American Terrorist Trilogy

by Jeffrey Poston

  “Holy shit!” Four’s voice said.

  Carl said. “Is that a fucking machine gun on top of that truck?”

  Chapter 59

  0625 MST Thursday

  Northern Mexico

  Agent Palmer gave him the specs, but her analysis didn’t make him feel any better.

  “That truck is a modified Hummer with a cut-back cabin and a roof-mounted, fifty-caliber, belt-fed gun.”

  “Fuck.” He slowed the van to a stop and gazed through the dust-streaked windshield.

  Merc Four said, “That fifty-cal will rip right through that sheet metal we put inside the bus. Recommend that gunner as my target of first priority.”

  “Roger that,” Palmer said.

  “Only if he’s shooting at Bobcat,” Carl said.

  Three objected. “But the Reyes girls will be completely unprotected in the van.”

  “I know,” Carl said. “But Melissa Mallory is the mission. Collateral is secondary.”

  For the first time, Carl considered the possibility that he might not survive the operation.

  “Mr. Garcia?”

  “Here, Boss.”

  “If I go down, get our people safely home and paid.”

  “Copy that.”

  Carl had to smile at the young man’s operational parlance. He pulled Luisa’s flip phone from a vest pocket and flipped it open with one hand. He pressed SEND, and the same number he called a few hours ago was dialed again.

  “Mr. Johnson,” was all Reyes said.

  “Where is the girl?”

  Reyes ended the call, and in the distance men moved around the two trucks, though Carl couldn’t identify them.

  Palmer said, “I have eyes on the package.”

  Three said, “Confirmed.”

  “I also have four tangos on-site,” Palmer added. “Including Alfonso Reyes and Ricardo Guzman.”

  Guzman had been identified as the second gunner hanging out of the SUV right after Mark was killed. Carl closed the phone and tossed it to the passenger floor.

  “Reyes and Guzman are standing at the back of the white Hummer, and Bobcat is with them. There is a driver standing near the front of the Hummer, and he appears to be armed with a machine pistol—likely an American-made Colt or an AK with the shoulder stock sawed off. The top-mounted machine gunner appears locked and loaded and is sighting on your van.”

  Carl inched the VW bus forward again. He hauled the steering wheel to the left, then to the right, and parked the bus perpendicular to the road with the driver’s side panel of the bus facing the trade site. He got out, but left the door open and the engine running. Then he strutted around front like the FBI’s most wanted bad-ass, in clear view of Reyes and his men. He eyeballed them like he dared them to shoot him.

  He slid open the side door and helped the girls out. Julia rocked forward like she wanted to hug him, but he quickly grabbed her shoulders.

  “No, we can’t do that in front of those men.” He smiled at her and added, “Be brave, sweetie. I’ll be back for you in a minute.” He smiled at Luisa, then pulled both ladies by their arms and led them around the front so Reyes could get a good look at them. Then he pulled them back around the side and gave Julia one last instruction.

  “If they start shooting, stay behind the engine.” He pointed at the back of the bus, and she nodded.

  He opened the passenger door and hauled an oversized metal briefcase from the bench. It was constructed of brushed steel with reinforced corners and edges that made it look like it could withstand a grenade blast. He wobbled slightly under the heavy weight as he made his way toward Reyes. He stopped halfway and put the briefcase down, then stepped a dozen paces to the side, careful to stay out of Merc Four’s line of fire. He waggled his hand—come here—at Alfonso Reyes, his cue to send Melissa over.

  Melissa Mallory was a sorry sight to see. Carl couldn’t see evidence that she’d been beaten, but her shoulder-length brown hair was a mess, and her face was drawn and filthy. She wore a man’s shirt that was much too big for her and was probably white a month ago. She wore beige canvas pants. Her clothes were dirty and stained. She looked like she hadn’t been allowed to bathe for weeks.

  She was a big girl for sixteen, and she reminded Carl of the typical American teenage couch potato who didn’t get out to play much, and had no interest in school sports. She stood nearly as tall as Carl and probably weighed a buck-fifty. Her hands weren’t restrained, but there was no need. She was gaunt and weak, and looked like someone who understood she was a prisoner with no hope of escape. Whether or not she was tied up was irrelevant.

  The girl probably didn’t even realize she was about to be released. Or maybe she thought she was going to be killed. Then again, she looked like she didn’t care either way.

  Reyes called behind him. His driver stepped around the back of the Hummer, and listened while his boss gave him his instructions. The man set his sawed rifle on top of the Hummer and grabbed Melissa by the arm and yanked her forward. She shuffled along on bare feet. She simply looked at the ground and let herself be dragged to whatever destiny awaited her.

  When they were almost even with Carl, the gunman let her go and jogged toward the case beside Carl. Carl heard the man pop the latches on the case.

  Palmer said, “As we expected, he’s doing a chemical analysis of the bonds.”

  Melissa had stopped one step away from Carl and kept her gaze on the ground. Carl whispered to her.

  “Your mom sent me for you. Just a few more minutes and you’ll be safe.”

  Palmer said, “Wait, Carl. Do not approach her. Remember, she’s been in captivity for over a month, and she’s probably afraid of everything and everyone. You have to try to bond with her, but you must do it very quickly.”

  Melissa fidgeted with her hands, alternately interlocking her fingers and rubbing her hands together like she was washing them.

  “They call you Bobcat, don’t they? The Secret Service?”

  She stopped fidgeting for a moment. Her gaze came up, and her blue eyes focused for just a moment. Her bottom lip trembled, and she grabbed her left hand with her right.

  “I look like him, don’t I?” She nodded. “That’s why your mom hired me. Took me a while to find you, though. I had to drive all over Mexico, but now we can all go home. Your mom’s waiting for you at the border.” He thumbed over his shoulder, and Melissa glanced that way for a second.

  “I can keep you safe, but I need you close to me, okay? I want you to grab hold of my vest and never let go.”

  He got her to relax just long enough so he could step forward and take hold of her hands. She tried to pull away, but he held her close. She smelled of a mixture of bad breath and hungry breath, as if they had barely fed her and never let her brush her teeth during her captivity. She smelled like they had kept her locked in a dungeon with no toilet or shower and made her soil herself. He knew that humiliation also. At least Klipser’s men had hosed him down daily. Melissa’s captors had not done the same for her.

  “Don’t worry, Melissa. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He placed her hands on his armored tactical vest. “If you stay attached to me, I can protect you from anything. I have friends nearby.”

  Melissa’s gaze darted toward the VW bus.

  “Boss,” Three said. “I don’t like what I’m seeing down there.” Carl recalled the man had extremely long-distance binoculars with huge lenses. “The fifty-cal shooter’s posture is very aggressive.”

  Four added, “Roger that. The sniper is sighting. I think he’s going to shoot. Request permission to engage.”

  “Negative,” Carl said. “Stick to the plan, people.”

  Palmer sounded hesitant. “Remember, Carl, the plan is fluid.”

  Carl countered, “Reyes probably thinks I have commandos in the bus. He won’t start shooting until he has his family back.”

  Palmer said, “Begin moving toward the van.”

  “Copy that.” He brushed filthy hair fr
om the girl’s face and tried to get eye contact. “Okay, Melissa, I want you to come with me. Let’s walk over that way.”

  She resisted and moved her left hand to the right edge of his vest near his arm pit. With her right hand, she grabbed the back of his vest at the neck. She clung tight, but she wouldn’t move with him.

  “Agent Palmer, this isn’t working.”

  “Shit!” Four said. “The sniper is locking and loading!”

  Carl heard the man snap shut the briefcase again. He shouted something in Spanish, and Mr. Garcia translated.

  “He said the bearer bonds are real.”

  Alfonso Reyes smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Johnson, but you see, I’m not afraid of the US government or your president. In fact, I’d feel much more comfortable if you and my family all went straight to hell.”

  Carl felt surprisingly calm. When he couldn’t get Melissa to walk, much less run, to safety, he realized he had his fluid situation. He had only one option open to him, and he made his decision with the analytical coolness Agent Palmer always displayed.

  He pulled his sidearm and started shooting.

  Chapter 60

  0637 MST Thursday

  Northern Mexico

  His first and only shot hit the gunman at the money box square in the face. The man’s head snapped back, and he folded right to the ground. Then everything happened at once, but it wasn’t like the movies, where there was always an orderly destruction of bad guys.

  He heard the deep ratcheting clatter from the truck-mounted machine gun. At the same time he heard the pinging sounds of the huge shells punching holes in the van’s metal side, and he heard the shattering of the windows. He also heard the controlled chaos of Agent Palmer and the mercs exchanging instructions in his ear. Somehow, they all seemed able to understand everything that was said.

  He also heard the high-pitched whine of an Uzi submachine gun. Yet he absorbed all those sounds before the first man he shot even hit the dirt.

  Over Melissa’s shoulder, Carl saw Guzman bring up his Uzi. He squeezed the trigger and swept the weapon to his left—left to right from Carl’s perspective—aiming chest-high on a direct path across the space he occupied. Except the girl was standing between him and Guzman.

  Carl acted instinctively, totally without thought, and did the only thing he could to save the girl. Like ballroom dancers, he stepped forward and twisted to his right. With her hands locked to his vest, Melissa instantly pivoted with him, out of the path of the bullets.

  Pain exploded in his back as he took the hits. He heard himself scream in pain, and then he flopped down in the dirt on top of the girl.

  “Oh, God. I’m hit! I’m hit!”

  All Carl could see when he fell on top of Melissa was the rise and fall of her chest. He straddled her, his left cheek resting between her breasts. He was rapidly fading. He could no longer feel anything, not even the pain, and he couldn’t breathe.

  Suddenly, the gunfire fell silent, and a cacophony of voices were shouting at him.

  “Get up, Johnson! Get up! Reyes is going for a gun!”

  Four said, “I don’t have a shot. He’s behind the Hummer.”

  “I can’t move,” Carl whispered. “I’m hit bad. I can’t breathe. I’m dying.”

  Merc Three said “You are moving, goddammit! If you couldn’t breathe you wouldn’t be able to talk, so roll your rookie ass over and shoot that mu’fucker!”

  Merc Two added, “I’m on my way. ETA sixty seconds.”

  Carl heard Agent Palmer’s voice in his ear also. She was calm and controlled, like it was just another day at the office.

  “Carl, you are not dying. You’ve just never been shot before. The vest protected you. Try to take a deep breath and roll over.”

  He opened his eyes, looked past the girl’s chest, and saw his right hand in the dirt. The hand still held the Glock, and his arm was moving! He felt the pain in his back again, and it suddenly became very intense. He screamed again and struggled to raise his head. Then he tried and failed to roll off the girl.

  “Melissa, push me over.”

  With her hands still locked to his vest, she helped push him off, and his body sprawled belly up beside her. Carl saw two things. He saw his legs moving in spastic uncoordinated movements, as if his appendages were trying to claw their own way to their feet, and he saw Alfonso Reyes fiddling with an Uzi. It was the weapon Guzman had shot Carl with, and that man lay in front of Reyes with a huge, messy chunk of his chest missing, compliments of Merc Four.

  Reyes looked like he was trying to clear a jammed mechanism, so Carl struggled to bring up his Glock. It wavered in front of his face, and Carl realized Melissa’s arms were interfering with his sight. She had never let go of his vest, so when she rolled him off her, she rolled with him and ended up lying halfway on top of him.

  Carl coughed in pain, and his eyes watered. Alfonso Reyes became a hazy shadow, a splotch of darkness against an unfocused, sand-colored landscape. He pointed his gun in the general direction of that shadow and squeezed his trigger. He wasn’t sure of his aim, so he kept firing until the slide locked back. His gun was empty.

  He heard Agent Palmer’s calm voice in his ear. “He’s down, Carl.”

  “Good.” He laid his head against the dirt. “Is he dead?”

  “Negative. He’s still moving.”

  “Well,” he said with another painful cough. “I better go fix that.”

  Carl holstered his Glock, then groaned with the effort required to roll to his hands and knees. He paused, breathing heavily.

  He’d been beaten, tazered, electrocuted, and waterboarded to within an inch of his life, but he’d never been shot before, and it hurt like hell. Being shot in the back half a dozen times was one hell of an indoctrination.

  When Carl started to feel his strength returning, he raised Melissa up with him so she was also sitting up.

  “You did good, baby girl.” He cupped her cheeks with his palms and kissed her forehead through her mat of dirty hair. “You never let go, just like I told you.”

  Carl got them both to their feet, but he had to pause for a moment to catch his breath. His back throbbed. He looked around and saw the VW bus. It looked like Swiss cheese, and daylight shone through the myriad holes in the skin of the bus. The fifty-cal rounds had punched through the sides of the bus and all the layers of protective sheet metal. Every window in the vehicle was blasted out, and the tires on the side of the bus looked like tiny bombs had exploded under them.

  Even as he wondered about the Reyes girls, they peeked out from behind the back of the bus. The engine block was basically a big chunk of metal, and he was relieved to see that it had withstood the fifty-cal assault. He smiled and waved them over, and they cautiously walked arm-in-arm toward him.

  Mercs Three and Four had saved him. Four’s first long-distance kill, the head shot, had undoubtedly saved them from the hilltop sniper. Her second shot ripped right through Guzman’s chest. The machine gunner had several seconds to pepper the VW bus before he lost a significant portion of his chest and back. His body had actually been launched completely out of the back of the modified Hummer, and he’d landed in the space between the truck and the Hummer. Only Alfonso Reyes still lived, and Carl watched the man squirm behind his Hummer.

  He eased Melissa’s grip from his vest. “These are the friends I mentioned, Luisa and Julia Reyes.” He nodded to Julia. “This is Melissa Mallory, the president’s daughter.”

  Julia smiled and said, “Hola, Melissa.”

  Carl said, “Let me go see about Mr. Reyes, then we’ll get you back across the border to your mom, okay?”

  Melissa nodded and said, “Is my daddy going to be there too.”

  “I don’t know, baby girl. I don’t know who he is.”

  “His name is Aaron.”

  Time seemed to stop for a few seconds, and Carl finally realized that his comm channel was utterly silent.

  “Aaron McGrath is your pops?” The girl nodded.

&
nbsp; Four said, “Holy shit.”

  Three added, “Well, fuck me sideways.”

  “Boss,” Two said. “We can change this mission right the fuck now. You just say the word, and we’ll keep this girl and engage our in-country assets.”

  “That’s right. We got your back.”

  “Boo-yah!”

  The government side of the comm remained silent, as if they were all holding their breath, waiting to see what he was going to do. He felt the thrill of having power over Aaron McGrath, but the sensation faded quickly.

  “Negative,” he said. “Punishing the Director is not the mission, not yet anyway. Let’s get this girl home to her mother.” To Melissa he said, “I’m sure your pops will be there too.”

  Carl looked at Julia. “Will you and your mom take care of her for me for a minute?”

  As the two ladies comforted Melissa, Carl loaded a fresh magazine into his weapon and walked over to Reyes. The man had a single gunshot to his left hip. He lay on his back. He looked up with an expression Carl could only describe as contempt. Carl laid his assault boot hard on the gunshot wound, and Reyes screamed.

  “You killed my son.” He pointed the Glock at Reyes’s face.

  “Wait! Wait!” The man gasped. “I have money.”

  “I already have money.”

  “I have more. You can have the ransom. All of it.”

  It was part of the psychological torture Carl had learned at the hands of Agent Klipser. Even in the presence of complete and utter hopelessness, even imminent death, it was human nature to want to stay alive as long as possible. A person would do anything to delay certain death. That instinct made a person cling to a tiny figment of fantasy that there was something you could do or say to make your enemy change his mind and let you live.

  “Well, that’s a start,” Carl said. “Give me the account number and your password.” Reyes did. “If my guy can access the money, then I’ll let you live.”