The Alamo

by Roland Smith

  A man dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt and navy blue khakis descended from the plane and stood at the base of the steps. The weather was clearing. The rain and clouds had moved to the northeast. Now the sun was brightening the sky. The man shielded his eyes against the glare, looked at the Suburban, and glanced at his watch. To Malak he looked impatient. Impatient people made her nervous.

  She pulled the pistol from her waistband and released the clip, checking the load. Would she be the only passenger on the plane? Might one of the other Five be waiting aboard? Questions flew through her mind. Every step she took from this point forward led her farther down an unknown path. The cell could have someone waiting for her on the plane. Perhaps, after the fiasco of the raid and Number Four’s injuries, she was no longer trusted. Malak cleared her mind and willed the persona of the Leopard to take over. She pushed thoughts of Angela and doubts about everything out of her mind. From this point forward she would remain on high alert.

  As always, the Leopard would be ready for anything.

  Some Old Spooks

  Vanessa was driving and Uly was asleep in the passenger’s seat. It felt like she’d been driving for days. Her shoulders were cramping and she was hoping like crazy the SUV they were following made a stop soon. They couldn’t pull over, switch drivers, and then take off again, because they might lose the target. With X-Ray monitoring the equipment in the intellimobile, only she and Uly could drive.

  Vanessa was getting nervous. The Tahoe was a half-mile ahead. They’d been a safe distance behind for quite a while but one of the problems with trailing a single vehicle with another lone vehicle was that eventually you were bound to be noticed.

  “We can’t keep doing this,” Vanessa said.

  “Too bad the drone crashed,” X-Ray said. He had a tone. It was the “letting Vanessa know he held her responsible for breaking his favorite new toy” tone.

  Vanessa rolled her eyes. She looked over at the sleeping Uly. She had never seen anyone who could fall asleep so quickly and easily. But if necessary he could also remain fully awake for hours.

  Up ahead she saw the SUV signal for an upcoming exit. This was it. Probably the last chance they had to stay with them before they either ditched the tail or called in the cavalry.

  “X, get a tracking device prepared. Uly, wake up.”

  Uly came instantly awake.

  “Get ready,” Vanessa said.

  “Ready for what?” Uly asked, not sounding at all like someone who had just awakened from a sound sleep.

  “I’m going to distract them while you put a tracking device on their SUV,” Vanessa said.

  “Me? You sure? I’m not exactly unnoticeable,” he said. And it was true. Uly was a near carbon copy of Felix in the size department. Maybe an inch shorter, his hair in a buzz cut, but he was nearly three hundred pounds.

  “It’s either you or X-Ray. We don’t let X-Ray out of the van, where he might have to interact with people. X, give him the tracker,” Vanessa said.

  “Give me a second,” X-Ray muttered. She could hear him opening the tiny drawers on his console and making noise with the tools he kept on his workstation.

  “We don’t have a second,” Vanessa said. The SUV had turned right at the top of the exit ramp and was pulling into a Speedway station.

  “Got it,” X-Ray said. He leaned forward, handing Uly a small U-shaped piece of metal roughly the size of a quarter.

  Uly looked at the bug with a neutral expression. “Uh, X?” he asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “What do I do with this?” Uly said.

  “You’ll have to get underneath the rear bumper. This model Tahoe has a steel bar on the frame that attaches to the bumper. Snap the open end of the tracker over the bar and push it flush against the bumper. It’s clipped to the rod that way. It’s also magnetic. There’s a little wire lead on it that will use the metal of the frame like an antenna. It won’t accidentally fall off and the signal will be strong enough for us to drop back out of sight. The battery only has about twenty or so hours of juice, though. If they don’t get where they’re going by then and we can’t get air support or more vehicles, we’re going to have to get eyes on them some other way,” X-Ray said.

  “Okay, Uly, be ready,” Vanessa said. “The gas tank is on your side. You start filling up the van. They won’t leave the Tahoe completely unattended. I’m betting the women will go in together, but at least one of the men will stay with the vehicle at all times. But he’s also going to need to use the john, so when the first guy comes back and the second guy goes inside … well, you’ll know what to do.”

  The white SUV was parked at an island of pumps and Vanessa maneuvered the intellimobile so the gas cap was facing the SUV on the other side of the island. She shut off the ignition. Just as she had predicted, one of the suspects was filling the tank. The two women and the other man had just entered the station through the glass door. It was a statistically safe bet the women would be inside longer than the man.

  Uly got out, stretched and yawned, seeming to pay no attention to the guy pumping gas. He rotated his neck a few times like a man glad to be free of the monotony of a long drive. When he was satisfied he’d put on a good enough show, he stepped to the rear of the intellimobile and started filling the tank.

  Vanessa held her phone to her ear as if she was involved in a long conversation. When the SUV was full, the man removed the nozzle and nested it back on the pump. Replacing the gas cap, he walked to the front of the SUV and put one leg up on the bumper, waiting for his colleagues to return. A few seconds later, his male companion came out of the station with a large cup of coffee. There was no sign of the two women yet. With his companion in sight he ambled toward the convenience store.

  Vanessa stepped out of the intellimobile, still pretend-chatting on her phone.

  “No, sis, like I said before I left, Boopsie will only eat her Purina. If you give her table scraps you’re going to have a really sick cat….” She walked with her head down, as if she were concentrating on her conversation, and bumped into the suspect with the coffee. Even with the lid on, it splashed on his hand and he yelped in pain.

  “Gotta go, sis.” She snapped the phone shut.

  “Sir, I am so sorry. This is totally my fault.” Vanessa was perfectly positioned at the front of the van on the driver’s side so that Uly was shielded from the man’s view.

  “Are you okay? Did you get burned?” Vanessa asked him.

  After checking the station through the window and seeing no sign of the other driver, Uly dropped to the ground and went under the SUV. His eyes were drawn to something he’d never seen on an automobile before, and he knew his way around a car. It was a stainless steel box welded to the frame adjacent to the gas tank. Blue and green wires ran out one end of it and disappeared through the underside of the Tahoe’s cargo area. For the two seconds it took Uly to process all of this, he thought of attempting to disarm it. But there was no time. He had the tracking device in place in an instant and was back on his feet and holding the nozzle. A gymnast would have marveled at his agility.

  “Watch where you’re going,” the guy snapped, shaking his hand.

  “I’m really sorry, I have a first-aid kit….” Vanessa stammered, looking like a distressed little grandmother. The fact that she was probably the world’s deadliest distressed little grandmother notwithstanding.

  The second terrorist approached the SUV with his own cup of coffee and a bag of chips, studying the scene in front of him. Uly frowned at the fact that he looked like a frat boy, not some lowlife ready to blow up hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people. All the same, he moved his hand inside his jacket and rested it on the butt of a silenced Heckler & Koch .32 pistol he kept there in a special pocket sewn to the inside of his leather jacket. In his mind he picked his primary and secondary targets. He would shoot the second guy first. Vanessa was close enough to the first guy to take him out if they tried anything. Uly tensed, ready to go cowboy if the situatio
n demanded it.

  “What’s going on?” the second guy asked.

  “It’s nothing. Ma’am, I’m sorry I snapped. I was just startled by the hot coffee is all,” the first terrorist said. “I’ll wash up in the restroom. It’s no problem.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Vanessa said to both of them. “My cat gets sick and my sister gives her the wrong food and I—”

  “No harm done,” the second guy said, opening the door to the SUV and climbing in. Vanessa shuffled into the convenience store and passed the two women coming out. A few minutes later the first terrorist emerged, wiping his hands on a paper towel. He got in and they roared out of the parking lot, turning onto the road leading to the interstate.

  “You see anything?” Vanessa asked, when she returned.

  “Not inside. Windows in the rear doors are tinted. But there was a box welded next to the gas tank, wired to the interior. It’s a bomb,” Uly said.

  When the Tahoe had turned onto the expressway the side door of the intellimobile slid open and X-Ray poked his head out.

  “Is your device working?” Vanessa asked.

  “Loud and clear,” X-Ray said.

  “Good,” Vanessa said. “The fact that they’re so polite makes me … jumpy. They must know they’re carrying a bomb and they don’t even seem nervous about it.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and pushed a button.

  “Who are you calling?” Uly asked.

  “Boone. He’s got some choices to make. A part of me was hoping this might just be a decoy, from the switch at the rest area. But now we know for certain it’s a weapon. They normally don’t drive one of these vehicles for this long. Too many things can go wrong. The cell isn’t normally a bunch of suicide bombers. They pick a target, park their car bombs, detonate them, and move on. Live to bomb another day. Maybe they’re changing the game. There is all kinds of crazy going on here. Boone needs to decide if we continue to follow them … or take them out.”

  Quicker Than the Eye

  Angela and I jumped at Boone’s sudden appearance outside of McDonald’s. Felix didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t show it. It was becoming more clear to me that I wasn’t cut out for this spy stuff. So far I had had a knife held to my neck, had to escape from a deranged chef, had run through a hurricane to spy on cars, spent way too much time with a smelly dog, been right in the middle of a navy SEAL op, and then there was the pigeon poop I’d gotten all over my hands in Philadelphia. And even worse, I didn’t have a deck of cards to calm myself down with.

  My nerves were jangled. I needed food and sleep. And my stuff. Not having my stuff was making my mind race to previously unrecorded levels.

  “Wondered about what?” Boone repeated Angela’s question to Felix.

  We were at the door of the McDonald’s and Felix was nonplussed by Boone’s sudden appearance. Apparently he hadn’t heard or didn’t care about Angela’s questions and headed inside. When he opened the door the smell was nearly overwhelming and my mouth made involuntary chewing motions.

  “Where’s Croc?” Angela asked, using the old technique of answering a question with a question.

  “Guarding the coach. And getting a little exercise. Wondered about what?” Boone was insistent. Smart as Angela is, I doubted she could trick someone like Boone into answering a question. He’d been doing this too long and was too smart to be caught off guard. And also, I doubted Croc was guarding the coach. Sleeping in the coach was a more likely possibility. Smelling up the coach was a certainty.

  “We were just talking about Felix and his background. Did you know he was assigned to Delta Force?” Angela said. Give it up, sis, I thought to myself. Of course Boone knew this. Felix wouldn’t be with SOS if Boone didn’t know every detail about him.

  “He bounced around,” Boone said. “What was it you were wondering about?”

  “Actually it was Croc. How everyone says he looks like the same Croc you’ve always—”

  “Good genes,” Boone said quickly as he followed Felix into the McDonald’s.

  “He’s really starting to tick me off,” said Angela, biting on her lip so hard I thought it would start bleeding. Which meant she was ready to give him a long lecture about keeping secrets from her or something but she was literally biting back the words.

  “So much for my idea of getting any actionable intelligence out of Felix,” I said. “He’s worked with Boone. He must have seen him do some weird stuff. Or maybe not. Maybe they haven’t faced anything like the ghost cell before.”

  Angela stared at me with an odd expression on her face.

  “What?”

  “You said ‘actionable intelligence,’” she said.

  “So?”

  “Somebody likes this spy stuff,” she said, grinning at me.

  “Hah. No thanks. It’s hard not to pick up the lingo when you’re traveling with a bunch of ex-spooks. Or current spooks. Or whatever they are. But I’ll stick to magic. And now,” I said, waggling my hands like a magician, “behind this door, I shall make food appear.” I held open the door. I could see Angela trying not to fall victim to the overwhelming smells of fast-food goodness. But she still found the energy to roll her eyes at my lame joke.

  Just as we were about to head inside, my new phone chirped. It was a text from P.K.

  There was a link attached. I clicked on it and a black-and-white photo of a man in some kind of military uniform appeared. He was standing in a forest clearing and even though the photo was old and a little blurry and his hair wasn’t long or as gray, it sure looked like Boone. Even more, the dog sitting on the ground next to him looked exactly like Croc. That sealed the deal.

  “Wow,” I said. I handed the phone to Angela and her eyes got as big as dinner plates.

  “What is Boone doing in a Nazi uniform?” she said.

  “I … have no idea. Could—do you think …” I was stumbling around for words.

  “Do I think what?” she said.

  “I mean, I thought he was joking when he mentioned killing the last of the vampires one hundred years ago. But do you think what he does is like some sort of time travel?”

  Usually Angela would have rolled her eyes or shot me down for saying something so outrageous. But this time she didn’t have a comeback. The photo wasn’t lying.

  “Tell P.K. we need a source for our assignment. He can send another link. Photos can be faked,” she said.

  It was my turn to give her one of the looks she usually gave me.

  “Angela, after what we’ve seen Boone do, do you really think the photograph is fake?”

  “Honestly, Q, I don’t know what I think anymore.” She handed the phone back to me. “Just ask P.K. if he can find out if this photo is legit.”

  After I sent the text, we followed Boone and Felix to the counter and minutes later we were back in the coach. Felix wolfed down three breakfast sandwiches in about five seconds and got behind the wheel. We pulled out onto US 64, heading west, when Boone’s phone rang. He listened a minute. “Got it,” he said and hung up.

  He placed another call. “X? Ziv just called. Malak is flying out of Manteo airport on a Gulfstream. Follow it wherever it goes. She told him San Antonio.” He paused, then said, “Good. That’s great work.”

  “They managed to get a tracker on the remaining SUV,” he told us. “Ziv heard from Malak. At least we know where she’s headed. And no matter what resources they have, they’re not going to be able to hide a plane in midair. So we can track her,” he said. “The intellimobile is following the last Tahoe. It’s wired with a bomb like the others. It’s on the interstate, heading west. They’re going to keep following it unless it looks like they plan to blow something up. If they do, Uly and Vanessa will take them out. The cell doesn’t normally act like this. Something has changed. Why would they keep that SUV on the road this long?”

  Boone was pacing and asking questions. So far, the cell had put car bombs in places where they could cause damage. Felix had blown one up. Ziv and Eben had taken o
ut the other. But now this third one was doing … what? Boone’s face was wrinkled under normal circumstances. Now he was thinking so hard his wrinkles had wrinkles. I could tell the idea of leaving the SUV on the loose bothered him. But he also wanted to know where it was going.

  “Boone, what about—” I began, but he held up his hand as he punched a button on the phone.

  “Ziv, it’s Boone. You and Eben get to Norfolk right away. I’ll get a navy jet to get you and your gear to San Antonio. X-Ray will let you know where she lands and you can pick up Malak’s tail. Yes. I know about the watches. Yes, I have one. No, I can’t get you one. That’s up to J.R. Time to go,” he said and hung up, his face somewhat calmer looking.

  Boone was going to let the intellimobile keep tracking the Tahoe. Heck, if he had to, he could probably call up J.R. and order an air strike. And then—poof—no more Tahoe. But Boone didn’t want just to stop four terrorists. He was trying to bring them all down. Besides, an air strike would be hard to keep out of the papers.

  Boone was pacing again. He punched another button on his cell phone. “It’s me,” he said. “I need you to do something.” He headed to the back of the coach, near the door to the master suite, where it was hard to hear him. After a few moments of talking he disconnected and returned to the table.

  Boone looked at me. “You were saying?”

  “Um …” I nodded my head toward Felix. “Does he know?” I asked quietly.

  “Yeah. I told him about Speed in the McDonald’s,” he said.

  I nodded my head toward the lavatory.

  “What about my dad?” I asked. “When do you plan on letting him out? Because … well … I have to pee.”

  Boone reached for Angela’s laptop. “May I?” he asked her. She pushed it toward him. He clicked on something then turned it around. A map appeared on her screen, showing our location as a green dot moving along US 64. A few miles back was a red dot, taking another highway south.

  “I already let him out,” he said in a low voice, “about ten miles ago.”