American Terrorist Trilogy

by Jeffrey Poston

  “If we can’t break him, why capture him?”

  Carl looked at Merc Two. “Retribution and demonstration.” He swept his gaze over the other mercenaries. “Mr. Erickson has identified an unscheduled government Gulfstream flight out of Andrews Air Force Base bound for Albuquerque. A last-minute flight plan was filed right before take-off.” He paused. “That’s our boy and whatever team members he’s bringing with him, so they’ll be here before dark. Once they land, I figure they’ll take a helicopter north to the FBI building.”

  “No,” Merc One said. “That’ll be like sending up a flare, like, come and shoot me down. After what you did to the FBI assault team this morning, they won’t take the chance that you don’t have a heat-seeker missile or an RPG capable of bringing down an aircraft.”

  Carl said, “Which we do have, by the way.”

  Merc Four nodded and added, “They’ll assume that. They’d likely need a military chopper to carry their entire team or at least a couple of police choppers. That’ll be a mighty tempting target. They’ll be safe over the airport and the base, but over the city they’ll be vulnerable, and they know you could launch from pretty much anywhere, especially when they’re on approach to the FBI building. They’d know they can’t adequately secure the airspace over the entire city.”

  Merc Two agreed. “I’d expect two tactical teams, a primary team and a backup, both with a minimum of four men each with supplies and weapons, or they might send a single six-man unit. Typically, a modified covert Gulfstream owned by the government would be used for this kind of transport operation, and it wouldn’t be able to hold much more than six or eight guys fully equipped.”

  Merc One said, “It’ll be safer and more flexible to move them with ground transport. All you need is a couple of big SUVs. Armored, of course. They’ll use random surface streets through Albuquerque so we’ll have to hit them at the airport or at the FBI building. They’ll avoid the interstate because there’s too many overpasses we could hit them from.”

  Merc Four said, “This airport is fairly unique since the civilian part of the airport shares facilities with Kirtland Air Force base. They’ll want to avoid driving through the base fully armed because they’d have to coordinate with base personnel, which potentially compromises their operational security. Is there a way for them to get off the airport quietly, maybe a fuel supply gate?”

  Erickson put a map of the base and airport up on the wall monitor, and highlighted the gates that fit Merc Four’s request.

  He said, “There’s the eastside gate that exits onto Eubank Boulevard. They’d have to go through the science compounds of what’s known as the Sandia part of the base. There’s also a gate on the south side where they get fuel supplies delivered, but that’s kind of out in the middle of nowhere. They might think that exit is too risky because the landscape is too open and vulnerable to attack.”

  The computer nerd looked at the mercs, and Carl got the feeling he was looking for validation on that point. The mercs just looked at him with four sets of deadpan eyes.

  “What else?” Carl said.

  “Well, there’s the gate on the southwest side of the runways near the cargo hangars. It’s primarily used for cargo delivery and pickups.”

  Carl had forgotten about that one. “I used to make pickups back there in one of my previous businesses, so I know they can avoid a lot of civilian traffic by using that route. They’ll likely park their aircraft at one of the cargo hangars and disembark there. And it’s pretty much a straight shot from that gate to the Interstate, or to surface streets past the rental car compound.”

  “That’s likely where the FBI will pick them up then,” the female merc said. “And we’ll be waiting for them after they get off base. We’ll have surprise on our side, but if they have more than two or three vehicles, we’ll be outgunned. If we can’t take them all out in the first ten to fifteen seconds, they’ll hand us our collective asses on a platter.”

  The others nodded in agreement and looked at Carl.

  He said, “Alright, if you can’t pull off an ambush without a firefight, bag the op and we’ll figure out another way to get those two.” Carl pointed at the images of Cummings and Klipser on the monitor again.

  Merc Three said, “Is it too late to ask for a pay raise? We’re going to have to leave the country and never come back after this op.” The others chuckled.

  Carl answered quietly. He wanted to come across as sincere as possible.

  “Actually, this would be a good time to quit if you’re of a mind to do that. Any other questions?”

  “Yeah,” Merc Two said. “We got any food up in this joint? I’m starving.”

  Chapter 35

  1738 MST Monday

  Albuquerque, NM

  Carl watched the second ambush of the day unfold from his headquarters house. Two big black SUVs with darkly tinted windows blasted past a flower truck that was stalled on the shoulder of the airport’s cargo road.

  “Only two vehicles,” Garcia said. He held the smartphone close to his mouth. “So that means the first go/no-go decision point had passed, and the op is still on.”

  “Copy that,” returned Merc One’s voice from the cell speaker. He’d been elected as the team leader by the group, although it was clear to Carl that all of the four soldiers were equally qualified.

  Two small video cameras were mounted on the top rear driver’s side corner of the flower truck’s fourteen foot cargo cabin. One faced west, and the other faced east. On the west camera Carl identified Special Agent Cummings as the driver of the first SUV. He had predicted that since she was McGrath’s go-to agent, she’d be the one dispatched to pick up Klipser and his combat team. Chances were good she would be driving at least one of the vehicles.

  The SUVs came forward on the west camera view and retreated on the east view. A portion of the rental car complex could be seen on the left edge of the image of the back of the SUVs. It looked to be about half a mile from the cargo access road. From an overhead map they’d all studied earlier, Carl knew that road curved south a bit, then east, and ended a mile later at the cargo gate.

  A tow truck with a bright yellow cabin and black lettering sat in front of the flower truck. A light bar flashed with yellow and white caution lights on the roof of the truck cabin. The tow truck driver, Merc One in disguise, fiddled with some chains like he was going to haul the front of the flower truck up onto its heavy-duty tow bar. Merc Four trotted across the road with her load after the SUVs disappeared around the bend. She lay down in the depression that dipped off to the side of the asphalt.

  The depression was typical of paved roads in the Southwest, and it aided rainwater drainage off both sides of the roads. Laying in the depression, she’d be virtually invisible to the returning SUVs until they were within a hundred feet of her position. At that distance, it wouldn’t make any difference if the drivers saw her or not.

  From the mission plan, Carl knew that Merc Four’s equipment consisted of a military-grade MP5 assault rifle, extra mags in the pockets of her desert-camo field jacket, and two RPGs. One was armor-piercing and the other was not. Her specific part in the operation was first and foremost to keep the government agents from exiting their vehicles and setting up defensive positions. Also, she was the backup RPG shooter. If Mercs One and Two missed their targets, then she was to destroy the second SUV with the armor-piercing RPG. She would also try to stop Cummings’ SUV by shooting a “normal” RPG into its engine compartment.

  For Carl, RPGs were the stuff of action movies and thriller books he used to read. Now, he had actually stolen money and bought a crate full of the damn things, and the only way he knew how to distinguish the two types was to call the least deadly model “normal.”

  The only reason he believed the current attack had a prayer of a chance of success was because Henry Erickson had been monitoring police radio bands, and had confirmed that police and FBI teams were still in the middle of a stakeout and raid of the second decoy house. He and
Garcia had left just enough bread crumbs to let the Feds think that Alfonso Reyes owned that house. It had taken several hours because the bomb squad was called in to clear the structure first, before the investigators moved in. According to Erickson, that exercise was just now beginning to wrap up.

  Carl’s gut told him McGrath’s people had to have seen through his deception by now. The only real advantage he had remaining was that McGrath might have doubts about whether he was engaging Carl or Reyes. Hopefully, that doubt would allow Carl to find and kill him. He just needed a day or two more. His mission would either be complete by then or it would be impossible to complete.

  A month ago he was a normal guy, a real estate agent blissfully unaware of the shadow world of terrorists that government agencies like the FBI battled every day of every week of every year. Fast forward a month, and he was living in that shadow world. He was one of the terrorists.

  Carl concentrated on the tingle of excitement he felt about the pending operation, even though he wasn’t on the front line. He was the McGrath of his little team, with limited resources doing battle with the real McGrath, who had a much larger team with unlimited personnel and resources. It was a true David and Goliath story. He’d won the first round, no doubt demonstrating his resolve to McGrath.

  He thought about the slain FBI men. Who were they? Were they married? Did they have kids? Sometime in the next few hours an FBI agent in a dark suit with a somber expression on his or her face would show up at the home of the families to deliver the terrible news. Then those families would face days, weeks, and months of grieving for a loved one they would never see again.

  He thought about his nemesis, the government man who got his son killed. He tried to picture McGrath in his mind, but all he could conjure up with was a generic outline of a man’s head, grayed out like an online dating profile shadow with no photo. He mentally placed a bull’s-eye over the gray outline.

  He felt someone close by speaking to him in a hushed whisper.

  Young Garcia said, “You okay, boss?”

  Carl realized he’d been cursing at McGrath under his breath. He took a deep inhale and unclenched his fists. He had no time for anger, grieving, or self-doubt. The mission was everything.

  Find McGrath and make him pay.

  The young man added, “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “Negative,” Carl said. “Not in the slightest. What’s our status?”

  “We’ve got eyes on the jet. They disembarked at the cargo terminal. Looks like a six-man team plus the commander who fits the description of Agent Klipser.” Garcia paused and they listened to the chatter from the cell phone speaker. It occurred to Carl he and Garcia should be using hands-free Bluetooth earpieces or headsets to be more efficient.

  Garcia continued. “All six team members are in the rear SUV, and one of them is driving. Klipser, Cummings, and the other FBI driver are in the front SUV.” He paused and his eyebrows went up. “And get this! All the heavy weapons are in the rear SUV!”

  Carl smiled. “Cocky bastards,” he said. “And predictable.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He looked sideways at the young man. “If you know what your enemy wants, give it to him. Then beat him over the head with it.” He returned his attention to the monitor. “McGrath and Klipser want Alfonso Reyes and that missing girl. That makes them predictable.”

  “Who is the girl, Boss?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But they do.” He pointed at the two black SUVs approaching the ambush point.

  The east view showed long shadows on the road as the sun began its descent to the horizon. That was an added advantage for Carl’s mercs. The Feds were driving with the sun in their eyes.

  The opening salvo of the battle was quick and decisive. An RPG exploded against the lead SUV, and at first the battle looked like it was going to be a short-lived slam dunk for David, and a devastating defeat for Goliath. Then in the blink of an eye, the plan went to shit.

  He didn’t remember what famous military commander once made the statement, but it certainly applied to the current battle.

  “The best-laid plan falls apart as soon as the bullets start flying.”

  Chapter 36

  1745 MST Monday

  Albuquerque, NM

  Special Agent Lenore Cummings drove the lead SUV. The armored truck was protected by steel plating all around, including the roof, undercarriage, and engine compartment. The windows were composed of a thick multilayer glass and Lexan laminate that could stop most close-range subsonic bullets. The big twelve-cylinder engine roared as she quickly got the heavy vehicle up to fifty miles an hour.

  But for Director McGrath’s intervention, Cummings knew she would have been removed from the investigation. Her daughter was a hostage. She was compromised, and she knew it. Still, she fought against giving in to the anger and the fear that gripped her. She had a job to do. Two jobs. Find the kidnapper. Find her daughter.

  Bureau protocol clearly called for the removal of a compromised agent from a case. Such an agent could not be trusted to remain objective. McGrath had kept her because she was essential to his mission. She had a rare opportunity to accomplish her first priority—save her daughter—and accomplish McGrath’s mission to find the kidnapper. She certainly couldn’t leave her daughter’s fate up to professional killers who had no interest in saving Lisette. She had to do that herself.

  She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove, but that was the only outward discomfort she allowed herself to show. With every minute that passed she understood that seeing her daughter again was becoming less and less likely. On the other hand, she knew something about the case she didn’t think McGrath and his team knew.

  “I know my daughter is not your mission, but I don’t think this is Alfonso Reyes,” she said. “From what I’ve learned in Director McGrath’s debriefings it’s not his M-O. An ambush like this morning would be bad for his business and bad for his reputation south of the border.”

  Agent Klipser sat in the passenger seat like a caged lion, wary and watching. He was hunched forward a bit. His dark eyes constantly scanned his surroundings. He sat without his seat belt fastened as though he thought he might need to jump out of the moving vehicle at a moment’s notice. She knew she dare not show any weakness in front of him or his men.

  Klipser looked at her, but said nothing, so she continued.

  “I think it’s Carl Johnson with a vendetta. I think he staged his suicide and now he’s coming after us because his son was killed in your operation. I think I’m his only link to finding you, so he grabbed my daughter to force me to contact you. My assumption is that Reyes has other ways of making contact. He wouldn’t need me.”

  She glanced at Klipser again, but the man’s eyes were totally devoid of emotion. They also held no surprise, and that was confirmation enough for her to assume McGrath had already proceeded down the same path of reasoning.

  “This isn’t news to you, is it?” she said.

  Klipser turned his gaze back onto the road ahead and was silent for a brief moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to share with her what he knew.

  “No, it is not.” He paused. “We’ve considered this possibility.”

  Cummings nodded. “Look, I don’t care what you intend to do with this man when you find him.”

  “If it is Carl Johnson we’re dealing with, I intend to kill him.”

  “If it’s Johnson, give me a few minutes with him first so I can find my daughter. It won’t interfere with your mission.”

  Klipser looked at her again and nodded with a single down-up motion of his head. “I can do that.”

  He looked like he was going to say something else when his eyes suddenly widened. Cummings had been squinting at the setting sun moving through her field of view as the truck followed the curve in the two-lane road. A puff of smoke seemed to appear right out of the ball of fire. Panic gripped her gut as she yanked the wheel to the left and then to the right, but the t
iny missile compensated in a millisecond and slammed into the SUV’s armored front grill.

  The force of the explosion stopped the SUV on a dime and jammed the front end into the asphalt. But the SUV’s forward momentum carried the back end upward and forward. Cummings knew in an instant they were going to flip ass over front, so she gripped the steering wheel as her harness dug into her waist and shoulder.

  For a brief moment a ball of fire obscured everything in front of the truck. The armored windshield cracked, but did not shatter. Then the fire cleared, and the road tilted upward and rotated to the left. Cummings was now looking down and saw the well-armed woman in desert camouflage right below her. The woman lay in the depression beside the road. The woman’s eyes widened as she and the ground raced upward toward the windshield.

  Cummings was vaguely aware of the crunching of metal. Then something struck her hard against the right temple. As darkness settled in, she realized she was hanging upside.

  Chapter 37

  1747 MST Monday

  Albuquerque, NM

  Carl saw the trail of smoke and fire flash from the right bottom corner of the wall monitor. Erickson had expanded the east-facing camera view so it filled the monitor. The lead SUV swerved first to the left and then to the right. The missile course-corrected instantly and slammed into the front of that vehicle.

  According to the plan, the mercs had identified Cummings and Klipser in the lead SUV, and the truck was hit by the non-armor-piercing RPG. The tiny warhead exploded in a spectacular ball of fire, and the force of the explosion squashed the front of the heavy vehicle down into the asphalt, while the back end lifted skyward.

  The front left wheel was blasted away and ripped right through the space where Merc One stood behind the tow truck rig, ready to fire his armor-piercing RPG at the second SUV. He was instantly decapitated, but he pressed his trigger anyway, the final instinctive action of his dead and falling body. His missile blasted harmlessly skyward.