The Missile Game (The Dr. Scott James Thriller Series Book 1)

by Glenn Shepard

  “Oh my God. Anna is Nicole Banzar?” Keyes said. “Farok sent her to kill me. I know about TATP. Two tons of it will level the entire hospital and a good part of Jackson City. I never wanted that. Scott, you have to kill her.”

  One of the monitors showed an aerial map of the hospital campus. The car was approaching from the south.

  “You’ve got about one minute before Quasart reaches the hospital.” Edwards shouted.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Drone Control Center

  3:37 pm

  “WHAT IS THE DRONE armed with?” I asked Edwards.

  “A fully charged DE Laser gun, with enough power for eight shots.”

  I put my total concentration on the job at hand.

  Edwards was standing on his chair, getting as close to the monitors as he could. He looked at his watch. “Damn it, Doc, hurry!”

  Taking a deep breath, I moved the X over the target.

  Pumping both fists, Edwards bellowed, “That’s it! You’re on it! Now fire!”

  “No, I’m moving too fast!”

  I pushed the cross behind the car and touched the trigger lightly. The first beam struck twenty yards behind the target. “The controls are making allowance for the speed differential.”

  “Damn it, James, I told you—that’s a DE Laser! It moves at the speed of light! You have to put the X directly on the car and fire!” Edwards beat on his chair as he yelled. “Aim and fire again! Now!”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Hospital Way

  Jackson City, North Carolina

  3:37 pm

  AS NICOLE BANZAR DROVE the gold Cadillac Seville toward the hospital, she could hear the sirens.

  She pressed the gas pedal to the floorboard. She could see the hospital and the Emergency Disaster bus behind it. Her destiny with Allah was before her eyes! She was just seconds from attaining the greatest feat of her life. She heard the voice of her great God, calling her home. Her turn had finally come. Now, she would give her life to Allah. His faithful servant was on her way to Heaven.

  Suddenly a blinding light lit up her rearview mirror. She could see the six-inch ball of brilliant white and orange flame hover over her. “Allah is here! He will save me!” she said aloud.

  A split second after that she felt the heat, as her body was totally incinerated. The steering wheel turned to jelly as Banzar’s hands vaporized. The vinyl seats melted, the electrical wiring liquefied, and the entire car glowed. The gas in the tank and in all six cylinders boiled for a fraction of a second before exploding all at once and detonating the two tons of TATP.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  Drone Control Center

  3:37 pm

  EVERYONE IN AND AROUND the hospital heard the gigantic explosion.

  Keyes screamed, “Oh my God!” She suddenly started jumping up and down. “Oh my God, Scott! You killed her!”

  Edwards appeared on the screen. His uniform was wet with sweat. He shook his head. “That was too fucking close for comfort.”

  Our reverie in taking out Quasart was brief.

  “Don’t start celebrating yet,” Edwards said. “There’s still a rocket coming at you.”

  “I can take care of it.”

  “It’s a Silkworm missile, targeted at the drone command center. It’s thirty-four miles away and traveling 950 miles per hour. That means it’ll be there in less than one minute. I don’t think you’ll be able to shoot it with the laser. Just run and save yourself!”

  “No, it’s too late.”

  “Then fucking do it! That Silkworm will be down your throat in thirty seconds.”

  Keyes shook her head. “Omar knew we might be able to stop the suicide bomber. That’s why he ordered the Silkworm, too.”

  I sighted the X on the Silkworm as the count ticked to twenty seconds. “You have six shots left in that DE!” Edwards bellowed. “Shoot, damn it! Shoot!”

  For some reason, I felt calm, as if I had complete control of the situation. I fired a shot.

  “Fuck! A hundred yards short!” Edwards screamed.

  I let go a volley of three shots as I moved the DE gun forward along the path of the missile.

  “Short again!” Edwards yelled. “Two shots, seven seconds left!”

  I quickly moved the DE forward and centered it on the Silkworm. This time, I had it.

  Just as I pulled the trigger, the missile swerved to the left.

  “You missed!” Edwards screamed, “Get out of there before it hits you!”

  Keyes looked at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry I got you into all this.”

  Without taking my eyes off the radar, I nodded and reassured her. “If my instincts are right, we’re gonna’ be just fine.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Crittendon Road

  Jackson City, North Carolina

  3:38 pm

  TEN MILES FROM THE hospital, Herb Waters turned onto a scenic road that was little traveled except by weekend nature lovers. He’d thrown Keyes’ cell phone out the window, in the event it had some type of tracking device.

  With the Aston Martin’s 510-horsepower engine, he could hit sixty in four seconds and quickly accelerate to speeds in excess of 100 miles per hour. He’d tested the Aston on country roads in America as well as on the Autobahn in Europe.

  Cruising along now at 100 miles per hour, Waters smiled at the thought of Keyes and James being killed.

  He then heard a whistling sound.

  Waters looked left and right and then in his rearview mirrors. It was the missile. It wasn’t headed for the hospital; it was coming at him. Hunching over the steering wheel, he pressed the accelerator to the floor. But the missile kept coming. A millisecond later, Waters and his car exploded.

  Drone Control Center, Jackson City

  3:38 pm

  We heard a distant pop.

  “I think that was the Silkworm missile blowing the shit out of Herb Waters.”

  Edwards’ image immediately appeared on the screen. “What’s happening? Did the hospital take a hit?”

  Before answering, I quickly moved the cameras on the drone to the site of the last explosion. Then, I smiled and turned to Keyes. “That Rolex wasn’t a watch. Not exactly. It was a beacon.”

  “Fa-rok,” she whispered.

  I looked at Edwards, and explained, “The Silkworm hit its target, which wasn’t the hospital or the control center. It was a transmitting beacon inside a watch, which just happened to be in Herb Waters’ Aston Martin.”

  “How do you know that?” Edwards asked.

  I stared at Keyes sparkling eyes. “The watch kept getting slower. A good watch like that won’t lose five minutes in a hundred years. So I knew somebody had fiddled with it. That, and it occurred to me that the casing was too big. Those jewels were on there to disguise the true size of a casing big enough to handle a transponder.”

  “That son of a bitch,” Keyes hissed. “He put a marker in that watch!”

  “He knew you’d find Waters and the drone center. That’s why he gave you an extra day on your contract—so he could kill you and Waters at the same time.”

  “I’m too old for this stuff. My heart can’t take it,” Edwards said, as he wiped the moisture from his face. Every stitch of his clothing was soaked with sweat. He chuckled a little. “Dr. James, I can get you a job, replacing Charlie. I think I’ll like working with you a lot better than that goddamn Waters!”

  Edwards took a deep breath and held his hand to his headset for a moment. “We must catch Farok while he’s in the area. Ms. Keyes, or whoever you are, where were you when you last saw Farok?”

  “And Jorad Hormand,” I interjected.

  “Hormand? She saw Hormand?”

  I looked at Keyes and asked, “You know, don’t you?”

  She
just looked down.

  I answered my own question. I looked at the monitor and said, “Farok and Hormand are one and the same. I searched Keyes’ room when she was out and found a photograph. It was the same picture as the one circulated of Jorad Hormand. I’d seen it in several newspapers. Elizabeth, please tell us about that picture.”

  She hesitated before responding. “Omar likes masquerade parties. I was with him a year ago when he tried to fool me one night with that disguise. A beard, heavy eyebrows, a plastic nose and cheeks, padded inserts for his stomach and butt, elevator shoes, the whole bit. It was so real. And, yes, the photo of Hormand is Omar in that disguise.”

  I wasn’t surprised.

  “I analyze the faces of people in photographs for a living, or at least I used to—before all this happened. Something was wrong with the face.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Watson Farm

  Chapel Hill, North Carolina

  4:01 pm

  THE LAUNCH AND FLIGHT of the Silkworm were plotted by Perkins’ people, and within moments the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters were in route to the Watson peanut farm.

  The lead helicopter landed two miles from the farmhouse, where the terrorists were still celebrating the first strike on American soil by a Chinese Silkworm RBS-15 missile.

  A second Blackhawk landed, and the U.S. combat teams assembled on the road, then moved in quietly to surround the farmhouse. Four squads of infantry breached the building at two doors. Just two captives were taken.

  At the barn, where the Silkworm was launched, Michelle hid now behind a farm tractor, with two of her soldiers. Five more missiles rested in rectangular cradles on a flatbed Mack truck, with camouflage paint.

  Troops entered the barn within a minute of landing.

  As they advance, the two men of Michelle’s group cautiously stepped out from behind the tractor with their hands out in front of them.

  Michelle had other plans. “Fuck you!” she said as she leaned out from behind the tractor and fired her M-16.

  The U.S. troops returned fire. It was five to one. The bullets from the U.S. guns flattened the tires of the tractor, blew off the seat and both fenders, and tore apart the fuel tank.

  As Michelle lay dying, her final words were, “Allahu Akbar.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  CIA Field Operations Command

  Camp Peary, Virginia

  7:00 pm

  UPON ARRIVING AT CAMP Peary, Keyes and I were taken immediately to a large conference room. There were no smiles or congratulations. We were debriefed by fifteen interrogators. All were serious and to the point. For more than an hour, we were bombarded with questions. Finally, the room fell silent, except for the sound of a small balding man in a general’s uniform drumming his fingers on the table.

  That has to be the ‘Perkins’ who was Pete Harris’ friend.

  He stared at Keyes a full minute, his eyes steely as he studied her. He clasped his hands together and said icily, “Ms. Keyes, you are an illegal alien and you’ve been associated with known members of Al Qaeda and ISIS. As a terrorist, you pose a threat not only to the United States but also to the world. You are in trouble, big trouble, in this country. We show no mercy to terrorists. You face imprisonment for a long time, perhaps fifty years or more, depending on what charges we bring and your level of cooperation.”

  Keyes looked down and did not respond. I suppressed the urge to reach out to her.

  “Do you have an answer to that?”

  She looked into the eyes of her inquisitor. “But you haven’t asked a question yet.”

  One member of the panel chuckled. The red-faced man pounded the desk with his fist and shouted, “Don’t be coy with this panel! I demand you tell us all you know about Omar Farok and his terrorist organization!”

  Keyes looked first at me and then at the floor. After a moment, she lifted her head and made eye contact with several of the panel members as she spoke. “Before today, Farok was pretty good to me. But like every other man in my life—with one exception.” She glanced at me before continuing. “Like the others, Farok used me. And then he planned my death. I see now that he intended to kill me all along, from the time he programmed my phone until he gave me that watch.”

  The interrogators asked dozens of questions about Farok, but she remained mute. They quizzed me, but I knew as little about the man as the panel members did.

  Finally, Keyes spoke. “I’ll tell you everything if you give me and Dr. James full immunity from prosecution.”

  Perkins responded by pressing the intercom. “Please take our visitors to their quarters.” Then, he turned to Keyes and me. “We’ll break for dinner now. We’ll summon you when we’ve made a decision.”

  Two soldiers arrived and led Keyes and me to separate rooms, where we spent the night.

  CIA Field Operations Command

  Camp Peary, Virginia

  9:15 pm

  During the closed session, the panel members discussed Keyes’ involvement with the terrorists. She was just a courier. ISIS used her to find the drone site, nothing more. If Keyes, indeed, had the photographic memory that was attributed to her, she had a wealth of information to divulge.

  Immunity was a good thing, if she would talk.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  CIA Field Operations Command

  Camp Peary, Virginia

  7:00 am

  THEY BROUGHT US BACK in. To my relief and surprise, they promised us full immunity. The only condition being that Keyes had to be perfectly forthright in disclosing information. If Keyes withheld something, or if she lied, the immunity would be revoked immediately.

  I was taken to a private room while Keyes faced her interrogators.

  She took a deep breath and began telling them all she knew. “Omar Farok planned this entire mission. He is the son of Ismael Muhammad Farok. He was born July, 17, 1970, in Damascus, Syria, and has five brothers and six sisters.” She proceeded to give them the full names, birth dates and birthplaces, and even the last known addresses, complete with mail codes, of each member of the Farok family.

  Keyes continued talking about Farok and his people and operation for almost an hour before the representative from the Advocate General’s office in the room said, “Okay, okay, I’m satisfied with your knowledge and memory.” He turned to the rest of panel. “If she keeps going like this, she gets immunity.”

  Camp Peary, Virginia

  Three Days Later

  The CIA wasted no time putting Keyes’ revelations to use. Over a three-day period, forty arrests were made in the United States, and eighteen terrorists were taken into custody in Saudi Arabia, Yemen, and The Sudan.

  Keyes gave exact instructions on how to apprehend Farok. If he did what he’d done in the past, he would direct his Learjet to fly toward the West Coast and over the Canadian border, to escape to Asia.

  The Canadian Air Force was put on alert. Radar picked up the aircraft right where Keyes said it would be, and six Canadian F-35 fighter planes intercepted it and forced a landing in Winnipeg.

  But Farok was not on the plane, a mystery that not even Keyes could solve.

  After three days of separate questioning, Keyes and I were brought back together, and taken to the conference room. Perkins was there with two men I’d never seen before.

  Perkins conducted the final debriefing. “Dr. James, I should inform you that Detective Harris’ body was found in the trunk of a car in the hospital parking lot. The car was traced to a rental car company in Raleigh, North Carolina. The “official” report was that his beheading was the act of Middle Eastern terrorists whom Harris had gone looking for the night he was murdered.”

  “He was a friend of mine,” I said.

  “Mine, too.”

  Perkins looked down for a moment, then continued, with a smile growing on his f
ace, “I should also inform you that the Jackson Police Department has dismissed the charges of murder in regards to Dr. Carey and Officer Wilson.”

  I smiled. I was incredibly relieved … until Perkins continued. “Now, we found a Mercedes parked at an apartment complex with two bodies, both from the Congo. The gun that was in your possession killed both of the men.” The general lifted up a plastic bag containing the Browning pistol. “Dr. James, your fingerprints are all over this gun.”

  He looked me in the eye. “With so many of your prints on this, I assume the pistol belongs to you.”

  “It was just—”

  “I have some advice for you, Dr. James,” he interrupted, silencing me with a stern look. “Be more careful with this in the future.”

  He handed me the gun. Only then did he smile.

  The other two on the panel laughed.

  Perkins turned his attention to Elizabeth. “Ms. Keyes, somehow, you entered the country illegally, probably in one of Farok’s jets, but you never forged any false passports or financial or legal documents, or engaged in any fraudulent activities that we are aware of. Nor have you withheld information from this investigating body. In fact, your testimony has helped us greatly.

  “I should tell you that coincident with the missile firing you witnessed, there was a car-bomb blast in Nice, France, yesterday, at one of the two residences owned by Herbert Waters. Three people were killed, including a woman identified as Mrs. Waters. There are no heirs listed in Mr. Waters’ will other than several charities, which will receive a lot of money from foreign banks.”

  “But what about the hospital property?” I asked. “There’s strong evidence to support Waters’ ownership of Jackson City Hospital.”

  “We sifted through your notes, which were in Detective Harris’ office. It does seem that through Waters’ manipulation of the hospital bylaws, he is the legal owner of the hospital and all its entities. But the citizens of your city still think they own it, so unless Waters resurrects from the dead and lays claim to it, there’s no one to challenge the city’s ownership of the hospital.”