Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

  “Where’s Dawson?” Chief Drake asked, looking around.

  Angela was curious herself. She’d thought he was right behind her. It got quiet, and they could hear movement coming from the shadows in the truck.

  “Dawson, what the hell are you doing?” Drake shouted. “Get out of there!”

  “Hold on, sir,” Dawson called out. “There’s another panel here. Another compartment. I can almost lift it.”

  Martinez stepped forward, angered. “Did you hear the chief? Get out of there before you—”

  The explosion was surreal, silencing everything in a violent eruption that shook the ground. Angela couldn’t hear. One deafening blast and everyone hit the ground. The force threw her down onto the dirt. She could feel searing heat traveling within inches of her face. She closed her eyes and saw nothing but dim shades of orange. When she opened them, she could see an immense fireball launching into the sky, with the echo of the blast traveling farther and farther and fading into the desert.

  Smoke and fire enveloped the site, and it was at that moment when she finally comprehended that something terribly wrong had just happened.

  Fallout

  The box truck burnt away, engulfed in flames, with little remaining but its frame. Angela rose to her feet on wobbly legs. She could still feel the heat of the blast, warm and vivid.

  Other agents, Chief Drake and Captain Martinez among them, stood up in a daze, feeling their heads and turning to the hypnotic dancing flames in the distance. Thick black smoke flowed upward as ashes rained down all around them. Pieces of metal, plastic, wire, and glass lay scattered on the ground. The truck’s charred frame continued to burn with the shooters’ bodies no longer around.

  “We need to get out of here,” Chief Drake said, rubbing his face.

  “Sir?” Martinez replied.

  “Clear the area,” Chief Drake told him in a short tone. “We don’t know what kind of chemicals are being released into the air right now.”

  Captain Reynolds stood up, her red hair unpinned and hanging in her face. “Rex…” she said. “Where’s Rex?”

  Angela looked around and could see no sign of the K-9.

  “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” Martinez said. “He’s a smart dog.”

  “Certainly smarter than us if we hang around here one minute longer,” Chief Drake added.

  Angela could see that all their faces were smudged with greasy black soot, and she doubted that her own appearance was any different. Her stomach was sick with grief. And as a parade of sirens wailed in the distance, the loss of one of their own had yet to sink in among the stunned group.

  Chief Drake clapped his hands together as ash continued to fall from the sky. “That’s it, people. Time to move out. We need to tell the emergency responders to keep their distance until someone can measure the level of chemical agents in the air.”

  Martinez began coughing, heightening the level of fear among them. “It’s just the smoke,” he said, waving the concerned faces off. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Angela walked over to him and patted him on the back as the flames continued to flicker in the distance. Chief Drake was already off and headed toward the narrow dirt road where two fire engines, an ambulance, and several police cars were racing toward them. He held his radio up and called into it.

  “All emergency responders are advised to stay back. Possible chemical agents in the air. I repeat, possible chemical agents in the air.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Angela said. She placed her arm around Martinez, who was hunched down and coughing. He cleared his throat and rose just as Captain Reynolds approached them with a ghostlike shock in her eyes. “Agent Dawson…” she said, vacantly. “You don’t think…”

  “I’m sorry,” Martinez said, placing both hands on her shoulder. “It doesn’t look good.”

  Reynolds began to tear up. Martinez pulled her closer with a hug as she cried into his shoulder. Angela scanned the area for Rex. It was the least she felt she could do.

  Two other agents, Bernasconi and Tyson, were in a dazed state as well but dutifully followed their chief to the road where the emergency vehicles slowed to a halt.

  “This is too much,” Captain Reynolds said, backing away from Martinez and wiping her eyes. She then walked off with a slight limp, calling for Rex and scanning the area. Only Martinez and Angela remained, staring from afar at the fire still burning wildly.

  “Truck was rigged with explosives,” Martinez said vacantly. “We stumbled on some real shit out here, Agent Gannon.”

  Angela nodded as the glow of the fire flickered in her eyes. “That station wagon. It’s all we have now.”

  He turned to her, agreeing. He hung his head down, cursing under his breath while balling his fist.

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said, trying to say whatever she could to help.

  Martinez no doubt blamed himself. His head slowly rose, revealing tears in his eyes. “We owe it to Dawson now to find out who’s responsible for this.”

  After a moment of staring at the fire, they walked off together in sober silence toward the flashing lights on the side of a dusty road.

  ***

  They arrived back at the Del Rio Border Patrol station shortly before eight in the evening. A HAZMAT team had been deployed to the area along Graffiti Junction to test the air for chemical agents. All roads and underpasses within five miles of the area had been shut down and cordoned off. Businesses and homes within the area had been evacuated, leaving a sense of dread in the neighboring community.

  The local media were on the scene but were not permitted to enter the hastily constructed blockades. The authorities were also hesitant in disseminating information for fear of creating a panic. Word from the feds was to keep a lid on it, and Chief Drake’s department was advised to recuse themselves from the investigation until Homeland Security and the FBI could determine exactly what had happened.

  For Martinez, there was no second guessing that the men they had engaged were terrorists. He believed that the chemical agents discovered before the truck explosion were materials likely meant for a dirty bomb of some sort. Angela agreed, but was curious on what they were going to do about it. They had no knowledge of the men’s terrorist affiliations or how far their network spread. Assuming there was a network.

  She and Martinez watched the coverage of the scene in Chief Drake’s office while they sat across from his desk waiting. Drake was in another room discussing the incident with other superiors. Word around the office was that the FBI was there.

  The investigation was already in the works, and all Martinez and Angela could do was wait. They weren’t being told anything, and what had started as a shootout with two suspected smugglers had now spiraled into something much larger involving terrorism. But the death of one of their Border Patrol agents was the single hardest thing to stomach about it all.

  The television displayed an aerial image from a news helicopter of the smoldering ground where the truck had exploded. Firefighters had extinguished the fire and HAZMAT teams in full chemical gear were on the scene, monitoring the air with their electronic gadgets.

  The news banner on the bottom of the screen indicated a truck explosion without going into details. Martinez’s eyes were transfixed on the TV screen, while Angela read messages on the screen of her cell phone, and replied to a text from Doug. She hadn’t gone into any details and only told him that she wouldn’t be home any time soon.

  Does this have anything to do w truck explosion? he asked in the text.

  Not at the moment, was all she could say back. I’ll be home soon. Might have to put the girls to bed without me. Love you.

  Doug was understandably curious and worried, but she would tell him what she could when the time came. The important thing was that she was okay. The same couldn’t be said for Dawson, whose family, she was told, lived in Oklahoma and had just been informed of his death. The news was devastating to everyone at the station.

  Capt
ain Martinez had been quiet since they’d left the scene, saying very little. Angela could see the worry and grief on his face, and the nervous anger of his constant fidgeting and foot tapping. As she turned to speak to him, he suddenly jumped up from his chair, clearly agitated.

  “I just can’t do this right now,” he said, pacing around the office.

  “Do what?” Angela asked from her chair.

  He turned to her with his face flushed. His uniform, like hers, was still covered in dust, dirt, and ash. “Sit in here while they play politics with this whole thing.”

  “Who’s playing politics?” Angela asked, genuinely confused.

  “The powers that be, that’s who.” He scratched his chin and attempted to peer through the blinds in Drake’s office. “We need to be out there trying to catch the bastards who got away.” He balled one hand and smacked it against the other. Angela had never seen him so angry. “I told Drake about these sleeper-cell pukes. I told him that we need to put more resources into tracking them. And now that the shit has hit the fan, he’s gonna drop today’s entire fiasco in my lap.”

  Angela studied Martinez, confused. He was agitated, saying whatever came to mind. And if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that he was coming off as paranoid.

  “We’re all on the same team here, though. Right, sir?” she said in the most sympathetic tone she could muster.

  Martinez scoffed, laughing. “Sure thing. Until something literally blows up in our faces. Who authorized Dawson to search through the truck? Who authorized any of us? That’s what they’re going to be asking us, so I hope you’re ready.”

  Martinez paused and took a step back, seeing the worry in Angela’s face. “I’m sorry, Agent Gannon. I don’t mean to upset you. You should have nothing to worry about. Like I said, it was my call, and I’ll take responsibility.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said again, as though she was still trying to convince herself. Going it alone had its consequences. They should have waited for backup, but she didn’t feel the need to harp on it.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “What matters is that when you have terrorists sneaking across the border, the blame has to lie with someone. Is the chief going to answer for it?” He paused with eyes gleaming, but before Angela could respond, he was on to the next question. “Is the Homeland Security director going to admit they messed up? Is the president going to call a press conference and blame himself? No. It’s gonna be someone like me. Happens all the time.”

  “But you said that we could catch these guys. That all we had to do was to find that station wagon,” Angela said. “But nobody paid attention.”

  “Trust me,” Martinez said, stepping forward. “I fully intend to find that vehicle.”

  The door swung open as Chief Drake walked in with several files in hand, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose and a nervous, preoccupied look across his stricken face. He noticed Martinez standing by the window and signaled him to take a seat next to Angela.

  “This won’t take long, I promise.”

  Martinez sighed and went back to his chair. They both sat watching as Drake placed the stack of files on the smooth wood surface of his desk. Behind him there was a bookshelf with several plaques and certificates and family pictures with his pretty wife and three boys.

  The television in the corner of the room displayed the same aerial feed as before, but the banner at the bottom of the screen had changed. It now said, “Terror Bombing in Texas.”

  Drake took his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose, stress showing on his worn face. He leaned forward with his hands folded and got right to the point. “We have to get a lid on this thing and do it fast.”

  Martinez glanced at Angela holding his hands out as if to say, No, it’s not paranoia, this is for real, and Chief Drake knows it, too.

  Drake continued. “The death of a young agent does not bode well for this department. The important thing is that we put an end to these rumors of a vast terror network, and find out who’s responsible.”

  Martinez remained quiet and looked as though the chief’s dismissive words were exactly what he had expected to hear.

  “Any word on that station wagon, sir?” Angela asked.

  Drake shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. They got away, and with everything going on, it probably wasn’t too hard for them to do it. But all law enforcement agencies are on alert for a vehicle matching that description.”

  Martinez stared at the chief, shaking his head. “Today’s events are part of a pattern I’ve been seeing. And if this department doesn’t get on board—if we don’t get the support we need—it’s only going to get worse.”

  Drake slammed his hand on the desk, startling Angela. Martinez, however, didn’t flinch. “Let’s get one thing clear, Captain Martinez. You’re in hot water right now. So you may just want to back off a little and get your head together.”

  “We’re being overrun by terrorists!” Martinez said. “Not all of them are coming over the border. A lot of them come here on visas. Some on asylum status. They’re here, and we need to take this shit seriously, starting now.”

  For a moment the room went silent as the two men stared at each other. Drake leaned back in his squeaky office chair and tented his hands. “I’ve been doing this job for some time now, Captain Martinez. And I know what we’re out there looking for. Terrorism is no exception. We’re entrusted to protect this border, and we can’t very well do that to the best of our abilities when the department is ensnared in an internal investigation.” He paused and pointed at Martinez. “When you’re told to wait for backup, that’s what you do! We may never know who those men are affiliated with now.”

  “We got an ID on the intact body, right?” Martinez asked, cutting in.

  Drake jerked his chair forward and leaned over his desk. “The FBI are examining his body right now with the coroner’s. But, if everything else of value was in that truck and it’s all gone now.”

  “I did nothing wrong,” Martinez said. “We’re authorized to pursue suspicious acts as we see them.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Drake said. “Despite what you think, I’m on your side. I take the side of any of my agents.” He paused to clear his throat and then looked sternly at both Angela and Martinez. “You’re both dismissed. We’ll pick this up tomorrow. But you better be ready for it. And please… drop the martyr act.”

  Martinez rose slowly from his chair with a deep breath, not saying anything. Angela looked around the room nervously. She wanted nothing more than to bolt for the exit and go home. Martinez turned to the door as Angela stood.

  “Have a good night, sir,” she said to the chief.

  “You too. Get some rest, Agent Gannon,” he said.

  It was dark outside the office window and Angela was stunned to see how much time had passed. She followed Martinez as he walked out.

  She closed the door behind her and tried to catch up with Martinez, who was already halfway down the hall. Most of the cubicles they passed were empty, though a few offices were occupied along the way.

  “You need to quit leaving me behind,” she said to Martinez as she caught up.

  “Huh?” he said, walking fast with his eyes forward.

  “You left me on that hill earlier. By the time I got out of the car, you were half way down.”

  He swung his head to the side, glaring as though he was about to rip into her, but instead, his face went calm with an indication of remorse. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I just want to make sure we’re looking out for each other.”

  “We are. I’ve got your back, don’t worry.”

  From the hall, they entered a lobby with two agents sitting at the desk, both rookies, pulling security. The agents raised their heads in surprise.

  “You have something you want to say?” Martinez shot back, defensively.

  “Not at all, sir. Have a good night,” the younger of
the two men said.

  “You too,” Martinez said as they walked past and pushed open the glass double doors.

  The night air was dry but refreshing, much cooler than before. Under the parking lot lights, Border Patrol vehicles were neatly aligned in rows. A line of black SUVs took up one lane across the way. All were backed in and ready to go. Angela’s car, a gray four-door 2014 Toyota Camry, was parked in the employee lot in the corner next to Martinez’s Jeep.

  “Don’t worry about any of this,” he said as their boots clicked along the pavement in the quiet night. “We’ll get it all worked out tomorrow.”

  She wanted to believe him, but was worried that their troubles were just beginning. She felt grief for Dawson—shame even, that it wasn’t her. Of course, she had no intention of revealing such thoughts to Martinez. Perhaps he felt the same way.

  She wished him a good night and pressed the button on her keychain, unlocking the Camry. Martinez waved as he got into his Jeep and cranked the engine. Once inside her car, she sat for a moment with the engine running and waited for Martinez to leave. His headlights flashed across her rearview mirror, and he was off. With no one around, she leaned forward and rested her head against the steering wheel, sobbing.

  Angela arrived home later that evening, pulling into the driveway of her brick three-bedroom sanctuary, located in a quaint neighborhood near Buena Vista Middle School, where her daughters, Chassity and Lisa, attended school.

  Doug’s F150 was in the driveway, and she could see a light on in the living room window. She looked at the clock on her dashboard. It was 9:45. For the day she had, that wasn’t too bad. Doug worked normal nine to five hours, which proved to be an asset where their children were concerned.

  She turned off the engine and opened the door, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. She felt like a nervous wreck. What was she going to tell Doug? Maybe it could wait until morning.

  The neighborhood was quiet with cars parked in driveways under the glow of streetlights. She passed the front of Doug’s truck and moved along the cement walkway leading to their front door, past small lights planted in the ground.