ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS

by Murray Mcdonald

  Two snipers, one from each of the teams, were sent to the top of the small hill. They would provide targeted fire support for the two teams who would work their way around either side of the hill and perform a pincer movement. With the snipers on the hill and the Osprey on the other side of the landing zone, the terrorists were already boxed in, they just didn’t know it yet.

  The snipers reached the small summit and were pleased to see almost half a mile of clear, open ground between them and the landing zone. Not great for their colleagues but for the snipers, they had the gift of an open field for targeting the terrorists. Just like the rest of the teams, they had all been shown the photo of Al Zahrani. He was the only target they had to avoid killing. Every other target before them was open season.

  As a result of spotting the F18s, the terrorists had not ventured away from the landing area. None had braved the open ground, staying close to the plane instead, no doubt hopeful that the F18s would disappear and let them reboard their plane and depart.

  The Delta sniper set up his AX338 sniper rifle, alongside his CIA counterpart’s McMillan TAC-338. Both approved each other’s choice with a nod before zeroing in on the terrorists before them.

  “Target acquired,” the Delta sniper said into his mic, quickly adding, “Target down.”

  “Target acquired. Tango down,” said the CIA sniper.

  Delta sniper: “Target acquired. Tango down.”

  The commentary continued. Ten jihadists ceased to exist before the other jihadists had managed to squirrel themselves away into safer positions, outside of the snipers’ view.

  CIA sniper: “Osprey, could you please stir up the nest?”

  The V-22 Osprey had been hovering just outside the terrorists’ small arms’ fire range and had stayed out of the fight. The pilot swung the Osprey around and the M2 opened up. The .50 caliber bullets tore into the ground and had a number of terrorists running for cover, the very cover that protected them from the snipers. The snipers, once again, began their duck shoot.

  “Jesus, guys!” shouted Flynn into the mic, as the Delta and CIA team were about to enter the battlefield. “Leave something for us!”

  With the snipers and the M2 pinning the terrorists down, the CIA and Delta teams had an easy run into the killing zone. Working in four four-man squads, two CIA and two Delta, the teams approached the last few entrenched terrorists. A small cluster of rocks had proved an excellent defensive position for Al Zahrani and his last four bodyguards. Impervious to the long distance fire, it was down to the assault teams to break down their resolve.

  Flynn directed the two Delta teams who converged from the east while the CIA team leader directed his two four-man teams from the west. The bodyguards, armed with AK47s, tried in vain to halt the advance but the onslaught of the highly trained operatives converging on them was overwhelming. The individual teams worked in tandem. Two men laid down cover while the other two moved forward and repeated the procedure. The teams literally walked across the open desert floor without so much as a single bullet in response from the pinned down bodyguards. As the teams reached the opposite side of the rock cluster, a number of flash bangs preempted the final assault into the small area that held Al Zahrani, further neutralizing Al Zahrani’s loyal bodyguards. Despite the overwhelming odds, two of the bodyguards were suicidal enough to try and stop the capture. Both fell to the ground, three bullets apiece, double tap to the chest and a kill shot to the forehead just to make sure. His other bodyguards dropped their weapons, just as Al Zahrani had done himself. Al Qaeda had just lost its newest leader, even before the world knew who he was.

  Once the area was announced clear, only two additional jihadists were alive, although barely, alongside the new Caliph and his loyal bodyguards. The rest were all killed in action with no casualties among the CIA or Delta teams. A number of high fives were exchanged throughout the ops center. Even the F18s were allowed in on the action. Their job was to destroy the AN-24 aircraft that had been left in the landing zone. A short burst of their M61 Gatling guns saved the US tax payer a few thousand dollars, destroying the plane without the need for any missiles. All in all, the operation had proved an overwhelming success.

  “What about the other plane?” asked Carson of the smiling Turner, bringing him back down to earth with a bump. Their job was not to capture Al Zahrani, their job was to catch Nick Geller.

  “Oh yes, I suppose we continue to watch it.”

  Carson shrugged. “I doubt there’s much point. I’m sure if Nick were somewhere in that desert, he wouldn’t go anywhere near that plane again, given the noise we just made.”

  “Sir, I have Special Agent Reid on the line, she says it’s urgent,” announced one of Carson’s DoD team.

  “Put her on speaker,” said Carson.

  “Frankie, it seems, was right.” Reid said.

  “About what?” asked Turner.

  “Geller doesn’t slip up!”

  “Would you mind explaining?” said Carson irritably.

  “Al Zahrani is laughing at us, telling us how we fucked up big time,”

  “We just captured his sorry ass!” said Turner.

  “Yes we did. However, we captured him on his way to killing Nick Geller!”

  “What?!” asked Turner.

  “He was coming here for one reason and one reason only – to kill Nick Geller!”

  “Son of a bitch played us again!” Turner brayed.

  Carson shook his head, a slim smile across his face; it was hard not to admire that level of ingenuity. “Did he tell you where they were heading?”

  “Flynn’s asking him now,” she said, wincing at the sounds coming from the rear of the plane as Flynn ‘questioned’ Al Zahrani.

  Ten minutes later, Flynn reported that Al Zahrani did not know the meet location, all they had were the co-ordinates for landing. The truck that was to pick them up was to take them to the secret camp.

  “Well let’s get looking for that camp!” Turner urged.

  “We have been since we found the plane,” said Carson. “There are hundreds of thousands of square miles to search. But even if we do find it, I guarantee they’ll be long gone.”

  “So he’s done it again.”

  “Yep, we saved him and not only that, we removed the only man on the planet who could stop him from within Al Qaeda.”

  “Perhaps we should let Al Zahrani go?”

  “If it wasn’t for that,” replied Carson, pointing to the breaking news banner on one of the news channels announcing Al Zahrani’s capture, “I may have agreed with that quite ridiculous idea.”

  “How the hell did they know already?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me if Geller hadn’t tipped them off himself,” sighed Carson.

  Chapter 51

  “So, what do we think…where will he go next?” mused Reid. She and Flynn were poring over a large map of the desert. Exactly the same conversation was happening back at NCTC, only with a far larger map and group of specialists. They all came to the same conclusion: they had no idea. There were just too many variables.

  Frankie had accompanied Al Zahrani back to the US on the C40B, insisting that Flynn and Reid were far more valuable in the hunt for Geller. Her job was back home, trying to look for clues from the last few months. Flynn had argued initially, but ultimately, he was a soldier and was more than happy to stay at the sharp end of the hunt with his Delta team. Reid just wanted to catch Nick and if Frankie felt she could help do that better from the States, she had no complaints. With no objections from Carson and Turner, Frankie, along with four of the CIA Special Operations operatives, waved the V-22 Osprey off at Abu Simbel and took off in the C40B for the US, most likely via Guantanamo Bay, although that was still to be decided.

  “Port Sudan,” said Reid, tracing her finger east across the desert to the coast of Sudan.

  “Any particular reason?” asked Flynn.

  “He came from the west and headed east. I expect he’ll keep going east.”

  “Th
ere are lots of ports to choose from,” Flynn noted, looking at the coastline.

  “Yes but Port Sudan’s the biggest, easiest to get lost in, and will have the greatest flow of traffic,” countered Reid, judging the size of the ports by the diameter of the circles denoting their locations on the map.

  “As good a call as any,” said Flynn, hitting the dial button to reach Turner and Carson back at NCTC. “We’re going to head down to Port Sudan to see if we can pick up anything,” he said when he had them on the phone.

  Turner looked at Carson for a hint of his thoughts. Carson traced the route and considered the option. “With nothing else to go on, I don’t see why not.”

  “Okay, make your way down there. If we get anything, we’ll be in touch,” he said, killing the connection to the V-22 Osprey.

  Carson’s cell buzzed. He looked down and read the message. “Turner, we’ve been summoned.”

  “By whom?”

  “There are only two people left on this planet who can summon me,” replied Carson, leading the way.

  Turner didn’t need to be told twice. He knew Carson was a widower, so that left the President and the Secretary of Defense.

  “Any ideas why?” asked Turner when he caught up with Carson.

  “Nope but it’s not usually to say ‘well done’. In fact, scrub that, they never summon me to say ‘well done’.”

  “Al Zahrani?”

  Carson nodded. He had a gut feeling that he should have just blown the man back to his Allah. He should have known from Bin Laden and Al Zahrani Senior that the fallout of killing a leader was minimal. However, capturing one gave the jihadists a reason to react. They had someone they could save. A cause.

  Thirty minutes later, Carson and Turner were ushered through to the President’s private lounge in the main White House residence. He did not look happy, nor did his guests – the Secretary of Defense, the Director of National Intelligence and the National Security Advisor. Turner moved to close the door behind him but was stopped by the Chief of Staff, who was rushing in to join the meeting. Carson swore under his breath. The Chief of Staff and Carson rarely agreed. His absence in the last few days, due to preparations for the Vice President’s funeral and the organization required to rehouse the West Wing staff, had been most welcome by Carson.

  “Jeff,” said Carson, greeting the Chief of Staff coldly.

  Jeff Lewis looked at Carson as though he had stepped on something unfortunate on his way into the office. He did not return the greeting. Jeff was the political genius behind the President. He had gotten James Mitchell into the White House and it was his job to make sure he stayed there for a second term. He understood the need for the Carsons of the world but was never comfortable with them.

  “Mr. President,” Jeff said, “I’m sorry I’m late, just finalizing the details for tomorrow,” he said somberly. The Vice President’s funeral was to be held the next day with hundreds of dignitaries from across the world due to attend.

  “Not a problem, Jeff. So what’s up?” he asked.

  Carson shifted uneasily in his seat. Jeff Lewis had called the meeting, not the President. And if Jeff had requested Turner and Carson to attend, it wasn’t going to be good news. Turner, he noted, was sitting blissfully unaware of the shit storm that was about to hit them. Jeff Lewis looked like a warm cuddly bear to the outside world. His rotund waistline and cheery smile hid a manipulative, devious and stunning intellect that had dismembered political foes with ease over the years.

  “Cluster fuck, SNAFU, FUBAR, just a few expressions I could use for the incompetents over there,” he said, pointing to Carson and a stunned and suddenly fully alert Turner.

  “Now, come on, Jeff, those are rather strong words,” warned the President, leaning back in his chair and supporting his strapped arm.

  “Who authorized the capture of the Al Qaeda leader?” asked Jeff of the cabinet level members in the room.

  All shook their heads, while Jeff pointed to Turner and Carson.

  “Those two. And thanks to their efforts, the President is being torn a new asshole by Speaker Lopez! It seems she got a taste for the top spot and is looking far more likely to stand against the President now at the next election!” He paused for added impact and then continued.

  “For those of you not in the know, that’s seriously fucking bad news! Up until now, she was in her box but she’s ripping into us over the incompetence of one of our own doing this to us,” he spurted furiously, waving his hand to where the West Wing used to stand. “And now she’s got us having to pay millions to house the new leader of Al Qaeda! Not forgetting that every American on the planet will now be a hostage target to trade for the fucker! There was a fucking reason we shot Bin Laden!!!” he screamed.

  “I’ll tell you what, Jeff. If you’re so fucking clever, you catch Geller. Sorry, you kill Geller!” suggested Carson, his temper rising by the second.

  “If I didn’t have an administration to save, I might just have taken you up on that offer!!”

  “It’s my fault,” said Turner stepping forward. “I pressured Carson into letting me capture rather than kill Al Zahrani.”

  Jeff looked at Turner with incredulity before he bent over with laughter. “That’s a classic!” When Turner failed to react, Jeff stepped in again. “Seriously?! You believe that?!”

  Turner looked around the room. They all avoided his eye contact. He looked at Carson who simply shrugged.

  “You’re playing with the big boys now, Turner. Harry Carson’s not been pressured into anything since he stopped needing his mother’s tittie!”

  Carson had a reason for wanting Al Zahrani captured, it just wasn’t one he cared to share with the audience before him.

  “Okay guys, enough,” said the President. “Jeff, you deal with the politics. Harry, you know what you’ve gotta do. I understand, Jeff, you are pissed and Speaker Lopez is going to hit us no matter what we do. Christ, if we had killed Al Zahrani she’d be spitting blood!”

  “Sir, I believe Jeff has a point regarding Americans being taken hostage. We should issue an alert,” advised Liz Roberts, his National Security Advisor.

  “The already heightened chatter has exploded,” added Mark Nelson, the DNI. “We’ve had heightened levels for eighteen months. They increased again thanks to Geller and it’s just gone ballistic since Al Zahrani was captured. The terrorists are talking. We just don’t know what they’re saying at the higher levels. Some of the low level stuff we can break and there have been a few comments regarding hostages…”

  Before he could finish, a knock on the door preceded the President’s secretary who entered and turned on the TV. “Mr. President, I’ve been asked to put this on for you.”

  All turned to the screen as Nick Geller once again hit the news headlines. Al Jazeera, the Middle East news channel, was running new footage with an ‘Exclusive’ banner running across the screen. Nick’s diatribe had not changed but his location had. He was now in a desert amphitheater surrounded by hundreds of fanatics. He stopped speaking and the image cut to a smiling man wearing a suicide vest. The man shouted Allahu Akbar, then looked to the heavens and with a smile of anticipation, blew himself up.

  “Oh my God!” shouted Jeff, when the man’s head separated cleanly from his body.

  The crowd in the amphitheater went wild. Another four happily suicidal men met the same fate to huge cheers from the fanatical crowd.

  “Dear God!” said Liz. “This is going to create serious panic.”

  “In America, yes,” corrected Carson. “It’s also created a legend,” he added, pointing to Geller who had just reappeared on the screen.

  He was still in the desert but without the crowd. He faced the camera somberly: “Brothers and sisters of the cause, I bring you bad news. Our new Caliph has been captured by the American infidel. However, I call on you not to act rashly. Together, united, we can make a difference. I ask all true Islamic warriors to join our cause and let us free our Caliph as one united people, fighti
ng for Allah. You have seen the video of the believers who fight for Allah, happy to die for him. If that is you, come and fight for Allah, join his army and help us destroy America.”

  The screen went blank before cutting back to the Al Jazeera news anchor.

  Inside the President’s lounge, nobody spoke. They were all digesting the horrors of the video and the impact it had on themselves and ultimately what it meant for America.

  Finally, Carson broke the silence. “Well that’s not helpful,” he remarked, summing up perfectly how everyone felt.

  Chapter 52

  “Jeff Lewis is a grade A asshole,” said Turner, as he and Carson exited the White House residence.

  “Practice makes perfect and he’s been practicing being an asshole his entire life,” joked Carson. “Although, to be fair, if you want to run for office, there is no better guy to get you there.”

  Turner opened the driver’s door. “I can’t believe you give that guy any credit!” “It was me that recommended him to President Mitchell,” said Carson, climbing into the passenger seat and leaving a speechless Turner holding the door handle. “He does his thing and I do my thing.”

  “But what exactly is it you do? I mean, what is your title?” asked Turner, sliding into this seat. He realized then just how out of his league he really was.

  “Titles are just something people get hung up on. Did you know it’s the number one cause for labor disputes? If I don’t have one, people can’t pin me down on an organizational chart. For example, you have the FBI Director above you, the Deputy AG above him, the AG and then the President. You’re four steps removed from the President. Lots of people are more senior than you. Every person at Justice who reports to the Deputy AG is more senior than you, according to the organizational chart.”

  “So what do you do?” pushed Turner.

  “I do what’s needed,” Carson replied mysteriously.