by Russ Snyder
Ninety minutes later, with the aircraft secure in a hangar, Starr and Styles had checked into a Comfort Inn, while Phillips and Christman had checked into a nearby Holiday Inn. Three GMC Yukons, two dark blue and one black, had been picked up at the airport, but the Jeep would have to be delivered. It had been promised by within the hour.
All four had decided to meet in Starr's room, as his was on the ground floor and easily accessible from the parking area without arousing any curiosity. Christman and Phillips had ridden over together, with Styles and Starr each driving one of the blue Yukons. Phillips walked in carrying three laptops and a printer and then proceeded to open them on the table in the room. She immediately started staring at the three screens. "I'm bringing up a Google Earth map of Ali's estate. Styles, do you need me to print it out, or can you get what you need from the screen?"
"The screen will do." He walked over to the table while Phillips pushed one of her laptops over to him along with a wireless mouse. He took them from her and sat down to study the image. He immediately clicked the mouse to zoom out. After a few seconds, he looked up at Phillips and said, "This is really good, very detailed and clear."
"Yeah, Google Earth has come a long way. I didn't want to use any of our satellites in case Backersley is keeping an eye on them."
"This works fine."
Starr looked at Christman and said, "Why don't we go to Marroni's, catch an early dinner, and plant those cameras?"
"That sounds good to me. How far is it?"
"Only about two miles down the road from here," Phillips answered. "Ali's estate is about sixteen miles away."
"I've got the whole duffel of electronic gear," Christman stated.
"Good. Bring it in, and we'll decide what we need," directed Starr.
"Be right back."
"I'll bring back some takeout for you two," Starr said to Styles and Phillips.
Both just nodded.
"No pizza," stated Styles. "Make it lasagna or spaghetti, with lots of meatballs and garlic bread."
"Got it."
Styles continued looking at the screen, even though he'd acquired the information he needed. He was evaluating whether he should talk to the group. He had seen a discernible mood change in the three. Anger was present, most visible in Phillips. Christman seemed somewhat detached, almost confused, while in Starr, he could sense genuine sadness. While they had all lost their president, Starr had lost a lifetime friend. Styles himself felt loss. He had grown to respect the president. The man had balls and wasn't afraid to use them. He decided to speak.
"Hey, guys, I need to say something." The three looked over in surprise, but all came over to sit at the table. "We're all boiling right now. We've got a right to. But we've got a job to do, a job that the president expects us to do." He purposely said expects, rather than expected. "I know that all of us want to go after the bastards that killed him. We will. But we have to finish this first. It's what he would have demanded. This is Saturday; Monday is Labor Day. That will be the timetable for the attack of this agent. I'm sure of that. We have to find these bastards and stop it. Once that's done, Phillips will read us into what everybody else has found out about the assassination, and we'll take it from there. We'll step on a lot of toes, but we won't get caught. We are going to be the jihadists' worst nightmare. We will leave the special signature so they'll know when we have visited. It won't be pretty."
The three were looking at him intently.
Phillips asked, "Do you think that the four of us on our own can really make a difference?"
"No doubt, at least not in my mind. He put us together because he knew we would jell as a team. We have, and I admit I'm the most surprised. But we work. All of us play an equally important role. In this world, besides my father, I have three trusted friends, and I'm looking at them right now. You three are not just my partners in this, but you have become my family. Trusting someone is the hardest thing in the world for me, but the three of you have earned it, in spades. We will continue this fight, and we will make a difference, a hell of a difference. That is not a promise, it is an absolute vow."
Everyone was dead silent; then slowly, all three nodded.
Starr said, "Marv, that's the most I've ever heard you speak in my life."
"It was more than in my entire senior year of high school."
Phillips spoke up. "I've got more info. I picked up some chatter about an event that will take place in this country on Labor Day. Styles, that confirms your suspicions on the timing. I'm also now convinced that Backersley suspects that 'we' exist. He's got Myra Banks working overtime on investigating not just me but the DPO. She has researched the Indianapolis affair, and it appears she is nosing around our European affairs, and not to beat a dead horse here, but the forehead marks are not helping. It ties us to these acts, and there is no way I can hide that fact."
Styles swore under his breath. "Does she know who we are?"
"Not yet, but she is trying hard to put it together. Whether or not she can connect us to the DPO is a different story. What she may guess and what she can prove are two different things at this point. She has my face on facial recognition. As soon as we act, in the same place I've been seen, it's only a matter of time. I don't know what to do," she said, obviously frustrated.
"For now, we stick to whatever plan we come up with. We'll deal with the CIA after this threat is eliminated," stated Styles emphatically.
"How will we do that?" she asked.
"I don't know yet, but we will deal with them---that I promise you."
She just nodded, not entirely convinced.
Styles had just toweled off from a scalding-hot shower when he heard a knock on his door. Quickly slipping on a pair of black jeans, he opened the door. Starr walked in carrying a bag of takeout food.
"J. C. and I got the cameras planted. Got two covering the parking lot, one on the front door, and one at the cash register."
"Good. If our boy comes in, we should see him and what he's driving. Why don't you three go back there for dinner? I've got something I want to do tonight."
"J. C. and I'll go back, but I think Phillips is glued to her computers. She barely even looked up when I placed her food on the table. Are you going to recon that estate?" Starr said.
"Yeah. If I can, I'll place some cameras---might even try for some mikes. Need to get a layout of their security. See if Phillips can hack into some of the security equipment providers around here and come up with anything. Start with the expensive ones. I've got a feeling this guy will have spared no expense. Don't worry if I'm gone most of the night. There's a lot I want to see before I decide how, and when, to attack. I'll have my ear set in, so you can talk to me if necessary, but keep it to a minimum. If I can't talk, I'll just squelch."
"Gotcha. If this guy comes in, I'd think it'd be a good idea to follow him."
"Agreed. Make sure everybody drives. On the chance that he does show up, be sure you three are out of there before he is, and then set up a standard double. With the comms, it shouldn't be too hard."
"You see anything on the aerial view you find interesting?"
"Yes, a group of cabins at one end of the property. I'm sure that's for the staff and guards. The house itself is on the opposite end with a lot of woods between; a poor setup from a security standpoint."
"Dogs?"
"Didn't see any signs, but I'm taking a tranq gun just in case. Don't want to have to shoot a dog if I can help it."
Starr couldn't help but be amazed at someone who could so easily take a man's life but absolutely shuddered at the thought of having to kill a dog.
"Don't say a fucking word, Starr. You know how I feel about dogs."
"I wasn't going to. I don't disagree."
There was another knock on the door. Starr, closest, went and opened it, allowing Christman and Phillips to enter the room.
; Styles asked, "Any more news on this toxic agent?"
"No. President Lamar just went through a long meeting with everybody about everything. Merritt said that the president seems to be handling it surprisingly well. He confirmed that he's not going to make any real changes anytime soon; doesn't want to cause any further disruptions."
"Smart."
"I'd say so."
Starr offered, "J. C. and I are going to that restaurant because Styles wants to go play in the woods."
21
T-Minus 32 Hours
Anyone on a beach on the West Coast of the United States was able to witness a purely stunning sunset. With the sparse cirrus clouds high in the atmosphere, colors of pink and gold were almost neon. Crystal-clear air, which was highly unusual for this time of year, only enhanced the colors.
Marvin Styles noticed none of it.
He had left his motel heading south on Interstate 205 and then got off on State Highway 213. The property he was looking for was about five miles outside the small town of Mulino. He had been able to locate a fire road that was only about two miles from Ryyaki Ali's estate. He turned off and proceeded a half mile up the road and found a good spot to hide his Jeep. He pulled off and parked. Styles was dressed in full camo, and he now went about applying flat camo face paint. When he was through, standing still, he was all but impossible to discern from the woods surrounding him. He decided to leave his AR-15 assault rifle, complete with silencer, hidden behind a tree ten feet from the Jeep. He'd decided that for tonight, his suppressed .40-caliber Berretta would be sufficient.
The map of Ali's land and buildings was imprinted firmly in Styles's mind. He set out on his hike through the woods. It was an enjoyable difference after thousands of hours in the sand. He knew that he would come upon the enclave of cabins first. It took him less than half an hour before he came upon an eight-foot security chain-link fence. He studied it carefully. He walked alongside for possibly a hundred yards. He saw no sign of any type of detection devices. Still he decided not to climb the fence. Instead, he looked for a tree that had a nice limb that spanned over the top. He spotted one immediately and noticed that fifteen feet away, he had the exact same situation. In and out. In less than two minutes, he was standing silently on the far side. From here on in, he would be in silent mode. He started forward, wanting the darkness to fall faster. He had night-vision gear with him. He knew that the cabins would be two hundred yards off to his right. He began his advance. The woods were very quiet. The leaves were still on the trees, rather than on the ground, making it much easier to remain silent while walking. In the distance, he could hear a vehicle start and a door slam shut. He could tell by the noise of the exhaust it was probably a pickup truck with an automatic transmission. He kept going.
By now, darkness had fallen, and he could pick up lights scattered through the trees. He was able to discern where the woods ended and the area opened up. He slowed, stopped, and got down on one knee and just listened. Two different voices could be heard. He smelled cigarette smoke and the odor of food being cooked. He made a quick check of his gear. He always secured it so that it would not move at an inopportune time and make noise, possibly alerting his presence to anyone. Very cautiously, he kept moving. Arriving at the edge of the tree line, he found a tree with a nice V in the trunk and stood behind it. He could now clearly see the eight cabins. He was opposite the sixth building, counting from his left. All the cabins appeared alike---small rectangular structures, each with a nice, covered, full-length porch on the front. A paved driveway ran up to each. Styles realized the entire road system was paved. That cost someone some bucks. Two trucks, a full-size van, and a newer BMW were parked. He decided he wanted to check the back. He slowly made his way around the end unit. Security seemed unusually lax. Probably a hell of a lot different up at the house. Arriving at the rear, the tree line was only fifty feet from the buildings. It was interesting that the tree line followed the curve of the buildings. Or probably the buildings were built to follow the natural curve of the tree line.
In his camo and paint, Styles was virtually invisible. Only with light at his back producing a silhouette would he be seen. There was still no sign of any real security measures. Weird. He watched the cabins for a full half hour. Three were dark; five had lights on. He started with the end cabin on his left. Proceeding in that direction would keep him on track to the main house. Though the cabins had blinds on the windows, none had been pulled. The first two cabins, lit, showed men eating dinner. Two in the first cabin, three in the second. Styles moved on. Cabin number three was dark. Cabin number four was lit. Suddenly, Styles froze. Light spilling out of the window revealed a set of rungs leading to the roof. Guard platform. He studied the roof for ten minutes. He scanned the roofs of the entire complex with his night-vision goggles. No sign of anyone. He waited ten more minutes and then cautiously continued. Cabin number four had a woman sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper. Dressed pretty nice to be reading a newspaper. Cabin number five also had lights on. Styles eased his way over toward it. He froze.
Standing less than twenty feet from him was Rijah Ellhad, former captain in the Iraqi Republican Guard. He was standing in front of a mirror in his bedroom. He was brushing his hair. Getting ready for a date with the girl next door. Styles decided to wait, which wasn't long. Within five minutes, the light switched off. Next, the kitchen light extinguished. Then he heard a door open and shut. Twenty seconds later, a knocking was heard, and then voices, both male and female, and then the sound of a door closing. Seconds later, a vehicle door opened and closed. Styles thought hard. Has to be the dark BMW. Then another door opened and closed, and he heard the sound of a car starting. Definitely the BMW. He heard the car back out of the driveway and then proceed down the long drive that had to have led to, and past, the main house. Styles went to Ellhad's bedroom window. It wasn't even locked. Slowly, he raised it and climbed in. He put on his night-vision goggles and navigated the cabin with ease. He placed a self-stick listening device under the front edge of the kitchen countertop, next to a wall-mounted telephone. He placed another one in Ellhad's bedroom, behind the mirror that Ellhad had just been using. Styles quickly searched the cabin. The only item of real interest was four boxes of nine-millimeter ammunition, but no gun. He thought for a second and then went into the bathroom and retrieved his cell phone. He texted Starr, "Strong possibility Ellhad heading to restaurant with date. Armed. 9 mm. Don't be spotted. Driving new BMW." Replacing his cell phone, he headed back to the window through which he'd entered. Easily slipping back out, he left it as he'd found it. He made his way past the next two cabins, which were dark, coming upon the last building, which was lit. He checked to be sure there was no light behind him to cause a silhouette. Satisfied there was none, he carefully looked inside through the bottom left corner of the kitchen window. He saw four hard Middle Eastern men whom he clearly heard celebrating the death of the American president. It took all Styles's self-control not to shoot the men. Later ...
Having checked the cabins, it was on to the main house. Through his earpiece, he could hear a double squelch, the signal that a conversation was desired. He walked past the tree line into the woods.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Phillips found something. She thinks there's a strong possibility that Ryyaki Ali may have also been involved with the death of the president. A credit card that tracked back to him was used at that camping store and also at a gas station an hour outside Baltimore," Starr said.
Styles could feel every hair on his body stand on end. "Got it. This is recon only. Out." He paused to think about what he'd just been told. It was obvious this Ryyaki Ali not only had money and connections but one hell of a network. Breaking that would be as important as anything else. Suddenly he found himself thinking about how easy it was when he was just a sniper. At least at that particular moment it seemed easier. He started moving, following the paved road. After ten careful minute
s, he started to see lights through the trees.
Another double squelch. Once again, he retreated back into the woods.
"Yeah."
"Phillips has security info on Ali's house. You name it, he has it. Apparently no dogs, though. But figure on everything else," Starr passed along.
"Got it." From here in, he would become a ghost. Throughout his career in the Middle East, Styles had become familiar with the manner in which security measures were employed. He suspected motion detectors, pressure plates, and even lasers. His night goggles would pick any laser beams up; it was the pressure plates that he would have to be careful with. He estimated he was two hundred yards from the house. He figured that the serious security would start about a hundred yards out. He carefully made his way until he was within fifty feet of what he considered no-man's-land. He got down on all fours. From here in, he would crab and crawl. He took out a dimly lit magnetic compass. Every sensor plate he'd seen was comprised of metal. If he approached one, the needle on the compass, being magnetic, would react. Simple but effective.
Ever so slowly, and silent as a cat, he proceeded. He was eighty yards out when the needle on the ever-so-lightly-glowing compass swung counterclockwise to Styles's left. He held it at a ninety-degree angle, and the needle pointed at a severe angle down. Styles estimated the device was possibly two feet to his left. He carefully moved sideways a foot and then continued. He saw the compass needle react as he crawled away. He made a mental note of its location. He came across two more sensor units before he came to the edge of the tree line. Surprisingly, there was no fence. He did see two guards with assault rifles slung from their necks on either side of the drive, one hundred feet from the semicircle that pulled up to and past the massive front doors. The entire area in front of the entrance was covered to protect guests from rain.