by Sean Salazar
“When will you have more information on the church’s involvement?” the President asked.
“Hopefully soon,” Ed answered. He stood in front of the map for several seconds, contemplating his next statement. He then turned to the screen. “Also, Mr. President, I must emphasize the importance of the safe recovery of Alex Pike. His skill at deciphering ancient codes is unparalleled, and the writing under the White House lawn is a code written in ancient Hebrew. I believe that writing may contain direct clues that may reveal the locations of other bombs.”
“Then recovering Mr. Pike shall be a top priority,” the President said.
“I hope so, Mr. President,” Ed replied.
Ms. Churchill held up her hand and explained to the president, “Agent Al Robek is en route to Spain as we speak. I have a team waiting to assist him when he arrives.”
Just then Natalie entered the room with her guard, holding papers held to her chest. “Sorry I’m late,” she said.
“Just a moment, my dear,” Ed said, waving her over.
The president leaned into the monitor. “Thank you all for the update. This case will go under national security restrictions as of today. I do not want the media distorting or second-guessing this situation unless we feed it to them directly. Director Churchill, is that possible?”
“I believe so,” she said. “The news media has already begun to run with the cover story of a gas tank explosion over the capital.”
“I would say,” the president continued, “just let the media go with it. The nuclear emergency response teams are scouring the city for any more bombs. Also, I also want every team in the country activated and just start searching.”
“Understood,” she said.
“Therefore, Mr. President,” Ed said, turning to the monitor, “I want you to know that I have over fifty years in chasing and analyzing the Brotherhood and I know them well. Therefore, I would respectfully like to make a request of you.”
A nearly imperceptible smile crossed the President’s face as he slouched in his chair, “Yes?”
“Mr. President,” Ed said, “I want you to give my team, Ms. Churchill and her team, complete jurisdiction hunting and deciphering what the Brotherhood’s master plans are. In addition, I need you and your influence to do whatever you can to prevent a national war being instigated between other countries.”
“You’re most likely referring to a religious war,” the President said.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
President Burkholder sat up closer to the screen and said, “I cannot promise anything, but I will give you seventy-two hours with command authority. Furthermore, I want the core of the Brotherhood identified as soon as possible, because if they hit us again, I want a measured response, but I do not want to inadvertently trigger a religious war.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Ed answered. He then noticed Natalie urgently wanting to tell what she had discovered. He grabbed his leather bag and turned to Ms. Churchill, “With your permission, I would like to take Natalie here along to assist in continuing my investigation of the complex under the White House lawn.”
“Yes, please do so as soon as possible.”
Chapter Eight
Spain
The MIG-31 touched down, taxied to the far end of the airport, and stopped. The pilot shut down the engines and the cockpit opened. Al unstrapped himself and waited for the pilot to climb out and help him get out.
“Thanks for the lift,” Al said, handing his helmet over to the pilot.
“Спасибо,” he responded in Russian. [spaceebo]
At that moment, a sedan pulled up and a large, muscular man stepped out. Al immediately recognized him as Agent Hector Gomez from Mexico. “You’re a little outside of your territory,” Al said, firmly shaking his hand.
“Some big shot in D.C. decided that I know too much and assigned me to assist your sorry ass.”
“Says who?”
“Some tough chick they call the CIA director.”
“You know she secretly respects you, right?” Al added jokingly.
“Like I give a damn shit what she thinks,” Gomez said, stepping aside to allow Al to enter the back seat of the car. Once in, he squeezed in next to him, barely fitting inside. He then handed Al a sheet of paper and glanced back at the MIG-31. “This is what we have on your objective, and nice ride, by the way.”
Al read over the details out loud, “Gianotto Berardi, age unknown, estimated to be in his mid-eighties.”
“And don’t ask where the source of information on him came from,” Gomez said, visibly agitated. “We got it secretly handed to us secondhand from London.” He pulled out another sheet and handed it over. “Your British friend Alex Pike is possibly being interrogated there.”
Al spent a few more minutes studying the information. Once finished, he handed it back. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken him down yet.”
“Well, you know orders. Observe and report. Once I got here, I had to slap these European agents around. Their clumsiness could fuck up this entire operation.” He elbowed Al’s arm, “I’ll let you do that.”
Al gave Gomez a hard stare, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “Look,” Al said defensively, “I did not see it coming with Agent Jess Contreras and neither did you.”
“I didn’t even know the bitch, you did,” Gomez answered angrily. “And shot your ass! How in the hell did you not see that coming?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. She was there right from the start, and it was my shoulder, not my ass.”
After a brief moment of silence other than the noise of the car, Gomez spoke up and asked, “She is still out there?”
“Yes, she is, and let’s just say that she is in D.C. somewhere, I think.”
They drove to another section of the airport and boarded a small military helicopter. The flight took about forty-five minutes and flew over several small towns that Al could only identify by patches of light. The chopper landed in a grassy field and Gomez led him to another waiting sedan.
After giving the driver directions to their destination, he sat back. “This total communication blackout shit is getting old.”
“Yeah, it sucks,” Al said. “We have to actually talk face-to-face now.”
“If your face was pretty—which it’s not—that would be one thing. But dealing with idiot agents is pushing my limits.”
They drove for another thirty minutes, going over details about where Alex Pike allegedly was being held. The driver pulled into a wooded area, stopping under a group of trees. Almost midnight, the only light came from the moon.
They both exited the car and Al watched Gomez walk up to a dark figure near the trunk of a large tree. A few minutes went by and he returned. “Everything is still in play, but we are working without communications.”
As if reading his thoughts, Al pulled out his PDA and handed the other one to Gomez, “Use this only.”
Gomez grabbed it and said, “So here’s the deal and it’s developing as we speak. It turns out that Alex Pike is a confirmed captive in there and my men think they are moving him from one location to another, most likely because you and Ed Collins were busted out.”
“I got it,” Al said.
“Okay, now follow me and keep it quiet.”
Al followed him through the trees without lights; Gomez seemed to know where he was going. He began to slow and motioned for Al to crouch down and stop. “This is as far as I go,” he whispered. “Beyond this point the surveillance system kicks in.”
“Where?”
Gomez pointed upward to a nearby tree. Al barely saw the shape of a metal hood, which he knew indicated a camera was underneath. “I see it,” Al whispered.
Gomez scooted over and whispered back, “We are under strict orders not to go near there because if the Brotherhood is in there, they will just slip away like cockroaches.” He glanced back at Al. “Since you are a cockroach hunter, this is your show.”
“Very funny,”
Al whispered back.
Gomez pointed, “Gianotto Berardi is holding Alex Pike inside a small cottage about one hundred and fifty yards straight ahead, and you’re going to need these.” Gomez handed Al a pair of night vision goggles and added, “Good luck.” He turned and headed back.
Al slipped the goggles over his head and turned them on. The area turned from black to a green hue. Once he adjusted the goggles, he eyed the first camera that Gomez had pointed out, and inched his way closer to it. The first thing he realized was that he was in a bad spot. First, it was dark and if cameras were used for security, then it was highly probable motion detectors were also being used.
Motion detectors concerned him the most because they could be easily hidden from view. He looked around for any sign of motion-sensing devices and didn’t see anything. He stayed close to the ground, moving very slowly. He inched his way past the camera, pushing his way under several bushes. Fortunately, the bushes were thick, which would indicate that the motion sensors were probably tuned for large targets, preferably upright.
After about thirty or forty yards of crawling, Al saw what he was looking for: a small, thin band around a tree trunk. The bushes around the trunk were removed which indicated that it was a motion detector. He glanced up, examined the trees, and quickly identified two separate hooded lights. This setup was a little less technical than the one used in Mexico, but still a concern. He wondered if this system was a decoy to disguise a more elaborate system. Only one way to find out.
He remained hidden in the bushes the best he could as he continued forward. When another tree that had a thin band around it came into view, he confirmed that this system was not as complex as he feared, which was a good thing. He crawled to the back side of the tree and moved through another patch of bushes. After several yards, the area opened up. With the goggles, he could see the cottage, and it was surprisingly simple. He could make out two more cameras on the corners, and one more looking over a gravel driveway on the left side.
Berardi must not be concerned about experienced intruders unless this is a vacation home, he thought. Cautioning himself not to become too confident, he located the best angle to approach the house and slowly made his way to that section of woods. He calculated a large surveillance blind spot and decided that was the best approach to the back of the cottage. Inch by inch, on his belly, he made his way to it. He found a side door, checked for alarm wires, and quietly picked the lock. He continued picking until he heard the ‘click’ he was seeking. He then carefully turned the knob and held the door cracked just a hair. Next, he pulled out his handgun, quietly chambered a round, and slowly pushed the door open. He now found himself in the rear part of a kitchen or pantry and could smell the distinct aroma of a cigar. That could only mean that someone was home and motion detectors would be turned off. If not, he would soon find out.
Al re-checked his handgun and traversed the kitchen, entering a living room area. Most of the lights were off except for one lamp, and a light coming from a hallway. The room definitely had the heavily decorated, lived-in look. He carefully made his way to the corner and peeked around to see where the light was coming from. He could hear a faint sound of music and removed the night vision goggles. He listened for a second, and determined that the music was a violin.
Two doors on the left and two on the right, and the music seemed to be coming from the first door on the left. With no other sounds, he now had to take the word of Agent Gomez that Berardi was alone here with Alex. But where?
Al moved down the hallway towards the music and stopped by the first doorway on the right, directly opposite from where he thought the music was coming from. The cigar smell was stronger now and appeared to be coming from the same room where the music was. He decided to focus on the other room first. The door was slightly open so he raised his pistol, let his breath out slowly, and pushed the door open.
The room was dark but off to the right was a couch with someone lying on it. He took a step in and whoever was on the couch was either asleep or unconscious. He quickly checked to the right and left and no one else was in the room. An IV bag connected to a stand was behind the person’s head and the tube traveled down, connecting to the arm, which was dangling off the couch. Al could see a chain from his wrist to the floor and another one from his ankle to the floor. He looked closer. It was Alex Pike. He had found him!
Al backed up, out of the room, and approached the other door. It was also slightly open and the music and cigar smoke was definitely coming out of it. With his left hand, he slowly pushed the door open.
A large chandelier directly over a desk lightly illuminated an older man sitting behind it. Two very large wooden bookshelves were on each side. The man was turned to the side, leaning back in a large plush chair reading some papers. The cigar was in his right hand and the music was coming from an old record player behind him under a curtained window.
The old man had not sensed his presence.
Al quickly checked around the room ensuring he was truly alone, aimed his gun, and approached the desk. If the man made any sudden moves, he was going to shoot both his hands off. He was a few steps from the desk when the old man noticed the motion and glanced over.
He craned his head in Al’s direction and said something in Spanish.
Al answered, “Are you Gianotto Berardi?”
After a brief pause, the man slowly placed the papers on the desk, turned his chair to face him, and answered, “Yes, can I help you?” He eyed the gun, “Or...what do you want?”
“Stand up,” Al ordered.
He slowly stood up, and Al motioned for him to raise his arms and said, “Back away from the desk.” Berardi took a step back and twice eyed the papers on the desk.
Berardi asked again, “Who are you?”
Al wasn’t sure how to begin, considering this was his long overdue chance to interrogate the bastards who had interrogated him. Rescuing Alex Pike was his primary mission and he could simply shoot the guy and be done with it, but he decided to take a stab at it, “Where are the bombs?”
The old man glared at him, and seemed to study the way Al asked the question. “You are CIA, yes?”
Al didn’t answer.
“Ah, I see,” Berardi grimaced. He then let out a subdued laugh as he continued to study Al, “You are the translator.”
Now Al knew for sure that he was on the right track because that guy would not know that unless he was involved, but he had to tread carefully. It was these guys that drugged and tapped into his subconscious memory. The fact that he knew all about that changed the situation. “I am not going to ask you again.”
“There are many possible answers to that question,” Berardi said, his eyes again glancing down at the papers for the third time.
Al tried a different question, “Who planted the bomb under Washington, D.C.?”
Berardi laughed again, “I did.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” Berardi asked, taking a slight step back.
Al aimed his gun at Berardi’s shoulder. The man was appearing agitated. It was as if he had to be somewhere and he was becoming more and more focused on the papers on his desk. Berardi suddenly reached to grab the papers and Al pulled the trigger, hitting him in the left shoulder.
Berardi jerked to the side, grabbing his shoulder. He buckled over behind the desk, slamming his hand and grabbing the papers as he went down.
Al jumped around the desk and Berardi was gone. “Ah, shit!” He pushed the heavy desk over, revealing a trap door. “Damn it, Damn it, Damn it!” He stomped on it and it didn’t budge. He fired two shots into the corner, only chipping the wood. He grabbed his PDA and said to Gomez, “Get in here. Alex Pike is unconscious. I’m going after Berardi.”
Al shoved the PDA back into his pocket and then fired the remaining bullets, splintering enough of the wood to slip his fingers into the edge. He pulled upwards. It didn’t budge. He then realized that it was an inward opening door. He inserted another
clip, shot several bullets into the right corner, and several more into the opposite corner. He gave it one good stomp and it caved in. A few more heavy stomps gave him enough room to see a stairway. He grabbed an edge, pulled until it broke off. He tossed the wood cover aside, reloaded, and fired several shots down the dark stairway to scare off anyone waiting for him.
He slowly started down the stairs. He reached the bottom and clicked on his light; night vision gear was worthless without ambient light available. A hard-packed dirt tunnel angled off to the right. He took a quick look around the corner and the tunnel continued on in only one direction, simplifying his choices. Too often, these crazy underground passageways started in intersections, confusing matters.
Berardi had a three-minute start, but being wounded should slow his pace, Al thought to himself. He cautiously headed down the crudely cut tunnel, checking each dark shadow. The tunnel zigzagged back and forth but was fairly straight. The tunnel walls would provide no cover if Berardi found a gun somewhere. That would be a serious problem. As Al continued, that possibility unnerved him. He walked about thirty more paces, shut off his light, lay flat on the dirt, and listened. A Vietnam vet who was a tunnel rat taught him this tactic. He modified and adapted the technique in the rugged mountains of Afghanistan but it was pretty much the same. If an enemy is waiting to ambush you in a single tunnel, they always fire at waist level and never shoot at the ground.
He heard nothing, so he popped up, ran several yards, shut off his light, lay flat, and listened again. He repeated this two more times until he saw a faint light in the distance. He slowly approached it. As he got closer, he heard a clunking sound and the light disappeared. Al picked up his pace and ran in the dark. He continued until he reached the area where the light was coming from. He clicked his light back on. A short tunnel appeared to the right. He took a quick look and saw an open space, but no Berardi. He shut the light off, crouched down and entered. He listened for a moment and then clicked the light back on, gun at the ready.