by David Spell
Hakim had been trailing Jasmine, staying on the sidewalk so that they would not be targeted together, attempting to use the stopped vehicles for cover as their American instructor had taught them. The woman was right; they would both be dead in a matter of minutes but he had no problem letting her die first. Hakim had known for years that his destiny would be martyrdom. To sacrifice his life on the streets of the great Satan was an incredible honor and he was thankful to Allah that he could play a part in this jihad on American soil.
Suddenly, a white male exited a black BMW and pointed at Jasmine.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Without even slowing down, the woman shot the man in the chest and kept right on moving. Another shot rang out and Jasmine staggered but didn’t go down. She even managed to return fire before a second bullet sent her sprawling face down in the roadway. Hakim had not seen where the first round had come from but saw the muzzle flash of the second shot from the top of a firetruck in front of the courthouse. The Algerian snapped off two 7.62x39 bullets at the sniper and quickly ducked behind a white Dodge Dakota pickup to consider his options.
He could detonate himself now in the middle of the infidels sitting in their vehicles. This would undoubtedly kill many Americans but their mission was to attack the courthouse where the local sheriff’s department had their headquarters. Hakim estimated that he was just a little more than the length of a soccer field from his target. If they had snipers on the firetruck, however, it was going to be difficult to complete his mission. He decided to chance a look through the vehicle’s windows to see if the police were still looking his way.
Suddenly, a tall Hispanic man rushed around the rear of the pickup truck, a pistol in his hand. Startled, Hakim attempted to raise the AK and reach for the detonator on his vest at the same time. The last thing he saw was a flash as a 9mm bullet slammed into his skull.
Standing next to the fire engine, Josh and Hollywood heard the dialogue between the two officers. At street level, they couldn’t see the approach of the two terrorists, trusting the Trenton cops to put them down before they could get to the municipal building. After Dorsey shot the armed woman, the sergeant cursed loudly as AK rounds whizzed overhead, courtesy of the male.
The sergeant pointed towards the terrorist. “He ducked behind a white pickup, about a quarter of the way down the block, parked at the curb. I don’t have a shot.”
They all understood the implications of that. Russo had said that the male appeared to be wearing an explosive vest. If he decided to blow himself up, he would kill scores of people who were in the immediate area.
Estrada grabbed his companion’s arm. “Josh, stay here and cover these guys. I’m gonna see if I can get to the bad guy without him seeing me.
“Hey, Sarge,” he called up, “cover me. I’m gonna try and surprise him.”
Matthews started to protest but realized that this was the best course of action. He only wished that he had thought of it first. The downside of the idea was that his friend could very well be killed if the bad guy detonated the vest.
Hollywood hurried across the intersection, pausing on the opposite corner next to Paul’s Pizza. He spotted the white pickup fifty yards further down the street and sprinted that way. Just as he reached the gunman’s hiding spot, the suspect raised himself up, peering through the Dakota’s windows. Surprise registered on his face as Estrada rushed him, firing a single shot into his face from five feet away.
The now dead terrorist fell against the tailgate and landed on his back, blood and brain matter pouring out of the hole in his forehead. The driver of the Dodge exited the vehicle, clearly shaken. The older Asian man turned as if to run away.
“Hey, sir, I’m a cop,” Hollywood said, calmly. “I need your help.”
The man hesitated, but then slowly made his way to the rear of his vehicle, taking in the dead gunman with an AK-47 laying next to him.
“What…what do you need?”
“This guy was part of the group that attacked the courthouse. They set off a bomb and him and that lady lying over there were hoping to kill as many people as they could. What I need you to do is just keep everyone away from him. He’s wearing a suicide vest and we need to make sure no one touches it. I’ll take his rifle but can you watch him for me?”
“Is it…is it safe?” the citizen asked, staring down at the explosive laden garment.
“I think so, as long as no one touches it. That bastard isn’t going to set it off.”
Gunshots exploded from the large lot across from the courthouse. Estrada grabbed the AK and sprinted back towards his friends.
“Looks like your partner got him,” Russo called down to Matthews after the single pistol shot echoed up the street.
The gunfight between the officers and the two killers had sent many of the crowd scurrying in different directions, seeking cover. A gray Toytota Tundra pickup had been caught in traffic after the initial explosion and sat in the middle of the street across from the municipal building. The driver had abandoned his vehicle to find a safe place to hide or to help the wounded.
Josh climbed into the bed of the Tundra to see over the throng that was milling around the area. They desperately needed more police officers to secure the scene and control the crowd. To the north on Lincoln Highway, three police cars and another fire truck were making their way to the location going south in the northbound lanes. They were having a slow go, maneuvering around stopped traffic and even using the sidewalk to get to where they were needed to be.
The sound of gunfire again filled the air, this time from across the street, somewhere in the large parking lot of the New Jersey Department of Agriculture. The massive area was filled with cars and people. Screams and yelling followed several shots. People ran between parked vehicles, looking for somewhere that was safe. Between a major explosion at the courthouse and several shootouts in the immediate area, there didn’t seem to be many safe places left.
Suddenly, a black male appeared between two cars, running towards the municipal building, an AK-47 in his hands, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as the armed man approached them. He was only a hundred and fifty yards away and Josh knew he needed to act quickly.
“Hey Sarge, bad guy at three o’clock! Cover me!”
Officer Dorsey swung his rifle to the right, attempting to locate the new threat. The trees that lined the sidewalk prevented him from getting a visual on the suspect. Matthews leapt to the ground and sprinted across the street to intercept the gunman.
Ja’mar was almost there. Even from hundreds of feet away, he could see the damage that the car bomb had caused, having blown a massive hole in the front of the courthouse. He knew the building well, having been tried, convicted, and sentenced there several times. The gunman felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing that their team of Allah’s soldiers had caused a lot of damage and killed some cops, along with some prosecutors and judges.
Now, it’s my turn, he thought. Surprisingly, he didn’t see many police at the scene of the explosion. He figured there would be a lot of the lazy bastards standing around while the paramedics worked.
The parking lot was full of confused spectators. Some had pulled in off of the road to gawk and take pictures or video. Others were employees at the department of agriculture and had come outside to see what was happening. As they saw Ja’mar running towards them, holding a rifle and wearing a black vest with wires sticking out of it, the crowd moved aside allowing him to continue on his way.
He estimated he was less than a hundred yards from his target. Ja’mar could now see the police and fire personnel inside the open municipal building, tending to the wounded and those trapped in the rubble. A plan quickly formed in his mind. I’ll just run into the building and set off the vest, he thought. I’ll take out more inside than I will outside, the felon realized.
Suddenly, a white guy with a pistol was running towards him. Ja’mar squeezed the trigger of the AK three times but the man quickly ducked behind a
car before coming up shooting. Ja’mar crouched behind a brown van, the guy’s bullets slamming into the vehicle. The felon caught a glimpse of a badge hanging from the cop’s neck as they shot at each other again.
Ja’mar was going to enjoy watching this pig die before he blew himself up at the courthouse. The cop was behind a small silver car just twenty-five yards away. My AK beats his peashooter, the thug thought, rushing towards the officer’s position, firing 7.62x39 rounds at the pig to keep him pinned down.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ja’mar picked up movement to his right and swung the muzzle of his rifle in that direction. The sneaky cop had moved to a black Jeep Cherokee on the next row. The gunman’s right leg buckled as something slammed into it. Another impact hammered his right arm and the rifle dropped to the pavement as he crumpled next to it, intense pain shooting through his body.
“Get your hands up!” the officer yelled, moving towards him, his pistol aimed at Ja’mar’s head.
The killer slowly raised his injured right arm, blood dripping from it. His left hand reached for the handle attached to the front of the vest.
“You got me! I need a doctor,” Ja’mar called to the officer.
As soon as the cop stepped out from behind his cover, twenty yards away, Ja’mar yelled, “Allah Akbar!” and squeezed the detonator.
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY, MONDAY, 1735 HOURS
“Team Two is in place at the corner of East 44th and 2nd Avenue at Casey’s Bagels,” Jimmy’s voice transmitted over everyone’s earpieces.
Jones and Wilkerson sat at a table outside watching the rush-hour pedestrian and vehicular traffic surging past, everyone in a hurry to get home. Jimmy held a latte while Chloe sipped a cup of green tea.
“This is Three,” Fleming broadcasted from two blocks away. “Target just left and is heading your way. His bodyguard is with him.”
Scotty Smith was the last member of the surveillance team and his assignment today was to drive their rented van around a four-block area. At six-foot five inches tall and a muscular two-hundred-and-fifty pounds, the bearded former Ranger wasn’t going to blend into any crowds. With the vehicle, though, he could quickly pick up team members and move them to another location within minutes. That was the plan, anyway.
“Four here,” Smith’s voice came over the air, his frustration evident as he spoke. “I’m at 1st Avenue and East 45th. I sure hope you guys don’t need me. This traffic sucks worse than DC and Atlanta combined.”
“Team leader here,” McCain transmitted. “Clear on everyone’s locations. Six has all of you marked on her computer. Remember, tonight is just a simple surveillance to get a feel for our target. Let’s see what he does and then we can regroup here and have a debrief.”
Gabriella Vargas had her computer equipment set up on the dining room table of the safe house, working her wad of bubblegum as she monitored her teammates. The young woman was a world class hacker who had worked for the CIA until Maxwell Sterling’s purge. She hadn’t been fired outright but had been transferred from ops to support where her vast computer skills were being used to create new personnel and HR forms. She had jumped at the chance to come work for Century Tactical.
Chuck stood behind her, staring at the three computer screens, but having trouble focusing. He felt numb all over but could not allow his grief to interfere with their mission. The team had watched the news coverage of the attack in Trenton all morning. The scene was absolute chaos and none of the news networks had a clear idea of what was going on. McCain knew that his two friends were in Trenton to teach a SWAT course at their police training center outside of town.
Somehow, he also knew that Josh and Hollywood would find a way to get into the middle of the action, if at all possible. He still wasn’t prepared for Estrada’s call at 1050 hours. How do you tell someone that one of their best friends has just been killed?
Hollywood had been as gentle as he could, describing Josh’s courage in intercepting the last bomber without backup, away from the crowd. Only Matthews, two citizens, and the bomber were killed, with another nineteen wounded in that secondary blast. If the terrorist had reached the courthouse, he could’ve murdered fifty or more.
After getting the news that his buddy was dead, Chuck asked Hollywood to tell him everything about the bombing and how he and Matthews had gotten involved. After hearing the story, it was obvious to the big man that his two colleagues had prevented a terrible incident from becoming even worse. As it was, the authorities were already listing casualties at forty-eight dead and seventy-six wounded.
As McCain had disconnected, another thought became clear to him. Abdallah Bamya might hold the key to stopping any other attacks. Kevin and the CIA had discovered that Bamya was a high-ranking member of the Brotherhood and could even be the mastermind behind the blood that was flowing in America’s streets.
After hearing from Hollywood, McCain notified General Perkins of Josh’s death and Estrada’s involvement in the Trenton incident. After speaking with the general, Chuck called Beth and gave her the grim news. She and Josh had become friends and she’d even tried to set him up with a couple of her single friends. McCain would need to eventually try and track down Matthews’ ex-wife to let her know, as well. In the meantime, however, he needed to focus on kidnapping a terrorist.
“I guess Chuck and Josh were pretty close?” Chloe asked quietly, her eyes scanning the area.
“Yeah, real close,” Jimmy sighed. “Chuck was his FTO when Josh graduated the police academy. They were on SWAT together for years, Chuck as a sergeant and Josh a corporal.
“When they both got promoted again, Matthews took the boss’s spot as squad leader. I heard that they lost contact for a while after Chuck retired. I first met Josh when we were fighting the zombies. One of the tangos managed to infect a huge high school outside of Atlanta. Josh’s SWAT team was mauled. They lost ten or twelve guys that day before we got called in to help. A couple of years ago he came to work for the Agency. I guess that was when you met him?”
Wilkerson nodded. “He was always so positive and upbeat. The only op I worked with him was that one in California with Chuck and a few of the others.”
“Yeah, my team was on a similar mission in Central America at the same time. It wasn’t a vacation, that’s for sure!”
“Three to Team Two, we’re approaching your location. The target will be at the intersection in two minutes. He’s on the opposite side from where you are. You guys want to pick up the tail?”
“Team Two’s clear,” Jimmy acknowledged, looking down the block. “We’ll follow from this side of the street. I see them coming now.”
Bamya was wearing an expensive gray pinstripe suit, holding his cellphone to his ear, walking ahead of his bodyguard, Nassar. The bodyguard was of average height but barrel-chested and solidly built. He was carrying his boss’s briefcase in his right hand. Not a very good bodyguard, Jones thought. One of the first things you were taught in executive protection training was don’t get caught carrying things that would prevent you from drawing your weapon or using your hands to defend your principal.
They had already paid for their drinks and watched out of the corner of their eyes as Abdallah crossed 2nd Avenue heading towards his apartment building halfway down the block on East 44th Street. The couple allowed the two men to get ahead of them before they darted across the street, car horns blaring as they jaywalked. Bamya did not stop at his apartment building but continued past it and crossing 3rd Avenue. Just past the corner, Abdallah and his protector turned into the One World Tavern.
Chloe and Jimmy strolled past the establishment, trying unsuccessfully to see inside, the windows having been darkened. A hundred feet past the tavern on the opposite side of the street, the Gotham Grill provided a place where they could watch for their quarry.
“Can you call it in and let Chuck and everyone know what’s going on?” Jones said. “I’ll see if I can get us a table by the window.”
After Chloe’s update, Andy adv
ised that he had found a spot from which he could watch the entrance to Bamya’s apartment building unseen. Scotty was parked the next block over if he was needed.
Five minutes later Jimmy reappeared, shaking his head. “New York City is no place for this southern boy. I had to slip the girl twenty bucks to get us a spot by the window where we can watch for our tango buddy.”
After being led to a table, Wilkerson grabbed the seat allowing her to look down the block towards the One World Tavern. Jones shook his head again.
“I hate having my back to the action, but at least I’ve got a bead on the front door of this place.”
Chloe laughed. “I’ve got a good view and should be able to see whenever he leaves.”
After they ordered their food, Jimmy spoke up.
“I know you were in the Army before you worked for the Agency. What did you do in the Ain't Ready to be a Marine Yet?”
“Ouch, that’s not nice,” Wilkerson chuckled. “I was an officer, a captain, when I got out. I was over an intelligence unit.”
Jones nodded. “Very impressive, but why’d you leave? It sounds like you were on the way up?”
The young woman shrugged. “Not really. I got passed over twice for promotion. The major that I was assigned to hated anyone who was smarter than him, which was pretty much everybody. Plus, even at captain, I was already starting to see how the politics increased the higher you went.”
“I get it,” Jimmy smiled sympathetically. “I was a captain in the Marines and would’ve stayed in but my mom got diagnosed with terminal cancer. My major was actually a good guy and tried to talk me into staying, offering me a leave of absence. It ended up working out for the best. After mom passed, I worked with the Alabama Highway Patrol for a few years before getting recruited to CDC Enforcement with Chuck and the guys.”