The American bowed slightly. “Of course.”
“Then our deal is intact. We shall not interfere.”
“Your cooperation is appreciated.”
The general motioned and a vehicle pulled up, the American climbing in.
“Control, ID that man immediately, out,” he whispered.
The vehicle with the American drove toward his position and he pushed himself back against the wall, into the shadows as his phone vibrated in his hand. Waiting for the vehicle to pass, he tapped his glasses and the info from Langley was displayed on his right lens.
Subject Identified: USAF Captain Martin Lewis, DECEASED Iraq, 2011-07-13.
“Control, there’s a vehicle about to leave this complex with our dead Captain. See if you can track it, out.”
His glasses vibrated, a message coming in from Langley.
Abort mission, return to extraction point.
Kane cursed as he looked at the F-35 only several hundred feet away, in a thousand pieces.
The Chinese win this one.
Or perhaps they hadn’t. This was a delivery from an American. A dead American. This wasn’t some simple terrorist organization that had got lucky. This was a well-orchestrated heist of massive proportions that seemed to be some sort of down payment for a favor from the Chinese.
“Then our deal is intact. We shall not interfere.”
What did it mean? And the deceased Lewis thanking them for their cooperation? None of it made sense, but there was one thing he was certain of.
Behind the scenes, the world was about to get a lot more difficult.
A klaxon sounded three times then the lights went out as the vehicle reached the tunnel entrance. Kane could hear the doors at the far end begin to open and was about to head back to retrieve his ghillie suit when his phone vibrated a patterned warning to him.
Someone had just triggered the proximity sensor in his briefcase and was headed this way. He ducked down, removed his hat, shoved the phone in his pocket and retrieved his knife. As he pressed himself into the wall between the crates, he listened and could hear two voices approaching, one talking about his plans to visit his parents on the weekend, the other mostly listening. Their hardened soles clicked on the concrete, echoing among the crates and the concrete wall.
They were walking slowly, apparently in no hurry, enjoying the downtime provided by the darkness where no superiors could see them.
And this would be the time to kill them both and make his escape.
But then his presence here would be discovered and it was essential he escape undetected. His original intent was to destroy the aircraft in some way, the two large aviation fuel trucks against the far wall of the chamber seemed the likeliest solution, but with an abort ordered, it was essential to leave zero-residual footprint so they wouldn’t know he had seen the dead American.
Something big is going on, and I need to find out what it is.
Through the night-vision setting on his glasses he could barely see the top of one man’s head as they approached, now only paces away.
Just keep walking, nothing to see here.
They stopped, right in front of him, one man turning so his back was facing Kane, the other turning to face his companion.
A match was struck, the flame flaring, lighting the entire area for a brief instance and blinding him for a split second as his glasses protected him from the change by dimming to black then ramping back up.
The conversation continued, how the man loved his parents of course, but would rather take his girlfriend to Shanghai for the week.
“Have you told your parents about her?”
“Are you kidding? They’d kill me if they knew I was dating her.”
“Do they know her?”
“Yeah, we grew up together. Her family was very poor. They would think she’s beneath me.”
“Love. Too much of a pain in the ass for me. My parents arranged a marriage for me. She was pretty—is pretty. We learned to get along. Someday I can even see loving her.”
“Chin? The mother of your son?”
“Yes.”
“Chin is fantastic! And you might love her someday?”
The second man laughed. “You’re too young to understand. One day you’ll be married to your pretty friend that you love, and then realize a marriage of love isn’t sustainable, but a marriage from duty is, and it can turn into one of love as well.”
“Sounds rather Orwellian to me.”
“Be careful. If a political officer hears you talk like that you could find yourself in a lot of trouble.”
“I know, I know. Slip of the tongue.”
“Careful no one thinks it’s the tongue of a serpent that slips, lest it get clipped.”
The klaxon sounded and Kane was about to leap forward when the cigarette was tossed at him and the two men turned, briskly walking away, their footfalls indicating a disciplined Chinese pace, their conversation over.
The lights came on.
Trapping Kane in his position once again.
He donned his hat, rose slightly and tapped a sequence on the screen of his phone then slowly poked it out from behind the pallets. His glasses showed the bustle of activity in the chamber as the parts of the F-35 were being moved from the unloading area to whatever research labs the Chinese had under this massive mountain of rock, and with a smile he heard the diesel engines of the transports begin to fire up.
Which meant they would be leaving soon.
He waited. Not long, just a few minutes and as predicted the column of trucks began to pass, the klaxon sounding as the first approached the entrance, the lights going out. Kane jumped up, running toward his previous position. He jumped into his ghillie suit, shoved the hat and collapsible briefcase into his backpack, then rolled under one of the last semis with just seconds to spare.
And as he bounced underneath, hanging by a single strap, he wondered why a dead American soldier would be delivering an F-35 to America’s enemy, calling it a down payment in return for not interfering.
Interfering with what?
George Washington Elementary-Middle School, Detroit, Michigan
The next day
“Brenda, would you please stop fidgeting?!”
Sarah McBride pointed an angry finger at her seven year old accompanied by a glare that usually had tears erupting from her daughter if held too long. Brenda froze and Sarah wiped the expression off her face, returning to unbuckling her daughter from the booster seat—with a smile.
Success!
She lifted her from the SUV and placed her on the sidewalk, grabbing her school bag and lunch box from the floor. Locking the doors, she motioned for Brenda to start walking, nervously glancing around at the heavy police presence. She had heard on the news this morning that all schools within the district were going to have police stationed at them due to the three schools that were bombed over the past few days across the country, but she hadn’t expected the show of force to be so strong.
There must be dozens!
She had to admit she wanted to keep her daughter home today, but as her husband had said, and he was right, “What about tomorrow?” If she kept her home today, she’d have to keep her home every day until they caught these terrorists. And if the kids stopped going to school, then the terrorists would have won.
“Are you coming in with me today, Mommy?”
“Yes. I need to talk to your Principal.” Those morons! Yesterday Brenda had been sent to the Principal’s office in tears because she had brought an “inappropriate” lunch. The poor kid had been forced to eat packaged cheese and crackers in the outer office instead of the healthy lunch she had been sent with.
The note, a form letter with a box checked off, indicated she had sent something with peanuts.
She hadn’t.
It was a peanut butter alternative that she had used many times, having informed the school, and some idiot substitute teacher, rather than believing her daughter, and apparently the entire class, had instead humiliated
her, berating her for putting kids’ lives at risk, then sent her to the Principal.
“I’ll tear her goddamned throat out if I see her,” she muttered.
“Who’s goddamned throat, Mommy?”
“No one you know, dear. And don’t say that word, it’s bad.”
“But you said it.”
“I know, and Mommy was bad for saying it.”
“You’re not bad, Mommy. You’re the best mommy in the world!”
Sarah smiled and patted Brenda on the head. Please don’t ever grow up!
“Thank you, dear, now here’s your bag and your lunch. You have fun today.”
Brenda hugged her then ran off to catch up with a group of her friends.
In six years she’ll be a bitchy little teenager. Enjoy it while it lasts.
A FedEx delivery man rushed past with a good size box under his arm. He held open the door for her with a smile.
“Ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a smile, chivalry one of the unwelcome losses due to overachieving feminism. She always enjoyed watching her mom and dad together. He would hold doors for her, including the car door if they were out on one of their dates. They’d walk arm in arm or hand in hand, whatever the mood struck them, and they always greeted each other with a kiss and a hug in the morning.
She had given up on chivalry in her generation’s men long ago. They sometimes made an effort until they conquered the great divide, then it was downhill from there. An ex-boyfriend had replied after one of her complaints with “your grandmother shouldn’t have burned her bra then”. They had argued, he saying “if you want to be treated equally then you have to accept the consequences. You can’t be more equal!”
They hadn’t lasted much longer.
Roger, her husband, was a bit in the middle. He sometimes did the chivalrous things, but usually only when he was trying to be romantic. Fortunately for her he was frequently romantic, and she counted herself among the lucky ones, especially when she heard some of the horror stories coming out of her friends.
She followed the FedEx guy to the main office as he made idle chit-chat. “Lots of security today.”
She nodded as she remembered watching last night’s newscast in horror. At first she had thought it was just CNN being CNN, rebroadcasting the same incident over and over to whip up a frenzy of fear so they’d have more to report on, but when her husband had set her straight, she had immediately become scared. Very scared. “I guess you can never be too safe. Especially with what’s been happening.”
“Too true. They’re going to have to do something about it soon. Too many people are dying and we all know who’s responsible.”
Sarah’s head bobbed in reluctant agreement. There had been almost a dozen large scale suicide bombings in the past week, not a day going by where someone didn’t blow themselves up, screaming God is Great in that horrific guttural language, the incidents always caught on camera. What was worse was they all seemed to be Americans doing it, nobody even realizing they had converted to Islam. “I’m afraid we live in too politically correct a world to actually take the action that’s needed.”
“Amen, sister!” said the driver as he held open the main office door where two armed police officers, in full gear, were just leaving. She approached the front desk as her chivalrous man headed to the other end of it.
“Can I help you?” asked a bored, rather large woman from behind her desk.
“I’d like to see Mrs. Belle.”
“Regarding?”
“An incident with my daughter, Brenda McBride.”
“Oh yeah, the peanut butter eater.”
Sarah’s blood instantly went to boil. “It wasn’t peanut butter,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Looked like it to me. We can’t take—”
“Did you check her file?”
“What?”
“I sent a letter to the school explaining what she would sometimes be taking, and it was okayed.”
“Well, I don’t have time to be looking at files everyti—”
“You don’t have time!” Sarah’s fists clenched, her eyes aflame. “You mental midgets humiliated a little girl who did nothing wrong, accused her of being a liar, and made her eat processed cheese and crackers here, instead of a perfectly safe and healthy meal with her friends. You even threw out her apple.”
“Well, we couldn’t exactly risk it being contaminated with the peanut butter from her sandwich, now could we?”
“You truly are a world class idiot, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I want to speak to the Principal, not the minion.”
“There’s no need to be rude.”
“Apparently there’s no need to be intelligent either.” Sarah raised her finger before the fine example of unionized employee could respond. “Principal. We’re done.”
The FedEx guy turned and gave Sarah a smile and a wink as he walked out. The door to the Principal’s office opened before the brainless mound of skin and bones could knock.
“Is there a package for me?” asked Mrs. Belle, who from all outward appearances seemed quite upset about something.
“No.”
Belle’s eyes narrowed. “Really? They—I was sure it would be here by now. Can you check?”
The useless turd sighed then walked over to the in basket, grumbling all the way. “There’s a big box here for you,” she said, looking back over her shoulder.
“Can you bring it to me, please?”
“I can’t carry that! My back is already bad. If I carry that I could put my back out, then where’d you be?”
Sarah watched as eyes rolled around the office, it clear her co-workers would prefer an extended absence.
“Just bring me the goddamned box!” screamed Belle, everyone including Sarah jumping in shock. Belle sucked in a breath, a phone pressed to her ear. “I’m sorry. Please, just bring me the box.”
Waste-of-space lifted the box, making a show of grunting, then marched it over to Belle’s office. Belle took it and the door closed.
“If that bitch thinks she can talk to me like that, she’s got another thing comin’!” The woman grabbed her purse and jacket. “I’m going to see my union rep. I’m filing a grievance!” Her voice continued to get louder with each word, hands beginning to wave in the air and fingers starting to shoot toward the closed office door like daggers as she rounded the counter. “She can go—”
“All students and staff, this is Principal Belle. There will be a student assembly in ten minutes. All students and staff are to report immediately to the gymnasium. Thank you.”
Sarah sighed. Lovely, now I’ll never get to talk to her.
“What the hell is that fool doing now?” asked the voice of reason. “That woman gone lost her head!” She yanked open the door to the office and poured herself into the hallway, masses of kids now filling the halls as they flowed to the gymnasium, smiles on their faces at not having to actually learn something.
Sarah sighed, looking for someone to make eye contact with when the door to the Principal’s office opened.
And she peed her pants as all muscle control was lost.
Gripping the counter, she forced herself to remain on her feet as Mrs. Belle stepped slowly out of her office, an unmistakable suicide vest strapped to her chest. She had the trigger in one hand, a cellphone pressed to her ear with the other.
And tears rolling down her cheeks, falling onto a sign dangling around her neck that read “Death to America!”.
She’s a terrorist?
Several people screamed as they noticed her, followed by a stampede for the door by staff and visitors—except for Sarah. Her legs were frozen, locked in place. She slowly raised her arms, an instinctual move of surrender. The entire situation made no sense. The terrorists were bombing things all around the country. There had been a dozen attacks this week alone, including a few schools, but Mrs. Belle? She wasn’t Muslim. Then again, neither were most of
the other bombers. They were apparently converts. She couldn’t imagine Belle being a convert. In fact, she knew she wasn’t. Belle went to her church and she had seen her there this weekend.
Unless that was a cover?
But if she were a terrorist, why was she crying? And who was she on the phone with?
Shouts could be heard outside as the police were alerted to the situation. The office was empty now save for Belle and Sarah, and Sarah began to back away toward the door. She glanced behind her, through the glass walls and saw the hallway now empty. Through the window outside she could see police scrambling into position.
The assembly!
She felt bile fill her mouth as she realized what the plan was. Belle intended to blow herself up in the middle of the assembly.
She’ll kill hundreds!
Sarah nearly threw up.
She’ll kill Brenda!
Sarah’s raised arms slowly lowered, instead extending out to her sides as she blocked the door to the hallway.
“I can’t let you do it.”
Belle suddenly stared at her, as if noticing her for the first time. “They have my kids,” she cried, the words choked out as if spoken for the first time. “I have no choice.”
Sarah shook her head. “You do have a choice. You always have a choice to do the right thing.”
Belle looked at the empty hallway, then out the window. “I can’t. I can’t let my kids die.”
Sarah took a step toward her, lowering her hands slowly, racking her brain for Belle’s first name. Norah! “Norah, you know you can’t do this. You can’t kill hundreds of kids to save your own.” Tears were flowing down her cheeks now, her heart slamming hard against her chest as she stalled for time. Through the window she could see the police rushing toward the left, where she knew the gymnasium was, its main entrance less than fifty feet down the hall.
Belle looked at Sarah, the phone slowly lowering from her ear, and she mouthed a single word at Sarah.
“Run!”
Sarah turned, racing for the door then yanking it open. As she turned toward the gymnasium, she looked back and saw Belle standing, her arms drooping at her sides, her eyes closed as she looked up toward Heaven.
Death to America (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #4) Page 4