by David Spell
“Hello, Mr. Taylor. My name is Jonathan Williams. I’m the Assistant Director of Operations at the Central Intelligence Agency. I heard you might be looking for job?”
When Shaun did not answer, the voice spoke again. “Mr. Taylor, are you there?”
“This is Shaun Taylor,” he finally answered. “You…you said you’re with the CIA?”
“That’s correct. I’ll get right to the point. The Agency recruits heavily from Georgetown. An old friend of mine is one of the guidance counselors there and told me of your situation with the Army. I know that must be terribly disappointing. I understand that you had your heart set on a military career, but I have an offer that would allow you to serve in another capacity if you would be interested to hear it.”
The voice on the other end of the phone had Shaun’s full attention now. It wasn’t every day that the CIA called you on your cell phone. This man, Jonathan Williams, seemed genuinely sorry to hear of Taylor’s failed physical with the Army.
“You mean, like working for the CIA?” Taylor asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” the Assistant Director of Operations had answered. “Now, I’ll just say up front that it’s not nearly as glamorous as Hollywood portrays us, but I think that you’ll excel in the position that I have in mind for you. Would it be possible for you to come by our headquarters tomorrow morning for a face-to-face meeting? I don’t normally involve myself in the hiring of new employees, but because you would be working directly for me, I think it better that we meet to see if this is a career that you might want to pursue.”
The next morning, Shaun found himself being guided through the security process to enter the CIA’s headquarters. An elderly man with a military bearing in a dark suit was waiting for him in the lobby.
“Mr. Taylor? I’m Jonathan Williams. Thank you for accepting my invitation. Come on and we’ll go up to my office.”
The old man’s handshake was firm, but he walked with a noticeable limp as he guided the young man onto the elevator. Inside Williams’ office, Shaun noticed multiple pictures and framed memorabilia of a youthful Jonathan Williams wearing tiger stripes camouflage, holding a CAR-15 rifle. A shadow box held a SEAL trident pin and a number of other decorations, including a Purple Heart. Other photographs showed Jonathan on various naval vessels. Another shadow box contained the four silver stars for the rank of admiral.
“I was one of the original SEALs,” Williams said wistfully, pointing at one of the pictures. “But, on my second tour in Southeast Asia I caught an AK bullet just above my knee. The wound was serious and I almost lost my leg. There was no way I could stay in the SEALs, but I didn’t want to go back to the civilian world, either. I continued my career in the regular Navy and eventually got promoted to admiral. When I retired, I was offered a job with this fine organization.
“So, when I say that I understand your disappointment at being rejected by the Army, I’m not lying. All I ever wanted to be was a commando. When I got wounded, I thought my life was over. In the end, I continued to serve in other ways and am still serving my country now.
“If you’re interested, I have a position available that I believe you would excel in. My friend at Georgetown sent me all of your psychological and personality tests. You have an aptitude for administration and organization that is off the chart. I need a personal assistant, a driver, and a bodyguard. I believe that you could fill all three of those roles. We can talk about the specifics later but does that sound like something that you might be interested in?”
Shaun would find out later that Admiral Williams was a master of knowing exactly which buttons to push, depending on who he was speaking with. At the time, however, all Taylor knew was that the old warrior’s story resonated within him. The week before, the idea of being a personal assistant to anyone would have been repugnant. Williams, however, had provided a context for his own pain and frustration.
The young man knew that he would never earn the coveted Ranger tab or the famous Special Forces green beret. Here, though, he was being offered an opportunity to perform an important job for the premier intelligence organization in the world.
Without hesitation, Shaun responded, “Sir, I’d be honored to serve you. What do I need to do?”
“Oh, that’s great!” Williams answered with a smile. “I’ll take you down to one of our HR people to complete some paperwork. There’ll be another physical involved, but we have a little more latitude on ours.
“As I said, not only will you help me stay organized, you’ll be my primary bodyguard and driver. Assistant directors are not entitled to security but I’ve always liked having people around me with guns. You’ll spend a few weeks at the Farm, our training center. You’ll actually be taking several courses with some of our agent cadets. After that, you’ll be assigned to me and your training will really start,” the elderly man said, a twinkle in his eye.
Williams had eventually been promoted from assistant director to Ops Director, but he had kept Shaun by his side. Taylor had worked for the admiral for five years before he passed away from pancreatic cancer. The elderly man had treated Shaun like a grandson and the young man had been heartbroken when the old warrior had died.
At first, Shaun had been intimidated by Tim and Tom when they had started working for Admiral Williams after his promotion to Director of Operations. Taylor had performed very well in his firearms and tactical training at the Farm. He knew, however, that these two guys were on another level.
After a couple of weeks, Shaun had gotten up his courage to ask the bodyguards if they would help him develop his skills further. The bearded duo had taken the young man under their wings, accompanying him to the range at least once a week, and imparting their vast knowledge to him. Tim and Tom had not only become his mentors, they had also become his friends. Even though he had never been on a real world mission, Shaun had taken every lesson that the operators had given him very seriously, earning their praise.
Director Dunning had been so impressed with the way that Taylor had served the admiral, she had asked him to continue working for her. He had grown to both respect and genuinely like Ms. Dunning. Sandra had started her career as an intelligence agent during the latter stages of the Cold War, moving over to analysis later in her career. As he had with Williams, Taylor attempted to learn everything he could from Dunning.
“Have you asked Jennifer out yet?” Tom asked, glancing over at Shaun as he drove the armored SUV.
The driver sighed. “Not yet. I’m working on it, but I haven’t had a chance to talk with her. She’s been on a mission with Director Clark.”
“Isn’t Hollywood on the colonel’s team?” Tim asked, from the backseat. “I don’t think he’s dating anyone right now. Some girls like those good-looking Latino guys.”
“Nah, I doubt it,” Tom answered, running his fingers through his dark beard. “I bet she likes older bearded guys. What girl could say ‘No’ to this sexy facial growth? If Junior here doesn’t get going, I may ask her out myself.”
“Ha!” Tim laughed. “She’s probably already got a daddy. I don’t think she needs another one.”
Tom wagged his finger at his friend. “Don’t be too quick to judge. Some girls like older guys. Just look at McCain.”
“I think he’s the exception rather than the rule,” Tim replied. “Plus, you aren’t nearly as good-looking as he is.”
“Thanks for the encouragement, buddy. That’s just what I needed this morning from my friends. You guys know how much I struggle with my self-esteem.”
The three men laughed, knowing Tom might struggle in some areas of his life but his self-esteem was not one of them.
“But back to you, Junior,” Tom said, looking at Shaun. “You want to me talk to her for you? I can see if she’s interested if you’re too shy.”
“Come on, Tom. Don’t do that. I’ll ask her this week.”
McLean, Virginia, Monday, 0725 hours
The two humvees were in position, waiti
ng on word from Juan Guerra that Dunning’s vehicle was approaching. Guerra and one of his DC associates were tailing the SUV in Juan’s pickup. When their target got to the designated location on Chain Bridge Road, the cartel hit teams would spring into action. Another of Guerra’s gangsters was staging nearby in a work van to provide backup and to help transport the shooters from the scene.
Damian’s vehicle was backed into a dirt drive that led down to the Potomac Heritage Trail. The scenic trail wound under a narrow bridge over Chain Bridge Road. A few other cars were parked in the small parking area, their occupants getting in an early morning walk or jog through the picturesque national park. Sanchez’s team was composed of him, two of his men from Mexico, and another of Guerra’s soldiers.
Joaquín ‘Chapo’ Avalos was seated in the driver’s seat of Damian’s hummer. He was one of Juan’s gangsters but he appeared to be sharp. With a nickname like ‘Shorty,’ it was no surprise that he had his seat pulled way forward, giving Sanchez plenty of room for when he crawled into the turret to man the M240 machine gun. Each of the men in the vehicle were also armed with an M-16 or an M4 rifle, as well as a 9mm Beretta pistol. They had extra magazines for both weapons and were clad in stolen National Guard uniforms.
The other humvee sat in a private driveway five hundred feet further down the road. Guerra’s earlier surveillance had revealed that the driveway led a couple of hundred yards back into the woods to a large home overlooking the Potomac River. He had never seen anyone there and assumed that it was a vacation home.
This vehicle was commanded by Ricardo ‘Little Ricky’ Dominguez. Little Ricky had not served in the military but was a natural leader. He and Sanchez had worked together numerous times before. Another of Damian’s soldiers, along with two of Juan’s, completed the second team. Dominguez would man the M249 machine gun when their target arrived.
Sanchez and Guerra had scouted the location the previous afternoon. Juan had reconned the area himself over the past week and he’d pointed out the best place where they could set up the ambush. In moments, their target would enter the perfect death trap. Damian would launch the attack just as the Yukon drove past the entrance for the Potomac Heritage Trail, his goal to trap them on the narrow bridge and preventing Dunning’s escape.
“Approaching your location, ETA less than five minutes,” Guerra’s voice came over the walkie talkie in Damian’s hand.
“Roger, keep us updated.”
A few miles away, the black Yukon made its way toward CIA headquarters. Seated behind Tom, Sandra stared at her phone, reading an email. The bodyguards scanned the area, looking for any possible threats. Shaun focused on driving, but something in the mirror caught his attention.
“Hey guys, its probably nothing, but there’s a blue pickup that’s been following us for the last two miles. I first saw it when we pulled out of the boss’s neighborhood. They’ve stayed way back. There’s two cars between us and them but something just feels off.”
Tom immediately looked out the passenger-side rear view mirror as Tim turned in his seat to peer out the back of the SUV. Dunning sensed the tension, looking up from her phone.
“Are we OK?” she asked.
The two primary bodyguards saw the pickup hanging several hundred feet behind them. That was not normal behavior, especially in the Metro DC area, where everyone was known for their aggressive driving.
“A lookout?” Tom asked.
“Could be or it could be nothing,” Tim replied.
“What’s going on?” the Director of Operations demanded.
“We’re not sure, ma’am,” Tim answered. “A vehicle has been following us for a few miles.”
There were several different routes that Taylor used when driving Director Dunning to work to avoid creating a pattern that someone could capitalize on. The problem was that now they had passed the other turn offs, just leaving one route available. Chain Bridge was a tree-lined, two lane road that was usually not as congested as some of Northern Virginia’s other roads.
“Punch it, Shaun, let’s create some distance. See how fast this thing will go,” Tim ordered.
Taylor immediately shoved the gas pedal to the floor. He had been trained in pursuit and evasive driving during his time at the Farm, but his two spec ops mentors had also taught him a few tricks as well. After a mile, the road made a sharp curve to the right as it went under the George Washington Memorial Parkway.
Just as they passed under the parkway, a desert tan hummer burst out of an almost hidden drive on their left, a sign identifying it as the Potomac Heritage Trail. The military vehicle had to pause for a moment because of traffic or it would have slammed into the driver’s door of the Yukon.
Shaun shouted, “Look at that humvee!”
A man in a camo uniform stood in the turret, pointing a machine gun at them. Suddenly, loud impacts shook the SUV as bullets ripped into the armored panels and bullet-resistant glass. Shaun caught movement from his front as another military humvee rushed straight towards them from the other direction. Taylor just managed to jerk the steering wheel to the right, avoiding a full head-on collision.
The oncoming hummer smashed hard into the left front corner of the Yukon, jarring them to a sudden stop on the narrow two-lane bridge. The machine gun on top of the second military vehicle was now chattering, bullets raking the windshield and hood with automatic fire. Dust filled the interior of the GMC from the deployed airbags.
A second later, the first humvee rear-ended Dunning’s Yukon, pinning it between the two military vehicles. The occupants were slammed forward against their seatbelts as the heavy rounds pounded the SUV from both ends. The bullet proof glass was already cracking from the sustained machine fire smashing into the windows.
Tim and Tom sprang into action, releasing their seatbelts and preparing to go on the offensive. With the heavy barrage striking the thick glass, it was just a matter of time before the windows would dissolve and machine gun bullets would be raking the interior of the vehicle. The former spec ops warriors knew they had to turn the tide quickly or Director Dunning would be killed. Before he exited the Yukon, Tim reached over and unsnapped the shocked woman’s seatbelt, pushing her down towards the floorboard.
“Get as low as you can, ma’am, and stay there,” he ordered, as he kicked open his door and dove out, rifle firing.
When Shaun realized that they were trapped between the two attacking vehicles, he released his own seatbelt and grabbed the H&K MP5 submachine gun from under his seat. Tom’s rifle was up as he shoved open the passenger door, also preparing to engage their attackers.
“Call for help and stay with the boss,” the former SEAL yelled at the younger man over the roar of gunfire, before throwing himself into the fight.
Several hundred feet further down Chain Bridge Road was another bridge, this one crossing from Virginia over the Potomac River into the District of Columbia. Just inside of Virginia was a small gravel parking lot that provided access to the river. Virginia State Trooper Danny Barber had just pulled in to catch up on his paperwork, having slipped in from the DC side of the river. He had already worked two vehicle accidents since starting his shift and wanted to finish the reports before continuing his patrol.
As he typed information into the computer mounted in his blue Ford Crown Victoria, shots erupted from nearby. Barber’s first thought was that someone was down on the river setting off fireworks. A long string of automatic gunfire, however, propelled him into action.
“707 to dispatch, be advised, I’ve got shots fired in the area of Chain Bridge Road and the state line. I’m going to investigate.”
“10-4, 707. Any units clear for backup?”
Several other officers acknowledged the transmission and said that they were heading his way as the trooper snatched the gearshift lever into drive and sped towards the gunfire.
Tim and Tom both understood that they were in serious trouble as they propelled themselves into combat. The two hummers had their vehicle trapped in the
middle of the short bridge that crossed the Potomac Heritage Trail. There was no cover available and they were caught in the crossfire from two machine guns.
The doors of both humvees flew open and armed men in National Guard uniforms jumped out, bringing their rifles into play. Traffic screeched to a halt around the unfolding scene. Motorists attempted to back up, not wanting to get caught in the shootout. The sound of crunching metal added to the chaos as cars slammed into each other, their drivers attempting to flee.
Tim turned left as he came out of the backseat of the SUV on the driver’s side, crouching as he rushed towards the rear hummer. Rifle rounds from the occupants of the front military vehicle struck the pavement and sides of the Yukon around him as the shooters tried to hit the fast-moving target. Something slammed into Tim’s left shoulder just as he raised his rifle, firing a full-auto burst towards the machine gun turret. The bodyguard was rewarded with the sound of someone crying out in pain as the M240 stopped firing.
The former Delta Force member felt two more powerful impacts strike the back of his body armor, driving the breath from his lungs. Tim sensed movement to his left and saw the humvee driver raising a pistol and thrusting it towards him through the open window. The bodyguard tried to bring his own rifle into play but suddenly his left arm wasn’t working anymore. Years of training sent the signal to his right hand as he quickly released his grip on the long gun, drew his pistol, and put two shots into the driver’s face in less than a second.
The gunner was back in the turret swinging the machine gun towards him. The man’s legs were exposed as he stood in the middle of the rear seat. Tim instinctively knew that he didn’t have enough time to get his pistol up higher, snapping off two shots at the attacker’s legs before he saw a flash and everything went black.
