior and transmitted them to the monitoring system in the house as well as to a similar mobile system Rob and John had in the treehouse.

  Seth laughed and said, “It may be some of those drunks left over from last night’s party who just woke up in the woods and are tryin’ to get home.”

  Rob laughed, “Yeah, could be. There were a lot of scrambled brains around here last night. It was a heck of a party.” He paused and shook his head, “American’s finest showing their tails. To tell the truth, I was a bit envious, sitting up here in the tree watching those Senators and Congressmen throw back, not to mention the New Orleans police brass. ”

  Seth laughed in agreement. “Yeah, for sure. It was a great party and I still wonder if the guests caused the blackout. By the way, John, we checked the backup generator and still see no reason why it didn’t come on.”

  The ever vigilant John Cole nodded, listened to his agents banter back and forth and interrupted, “Guys, don’t forget today is a holiday and terrorists love to attack on days Americans consider sacred. This farm may have state-of-the-art security, but none of it works perfectly all the time and the weather will be a serious factor if we get a lot of snow. There are only eighteen of us protecting over a thousand acres, so let’s be vigilant.”

  Seth quickly became serious. “You’re right. I think I’ll take a walk and look around. If I see anything, it surely won’t be a false positive from some malfunctioning scanner. Anything from up there you think I should check out first?” he questioned.

  Cole scanned the area with his monocular, which sported a tactical scope of 10-25 zoom capacity. He preferred the monocular to field glasses because they were lighter in weight and allowed him one eye to safeguard spatial and situational awareness or ‘local’ events. The high zoom capacity also provided him the ability to discern scopes for sniper shooting and other fine details.

  “Yeah,” Cole replied. “There’s a crop of trees near the creek that could provide good cover if someone wanted to sneak over to the barn. The tree branches could allow them to jump the razor wire and get in.” Cole deduced. “Is there someone inside who can cover the Command Center?”

  “Yeah,” Seth replied. “Of course no one is as good with the electronics as me,” he boasted cheerfully, but I guess I can trust them for a few minutes,” he added in a teasing voice. “I’m on it.”

  “Thanks, man. Are you driving? Is there an ATV you can use to search the perimeter?” Cole replied.

  “Negative,” Seth reported. “All the vehicles are in use for party preparation. I’ll be on foot.”

  A deep frown flickered over John Cole’s face, and Rob thought he heard him curse again under his breath.

  “We’ll watch you from here in the tree tops,” Rob assured Seth. "We’ve got the best view, you know, and of course, the best weapons available.” Rob was silent for a moment and then said, “Come on up when you are done. We have some great, cold coffee we’ll share.”

  “You got it,” Seth agreed. “I’m outta here.” he said, as his temporary replacement opened the control room door.

  Chapter 2

  Yassar Ahmid was frozen and hungry as he moved pieces of sharp metal around in his truck bed. He searched for the shiniest and sharpest pieces in the pile as he daydreamed of killing the Congressman who had insulted his country and defiled his faith.

  Yassar was a tall man, a Syrian, powerfully built and a rising star in the Al Qaeda terrorist group. Yassar, a child of privilege, had been educated in London and Princeton. He hated Americans, hated the West, and had committed heart and soul to jihad and the destruction of the West.

  He stared at the metal that was so cold it froze and stuck to his fingers through his thick work gloves. He visualized it as it penetrated unsuspecting American flesh. He removed his gloves and blew on his fingers for warmth, and muttered, more to himself than his companion, “I’ve never seen weather like this before. I never will again,” he added caustically, as his voice became loud. He pulled his lightweight corduroy jacket around his broad shoulders and put his gloves back on his frozen hands.

  Yassar was normally mild-mannered, but today he was in a foul mood. He hated the U.S. and he hated cold weather. He turned to Stark and said, “When we march victoriou
s through Washington, D.C., I will command the forces in Florida and I will never be cold again. I will never set foot in this cold, dismal place again,” he hissed, his body heated by hate.

  Former CIA agent Jacob Stark ignored Yassar’s diatribe, laughed easily, and said, “Hey, man, it’s not so bad. They’re only predicting a foot or so of the white stuff. Where I’m from, this piddlin’ amount doesn’t even count. Besides, we’ll get out of here before it gets much worse. Did you hide the truck outside the perimeter?” Stark was a big man, tall and powerful like Yassar.

  Yassar glared at his companion, his voice impatient as his dark eyes flashed at Stark. “Of course I did. It’s down behind the lake in a grove of trees. I covered it with a green tarp. But, I’ve got to get some gas. The tank is almost empty.”

  Stark jerked around and looked at him. “Empty, what the hell do you mean? How could the tank be empty, we topped it off last night,” Stark retorted, his voice confused and incredulous.

  Yassar’s posture was defensive, his upper lip pulled into a snarl. “Yeah. The tank was full, the important word being was. Now it isn’t. I’ve got to get gas and get back here before the people arrive ... or we will never get out of here. So, traitor,” he snapped, “why don’t you flex your muscles and move some of this metal?” His voice was tinged with sarcasm as he threw a heavy piece of lead into the container.

  Stark stared at him, but said nothing. He shook his head, “Just be careful. One misstep or movement could blow the mission, and I assure you if that happens, your reputation as a rising star in the brotherhood is over. Finished. History. Curtains. Now get movin’.”

  Yassar grabbed his weapon, his face livid. “I’ll be back after I get the petrol. I’ll put the truck back in the trees where they will never see it. They will never know. The infidels think they’re so smart, living like monkeys in the trees. How stupid they are. Do they really think we do not know they are up there?” He spat his disrespect into the accumulating snow as he heaved a huge piece of shrapnel into the crate.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Stark warned, his blue eyes bright against his tanned face. He raised his hand in cautionary warning, “Don’t underestimate them. They are sharp and well trained,” he advised. “One of the agents served with me in Afghanistan and nothing gets by him. You must be careful. There are police and SWAT all over this place and I promise you, these guys can hear an ant crawl ten miles away. One of them has super sensitive hearing,” he warned.

  Yassar held his tongue. He didn’t like criticism or instruction, particularly from someone he considered inferior. He sneered at Stark and turned his back in disrespect.

  Stark said nothing, but clenched his teeth tightly. He was a traitor and it was cutting him into pieces. It sickened him to work against men who were like brothers to him.

  Stark tapped Yassar on the shoulder and said, “I’m serious, Yassar, this farm has state of the art security and there are cameras, optical scanners, sensors, audio, and whatever else you can think of. One wrong move and they’ll send up a drone, take a couple of images, and you’ll be in Gitmo before you can spell ‘jihad’. Mark my words, dude, I’m serious.”

  Yassar gave him a bored look. “Americans are stupid traitors. Isn’t that true, Stark? And they speak of morality and ethics to us! What a joke. I would never consider defying Allah and turning against my brothers,” he goaded Stark.

  Jake Stark was silent.

  Yassar capitalized on the silence. “Men like you, who are cheap and can be bought for money, are the downfall of the West and make it easy for us to win jihad.” Yassar’s mood had become ebullient as he thought about the results of the mission. “Death to America! Soon we will triumph and the entire world will worship Allah.” Yassar raised his rifle in a salute to his cause.

  Stark had had enough and spoke sharply, “Shut your pie hole, Yassar. Get the gas and get the hell back here so you can finish loading shrapnel. Watch yourself. I don’t want you getting us caught and ruining this mission. I don’t want to die today,” he ended, as he looked at Yassar.

  Yassar shot him a dirty look. “I don’t need you, traitor. I have enough fire power to blow you up, all of your friends, and most of this farm.”

  Stark was done talking and said, “Get out of here, Yassar. Get the gas and get back. Don’t get caught and blow the job.” As he watched Ahmid disappear into the tree line, he heard a crackling of tree branches and Yassar’s boots tromping through the snow.

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