Knife Point

by Jim Heskett

  “For what it’s worth,” Harry said, “we don’t have the time or the resources to tap into city-wide satellite feeds to find him. We have no official support from Control, so if we’re going to catch up to Farhad, we’re on foot. A lead is better than a guess, in that case. Especially since this is all so time sensitive.”

  “I don’t buy it,” Serena said.

  Jonah pressed his lips together, staring at her.

  Layne figured he better say something. In another minute, the two of them would come to blows. “Enough. Without a better lead, we'll follow Jonah's tip. Anyone have a problem with that?”

  She breathed for a few seconds, eyes locked on Jonah. Eventually, Serena shook her head at Layne. “Fine. How do you want to play this?”

  “We get to the dam, now. Try to find the landing zone.”

  “I’m driving,” she said, and Layne let her have that little victory.

  They all raced for the van and slid inside. Serena didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t seem happy about the current situation. Layne had to wonder if Daphne had said something to her before this meeting. If she had told Serena that Jonah wasn’t to be trusted. Doing so—and without alerting Layne to the fact—was exactly the sort of thing Daphne would do to keep everyone on their toes.

  Serena was at the wheel, and she drove them north through town, as fast as she could manage on the way without being pulled over for speeding. Harry sat at the workstation, trying to hack into satellite and CCTV feeds near the dam. Layne didn’t quite know how Harry did all that, but within a couple minutes, he had commandeered the video feed of some civilian flying a drone near the dam. Impressive stuff.

  Serena stayed mute while she drove, and Layne kept a close eye on Jonah. He wasn’t as groggy as before, but he didn’t seem to be functioning fully yet. Serena had a case full of 9mm pistols, and Layne inspected and loaded each one before choosing a SIG Sauer P226 for himself and for Jonah.

  He wished he still had the bag Conner had tossed over the side of the building, but Farhad had managed to scoop it up during his escape. Shotguns or assault rifles would be better for this task ahead. But, Layne would make do.

  “You have vests?” he shouted to Serena in the front.

  She waved a hand toward the back, where Layne found a trunk bolted to the floor. He opened it to find several vests with heavy-duty plates. He passed them out, one for each person in the van.

  North of town, the road became winding and narrower. The traffic of the city faded away. Layne could see it, the massive gray Shasta Dam and the islands of Shasta Lake beyond it. If Farhad blew the dam, half the town would flood in a few minutes. The lake was a massive body of water.

  Closer to the dam, there were hiking and biking trails that splintered off from the main roads. A series of densely wooded hills ringed this side of the dam, with brown lines of trails cutting through.

  Jonah pointed them to an area named Backbone Road. He indicated he thought the landing zone would be somewhere along one of those trails. They could only drive up part way, and would be on foot to reach an area he figured was flat enough to land a helicopter. He had an idea of the most likely place.

  The road quickly turned to dirt, with the van bouncing back and forth as they approached a parking lot ahead.

  “Here,” Jonah said. “I think I know where to go from here on out.”

  Serena pulled over to the side of the road. A few hundred feet ahead, the street ended in a dirt lot and a trailhead marker, with only a couple cars parked there. “What do you want to do?” she asked Layne.

  “We split up. Jonah, you’re with me. Harry, you’re in the van on comms. Serena, you’re on your own to scout any alternative landing spots.”

  “Good with me,” she said. She gave Jonah an eye but held her tongue.

  Layne, Jonah, and Serena exited the van, and Harry organized a group channel they could all call into, and then passed out earpieces to everyone.

  “Reception might be spotty around here,” Harry said, “because of the hills.”

  “If nothing happens,” Layne said, “meet back here in thirty minutes to regroup and figure out what’s next.”

  “Agreed,” Serena said, and Jonah and Harry both offered nods as replies.

  Layne and Jonah set out to the northeast, while Serena ventured southeast. Harry said he would work on getting current satellite imagery. He’d have something workable in five to ten minutes.

  Layne kept Jonah in front of him since he wasn’t solid on his feet. He’d improved every minute, but if they had to work fast, he might be too much of a liability.

  The trails were dirt blanketed by dense brush and trees, with the occasional clearing to provide a view of the sparkling blue water of the lake.

  Jonah kept pushing forward, headed for a hill about a half mile north. Layne followed, with a hand on the pistol in the back of his waistband. For whatever reason, they didn’t encounter a single hiker on this trail. Maybe they were in that sweet spot between when the dawn hikers finished and the late morning hikers began.

  They pushed on like this for ten minutes, until they started to crest the hill.

  And then, Serena spoke up into Layne’s earpiece. “Boy Scout.”

  He paused, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’m here. What have you got?”

  “I found the helicopter.”

  Jonah stopped hiking and turned, shoulders heaving as he put his hands on his hips and gave Layne a quizzical look.

  Layne paused. “How many hostiles?”

  “That’s the thing. There’s nobody here.”

  43

  Serena crouched at the edge of the clearing. The helicopter sat in the middle of a grassy field, surrounded by hills on all sides. She could see the lake to the north, clear and blue and with inlet tendrils reaching into the surrounding land. There were no other morning hikers within sight, but she’d seen some only about five minutes before. Maybe no one else in the area thought a helicopter landing was a big deal, at least, not enough to draw any curious locals.

  The helicopter looked abandoned. The blades were still. It had been here for several minutes, if not longer. Serena hadn’t heard it landing, for sure.

  Beretta pointed at the ground, hidden in the cover of the tall grass, she breathed. Listening to the light rustle of the breeze through the grass. The trails were dirt, tamped down, but the rest was brush, sometimes half as tall as she was. A few trees dotted the landscape.

  Something was off here. The scene felt almost as if it were staged, and if she came within ten feet of that chopper, a sniper’s bullet would take her out. Either that or the helicopter itself was booby-trapped.

  So, she stayed still and waited. Eyes on the hills, looking for the telltale glint of light off a scope, or any movement that could be a person shifting. Nothing stood out or seemed strange at all.

  Then, she heard the voices. About three hundred feet to the northwest, she saw two heads poking out above the grass. Her finger wrapped around the trigger, but she didn’t lift the pistol. Not yet. The heads were pointed away from her, toward the lake. Both of the men were dark-skinned and older. Thick beards on their faces.

  These must have been the Iranians who’d delivered the chopper. So far, all of what Jonah had said had come true.

  Keeping low, Serena plotted a course to them. As she skulked through the grass, she kept herself out of their view. Both still faced the other direction, as if looking for something over there. They didn’t seem too concerned with the chopper.

  One was on the phone, speaking a language she couldn’t quite understand. She caught a random word here and there, but not enough to string together a coherent sentence. Kurdish maybe, but in a dialect that rendered her limited knowledge of the language useless.

  Both of them had slings over their shoulders, but she couldn’t see the weapons. They were hidden by the grass. She had to assume semi- or automatic rifles, so the element of surprise was critical in this instance.

  The one not on th
e phone kept his eyes fixed on the one speaking. The phone talker swung his hands wildly, in the middle of an angry conversation. He spoke in stops and starts as if having to deal with constant interruptions from the person on the other end of the line.

  Serena neared them. She reached down to check the noise suppressor on the barrel of her Beretta. Breaths in and out, even and calm. The one not on the phone would catch the first bullet, then she would wound the other one so she could ask him a few questions before he died.

  The phone talker held the phone out and ended the call. Now, she didn’t know who to shoot first.

  “Will it work?” asked the other one.

  “I sent him a message. He is a smart man, he will find it.” He took a breath to say more, but then he whipped around, in Serena’s direction.

  They’d spotted her, and she couldn’t figure out why. Didn’t matter, though. No more time to plan. They would cut her down if they had a chance.

  The one on the left barked a command Serena couldn’t parse. Both the men raised their assault rifles, the noses tracking in her direction.

  She had to shoot from the hip. No time to aim. Serena shot one in the forehead, then the other in the chest. The one with the brand new third-eye went down immediately, but the other staggered back, hands falling to his sides. The rifle danced on the end of the sling, around his midsection.

  “Drop the weapon,” Serena said, marching toward him with her pistol raised to her eye line. “Do it now. I’m not going to say it again.”

  Instead, he grabbed the stock of the rifle to reposition it in front, where he could get a finger around the trigger. Serena fired her weapon twice, sending two more bullets into his chest. He dropped face-first into the grass. After a few jitters, he went silent and still.

  She marched, still with her weapon up. She stopped at the other one, clearly dead. Then, the one who’d almost shot her. He was still breathing, so she grabbed the rifle by the sling and tossed it away from him. It didn’t matter, though, because after a few more inhalations, he wheezed his last breath.

  “Damn it,” she said. These two dead men had all the answers in those non-functioning brains.

  “What’s going on?” Harry said into her earpiece. The sound startled her since Harry hadn’t said anything in at least a minute. Easy to forget he didn’t have eyes on her, so he was on audio only.

  “Found two hostiles at the LZ. Both down. I’m within sight of a helicopter, so this is probably the right spot. You got video of the area yet?”

  “No, still working on it. I’ll have something soon.”

  “Copy that. I will take a closer look at our chopper.”

  Pistol still up, she approached the helicopter. Through the open sides, she could see crates. There it was, the poison and the explosives. The payload, as expected.

  Except, the loadout wasn’t right. There were spaces for four tie-downs in the back, but only two of them were occupied by crates.

  “Hang on, K-Books. Something is wonky here.”

  She lifted the lid on one of the crates and saw a collection of pasty white C-4 bricks and detonators inside. Same thing with the second crate. Everything neat and packaged, organized in smaller boxes. Quite a haul.

  “What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

  “I see enough C-4 to take out the dam, but no poison. It’s not here. If Farhad’s bosses brought the poison, then it didn’t make the trip.”

  “Is it nearby? Maybe with your two dead hostiles?”

  Serena turned in a circle, squinting across the clearing. “I don’t think so. They were hanging out, taking a phone call. They didn’t have anything else near them.”

  “What does that mean? Was there never any poison? Is Jonah wrong?”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’m going to widen my search and explore the area. But first, I need to get these explosives out of here in case anyone else comes by. I’ll find a dark spot under a tree to stash it all.”

  “Okay,” Harry said. “Keep me in the loop.”

  She took one last look at the two dead bodies before unpacking the explosives. What the hell was going on here?

  No time to waste, if Farhad was nearby.

  44

  Farhad opened the car door for Arash, his pilot. Arash, who spoke no English, nodded his thanks. Short and squat with a belly sticking out almost as wide as he was tall, Farhad wondered how the little man would fit in the helicopter seat.

  It didn’t matter. Farhad had been told Arash was one of the best, so he would accept their wisdom and give Arash whatever he needed.

  He squeezed out from behind the steering wheel and stood next to the trail, squinting against the rising sun. A beautiful day in Northern California.

  Arash gestured back at the car, and Farhad waved a hand. “Leave it,” he said to Arash in a language he would understand, and Arash shrugged his acceptance. Soon, the car wouldn’t matter. Farhad hoped the chubby pilot hadn’t done something stupid, like leave a valid passport in the glove compartment. But, even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. If this all went wrong and they were caught, there were many ways to slip away and leave the country.

  Then again, if Farhad failed, he would not want to survive to leave the country. Therefore, failure was unacceptable.

  Arash insisted on shaking his hand, so Farhad squirted a glob of hand sanitizer in his palm afterward. If Arash took offense, he made no show of this. No, he seemed much more interested in looking around, eyeing the lake and the hills. First time in America, probably.

  Farhad pointed to a hill a thousand feet away, and Arash nodded. They set out to hike to the clearing just beyond the hill. There had been a small disagreement between him and his bosses about the exact coordinates of the alternate landing zone, but he had faith they would find the chopper. Maybe best to give them a phone call to confirm, though.

  He checked his phone and had no service, a frequent problem out here in the trails near Shasta Dam.

  No matter. Soon, all of this would be over. He would not fail, despite the nervousness tickling the back of his throat, making him want to cough. The poison would go into the lake, and the damn would blow. The resulting chaos from poisoning the water supply and the Sacramento River would cause chaos all over central California. FEMA, the National Guard. All the attention sent here. Then, his bosses would activate the other cells in New York and Florida. The other attacks would succeed while America looked elsewhere.

  But it all started today. Without Farhad’s attack, none of the rest of it worked.

  Soon, he would be on his way back to Iran, a hero. Leaving behind this country that had taken his son from him. Leaving this country that had murdered Omar Naseer.

  Escaping all the greed and selfishness and impurity here. Whereas before, he had felt that pang of future nostalgia, thinking about leaving behind Hillcrest and the work he’d done there, now he felt only direction and purpose. He was ready to give America a bitter parting gift.

  Farhad pointed as they neared the top of the hill and he could see the blades of the helicopter. The sight of the chopper made the adrenaline fueling him spike, and he became momentarily lightheaded. So close. So close.

  He looked back at Arash, lagging ten paces behind, panting and slicked with sweat as he hiked up the hill. But, Arash smiled and gave him the thumbs up at the sight of the helicopter.

  They crested the top of the hill together, and Farhad knew something was wrong immediately. The hopefulness roiling his belly turned to uncertainty.

  His two bosses were not standing next to the chopper. Not inside it, not anywhere in the clearing.

  He looked at his phone, still no service.

  “I’m going to search the area,” he said to Arash. “Please prepare the helicopter.”

  Arash commented on the lack of their two contacts, but Farhad ignored the question. Another, greater concern appeared in his mind. He’d noticed there were no crates tied down in the back. There should have been two for the explosives and two for the poison.
But, the tie-downs were hanging loose, as if pulled off in a hurry.

  Something was very wrong here.

  Farhad took his pistol from his waistband.

  “Arash, be careful.”

  As the pilot hurried toward the helicopter, Farhad moved to the edge of the clearing’s circle to perform a sweep. In less than a minute, he saw the unnatural depressions in the grass to the northwest of the clearing. Blades of the tall grass nearby had been tainted with red. That could only mean one thing.

  His heart sank as he approached and saw the two bodies there. Both of them shot, killed like dogs in the streets. What an undignified death.

  What did that mean for the other attacks across the country?

  And then, he noticed one of them was missing his weapon.

  Just then, his phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket to see service had returned, one flickering bar. A message from one of the two dead men in front of him, an eerie moment of time shifting. They’d sent the text minutes ago, only now appearing on his phone.

  Water payload dropped near secondary location. NE by .25

  It made no sense. They had dropped the poison crates separately. For whatever reason, they hadn’t wanted it to all be together. Maybe they didn’t feel comfortable with the alternate location becoming compromised? A fear someone would take all the payload if found together, perhaps.

  Looking back at the helicopter, there were zero left of the four promised crates in it. Had they also dropped the explosives somewhere else, or had the killer of his two bosses taken the C-4 somewhere else? That was more likely.

  “Arash,” Farhad shouted at him. “How long until flight?”

  “Less than five minutes,” the pilot replied.

  “Then I will hurry.”

  The text message indicated the poison payload should be a quarter kilometer to the northeast. Farhad pocketed his pistol and raced off in that direction. Heart racing, he had to force breaths in his nose and out his mouth. The power of his intensity threatened to overwhelm him.