by Spell, David
“That was Eric. Jason was driving so he used his pistol, pumping almost a whole magazine of .45 into his chest. As you can see, though, Omer was wearing body armor, and kept firing back, hitting Toney a couple of times. Gray popped him twice in the head and it was game over.
“There’s another stiff in the back of the van. It looks like he got tagged in the shootout with the LAPD guys over at that school. He doesn’t have any ID but I’m pretty sure it’s Kimani Davis. And, as you saw, we also took Marquette Walters alive. He didn’t want to cooperate during the arrest, though, and ended up getting thumped. Eric’s having a heart-to-heart with him, trying to help him see the benefits of cooperating with us.”
“He doesn’t look too happy.”
“He’s not, but he also doesn’t strike me as the ‘I want to be a martyr’ type, either. I’m sure your people will have him talking in no time.”
Joe stared around for a few more minutes and sighed. “Normally, on something like this, we’d have LAPD’s CSI people do the crime scene. That’s not happening tonight with everything else going on. These three agents I brought all have crime scene training and they’ll process it. We’ll do interviews with you, Gray, and Toney back at the OPs Center.”
“Sounds good,” Chuck nodded. “I’m pretty sure we found how they were launching their attack. There’s a cooler in the van full of syringes loaded with blood. I’ll bet you a dollar that when the CDC lab here checks them, they’ll find that the blood is infected.”
O’Reilly shook his head in disbelief. “That’s really good work, McCain. Do you think they have any more teams on the loose?”
“Man, I hope not. What’s the latest from Santa Monica Boulevard?”
The burly agent grunted. “Better than expected. There’s an LAPD commander running the show. He’s feeding officers in as fast as they show up. Three or four-person teams. The last I heard, they’d put down around sixty Zs and think they have it contained within a two to three block area.”
“Wow, that’s great news!”
McCain wanted to be there with his friends from the CDC Enforcement Units but knew that with the shooting here, he was going to be tied up for several more hours. He glanced over at Gray who was sitting on the ground next to the handcuffed terrorist. The tone of the conversation had changed, however, and the two men were talking normally. The FBI agents who had accompanied Joe had already started to work. After walking through the scene, one of them was diagraming it on a yellow legal pad, a second had begun to take pictures, and the third was placing yellow plastic markers next to spent shell casings.
Clark, who had been listening quietly to O’Reilly and McCain, cleared his throat. When McCain looked over, the colonel motioned with his head for Chuck to step away.
“I’ll let you guys get to work, Joe. I’ll be here to answer any questions. Let us know when you want to head back to the OPs Center.”
O’Reilly understood that he was being dismissed and went to see if his team needed any help with the crime scene. As he turned away, Joe pulled out his phone and dialed Burns back at the Ops Center, requesting two more agents ASAP who could drive Agent Toney to the hospital. All the ambulances were currently tied up on the other incidents.
When they were alone, Chuck asked, “What’s up, Kevin?”
“Have you spoken to the boss?”
“The admiral? No, I’ve been a little preoccupied but I guess I should give him a call. Why?”
“I talked to him. I knew you were in the middle of this and I wanted to give him a heads up. He was following the live feeds back in his office. Does he live there?”
“I wonder sometimes,” McCain chuckled. “I thought people his age needed more sleep.”
“Anyway,” Clark continued, “he’s very pleased with the way everything has turned out. He said that it could’ve been much worse and it looks like the outbreak should be under control very soon. He also told me to tell you that he’ll be out here on Monday afternoon and wants to meet with us.”
“Oh? Did say what that was about?”
“The old man was kind of cryptic but said it had something to do with Mexico.”
Before Chuck could respond, Eric walked over. “Excuse me, Boss. Hi, Colonel,” he nodded at Clark. “Chuck, I got Walters talking. I think he just needed somebody who spoke ‘hood and could lay it all on the line for him.”
“So, what’s he saying?” McCain asked.
“If he’s being truthful, they were it. The original plan called for them to split into two teams. One group was going to infect San Fran, the other was gonna hit LA and San Diego. Then, they were all going to haul ass to Mexico. He said that Omer had a contact with one of the cartels and thought they could get the Mexicans to hide them.”
“What about the other team?” Clark queried.
“When that Iowa State Trooper capped Mohammad Qasem, that changed everything. Omer decided one four-man team was the best way to go. And considering what they did tonight, that makes more sense. They snatched three prostitutes off the street, injected them with zombie blood and then kicked them out on Santa Monica Boulevard.
“They were gonna to grab some more hookers or homeless people and repeat the process on the south side of LA and then head down to San Diego. They would do it again down there and then bug out for Mexico. When those LAPD cops turned around on them, they knew the game was up. Davis and Samer Ali got shot in that shootout. Kimani lasted about ten minutes after getting hit.”
“Wow, Gunny, you’re good!” Clark exclaimed. “I didn’t know that you Marines had Interviews and Interrogations training.”
Gray shrugged and gave an embarrassed smile. “He knows he’s screwed up and he knows he’ll probably get the needle, whether he cooperates or not. He asked me for something personal. I told him that if he would spill his guts, I’d do it.”
“What’d he ask for?” Chuck asked.
“His grandmother raised him. He asked me to pay her a visit and to apologize to her on his behalf. I told him that we could probably set up a video call for him if he cooperates, but he said he can’t talk with her. Something about having committed the unpardonable sin and how he was too embarrassed.”
Kevin and Chuck both nodded, understanding that everyone was motivated by different things. As a local cop, McCain had seen people roll over on their accomplices for a cigarette.
“That’s really good, Eric,” Chuck said. “Thanks for pushing through the barriers. We’ll work it out for you to make that visit in the next couple of weeks.”
“Thanks. I’m gonna get Smith to tend to Walters’ injuries a bit until we can get him some real medical treatment. That’ll keep him in a cooperative frame of mind.” Gray turned to go but then spun back around with a grin on his face, looking at McCain. “And after he quit acting like Billy Bad Ass, Walters told me that he ain’t never taken a whoopin’ like you gave him.”
Santa Monica Boulevard and North Western Avenue, Los Angeles, Sunday, 0300 hours
The two CDC agents and the SWAT officer prepared to head back inside the perimeter. Paramedics had taken charge of Ashley and were cleaning her wounds in the back of an ambulance. Jimmy watched as Terry spoke quietly with a cute young corporal next to the CP.
After topping off his magazines with fresh ammo, sucking down some water, and peeing in a dark corner of the parking lot, Jones was ready to go kill some more Zs. I wonder if Julie found a restroom? It’s tough being a woman cop, in more ways than one, he thought.
Jimmy had stayed away from the command post. When they had come out of the infected area, it looked like the Chief of Police and several other members of the brass were being briefed by the incident commander. Now, as he approached the CP, looking for his fellow CDC agent, Jones saw Turner talking with the commander and his team. He smiled to himself. Even at three in the morning, she was a good-looking lady and easily held the attention of the men in the CP.
Julie saw Jimmy approaching and waved him over. “Commander Grimes, this is Jimmy Jones. He’s one
of the team leaders out of the CDC office in Atlanta.”
Grimes nodded at Jones as they shook hands. “You’re a long way from home, Agent Jones, but we’re very glad to have you. Officer George is no slouch when it comes to shooting, but he said you two were amazing.”
“Thanks, Commander,” Jimmy smiled. “Credit that to the Marine Corps and some of the training the CDC gave us.”
“You’re a Marine?” Jack asked.
“Yes, sir. Ten years. You?”
“I was only in for four years. My two dreams growing up were to be a Marine and to work for the LAPD. I joined the corps at eighteen, got out at twenty-two, and became a cop, although I don’t feel like much of one standing around in this command post.”
Jones gave a sympathetic shrug. “That comes with the brass, sir. I went into the Corps as an officer. When I made captain, things started to change. The higher-ups didn’t want me going out on many patrols. After I got out, I was a state trooper in Alabama for a few years but always wanted to go federal. I got in on the ground floor of the CDC Enforcement Unit.”
Before the commander could comment, Terry walked over, staring at Julie.
“Now that you don’t have your helmet on, you really look familiar. Did you work for LAPD before you got on with the CDC?”
The fed smiled. “No, I was on the SO’s SWAT team. After a few years, I got recruited for the CDC.”
A look of recognition crossed Terry’s face. “Our two SWAT teams did some cross-training together a few years ago. At the time, I think you were the only female member on their team. We didn’t have any. A couple of our guys tried to put the moves on you but you shot them down pretty quick.”
Turner laughed. “That’s right, but it comes with the territory.”
“Well,” Jimmy interjected, “I think its about time to get back in there and keep saving LA.”
“Michelle, er, Corporal Peterson over there,” the SWAT officer pointed at the young woman he had been talking with earlier, “says that things are starting to slow down. We may be getting to the end of this thing. There are two areas that haven’t been checked, though, so that’s where we’re heading first.”
“You’ve got point this time, Terry,” Julie told him. “We’re following you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Right Price
South of Rosarito, Mexico, Sunday, 1130 hours
Jose Corona lit the Ramon Allones Cuban cigar as he reclined in the lounge chair next to the large swimming pool behind his beachfront home. The Pacific Ocean glimmered in the midday sun as a light breeze kept the temperatures from being uncomfortable. The cigar wasn’t the most expensive on the market at only fifty dollars apiece, but Pepe had come to enjoy the taste, especially when he needed to concentrate: the smoke stimulated his thinking process. The cartel leader’s laptop sat open in his lap as he typed a reply to the email, reread it, and hit ‘Send.’
The house, servant’s quarters, and detached garage were surrounded by a large wall. He insisted, however, that he be able to sit and look at the ocean, so the barrier was several feet lower on the backside of the property. He had twenty-five of his soldiers with him and they patrolled the area around his property in shifts, including the stretch of private beach that came when he purchased the mansion.
A smile broke out on Corona’s face as he took a satisfied puff on the cigar and then a long pull on the ice cold bottle of beer that was on the small table beside him. This will be the easiest hundred thousand dollars that I’ve ever made, he chuckled to himself. I probably could have gotten more, he thought, if his buyer’s quick response was any indication.
Pepe’s customer liked young American girls almost as much as he did. Only an hour earlier, Jose had sent Prince Mohammad Rashid an email and several teasing photos of Tiffany Mason and Holly Summers, which one of Corona’s men had snapped the night before. The women had balked at being told to strip down to their bras and panties to be photographed, but the guard had said the pictures were being sent to their parents, along with a ransom request.
Now, the only issue was in shipping the merchandise. Corona’s meetings with the other two cartel leaders would be concluded by Friday at lunchtime. Pepe planned on enjoying Tiffany and Holly until then but he could have them ready for Prince Rashid by Saturday morning. The Prince would send his private jet for the young women. Jose would have them drugged and knocked out for easy transport. As soon as the money hit Pepe’s bank account, the teen coeds would be on their way to Saudi Arabia as play toys for Rashid.
The decision to sell his captives had come the night before as the gangster had forced himself on them in the jacuzzi, adjacent to the pool. The shorter of the two, Holly, had resisted Pepe’s advances, apparently tired of being raped. The cartel leader had been furious, slapping the girl viciously on the side of the head, knocking her across the hot tub.
Corona’s primary bodyguard, Marcos, had watched the scene unfold and approached the hot tub as the cartel leader angrily wrapped his hands around the stunned girl’s throat.
“Señor, apologies, you have a phone call.”
There was no phone call but Pepe had asked Marcos to make sure his temper did not get the best of him. The girls were far too valuable to damage. Jose had immediately released the naked girl, shoved her away, and exited the jacuzzi, wrapping a towel around his own nude body.
While he went inside to calm down for a few minutes and bring his breathing under control, Marcos turned to the crying captives. Summers had regained her senses and was holding the side of her head as she sobbed angrily.
“No crying!” the bodyguard commanded in broken English. “El Jefe hate crying. When boss come back out, you make happy. Give him good sex or he maybe kill you. Maybe he cut off your heads and send them to padre y madre!”
By the time Corona came back out, the young women had wiped their tears and did what he told them. Both coeds wished they could kill the old man, but realized that he held their fates in his hand. After he was finished, he had sent them back to their room and had them photographed. Jose decided then that he would sell them before he lost his temper again.
Now, as Pepe lounged on the back deck, Tiffany and Holly were locked inside their second-story bedroom, wondering what would happen next. They had both been raped repeatedly by the cartel leader over the last three months, although he had not allowed any of his men to touch them. Whenever the girls had asked what was going to happen to them, he merely ignored their questions.
“Do you think they’re really going to contact our parents?” Tiffany asked.
Holly shrugged. She and her friend weren’t related but looked so alike they were often mistaken for sisters. Tiffany was a little taller, but both girls had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and the kind of figures that caused men to stare. Or kidnap them.
“I don’t know. Our parents would pay anything to get us back. They’d find a way to raise the money.”
Mason nodded. “Yeah, they must be so worried. How long has it been now? Maybe three months?”
“At least. What I don’t understand is why take pictures of us in our underwear? Those don’t seem like normal ransom pics.”
“I have no idea!” Tiffany answered, shaking her head. “I’ve never been kidnapped and abused by a nasty old Mexican gangster before.”
“There’s got to be a way out of here,” Summers commented, walking over to the window.
The second-floor bedroom would have been luxurious if it wasn’t being used as a cell for the two women. The quarters were large, with a king-sized bed, satin sheets, and expensive drapes and furniture. A large walk-in closet held a variety of women’s clothes, both casual and formal, and Pepe had told them they could wear any of it. The bathroom connected to their room was larger than the dorm room they shared.
The windows were open, allowing a comfortable breeze to blow through the room. Their bedroom was on the back side of the mansion, overlooking the Pacific. They were much too high to jump and there did not appear
to be any way to climb down to the ground. Holly watched four armed men patrolling the beach, while another pair walked around inside the compound.
“Maybe we could make a rope out of our sheets like they do in the movies?” Holly said, turning to her friend.
“Do you think it would work?” Tiffany asked, hopefully.
“Probably not,” Holly admitted, understanding that the additional guards posted outside their door and those patrolling the grounds would never allow them to escape.
The two lookalikes had been best friends since middle school. While both of them had a wild streak, it was always Holly who came up with the ideas for their adventures, like the one to go to Rosarito. That was all Holly, although Tiffany had immediately agreed to go with her during their semester break at the University of Southern California.
Tiffany saw her friend wince as she sat down on their bed.
“Are you OK?”
“My head hurts where he hit me.” Her fingers gently probed over her left ear as tears of anger welled up in her eyes. “I want to kill him so bad. But first, I want to cut his old balls off. After I broke up with Jeremy, I vowed that I’d never let a man hurt me again. And now this bastard hurts us almost every day.”
The young woman started crying as the emotion of their situation bubbled to the surface. Tiffany wrapped an arm around her companion.
“One thing I know, Tif, is that my mom’s praying for us. She was so mad that we came to Mexico by ourselves. But I know that she loves us and she’s got a strong connection with God. I’ve always thought that she was just a religious nut.
“I went to church a lot when I was younger but I guess I grew out of it. At least, that’s what I told myself. When I discovered boys, I put all thoughts of religion out of my mind. Now, I’m wishing I’d have paid more attention to what Mom said about God.”
Tiffany wiped her eyes and looked at her friend. “I hope God is listening to her because I think that He’s the only one who can get us out of this.”
