“What the hell you say?”
“Ram! Ram to your right!”
With the level of adrenaline flowing with the roaring of gunfire, it was almost hard to hear or concentrate. The agent rammed into the Benz hard, causing it to slam into the bridge wall and erupt into flames on impact, engulfing King Jose in flames.
The other agents were shooting at the engine blocks of the Hummers as well as the tires, causing them to swerve recklessly and flip over the bridge wall into the Susquehanna River.
“Radio check, everyone still a go?” the lead agent questioned.
They all chimed back in: “All here, sir. Package still in tow.”
The lead agent radioed in for chopper assistance and backup. But before he was able to finish, Turnpike Tito and his men showed up, boasting 9mm Uzis mounted on the sides of their motorcycles. All of his men fired on the trucks as they raced over the I-83 bridge. They rammed their trucks into the motorcycles while at the same time firing on each one and taking them out with head and body shots.
“Muthafucka, I got hit!” Tommy yelled out, feeling the hot metal burning his flesh.
Just as he was sitting up, the window shattered and exposed the passengers. Now they knew what truck he was in. The lead truck now had a dead agent who caught slugs to the face and neck, so this transit became hostile. All of the agents were feeling the urgency for backup. This was beyond any of their training and previous transits.
The agents narrowed down the shooters on the bikes to two, and the last two were still persistent, coming in fast and hard while shooting at the trucks.
“They’re coming up on your left!” the agent in the back vehicle radioed to the agents with Tommy Guns in the truck.
Just as the bikes got close, the Suburban abruptly swerved hard and forced the bikes to crash into one another, causing them to both flip into the air high and slam down onto the concrete at a speed of one hundred-plus miles an hour. They were instantly killed as their bones broke and punctured their hearts and lung.
Turnpike Tito was driving fast with his silver .45mm automatic in hand with a pearl handle firing off at the truck that Tommy was in, trying to flatten the tires but not kill him. If anything, he would help Tommy escape, so he could get his money and/or product. Just as Tito was closing in, the agent switched lanes as the other agent’s truck slowed down and forced Tito into a position, giving the agent a clear line of fire. Two center mass shots were fired into Tito’s chest, killing him instantly and causing his body to become limp. His car went out of control as it crashed on the side of the highway.
Suddenly, the red Suburban exploded and flipped into the air as an RPG fired from a white cargo van with the Arab men in it. It was Amir’s men chasing behind them, trying to finish what the others could not.
Agents in the remaining trucks returned fire upon seeing their fellow agents killed. At the same time, they were calling for backup. By now they didn’t need to call. Many vehicles that witnessed this onslaught of gunfire had already called 911.
“Agent Davis, I’m in the sky. I see your convoy,” the agent in the chopper said, now having eyes on their fellow agents. “Eyes open, the men in the van just took out another RPG. Don’t let him get that shot off!” the agent said to his sniper in the chopper.
The sniper took aim at the Arab who was preparing to fire the RPG. He calmed his breathing finger on the trigger and waited for the helicopter to slow and steady, and then it happened. He squeezed the trigger, unleashing the 50-caliber slug that raced through the air and slammed violently into the Arab’s skull, turning his brains, bones, and flesh into a pinkish mist as the life escaped him. However, it didn’t take long before another Arab popped into the window and took hold of the RPG, firing it off and hitting the truck closest to it. It flipped into the air, only to erupt and crash back down to the ground with brute force, killing the agents inside. Tommy Guns and the agents in the remaining trucks feared the worst, knowing they too could be next.
Tommy also knew that it was them muthafuckas from the warehouse who were thinking that he and his cousins had seen something. But it was pure coincidence being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The sniper fired off two back-to-back rounds, piercing the side of the van’s passenger door and the head of the shooter, killing him instantly.
“That should be it with the RPG. I don’t see anyone else attempting to grab at it,” the sniper said, still taking aim while looking through his scope.
On the other hand, Amir was still being persistent wanting Tommy Guns dead. So, he mashed the gas of the Brabus 65AMG and made the V-12 engine accelerate the Benz as he demanded the remaining driver in the van to crash into the trucks. The driver did just that, only to be met with death as the melting barrage of bullets took hold of his flesh and sucked the life from his body.
Upon seeing this, Amir began firing off rounds from his weapon before pressing the pedal to the floor and taking the Brabus to an easy 150 MPH, gliding past the FBI agents on the ground but not the chopper.
After a few minutes into his high-speed flight, he realized he wasn’t going anywhere with the roadblocks and chopper assisting in his capture. He brought his car to a slow halt before stopping.
“Allah u Akbar!” he said, after placing the gear in park.
He then checked the clip of his weapon and saw that he was being surrounded fast as cars blocked him in and agents jumped out of their cars to surround him with their guns drawn, ready to take him out if he made any sudden moves.
“Let me see your hands! Put your hands up!” agents yelled out.
He ignored them and looked ahead, thinking about his next move to get their attention.
The news choppers were now present filming the event as it unfolded, knowing it was about to get heated.
Mohamad was alerted by Rakman, who was now disappointed with the outcome of the situation. He asked his cousin to take care of it. He was looking on at the news as everyone else saw his cousin exiting the car with his weapon in hand.
“Put the gun down! Drop it, asshole, or you won’t see tomorrow!” the adrenaline-pumped agent yelled with his finger pressing up against the trigger, ready to take this son of a bitch out.
To their surprise, Amir immediately placed the gun to his own head. Rakman was at home coaching his cousin on as if he could hear him through the television.
“Do it in the name of Allah. I will see you in paradise. Allah u Akbar,” Rakman said while staring deep into the TV and watching his cousin’s every move.
Suddenly Amir yelled out, “Allah u Akbar! His will, will be done!”
He shifted his gun toward the agents, hoping to die by the gun. The agent he pointed at fired off two rounds. One slammed into the right shoulder of the hand in which he was holding the gun. The other slug hit him in the left thigh. The two slugs dropped him and the gun, giving the surrounding agents enough time to rush in kicking the .45mm away from him.
“That was real stupid to try something like that!” the agent said, flipping him over and cuffing him.
Rakman was pissed his cousin didn’t kill himself. This only meant more problems. Tommy was still alive, and now his cousin was going to jail. As Rakman turned off the television, he knew that something had to be done.
Rakman’s plans were now altered since his cousin was a big part of the process. He needed to think fast. He would use Amir’s capture as leverage.
The agents sought medical attention for Tommy Guns and Amir before hauling them off to jail. Tommy knew that it was over with Tito and Jose, or so he hoped. As for these Arab muthafuckas, they were relentless. Who knew what they would do next to take his life or anyone’s around him.
CHAPTER 19
LATER THAT EVENING, TOMMY Guns found himself at York County Prison. It was a change of prisons since the convoy was attacked earlier. The FBI knew someone from the Dauphin County Prison was responsible for leaking the travel times and route to the Cumberland County Prison, so they made sure to send agents to
the prison ASAP because this leak cost lives and jeopardized many more.
As agents sought questions over in Dauphin County, Federal agents hovered over Amir Hussein at the FBI Headquarters in Harrisburg. At the same time, Tommy Guns was being interrogated at York County by agents.
~ ~ ~
“Mr. Anderson, who the fuck were those guys that tried to break you out?” the agent asked, staring him me. I knew who the men were, but it wasn’t my place to say a word. “You think your silence is going to save you from death row? We lost agents here!”
“You really think they were trying to break me out? I guess you didn’t take notice of the bullet in my arm?” I said sarcastically.
“You may be right about Amir Hussein. His crew came hard as if they wanted you erased from this earth,” Agent Johnson said.
His attention shifted upon seeing another agent pop his head into the room.
“Johnson.”
“Yes, sir, Agent Smith,” he responded while making his way over to the door.
The two agents whispered over by the door briefly before Agent Johnson made his way back over to me.
“It’s crazy about the two guys in the fancy cars. We had their tags run. The Miami guy’s a bigwig, from what our Florida agents tell us. His name was Tito Alverez, a.k.a. Turnpike Tito. They could never get close to him down there, but karma has its own plans. He came to us to meet his demise,” Agent Johnson said, looking into my face while searching for telltale signs.
“As for the other guy, he was Jose Rodriguez aka King Jose from New York. You must have really pissed these two men off, or you’re in debt to them? So now with their deaths, you inherit their riches?” he added with a smirk.
This fucking agent was relentless in thinking he knew what the fuck was going on. I didn’t give a fuck! I just gave a sadistic smirk. Besides, the money was in a safe place.
“You’ll never get a chance to spend it! You’ll fry on death row for the murder of Detective Corrnick. I’ll make sure you get charged with the other agents’ deaths too, you piece of shit!”
“Johnson! I know we lost men, but you’re going off track, don’t you think?” Agent Smith asked, bringing his co-worker back to the reason they were there. Before anyone could get in another word, an agent entered the room with a folder in his hand and more information about what was going on.
“Gentlemen, we have a bigger problem at hand. Amir Hussein is a member of Al-Qaeda. He’s also in association with the Islamic Jihad Organization, IJO, a group of men who conduct terrorist operations around the world.”
“This guy should have been on the CIA’s watch list or ours, but he managed to stay under the radar,” Agent Smith said.
“Our agents have him at headquarters interrogating him now, but he’s trying to lawyer up and chanting ‘Allah u Akbar,’” Agent Michaels said.
He was preparing to leave the room, when he added, “Figure out the connection between these men. Something is just not sitting right with this.”
He then handed them the folder with pictures in it. The agents came back over to where I sat and placed the pictures on the table. The pictures were of Amir in the States as well as pictures of him in Saudi Arabia. They had all been taken by the CIA.
“I don’t know this muthafucka other than seeing him today trying to take all of us out,” I responded, lying through my teeth because I had seen him and his cousin two times before. It was their cars that stood out to me.
“From our profile on this guy, he is the total opposite of the other two that tried taking us out today. My mind is telling me that you know this guy somehow or some way,” Agent Johnson said, not trusting me at all.
“Think what you want. I don’t have anything to say,” I responded, crossing my arms and becoming closed off to any other questions.
I knew the code of the streets. More importantly, what’s done was done. Nothing that happened could be changed from this point.
CHAPTER 20
RAKMAN WAS SETTING PLAN C in motion after all of the chaos that went on, including his cousin now being in jail. He ordered the first of the cargo vans that were parked by the governor’s mansion to be armed with explosives. They would await confirmation to detonate them. He also reached out to his soldiers in Middletown, PA, where the Three Mile Island nuclear plant is located. He placed them on standby as well. The final hour was nearing. He needed this to take place without any more errors or problems.
Rakman’s goal was to get America’s attention via the city of Harrisburg because the city of Washington, DC, would be off limits and hard to get to since the 9-11 incident. It would be next to impossible to secure any buildings in DC, so the next best location and targets were those he chose thus far, including TMI, because the structure alone would explode and spread far and wide, reaching DC anyway. Having these explosives in position gave him the strategic power he needed, and the most powerful asset is the element of surprise.
Rakman and his associates prepared to leave their current location to a more secure destination. He needed to be on the move anyway just in case the FBI started connecting the dots between him and his cousin. It would not take long once they ran his tags on his car, and then his name to known associates and family.
He was in an all-black cargo van with tinted windows to conceal him and his passengers.
“Allah will see us through this. Just stay focused,” Rakman said to the men in the van. “Allah is the most merciful.”
As Rakman continued giving his men pep, the FBI still were questioning Amir.
“What is the reason you were trying to kill all of my agents in that convoy?” the agent questioned. “What is your plan? Is there something else going on we need to know about?”
Amir was looking back at the agents in the room.
“You Americans don’t understand anything. Your laws are for the white Americans only to live at ease. This is not justice, and this is why people terrorize this country and other countries like it. Your country always wants war. The president and men behind him are greedy men. They want power and control over oil that is not even in this country as if it is their right to impose on.”
The agents were looking on at Amir sensing that something big was about to take place. It was his words and body language that indicated to the agents that he was feeling the upper hand when he was the one being interrogated.
“What do you mean by your statement?” the agent questioned, but to no avail.
“Allah will be the final judge of this. Allah u Akbar.”
The agents were feeling like no resolve was coming their way, so they shifted their questioning.
“Mr. Hussein, why is it you tried to kill our inmate in transit?”
“Because he is nosey like the rest of you Americans.”
Amir and Rakman did not realize that Tommy did not see anything. It was simply bad timing.
Amir suddenly snapped, “No one can stop us! No one will be able to prevent what is to come! Allah u Akbar!”
His tone of voice brought alarm to the agents in the room. They knew something was going to happen, but what? The agents knew they had to take the next step in reaching out to their superiors.
~ ~ ~
At 11:30 p.m., the director of the FBI, Jack Ross, was at home asleep with his wife’s warm body lying next to him, when his cell phone sounded off. The sound of a phone ringing at this hour was cause for alarm. He felt something was wrong as he turned to see the time on the clock. It was now 11:31 p.m. Jack was a forty-seven-year-old white male who stood six-foot-tall, with a medium build of two hundred pounds, and brown eyes. He lived in Maryland since it is close to Washington, DC.
“Jack Ross here.”
“Sir, this is Agent Davis out of the Harrisburg, PA, office. We have a serious situation, sir,” he said with urgency in his voice.
Upon hearing this, Jack sat up in his bed and then reached over to turn on the nightlight.
“What’s the problem?” he asked, already dreading the answer.<
br />
“Sir, we have a man in custody by the name of Amir Hussein. He’s a known IJO member with ties to Al-Qaeda. He was picked up today because of multiple attempts to kill someone we had in transit.”
“Yes, I saw that on CNN. So, what’s his story?”
“He indicated that there is something big that’s going to happen soon, and we can’t stop it. He spoke about DC and our president, which is what prompted this call.”
“You did right. We don’t need another 9-11!” Jack said as he stepped out of his bed knowing sleep would have to wait. “I take it we officially have a full-out terror plot on our hands?”
“Yes, sir. These men are heavily equipped, because in their attempt to take out our transit, they used RPGs. You can’t just buy that over the counter.”
“If this is the real deal, then a lot of people are about to get woken up. If anything, else takes place, I want to know about it,” Agent Ross said, ending the call and knowing that vital calls now needed to be made.
At 11:40 p.m. Jack Ross did as he said he would and began making calls to people in DC. He was on the phone with the lead secret service agent and informed him of the call that he just had with his agent.
The call didn’t last long because the other agencies needed to be informed. The Secret Service moved through the White House informing the president and first lady. It didn’t take long before they decided to evacuate to a secured location.
Other high-ranking members in the government in DC were also informed of the high alert but were told to stay calm.
At midnight Jack Ross made a call to Governor Rendell of Pennsylvania, who was at home in the governor’s mansion located on 2nd and Maclay Streets, in Harrisburg.
“Hello.”
“Governor Rendell, this is director Jack Ross with the FBI.”
“What gives me the pleasure to be awakened at this hour of the night?”
“Sir, we have a high-level terror threat that was made by a man who is in FBI custody in our Harrisburg office,” Jack said, explaining to him the same details that were told to him.
All Eyez on Gunz Page 8
