Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

  He didn’t know about the car bombings in Texas or the mosque shooting the day before. Angela had to quickly get him up to speed despite the initial shock it caused him. From the start, he was skeptical that they could do anything to stop further attacks. As Burke had argued before, Martinez believed self-preservation to be their best plan of action. But Angela was confident that he could be convinced otherwise, just as Burke had been.

  “I mean, look at me. I can barely walk. What are you proposing that we do?” Martinez said.

  “We need to find Asgar and put a bullet in him,” Burke said. “That’d be my first suggestion.”

  Angela slid a file across to Martinez, asking him to take a look. She didn’t go into detail about how they got the documents other than to say they were recovered in a raid. His eyes stopped once he got to the detailed plan of the nuclear plant strike.

  “Asgar has pushed up the attacks. They weren’t originally supposed to happen until two weeks from now,” Angela said.

  “After the raid, he got worried,” Burke added. “A number of his militants have been killed. His circle of support is dwindling. All he has left now are these attacks.”

  Martinez studied the document, silent. The Arabic writing said everything. The nuclear power plant attack was imminent.

  “And who knows,” Burke said. “He could push it up sooner than that.”

  Martinez looked up from the documents, his bruised face pale and troubled. “I want to stop these terrorists as much as anyone else, but I don’t understand it. Why not take this higher up?” He motioned to Burke. “Get the CIA involved. Hell, put it on the president’s desk. This isn’t our responsibility. You’re talking about finding Asgar? He could be anywhere right now. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Angela and Burke glanced at each other from the opposite side of the table. She felt that she couldn’t keep Martinez in the dark much longer. To win his support, it was time for full disclosure.

  “Special Agent Burke and I… we’re off the grid. Sort of like you were. My family… my husband and girls, were kidnapped by Asgar’s men.” She suddenly lowered her head and covered her eyes. “They killed Doug.”

  Martinez’s eyes widened with shock. “What?” he shouted. “Oh my God, Angela. Are you serious?”

  “Yes…” she said, raising her head and exposing a face wet with tears.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t-I don’t know what to say.”

  Angela touched Burke’s arm, startling him. “Special Agent Burke helped me rescue my daughters. He’s the only reason they are here today. We went in alone, just as you had done in that other terrorist hideout, and killed every man in our way.”

  Martinez reeled back in his vinyl seat. He had gone nearly ghost white and didn’t look able to say a word.

  “Now we’re considered persons of interest by the government,” Burke added. “Our own government.”

  “I told Chief Drake about the attacks. He doesn’t know anything of what we’ve done. But he did tell me that the FBI is looking for us.”

  Martinez snapped out of his state of shock and leaned forward. “It’s simple. Deploy the National Guard to every nuclear power station in the country. Tell them to do that now.”

  “The governor already issued a state of emergency in Texas. He also declared martial law,” Burke said. “Has that managed to stop a damn thing?”

  Martinez went silent again, thinking to himself. He nodded and stroked the stubble on his cheeks with one hand.

  “It’s up to us,” Angela said. “We can find Asgar. We can stop this thing.”

  “We found you,” Burke said.

  Martinez looked up, unamused. His raised his good arm in protest. “I can barely process all this shit as it is. And I still don’t know what you want from me.”

  Angela leaned in closer as patrons shuffled out of the café. The waitress looked over at them, prepared to remind them of the closing time.

  “I need you to get hold of the Outlaws. Every last one of them. They know you and trust you. And we need their help on this.”

  Martinez shook his head. “Easier said than done.”

  “We have to try,” Angela said. “With their help we can bring Asgar out of hiding and stop this next attack from happening.”

  Martinez shook his head, clearly conflicted. “This is a real long shot, Agent Gannon. I don’t trust the FBI either, but they should at least be made aware of this. I know you said they are already aware, but tell them again. You were right about the attacks yesterday. They might be more willing to believe you this time. And what happens if we fail?”

  Burke cleared his throat and folded his hands together, staring Martinez directly in the eye. “We fail this mission, and the entire state of Texas is finished.”

  Doomsday Prelude

  A semi-derelict three-story warehouse outside Wichita Falls, Texas, now operated as one of the few hideouts Salah Asgar had left. The wide concrete structure had several windows on each floor, many of them without glass and covered with black tarp inside, concealing any activity going on.

  A chain-link fence surrounded the stained and faded warehouse walls, which had three parallel lines of rusty barbed wire running along its top. Construction signs were posted amid bundles of lengthy steel beams, stacks of cinder blocks, and piles of dry-cement bags.

  The warehouse had the façade of an off-limits site undergoing extensive renovation. The construction company, McGrath, Inc., was a front, but it looked legitimate enough to the casual eye. Foreign interest with deep pockets from overseas had purchased the property for the express purpose of aiding the ISIS sleeper cells in their conquest. There were many parties invested in the outcome, eagerly waiting for Asgar to deliver a fatal blow to the financial superpower that was the United States.

  No Trespassing and Caution signs hung from the fence surrounding the warehouse, old and rusty. Asgar had only utilized the building a few times in the past months, but with their next attack nearing, he wanted to be strategically positioned to direct further attacks against the enemy.

  His travel from safe house to safe house had been hasty. He arrived under intense circumstances at the old textile plant, where several of his men were waiting. They had all been urgently summoned to the warehouse with the same message: It is time for you to fulfill your duties.

  The warehouse was one hundred and fifty miles from Dallas. Terrorist strike-teams had already been deployed to their next targets, armed and ready to initiate the next phase in their deadly caliphate. Asgar wasn’t prepared to accept anything less than maximum casualties and destruction. And he was more determined than ever to ensure that it would happen.

  Unassuming vehicles filled the outside parking lot—trucks, sedans, cars, all American manufactured. Nearly everyone had arrived. Concealed gunmen acted as lookouts from the roof of the warehouse, scanning the surrounding forest with binoculars. They communicated through two-way radio and periodically provided updates to Asgar’s guards inside. So far, their gathering hadn’t warranted the attention of local authorities. The warehouse was conveniently located in an isolated area far down a dirt road where few residents ever ventured. There was no better place for the sleeper cell to rally.

  Their greatest concern, however, was aerial surveillance. Drones, helicopters, and fighter jets posed a considerable risk to their operations no matter where they met. Seven of their hideouts had been obliterated by secret drone strikes the day prior. The government was closing in, but Asgar was confident that the inconspicuous factory was a safe place to meet at. At least for a while.

  He had an insider at the Pentagon who had earlier informed them of the president’s directive to carry out the drone strikes. With this information they quickly evacuated any locations targeted. By now, they had only a few safe places left, but with any luck, the entire state of Texas would be reduced to ashes, just as their decimated hideouts had been. They were, however, balancing on the wire.

  The governor had issued a state of emergency
. Authorities were conducting a massive manhunt for all sleeper cell operatives. So far, they had only captured the driver of the failed vehicle-bombing plot in Austin. Hakeem should never have allowed himself to get caught. And Asgar was determined to ensure that not one more man would find himself in the arms of the authorities.

  The National Guard had been deployed to federal buildings, transportation centers, and utilities. Schools were closed. Air travel was shut down. Stadiums were closed and major events canceled. It was harder than ever to move freely around the state, and Asgar believed it was only a matter of time before they government discovered their warehouse. Texas officials had deployed every necessary resource to keep the terrorists at bay, or so it seemed.

  That would all change soon enough.

  Asgar gathered many of his top lieutenants in a darkened room of cracked concrete walls and cobwebs, where they formed a circle over a table filled with blueprints, photos, and maps. A hanging light, swaying slowly like a pendulum, illuminated the table. There were ten men in all, including Asgar in the center, slowly scratching his thin, graying beard as Bosra stood in the corner of the room, silently watching the proceedings before him, as always.

  Their collective anticipation was unlike any previous meeting between the lieutenants. As he spoke, Asgar commanded their attention and quiet restraint. What ISIS had managed to accomplish under his steadfast leadership, for them, was nothing short of miraculous. Most of them were in their late thirties, older than the younger recruits. They had raised funds, recruited jihadists, and helped establish safe houses for their operations. And they were confident that Asgar was a man true to his word. The Americans would pay.

  Asgar’s robed arm extended to the center of the table where a typed list lay, printed in Arabic, near a large, leather-bound Quran.

  “We have done well so far, my brothers. Several of our brothers have clogged the FBI hotline with bomb threats made against malls, parks, schools, stadiums, bus stations, and everything else you can imagine. You’ll see many of these locations listed here.”

  He paused and held up the list for the men to see. Then he set it down and continued.

  “I paid Farid a visit at his home earlier. He has been overseeing the hacking of government social media accounts, from the pentagon to the CIA, flooding them with a bombardment of potential targets.”

  He reached down, his beaming, slightly wrinkled face, marked by the folds of his smile. He held up another piece of paper written in Arabic.

  “This is our official target list that Farid helped me leak to the media. The media, useful as always, believe it to be genuine and have already published the targets on their news sites, but we will not attack a single one of these places. No, my brothers, we have something much larger in mind.”

  Asgar was met with smiles from all the clean-cut men around him, who had changed from their westernized attire of polo shirts and slacks to the green-camouflage-patterned fatigues of an ISIS jihadist. The message was clear: they were ready to deliver the fatal blow against the enemy.

  Asgar continued in his booming oratory voice. “Less than two percent of the Texas population works for law enforcement or the armed forces. We have them spread so thin that our plan is now ripe for attack. And attack we will.”

  From the corner of the room, Bosra eyed the group, seemingly indifferent to the proceedings. Outside, men could be heard calling to each other as they moved crates and loaded ammo into their rifle magazines. The sleeper cell was working at a rapid pace, fueled by sense of duty to the cause.

  Asgar waved his hand over the blueprints below. “None of you is surprised to hear that we’ve been studying the Dallas nuclear power plant for some time now. The FBI obviously considers such places hot targets for terror attack. It should come as no surprise that every water, gas, or utility structure will be under maximum protection. It’s not going to be easy.”

  Asgar paused as the men looked to him waiting to hear the solution. The very idea of going near such a sensitive target during a state of emergency seemed insane. Asgar believed he could convince them otherwise.

  “We will move at this target and seize it with several of our most highly trained jihadists. Every single one of them understands that they are not coming back. All they have to do is get inside the plant. We know exactly where to place the explosives. We know how much is needed to rupture the cores. Upon impact, the explosion will release enough radioactive particles into the air to wipe them out everything for hundreds of miles. But we will be long gone by then, brothers. I can assure you.”

  From the other side of the table, Tarik, a tall, slender man with scarred hands and bad teeth, interjected a note of concern. “And what happens if they do not reach the target? What happens, my leader, if they fail?”

  Asgar seemed to revel in the query. He clasped his hands together, and rather than being angry at one of his lieutenants expressing doubt, he seemed taken with the question.

  “I’m glad you brought that up, Tarik,” he said with a smile. “That brings me to the next step in our plan. Please,” he said, motioning to the door, “follow me.”

  Bosra moved to the door and opened it, and the men shuffled out, with Asgar leading. Outside the room was a large open bay, with men moving around in a hurry, carrying weapons and gas masks to a line of parked vans outside a loading dock. In the middle of the bay was a large and unmistakable five-ton military cargo truck. The cargo bed was completely covered with green tarp over the frame, and the truck itself looked like a model from the 1980s.

  The lieutenants had seen the truck before but hadn’t been filled in on any details. Asgar casually strolled to its back end and signaled Bosra to open the tailgate. “Gentlemen, once you see this, all your concerns will be put to rest”

  Bosra pulled the bolts on both sides of the tailgate and lowered it gently against the truck. From eye level, the men peered inside, curious, but could only see darkness. Asgar pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and shined it inside.

  “I have full confidence in our brothers to complete their mission. With Allah’s guidance they will hit their target.” Asgar paused and raised a stern finger. “But if, by chance, the Americans stop them, we will detonate this beautiful thousand-pound nuclear bomb.” Their eyes widened as Asgar pulled a remote device from his robe pocket. “And I possess the device that not only arms the bomb, but will detonate it in a matter of minutes.”

  The men stood speechless as the younger jihadists continued their hasty preparation for war.

  “But… Salah,” Tarik said, standing before the truck, and realizing the enormity of the power that was in their hands. “You didn’t tell us you were in possession of a bomb.” He paused, beside himself. “Where did you get something like this?”

  Asgar placed the remote device back in his pocket. “Patiently… and very carefully. The southern border is wide open, my brothers, and I have taken full advantage of this.”

  “Why not just use this device and end this now?” asked Wasim, a shaggy-haired and muscular Middle Eastern man with a tidy mustache. “That way our men don’t have to sacrifice their lives as the—”

  Asgar quickly cut him off. “Because we will never have the opportunity to use this weapon again. It is for one time only. We must save it, if we can, for the best possible use.” A note of frustration had crept into his voice. “Do you know how long it took to secure its transport? How much money it cost? How many of our brothers worked and sacrificed to provide this? We don’t simply detonate the bomb just because we have it. Texas is only the beginning. Do you understand?”

  Wasim looked down with a sheepish nod. “Yes, my leader.”

  “Good.” Asgar turned to the others. “I see you eyeing the remote device in my pocket. I want to remind you that it is no good to any of you. For, you see, I’m the only one who has the knowledge of its code.”

  Takir put his arms out with a nervous laugh. “Salah! You’re not suggesting that any of us would…”

  “Jus
t don’t forget who has the control here,” Asgar said, eyes piercing. “Now we have a lot more to do, so let’s get to work!” He slapped his hands together as Bosra lifted the squeaky tailgate and locked it shut.

  The lieutenants dispersed throughout the busy bay. They moved with a purpose as the younger jihadists continued loading equipment. They were all men dedicated to a singular cause—away from their families and fueled by desire of victory against an impervious enemy. They were prepared to change history forever and bring about the dawn of a new age of jihad—an age of mass slaughter against the Americans.

  ***

  Burke’s black Ford Fusion raced across Interstate 20, with one hundred miles left to reach Dallas. They had passed several National Guard checkpoints that slowed traffic to an unimaginable degree on the otherwise open stretch of road. What they had so far experienced driving east, however, paled in comparison to the westbound traffic. People were evacuating the state in droves. The numerous terror warnings had the population on edge and hundreds of thousands of people fearing for their lives in the wake of the festival bombings.

  Rather than evacuating like so many on the opposite side of the interstate, Angela, Burke, and Martinez were headed straight into the heart of danger. Their only hope was that they’d get to the power plant in time. Imminent risk surrounded them at every turn. Though Angela and Burke were apparently on the FBI’s radar, they hadn’t warranted any notice at the checkpoints, and were waved through by National Guard soldiers—many of them young and seemingly overwhelmed by all the activity.

  They had a tremendous task ahead of them, with no guaranteed outcome of success. In any other circumstance, Angela would flee from danger, out of concern for her family. But the attacks, she believed, wouldn’t stop with any particular city or state. They had to face ISIS head-on, or the threat would follow them wherever they relocated. Part of her, however, wanted justice for Doug. Perhaps more than any other reason.