by James Hunt
Burke kicked the door open, and they moved out into the darkness, the sirens louder than before and their lights flashing a few blocks over. They continued down the driveway and inched out onto the street, and Angela began to wonder if the police cars in the distance had anything to do with them after all. There seemed to be no neighbors gawking at them from outside or from their windows. Perhaps it was a false alarm.
As fast as they could, because they were at their most visible and vulnerable, they crossed the street and with their strength fading, headed into the cover of shadows and began the brief trek back to the empty lot a few houses down, where Burke’s car was hidden. From her corner of her eye, Angela could see it: headlights traveling toward them from the opposite direction, followed by the flicker of flashing red and blue. The sirens had stopped blaring, replaced by the roar of multiple engines quickly gaining from behind.
“Move faster!” Burke said to Omar. “Or my offer still stands.”
As they reached the lot, Burke threw Omar ahead, sending him rolling through the sand of the empty lot. The car was in sight, but they weren’t yet in the clear. With so many bodies in the house, the police were certain to do a massive search of the area. Helicopters would be deployed, checkpoints placed for miles, and any chance of escape would be next to impossible.
Omar wept as he lay on his side in a ball, a cloud of dust rising above him.
As she ran to the passenger’s side of the car, Angela was too focused on escape to object to Burke’s methods. She said nothing as Burke stuffed a sock in Omar’s mouth and tied him at the wrists and legs with some nylon rope. He stood up and pressed the trunk button on his keychain, popping it open.
He ran to the trunk, took out the carrying cases containing his other weapons, and placed them in the backseat. He then called out to Angela as she opened her door. “Hey, I need your help.”
She stopped and looked over the car roof, bewildered. “You’re putting him in the trunk?”
“No, I’m going to let him drive. Of course I’m putting him in the trunk. Come over here and give me a hand.”
Tires screeched from down the street as multiple police cars surrounded Omar’s house, shining their spotlights around the chipped and faded exterior. They both rushed to Omar as he tried hopelessly to scramble away. Angela grabbed his legs, and Burke took the arms. They carried Omar off like a piece of furniture as he squirmed in their grip, and tossed him in the trunk, closing it shut.
With little time to spare, they ran to the front and jumped inside the car, closing their doors in unison. Burke carefully turned the ignition and shifted into drive. He left his headlights off and eased onto the street, which now had the look of a major crime scene with its wild, flashing lights to their left.
“Just doesn’t make sense,” Burke said, tapping the gas. “Where did they all come from? Someone is messing with us.” He glanced at the crime scene in his rearview mirror as Angela sunk into her seat with her eyes plastered on the side mirror.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“There are no coincidences,” he said. “Next stop we make, I’m doing a full car check. See if this car has been bugged.”
Once a safe distance from the house, several turns and blocks away, Burke stepped on the gas and stormed out of the neighborhood toward the nearest interstate. El Paso 154 miles, a sign said.
Brimming with nervousness and anxiety, Angela had never felt closer to finding her children.
They blended in with other night traffic, seemingly indistinguishable from the other vehicles on the road—people who, like them, were just trying to get somewhere. Angela’s concern materialized when she saw helicopters flying in the far distance. The tiny lights in the sky grew fainter, and Angela breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully they were in the clear.
Burke turned to look at her, not saying a word. Then his eyes went back to the road. She looked down and realized she had blood all over her arms and shirt. There was no turning back now.
Suddenly a great pounding came from behind the back seat, loud and unrelenting. It came in intervals of five to six thumps followed by kicking. How Omar was moving at all, Angela didn’t know. There was no getting out of that trunk, and for the next few miles she tried not to care.
Executioner
After twenty minutes on Interstate 10, they took an exit that led to an empty underpass on the edge of a lake far removed from city lights and normal flow of traffic. Burke claimed he knew of the lake and how “peaceful” it was.
“You’ve been out this way before?” Angela asked.
“Some time ago on assignment,” he said. He turned off the ignition and brought a hand down his face. “Must have been ten, fifteen years ago. Place hasn’t changed a bit.”
The area, as described, was isolated. The shallow-looking lake reflected the white of the moon in its center and was surrounded by a circular mountain ridge that seemed to encompass the lake like a stadium. Framing the lake were low-lying shrubs and leafless trees with branches extended like the arms of skeletons. Everything seemed undisturbed, eerie almost, and it was the perfect spot, Burke explained, where they could regroup and strategize.
The banging from the trunk had ceased, and Angela could only assume that Omar had tired and given up. Regardless, she didn’t consider it wise to keep him in the trunk any longer than necessary. He still had information that he hadn’t fully disclosed.
“You think it’s about time we let him out?” she asked Burke, eyes transfixed on the glimmering lake. His gloved hands gripped the wheel, and she could see that he, like her, had plenty of blood on his arms and clothing too.
“In a moment,” he said. “First, I’m going to search the car for a bug or tracker.”
“Okay…” Angela said with a hint of uncertainty.
The car stereo clock had read 11:10, and they still had more than a hundred miles to travel. The longer they were stopped, the more Angela began to think about home and all the people she needed to call. She also knew that she could never return to a normal life—how could anyone? But none of it would matter once she got the children back. She vowed to start anew somewhere else, where no one could harm them again.
“Back there was a little messy, I admit that,” Burke said, reverting to the calm boardroom tone she had grown accustomed to from their first meeting. “I’ve been out of the game for a while, and I didn’t mean to snap at you or come off as… I don’t know, unhinged.”
Angela nodded in understanding. The experience had been unpleasant, but she was just glad that it was over—for now. “I have to admit, I was really kind of shaken, but… you warned me. You wanted to go it alone, and I insisted on coming along.” She turned to him, noticing some embedded pain in his emotionless face. His eyes remained forward in deep thought as she continued. “I just want to add that there’s no hard feelings. You’re trying your best, and that’s all I can ask for.”
Burke’s mouth suddenly curled upward in a brief smile. “Sheesh. Talking to me like I’m a child and not a murderer.”
“No…” she began, not wanting to say anything more.
“Relax. I’m just kidding,” he said, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. “I do appreciate you sticking with me. And trust me, I know how you feel.” He paused and then pulled back the Velcro on his gloves, tossing them on the dashboard.
The night sky seemed to go on forever, and for a moment everything seemed to be at peace. But Angela knew better. Things were most likely to get far worse before they got better.
The silence between them ended as Burke took a deep breath and continued. “‘Bout five years ago, I lived in Germany with my family. Stationed in Heidelberg on assignment with the CIA. Officially as part of a diplomatic NATO mission. Only we weren’t there to shake hands and go to meetings, we were there to find terrorists. Specifically members of the Ad al Hakim family who were supporting Al Qaeda at the time. Our intel told us they were actively working to create sleeper cells throughout Europe.”
“One night, we got the call. The family had been found, and our orders were clear as day. They needed to be eliminated. My team split up, like we always did, and took positions around an isolated flat in rural Nuremburg. Think we must have waited for them about thirty, maybe forty hours. Later that night, I was told to take the three-hundred-meter shot at the leader of the family, Qadir Ad al Hakim, while he dined with his wife and kids. An actual family. And there I thought they were talking about grown men and women. Terrorists, you know? But from what I saw, they looked… innocent. That, I can tell you, didn’t settle right with me.”
Burke paused and took another breath. “I was a good shot. All the guys knew it. But even with my sniper rifle at the ready, I didn’t like the idea of shooting the guy in front of his wife and kids. I requested a different venue. Another time. Another place. They denied my request. Said that I’d blow the cover of the entire operation. I was told to take the shot, and take the shot I did.”
Burke stopped again as though the entire troubling incident was playing over in his head. “Make a long story short, I took the shot and killed Qadir while he was eating at the dinner table. That was supposed to end it. He was the mastermind, they said. But what I didn’t know was that there were plenty more where he came from. Our ‘message’ backfired and emboldened the terrorist cells more than we could have realized.”
Burke stopped again, but Angela knew that it was only half of the story. For a moment, she had managed to take her mind off the horror of her predicament and listen to someone else’s story. “Then what happened?” she asked.
“About a month after, I came home from a meeting and found my family dead…” He paused and clenched his eyes shut, balling his fists. “My two boys… My wife. Throats slit and left for dead. No one was spared. Investigators called it a home invasion. Completely random. But Qadir had a brother, Samar, who was vengeful, to say the least. I was sold out, Agent Gannon. Either by someone in the German government or ours, but they got to my family to send us a message: no more hit squads.”
Burke went silent again, leaving Angela unsure what to say. “I-I don’t understand,” she said finally. “You still work for the CIA, don’t you? Why?”
Burke stared ahead as though the answer was unknown, even to him. “I had to come to grips with what happened,” he said. “Or else it would have driven me insane. Had to put myself into a job. It was the only way. I knew that the government was never going to let me stray too far. They would always be watching me. So I requested a position with the counterterrorism division, all the while looking for who had sold me out.”
“And did you find them?” Angela asked.
“Yes,” Burke said. He then opened the car door and put one boot on the sandy ground. “But that was a long time ago. The important thing to focus on now is what we can do to save your family. And I think it’s time we paid this British chap a visit.”
Angela followed him to the trunk, where he popped the lock. They heard the familiar click, and Burke lifted the lid. A trembling Omar was curled in a ball, his eyes closed, his gasps muffled, and sweat pouring down his forehead. If his breathing was a sign, he wasn’t too far from death, which worried Angela. She knew it was a bad idea to toss him in the trunk, especially with a sock stuffed in his mouth.
“Are you trying to kill him?” she asked Burke.
“Won’t matter much once we find our guy,” Burke said with a shrug.
She looked at him in a different light after his story of loss—she could even understand him in a way. One thing was certain: Burke hadn’t an ounce of sympathy for his enemies. He was hardened like steel, and though it allowed him to do his work, she hoped that she wouldn’t become like him once everything was over.
Burke grabbed Omar by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of the trunk, tossing him on the ground. Angela stepped back as a cloud of dust rose from Omar’s flailing and awkward attempts to get free. Burke cut the rope at his hands and legs and then pulled the saliva-filled sock from Omar’s mouth.
As Omar took in the fresh air with tremendous breaths, Burke stood over him with the knife, patient but ready to strike at any moment.
“This is what we’re going to do, Omar,” he began. “You take us to this man’s house, and you better hope that he’s there.”
Angela approached with her own questions. “I don’t understand why he would be home in the first place. Obviously he’s already at the compound.”
Omar remained lying on his side, barely moving beyond his chest deeply rising and falling. “He… he doesn’t live in the compound. He has a family. They-They don’t know what he does. But he can’t stay away too long, or his wife asks questions. He’s talked about this before.”
“A family man, eh?” Burke asked.
“I don’t like where this is going,” Angela said. “Maybe we should just take our chances with Omar.”
“It won’t take much to get him to help you,” Omar said. You don’t have to harm his family. Just show up and threaten to blow his cover, and he’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“What’s his name?” Burke asked, looking down.
“He calls himself Peter Graves, but that’s just an alias.”
Burke remembered the name. Peter Graves was the man who had called headquarters just before Angela’s husband was killed, claiming to be with the British Intelligence Service, and being held captive by ISIS. Angela remembered the name too.
Burke placed a boot on Omar’s side. “Sounds familiar.” Burke paused and scratched his chin. He then pushed the heel of his boot into Omar’s ribs. “What’s his real name?”
“I don’t know. I-I don’t know him that well. Only came to his house to pick some things up to take to the bunker. Canned foods. Water. Things like that.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Burke said, grinding the tip of his boot into Omar’s ribs. He then stepped over him and knelt, tracing a circle in the sand with a nearby twig. “I’m counting on you, Omar. You’re going to take us to this man’s house, and he’s going to show us where this compound is. The more the merrier.” He then grabbed the back of Omar’s collar and yanked him up, holding him with both arms to keep him steady. “Get yourself together, and get in the car.”
Omar wobbled back and forth with a pained expression on his face. “Just kill me now…” he said in a tired, faint voice.
“Not yet,” Burke said, leading him to the passenger seat. He opened the door and helped Omar get inside as Angela watched, confused, from the rear of the car. Burke closed the front door and then opened the back, taking out the weapon cases he had put there earlier. She came over to help him, and he explained further.
“You ride in the back and have your pistol out and ready. If Omar tries anything, don’t hesitate to shoot him.”
“I don’t think he’s going to do much in the state he’s in,” she replied.
Burke paused then closed the trunk. “Never underestimate your enemies, no matter how sad, feeble, or weak they appear to be. That’s rule number one.”
They got back into the car. Burke cranked the engine and backed out, ending their brief, peaceful foray into the Texas landscape. The Ford Fusion roared off, leaving the serene setting behind as they headed toward the unknown.
***
They drove for nearly an hour with little conversation, nearing El Paso more determined than ever. Against Omar’s pleas, Burke had tied his hands together again, even though he could barely move because of the pain he was in. It was as though Burke had an endless supply of nylon rope on him at all times. A news report on the radio had already detailed the “Carnage on Third Street,” but didn’t go into any more detail other than to describe the scene as a home invasion.
If the sleeper cell got wind of the report and put the pieces together, Angela feared that it would compromise their rescue mission. Burke still wanted to know how the cops had
arrived so quickly and with so much backup. They soon pulled off the highway as Omar told Burke when and where to turn in the brightly-lit town.
To Angela’s surprise, they entered a slightly upscale neighborhood with nice cars and neatly manicured lawns. It was strange enough to see a fully grown lawn in Texas, even stranger to see automatic sprinklers spraying puffs of water beyond the small, glimmering yard lights.
“You sure this is the place?” Burke asked Omar.
He drove the residential area’s speed limit, not going over thirty and slowing at every speed bump along the way. Vehicles of all shapes in sizes lined both sides of the quaint, nicely paved road ahead. They passed so many stop signs and turns it nearly felt as if they were going in circles.
“So this guy has money?” Burke asked.
“Yes,” Omar answered under his breath. “Asgar likes him because he is resourceful.”
“What does he do besides helping terrorists?” Burke asked.
“Not sure,” Omar answered. “Hedge funds. Something like that.”
Angela leaned forward, slightly confused. The man hardly sounded like the ideal ISIS recruit—young, impressionable, and fanatic. “How did they find him?” she asked Omar.
Omar turned slightly to answer. “They didn’t. He found them.”
Angela paused, nodding, then hit Omar with the most personal question he had been asked yet. “Why did you join ISIS?”
Omar turned his head and sighed, staring out the window. “Because I believe this country is evil and needs to be stopped. It is my duty to do so.”
Angela stammered, nearly beside herself. “But what ISIS does is the definition of evil. All the torture and brutality and mass murder, for what? Nothing.”
Omar remained calm and steadfast. “All that matters is how we appear in the eyes of Allah. Your country started this war. We are just trying to end it.”
