Storm Clouds Rising: A Chuck McCain Novel

by David Spell

  “I asked not to be disturbed and I have a very important meeting in just a few minutes.”

  “I understand but this’ll just take a second, I promise.”

  A moment later, the door opened a few inches. Erin Knight tried to focus on her bodyguard but the vodka and the Xanax had taken its toll on the actress.

  “What is it, Gino?” she asked, angrily.

  “Hey, Ms. Knight, this is Marie,” he said, pointing at Jennifer, “and she’s one of your biggest fans. She’s down here on business and was just hoping to say ‘Hi’ and get a quick picture with you. That’s all.”

  Gino was not a multi-tasker and never heard the approach of the two men from his blind side while he was focusing on Erin. The door opened wider as the movie star glanced at the smiling young woman. Knight never wanted to disappoint a fan, so she plastered a fake smile on her face.

  “Okay, but it has to be real quick because I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Knight. I’ve got my cell phone right here,” Jennifer said, drawing the taser and stepping into the open door.

  The bodyguard caught movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled around to see a black man and a Hispanic man moving in his direction. The black guy pointed something at him. Before he could react, there was a popping sound and Gino collapsed to the floor, grunting loudly.

  Erin saw her bodyguard fall but was having trouble processing what was happening. The girl was pointing something at her but instead of shooting her, the little blonde stepped in close and hit her with a ridge hand on the side of the actress’s neck, knocking her out cold, and sending her to the floor.

  Hollywood quickly zip-tied Gino’s hands behind him and slapped a pieced of duct tape over his mouth. They pulled him into Erin’s room, shutting the door behind them. The goon and the movie star were dragged out of sight into the bedroom of the suite.

  “Alpha Three to Alpha One,” Jones called Clark.

  “Go ahead, Alpha Three, we’re watching on video. Good work. Bonilla’s on the elevator and should be right there.”

  “Alpha Three clear.”

  Two minutes later, there was a knock letting them know that Bonilla had arrived. Jennifer unbuttoned another button on her blouse as she pulled opened the door. The stocky policeman looked confused as his eyes took in the unfamiliar, but beautiful young blonde in the doorway. He glanced at the number on the door, checking to see if he was at the right room.

  “Colonel Bonilla? Please come in,” Hughes said, in perfect Spanish. “I’m Ms. Knight’s assistant and she’ll be right out.”

  At the mention of Erin’s name, Bonilla visibly relaxed, his face breaking into a smile.

  “Si, Colonel Ramon Bonilla, of the Honduran Federal Police, at your disposal, Señorita,” he greeted her, entering the room, and kissing Jennifer’s right hand.

  Jen’s left hand pressed the taser, minus the cartridge against the cop’s neck and pulled the trigger. Without the cartridge, the taser operated like a traditional stun gun, sending a powerful electrical charge into the colonel, rendering him unconscious, dropping him face first to the floor. He was also zip-tied and his mouth covered with duct tape.

  The three CIA agents hurriedly went to work. They all donned rubber gloves as they removed bags of cocaine, heroin, and US currency from their backpacks. They placed Bonilla’s, Knight’s, and Rafanelli’s hands on the plastic bags, leaving their fingerprints and DNA behind.

  “Why didn’t you taze her?” Jimmy asked Jennifer as they worked.

  “I could see that she was wasted. I figured I’d save my cartridge in case Vinnie decided to surprise us.”

  Jones nodded appreciatively. “Good job. You sure put her to sleep.”

  Hollywood dug through Gino’s pockets until he found his room key. He also removed the bodyguard’s Sig Sauer 9mm pistol from the holster on his belt, handing it to Jimmy. The thug stared wide-eyed at his captors as Jennifer calmly pointed her small Glock at his head. Erin was face down on the bed, conscious but still dazed from the strike to her carotid artery. Estrada knelt beside Bonilla and removed the policeman’s 9mm Taurus pistol from the shoulder holster.

  “Alpha Three to Alpha One,” Jones called Clark. “We’re about to finish this up. Anything moving in the hallway and is our boy Vinnie still snoozing?”

  “Alpha One to Alpha Three, the hallway is clear and affirmative on Vinnie. He hasn’t moved.”

  “Alpha Three clear.”

  “Hollywood, you got this?” Jimmy asked his partner.

  “Easy, I’ll be right back.”

  Estrada used the sliding bolt to hold Knight’s door open. Gino’s key let him into the room next door where snoring sounds filled the air. He walked softly over to where the bodyguard lay sleeping, grabbing a pillow off of the other bed. Vinnie stirred and started to roll over.

  “It can’t be my turn already,” Vinnie mumbled.

  Hollywood quickly shoved the pillow against the goon’s head and fired two shots from the colonel’s Taurus, the pillow muffling most of the sound. After confirming that Vinnie was dead, Estrada removed another bag of cocaine from his backpack, placed the dead man’s fingerprints on it, and left it on the bedside table.

  Back in Erin’s room, the team moved with precision and few words, having already discussed how this would be handled. Gino was first as Jimmy and Hollywood dragged him back into the living room area of the suite. They pulled him to his feet, the muscular bodyguard’s body tensing as he prepared to try and escape.

  Estrada shot him twice in the chest with Colonel Bonilla’s pistol. Gino look surprised, unable to cry out because of the duct tape. After a second, the thug crumpled to the floor next to the couch, blood pumping out of the fatal wounds.

  The police officer attempted to slide backwards towards to the front door, his eyes wide with fear after just watching the bodyguard get executed right in front of him. Hollywood jerked the dirty cop to his feet, but Bonilla tried to kick him as he pulled away. Jimmy fired three shots from Gino’s Sig into the colonel’s back, sending him to the floor near the front door. He groaned for a few seconds and then went quiet.

  The sound of the shots had cleared Erin’s head and she tried to scream through the duct tape as she rolled off the bed, landing hard on the floor, knocking the air out of her lungs. Jimmy and Jennifer dragged her out to the living room. A padded chair was turned around behind where Gino lay dead. Erin was pushed backwards into the chair, her wide-open eyes staring at the intruders. Hollywood raised the police officer’s gun and shot the actress-turned-human-trafficker once in the chest and again in the face, her million dollar smile vanishing as she died, blood pouring out of her wounds, down her chest, the chair, and onto the floor.

  The team quickly went back to work cleaning up and creating the crime scene that they wanted the police to find. The zip cuffs and duct tape were removed and put into their backpacks. The bags of drugs and money were tossed onto the coffee table in the center of the room near the bodies of Erin and Gino. Bonilla’s pistol was placed in his hand and the bodyguard’s gun was placed next to Gino’s right hand after pressing his fingerprints onto it. They were careful to watch where they stepped, not wanting to get any blood on their shoes.

  Hollywood and Jennifer removed the cameras they had hidden in the movie star’s room as Jimmy walked through the scene making sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. Bonilla’s cell phone began ringing, its owner unable to hear it.

  “Alpha Two to all units,” Ricardo’s voice came over their earpieces. “The colonel’s driver is heading into the hotel, holding his phone to his ear.”

  “Alpha Three clear. Bonilla’s phone is ringing so he’s probably trying to call him. We’re almost finished.”

  “You guys done?” Jimmy asked his teammates. “We need to get moving.”

  “We’re good,” Hollywood answered.

  “Alpha One to all units, our buddy is waiting for the elevator,” Clark updated the team. “Gabby shut
it down to give you guys a few more minutes.”

  Two minutes later, Jennifer paused to put the ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the door and they rushed out, heading for the stairs. They were just about to push the door open when Estrada stopped.

  “The cameras in Gino and Vinnie’s room! I forgot them.”

  “We’ve got to have ‘em!” Jimmy said. “We’ll wait here and cover you. Hurry!”

  The agent ran down the hallway, thankful that he had held onto Gino’s keycard. He let himself back into the room, quickly removing one of the cameras from the lamp in the corner.

  “Alpha One to all units. The driver’s taking the stairs.”

  Estrada swore out loud, grabbed a chair, hopped up on it, and pulled the micro camera from the light fixture. He jumped down, quickly brushed the chair with his hand to remove his shoe prints, pushed the chair back under the desk, and hurried out of the room. Hollywood ran back to the stairwell and the three agents rushed down one flight of stairs. As they opened the door to exit onto the sixth floor, they heard footsteps far below them as Bonilla’s driver started for the seventh floor, attempting to locate his boss.

  As everyone changed into their Fed Ex aircrew uniforms and gathered all their equipment, Clark kept an eye on Gabriella’s computer. The hall surveillance camera showed the police officer banging on Erin’s door for several minutes before taking the elevator down to the lobby. Vargas tapped a few keys and the lobby cameras showed a hotel employee accompanying the officer back to the seventh floor.

  “Let’s go,” Kevin ordered. “They’re on their way up.”

  He called Ricardo over the radio. “Alpha One to Alpha Two, we’re on our way down.”

  “Alpha Two is clear and will be waiting in front of the building.

  Their rooms had been scoured to make sure nothing was left behind. Gabby quickly closed her laptops, unplugged them, and stowed them in her bag. Each team member grabbed their backpacks and headed out the door, taking the stairs to the lobby.

  Ricardo sat in the driver’s seat of the gray Lincoln Navigator, just outside the front entrance. The team piled inside, everyone playing the part of bored Fed Ex employees heading back to work.

  “So, how’d it go?” Gonzalez asked, accelerating towards the airport. “I hate missing out on all the fun.”

  “We’ll do a full debrief on the plane, but mission accomplished,” Kevin said.

  Ricardo nodded. He had spent thirteen years in the regular army but had gotten out when his wife had threatened to leave him because of his multiple deployments. He had joined the National Guard after working at a trucking company for a year. His previous military experience had landed him one of the few full-time slots and Ricardo became Lieutenant Colonel Clark’s First Sergeant. The soldier’s wife had left him anyway, deciding to move back to their native Puerto Rico.

  The two men had become close friends and the first sergeant had stayed with the colonel after the zombie virus had been released. Together, they had molded and trained their remaining soldiers into a deadly, fighting force. When Kevin was asked to come work for the CIA, it was only natural that he bring his first sergeant with him.

  Clark glanced around the vehicle at his team. Jennifer was sitting in the far back of the SUV with Gabby. The blonde was no longer blonde after removing the wig and combing out her naturally auburn hair. Hughes had also cleaned off the bright lipstick and was now wearing a subdued shade of red, looking like a completely different person.

  Everyone kept a check out the windows to make sure they weren’t being followed. They wouldn’t be able to really relax until they were back in the United States. Yeah, I could definitely use a cigarette, Kevin thought.

  Aeropuerto Ramón Villeda Morales, San Pedro Sula, Honduras, Wednesday, 1155 hours local time

  As soon as they had left the hotel for the forty-minute ride to the airport, Kevin had dialed their pilot to let him know they were on their way. He had also called his contact at the local CIA office. When they had arrived Tuesday afternoon, an older Hispanic man met them in the parking lot of the airport, handing the keys of the Lincoln to Clark and then disappearing. Their weapons, ammo, and other items were in a briefcase under the front passenger seat.

  Just before Ricardo pulled into the airport’s parking area in front of the terminal, Kevin passed the briefcase around for each agent to place their pistols and tasers in. The case was placed back under the seat, along with another small duffel bag of items that needed to be disposed of, including their rubber gloves, used zip ties, and duct tape, which the local agency operatives would make disappear.

  As they prepared to walk into the airport, Kevin addressed his agents. “Let’s act loose, team. We’re just heading back to work after a layover in the exciting city of San Pedro Sula. Smile, be friendly, and let’s get out of here. Remember the cops back at the hotel are going to be investigating a drug deal gone bad involving one of their own and three Americans. They aren’t going to be thinking about us.”

  Ricardo left the keys under his seat and the seven agents entered the airport. The security screening left much to be desired, thankfully, they all thought, and in fifteen minutes they were back on board the Federal Express jet.

  After they were airborne, Clark debriefed his team on the operation, wanting to hear every detail. Due to the nature of the mission, none of this debrief was written down or recorded. An hour later, everyone was either napping or lost in their own thoughts.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RESTON, VIRGINIA, FRIDAY, 0705 hours

  Chuck stirred, waking in his own bed for the first time in over three weeks. He opened his eyes to see Elizabeth watching him as she nursed baby Ray. She smiled and the big man reached out, caressing her face and stroking her shoulder-length, light brown hair.

  “Good morning, beautiful.”

  “I’m sorry I called you crying,” she said, softly.

  “I understand. I’m sorry to leave you for three weeks. Our project ended up being more complicated than we had originally planned.”

  Beth knew that her husband could not and would not talk about what he did at work. She also understood that there was probably an element of danger involved, but she had seen the man in action on more than one occasion. Chuck McCain could take care of himself and his teammates.

  The young woman’s mind often drifted back to the morning after he had rescued her from the gang who had murdered Beth’s friends and kidnapped her. The killers had made it clear that they were going to rape and torture her to death. The four kidnappers had taken refuge in an abandoned house during the height of the zombie crisis.

  Fortunately for Elizabeth, Chuck McCain had also taken shelter in an empty home in the same neighborhood to wait out a winter storm as he attempted to locate his daughter near the Georgia/South Carolina line. When McCain heard Beth’s screams, struggling with her captors as they dragged her into the house, he took it upon himself to rescue her. He fatally shot three of them but had to go hand-to-hand with the biggest and strongest of the gang. In spite of taking an AK-47 round to the chest plate of his body armor, Chuck had beaten the man senseless before using his knife to finish him.

  McCain had helped Elizabeth back to the house he had commandeered, having to kill a group of zombies along the who had been drawn to the sound of the shooting. At first, the battered and bruised young woman had been scared of the muscular man clad in black, but he had gently tended her wounds, speaking softly, letting her know that she was safe.

  The next morning they had talked, sharing their stories with each other. When she had looked into his eyes she had seen pain, danger, and concern. It was a strange mix, she had thought at the time.

  Chuck’s plan was to just deliver Beth back to the school where a group of survivors waited on her and her team to return with supplies. Instead, by the time the two of them returned to the Northeast Georgia Technical College a few days later, they had fallen in love, their sixteen-year age difference tossed to the side.

  “
What do you have going on today?” Chuck queried quietly, careful not to wake the baby.

  Beth smiled again. “I was hoping I could leave him with you after lunch and just go to the mall or something? I need a little ‘me time.’ I’ve got some work to do this morning if you want to work out.”

  “That sounds great. I’ve missed this little guy and the gym.”

  “How about some coffee?” Beth asked, gently pulling the sleeping Ray loose and buttoning her pajama top.

  “Yes, please,” Chuck answered, sitting up in the bed and picking up his phone.

  Elizabeth turned on the television to check the news as she made the coffee, a habit she had picked up from her husband. An on-scene reporter for Fox News stood on a Malibu beach that was illuminated by emergency flood lights. Rescue personnel scurried around as the attractive reporter spoke to the camera. The headline read, “Hollywood producer presumed dead.”

  “So, what’s the latest there in Los Angeles, Becky?” the anchor in New York asked.

  “Well, Stuart, things are not looking good in the search for controversial movie producer, Alfonso Nicholson, the owner of Golden Age Productions. What we know is that he went surfing yesterday at about six in the morning. Those who are close to him said that was one of his routines when he was in town.

  “When he never came in for breakfast, one of his assistants walked out to the beach to look for him and found his empty surfboard washed up near the house. There was no sign of Nicholson. The authorities were immediately notified and a large scale search and rescue mission was initiated by the Los Angeles Fire Department, the Coast Guard, and the LAPD. One of my sources told me that they’re planning to halt the search in another few hours.”

  “Has there been any kind of a statement released from Golden Age?” Stuart asked.

  The reporter shook her head. “Not yet. As you know, Stuart, Nicholson has been rebuilding his production house after his legal troubles a few years ago. Another interesting component to this story is that no one seems to know the whereabouts of actress Erin Knight. Many would argue that her boyfriend, Alfie Nicholson, manufactured her rise to stardom, but no one would dispute the fact that Alfie and Erin are inseparable.”