American Terrorist Trilogy

by Jeffrey Poston

  He sensed Four was primarily reviewing the plan for her husband’s clarification and to bring Palmer up to date. The review also gave Carl reassurance that the dozen mercenaries on guard could handle a sizable invasion force, at least until the civilians could be evacuated. Palmer nodded as Four concluded.

  Palmer looked at Carl and said, “Alright, I recommend everyone get rested and fed while we wait for actionable intel from Agent Peoples. You never know when your next meal or nap will come.”

  Everyone left the main room to attend to their own manner of rest or food. Carl took an energy bar from his duffel and sat out on the veranda facing the beach. The heat from the sun soothed him and helped him relax, and he allowed his eyes to become hypnotized by the slight undulations on the surface of the water offshore. Even though the temperature was in the low eighties, there was a slight breeze out of the west that kept him cool.

  He tried to practice Palmer’s suggestions about putting specific memories into compartments, but the effort only slid the faces he didn’t want to see across the inner view screen of his mind, like a picture slide show. He saw the girl he almost tortured, Lisette Cummings, as well as her mother. He saw the battered and bloody face of Anita Chapman. He saw the bullet-ridden corpse of his son, Mark, and the blood pooling beneath his body on the concrete in front of the young man’s apartment.

  Like an intrusion of light into darkness, Carl saw the smiling face of Julia Reyes. Next he envisioned the two kids he had saved, Melissa Mallory and Rainey, and a feeling of warmth spread through him. He’d done something good by those three kids, and the warmth he felt gave him purpose. It balanced the evil he felt he was becoming.

  He took a deep breath and focused on a luxury yacht slowly cruising by a quarter-mile off the coast. Two of the black-clad mercs on fence patrol studied the yacht through binoculars for a moment, then continued their patrol. Carl took one last look around and went back inside intending to find an empty bedroom suite to do an hour of yoga, then take a shower, then get a meal. He decided on one of the two downstairs suites, rather than upstairs where the mercs were bunked, and headed toward the room farthest from the living room.

  He opened the door and stepped in, then froze. There she stood, right in front of him, stark naked.

  Chapter 15

  1420 hours MST Friday

  Northern Mexico

  “We have discovered the identity and other personal information of El Patron,” Agent Peoples said over the comm channel.

  Carl nodded to the team gathered before him in the living room. “Excellent.”

  “Analysis of his financial records shows that his accountant is an individual recently flagged by Homeland Defense as a possible terror suspect based on the substantial size of several recent cash transactions to and from off-shore accounts operated by US dummy corporations.

  “This accountant, Vicente Orizaga, has recently brokered several indeterminate deals, each over one hundred million US dollars. Cash was moved roughly every four months since February of last year. His personal account shows that he took a two-percent fee in each of the three transactions. We’re working on tracing the ownership of these corporations, but that may take some time.

  “Mr. Orizaga has also been known to manage transactions for several prominent Mexican political leaders and influential action groups. Queries we’ve made to high-profile international accountant groups indicate that if the Triad was looking for a CPA, Orizaga is the one they’d use. We believe the Triad is a collection of three very wealthy power brokers, but that conclusion is partly based on Orizaga’s recent transactions. We have no specific records of their identities, so we have no actionable intel yet.”

  Palmer said, “What is the likelihood that Orizaga is involved with the kidnapping of the First Daughter?”

  Peoples said, “There is no evidence yet, but computer analysis gives a thirty-eight percent probability that he is involved.”

  “I’d double that probability,” Carl said. When everyone looked at him, he said, “You’ve got some entity, probably this Triad, who invests several hundred million on something with the same CPA that works for an army general, who was definitely involved with Alfonso Reyes, who kidnapped Melissa Mallory and twice demanded two hundred fifty million in ransom.”

  Carl paused while his audience absorbed his interpretation. “The general was deathly afraid of these investors—and I use the term investors only because that’s the term the general used with me. So I figure the ransom money was his opportunity to pay them back for some kind of short-term loan, plus interest.”

  Peoples objected. “It doesn’t take five hundred million, or even a tenth of that, to organize and fund a kidnapping operation. Not even if the target is the First Daughter.”

  “Precisely,” Carl agreed. “Kinda makes me wonder what does cost several hundred million. And, why the hell would they try for such a high-risk target like the president’s daughter? I mean, seriously, there’s got to be people or kids you can kidnap to raise that kind of money and not have to go up against the Secret Service.”

  Palmer added, “You’re suggesting Melissa Mallory was essential to the operation?”

  Carl shrugged. “Maybe they demanded a ransom just to make it seem like a kidnapping. Maybe they were trying to cover up a different objective. I don’t know.” He looked around the room. “At the exchange site yesterday, Alfonso Reyes decided to shaft the general and his investors and tried to keep the money. He gave his man the order to kill Melissa, and his own wife and daughter.”

  Palmer nodded and said, “So, maybe Reyes was just a tool. Maybe he wasn’t part of the larger plan. Maybe he had his own agenda.”

  Carl nodded. “Something changed. Something happened to upset the master plan. The general’s plan and Reyes’s plan.”

  “Not some-thing,” Palmer said. “Some-one.”

  She stopped talking and everyone stared at Carl. He got the feeling he was the focus of a secret that everyone but him knew.

  “What?” he said.

  Palmer said, “You happened, Carl.”

  Carl looked up at the ceiling for a moment, struggling to keep the imagery of Mark’s death in its assigned vault until later. Finally, he scanned the room.

  “So, maybe Alfonso Reyes was under orders to release Melissa all along. And I nearly fucked the whole thing up by involving Reyes’s wife and child.” Carl’s gaze went to infinity as he recalled the confrontation. “Reyes lost his composure and tried to kill the girl because of me.”

  Merc Four shook her head. “You saved her by taking that shot in the back.”

  “Hell, the whole op nearly went to shit because I was involved. If anyone else had went to get her yesterday, the trade would have gone smoothly.”

  Palmer shook her head. “I’m having trouble believing that. We went over your scenario from every possible angle, and it made absolute sense.”

  “Just like your analysis led to…” Carl looked at Palmer and swallowed the words he really wanted to say. To my son’s death. Instead, he closed his eyes and said, “To everyone believing I was Alfonso Reyes.”

  Agent Peoples said, “I’ve read all the after-action reports, so maybe a fresh perspective might help?”

  Carl took a deep breath and nodded. Agent Palmer said, “Go ahead.”

  “Clearly, the general and his people anticipated a double-cross from Reyes because he showed up with offensive assets. His assets were likely prepped long before the trade site was specified, and he was airborne before your people were in place, Mr. Johnson. He knew something about Reyes that we don’t know. I’m thinking Reyes planned to kill Melissa all along. Even if he couldn’t escape, he knew the general wouldn’t kill him because that man wanted his money back. I think Reyes saw an opportunity to blame the whole thing on Johnson. Melissa Mallory was destined to die, except Johnson took the bullets for her. It’s extremely likely that if another retrieval team had gone down there, Melissa would have died.”

  Everyone was sil
ent for a moment. Carl said, “Okay, so except for Reyes’ double-cross, Melissa was originally supposed to be released. Why?”

  Palmer echoed his concern. “What’s worth the risk of being hunted forever by US covert forces?”

  Merc Three said, “Unless you had inside information and knew the US wouldn’t be hunting you.”

  Four added, “Who has the power to stop a man hunt?”

  Palmer shook her head. “No one. The president has majority support in the House and the Senate. Once Congress agrees to a covert war, only the president can stop it.”

  Carl said, “So, the question I think we should be asking is, not why Melissa was released, but why she was taken.”

  “Well,” Merc Four slapped her knees and stood up. “Why don’t we go ask this Orizaga fellow? Worst case, we make a mistake, but find out he’s not involved. And the world has one less money-laundering accountant after we kick his ass. Best case, he points us to someone else involved at a higher level. Hell, maybe he can give us the Triad’s identities.”

  “I like the way you think.” Carl gave the female merc a sly grin. “Agent Peoples, does Orizaga have an office around here?”

  There was a pause and Carl imagined Agent Peoples was consulting his analysts.

  “He has no office, but according to his business registration documents, he’s a home-based freelancer. His home is an old, fourteen-thousand-square-foot plantation house on six hundred acres about a two-hour drive north of your current location. Twenty miles west-northwest of Hermosillo. Satellite maps show it’s pretty barren country.”

  Carl stood. “Well, let’s go say hello.”

  “Actually,” Peoples said. “I’ve just been told Señor Orizaga is in Albuquerque. He is registered at the Hyatt Downtown. He checked in three days ago, but no one has seen or heard from him since. His current whereabouts are unknown.”

  “Another missing person,” Carl said. “Interesting.”

  Palmer said, “Is his house vacant, then?”

  Peoples said, “Negative. Records show he has three generations of family members living at the residence.”

  Merc Three said, “So a daytime covert entry is not possible. I recommend three mercenaries, plus myself, go along to keep the family and any security under control while you two…,” He pointed two fingers at Carl and Palmer. “…check his office safe and computer for relevant information.”

  Peoples objected. “This is an off-the-books op. That rendition protocol expired when Melissa was brought back across the border. We can’t risk US involvement in an illegal home invasion.”

  “The American Terrorist has his own operational protocols,” Carl said.

  “But Agent Palmer—”

  “Has no authority on this team outside of being an observer. The US is absolved of involvement in this op in case things do go south.” He looked over to the government agent for approval.

  “Agreed,” she said.

  Carl added, “Besides, too many coincidental things are happening very quickly, and we need answers.”

  “I agree,” Palmer said. “Let’s go see what we can learn. Agent Peoples, can you—”

  “Stand by.”

  Mr. Garcia’s voice came on the line. “So what’s our backup plan, Boss?”

  “Backup plan?” Palmer said.

  Garcia said, “You know, for when the shit hits the proverbial fan.”

  Carl chuckled. “On your end, Mr. Garcia, the fallback plan remains the same. Drop everything, grab the family, and get the hell outa town. On this end, if things go sideways, we’ll rally back at the airport.”

  Peoples came back on. “I just received an update on President Mallory’s condition. She remains in a coma as a result of her seizure. We couldn’t wake Director McGrath so we called an ambulance.”

  Suddenly, Carl gasped at the impossible.

  “Fuck me!” he said. “This whole thing wasn’t about a kidnapping. This was about assassinating the president of the United States! And they used her daughter to do it.”

  Chapter 16

  1530 hours MST Friday

  Northern Mexico

  Merc Four narrowed her eyes. “Are you suggesting they used the president’s daughter as a carrier to infect her mother?”

  “If they did, it’s an incredibly fast-acting agent.” Palmer said. “It’s been what, a day between when she got her daughter back and her seizure?”

  Three shook his head. “That can’t be it. Reyes’s men handled her at the trade site yesterday and none of them wore any kind of protective breathing gear. Not even gloves.” He pointed at Carl. “And you touched her too, but you’re not sick.”

  Palmer said, “Maybe it’s some kind of DNA cocktail. The president and Aaron McGrath are her parents and they’re both sick.”

  “Well, they’re not dead yet,” Carl said. “If it’s a biological or chemical agent, then there’s an antidote for it. I say we continue the mission and find out what Orizaga knows.” He looked around and found the others nodding.

  “Mr. Blick, can you fly a helicopter?”

  “I can fly anything.”

  “Let’s get moving then.”

  Aboard Alfonso Reyes’s luxury helicopter, no one spoke during most of the thirty-minute trip northward. Carl kept his thoughts focused on his son’s life and death, on Melissa Mallory’s rescue, and on the elaborate ruse to assassinate America’s first female president. He watched the shadows lengthen on the ground that passed beneath the chopper. The blue-green water of the Gulf turned to hues of yellow, orange, and red in line with the setting sun. They had maybe half an hour remaining before sunset.

  He glanced out the right window at the city of Hermosillo. Lights were coming on and he could see the neon signage of many international brands. He couldn’t read the words on the bright signs, but he recognized the logos—Walmart, McDonalds, Home Depot, Dairy Queen, and IHOP.

  “Agent Peoples, are you with us?”

  “I am.”

  “What do we know about this city?”

  “Hermosillo is the capitol of the state of Sonora. It is also the sixteenth largest city in Mexico. It has a population of about eight hundred thousand, give-or-take, and its primary business sector is manufacturing. Cars mostly, but also electronics—televisions and cell phones and IT-related computer equipment.”

  Carl said, “So, if something says Made in Mexico it probably comes from here.”

  “Well, I’m not sure—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Please continue.”

  “Hermosillo and all of the state of Sonora is on Mountain Standard Time. The altitude of Hermosillo is about seven hundred feet above sea level. The area has had fairly explosive growth in the last few years at two-point-five percent per year, so the population is putting pressure on the infrastructure. The water table is now lower than sea level, and salt-water creep into the water supply is a constant problem.

  “The average low temperature for December is fifty degrees at night, while the average high temperature during the daytime is seventy-seven. Right now the temperature is eighty-two, and lately, the nighttime temperature has been in the low sixties.

  “Vicente Orizaga’s homestead is located in a wide valley, in a somewhat hilly part of the country. The roads in the area are unpaved and his nearest neighbor is five miles to the north in a completely separate valley.

  “I might add that the local airport—General Ignacio Pesqueira Garcia International, which features mostly flights to other Mexican airports and a few flights to Phoenix and Los Angeles—is like your airport in Albuquerque. It doubles as an air force base.”

  My airport?

  Carl pondered that for a moment as the helicopter approached the Orizaga plantation from the southwestern quadrant. He’d arrived in Albuquerque when he was twenty-eight and had lived there for the better part of twenty-five years. Albuquerque was home for him. Before. He wondered where home would be in the future. So much had changed for him in the last thirty days. Even though the president
had pardoned him for his terrorist activities, everyone he loved and nearly everyone who knew him lived in Albuquerque. They wouldn’t forget what he’d done, who he’d become.

  Mark moved out from Alabama after graduating high school and lived with Carl for three years. Then he lived on his own for another nine years, just across town. Carl knew that if he stayed in Albuquerque now, he’d see Mark’s face at every restaurant they’d ever visited. Every theater, every store, and every park.

  Carl felt someone touch his arm and he jerked away. In that same instant, his sojourn into deep thought ended, and he realized he was clutching the armrests of his seat with a death grip. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes, but when he opened them and looked around, he noticed everyone in the helicopter except the pilot was looking at him. It was Agent Palmer who had touched his arm and brought him back to the here and now.

  Merc Three said, “You okay, Boss?”

  Carl grunted at the man. “No, I’m not okay. I was thinking about my dead son.” He took a deep breath and looked out his window at the approaching homestead. “Getting myself motivated.”

  Palmer said, “Agent Peoples, ping the property. See if there are any cell phones, landlines, or Internet connections.” The agent did not answer. “Stephen, are you there?”

  There was a click and a momentary squeal that was barely audible, then the comm channel was silent.

  Chapter 17

  1735 hours EST Friday

  Undisclosed TER Op Station, Virginia

  TER Agent Stephen Peoples was the senior of the two analysts on duty, the other being Monroe Petrelli. Technically, he was a field agent, but had been reassigned as McGrath’s second in command after Agent Fredericks’s accident the previous day. Since Aaron McGrath was incapacitated, Peoples was now serving as the TER commander for the ongoing mission to find and punish the people responsible for kidnapping the president’s daughter.