American Terrorist Trilogy

by Jeffrey Poston

  Palmer came over to the desk and plopped the folder in front of him. “Carl, you’re not going to like this.”

  Carl picked up the folder and scanned through several loose sheets of printed pages and two thick reports.

  “Well, fuck me sideways. I thought your TER reports were super-classified?”

  “They are usually above eyes only and restricted to TER commanders and directors and the president’s senior staff. Not even the classified Congressional oversight committees see these.”

  “I bet the chief of staff sees them.”

  “Or the vice president or a number of other senior personnel who could email classified copies with no one suspecting anything.”

  “Scallow’s intern learned who it was.”

  “Maybe he went to his boss and told him, then they both were killed or captured.”

  Carl nodded. “Maybe Mr. Scallow is our adversary and had his people kill his intern. Then he went into hiding.”

  “That’s possible, but before Agent Peoples went off-line, we never learned who else, if anyone, might be missing.”

  “We were getting close,” Carl said. “And we didn’t know it. That’s why they shut us down.”

  Palmer began summarizing the other documents from the safe. “These are after-action reports covering everything that happened over the past thirty days. Everything that happened involving you.”

  Carl narrowed his eyes. “Why the hell do these people care about me? I switched sides and helped the government.”

  Carl felt like a lab rat, a guinea pig. He looked at the computer screen again. Seeing files dating back over ten months validated his assessment of the complexity of his adversary’s plan.

  He shook his head forcefully. There’s no way anyone could have set me up from the beginning. No way anyone could have built an entire operation to kidnap Melissa Mallory around the freak coincidence of me looking like Alfonso Reyes. No way anyone could have predicted I would go insane and declare war on the US government. He shook his head again, finally shaking off the disbelief running through his mind, and returned his full attention to searching for answers.

  “Hunh,” he said. “Well, ain’t this something?” He looked sideways at the agent and suddenly smiled, but there was no humor in his expression.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He nodded. “I know who we’re up against.”

  Chapter 24

  1655 hours MST Friday

  Northern Mexico

  “I may not know exactly who they are, and I can’t put faces to them yet, but I know what they are.” Palmer remained silent, waiting for him to continue. “I’ve got the same feeling in my bones now, as I had two weeks ago when I was looking for Aaron McGrath. I didn’t know who he was either, but my gut told me he was a high-power, covert agency guy. I thought maybe CIA or something like that.

  “These guys have to be like your TER agency, probably just with different letters. They’d have to be to have access to these kinds of classified reports, right?” He leaned over the keyboard and nodded at the center monitor. “The dates on these videos and the various files go back many months, but I only got involved last month because of a fluke, a mistake of identity.

  “I’m nobody to these guys. I’m a gnat on the back of an elephant. I’m just a squirrel trying to get a nut. There’s no way in hell these guys could have developed a yearlong plan for whatever it is they’re trying to do, and have a program goal of finding someone like me who looks like Alfonso Reyes. There’s no way they could have anticipated last year that I, or someone like me, would ever get involved.

  “So,” he said with confidence as he straightened up. “I figure this group is composed of a crew of operational planners just like the TER has. They’ve got a high-ranking director, a McGrath equivalent, and they’ve got a behind-the-scenes leader, probably someone who stands to benefit the most from a successful outcome of the plan. And, they’ve got a heavy hitter—a power broker who can make things happen and who has high-level connections here and in the US—just like El Patron was for the Triad.”

  Palmer said, “That makes sense. Given that framework, I nominate the chief of staff for the power broker. He’s got a lot of influence, but not the authority. But, he could get a lot done if he had someone else above him with a lot of power or money, or both.”

  “Who might that be?”

  She shrugged. “Could be anyone from a high-ranking administration official, like the vice president or the secretary of state, to a top-level three-letter director, to a mega-billionaire civilian.”

  “Well, they’re adapting their plan by the day and by the hour to account for what we’re doing. And they’re pretty good at it too. They have an almost instantaneous response time.”

  Palmer said, “If that’s the case, we’d better change things up a bit because they know where we are. They’ll be sending a covert wet work team for us. If they already have in-country assets, we should expect them at any moment. An operation like this without boots-on-the-ground muscle is just spitting in the wind.”

  “I think they’re going to use your TER operators as their muscle. They’ve got control of your tech and probably your op center too.”

  “They probably won’t use TER field agents, but they certainly can hire out the field work to the same kind of independent contractors the three-letter agencies use.”

  “Okay, but what is the Mexican play in this op? Why would the Mexican government, or people highly connected with the government, risk involvement in an op like this? What do they gain?”

  “I don’t know, Carl, but there’s a very small circle of people with the power to run an op against Aaron McGrath or the president. And they couldn’t do it without people inside the president’s own staff. So, if Martine Scallow isn’t helping them, then he’s dead. He’s well connected, and I can’t see anyone running a high-level op like this without his buy-in.” She glanced sideways at him. “They’d also need high-level involvement at the CIA, because they’re the kings of the covert operations world. We use them too, for field support, because they have the equipment and trained personnel to carry out ops anywhere in the world. In addition, they’d need unrestricted access to certain NSA surveillance assets, so they probably have someone high in that chain of command too.”

  Carl said, “We’ve been taking a defensive posture up to now. Maybe we should open up a second front on these mu’fuckers. Target number one is Martine Scallow.”

  “Even if we find him, he can order the Secret Service to protect him. They’ll never let you get close.”

  “Reyes got close and took the girl.”

  “That’s because Reyes had an insider.”

  “I have you.”

  They both leaned their palms on the desktop at nearly the same instant.

  “Carl, you overestimate my value.”

  They stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, leaning on the desk. He looked sideways at her and she looked sideways at him.

  “I trust you, Nancy. I don’t know why, but I just do. I sense you’re one of the good guys. I believe you’ll do the right thing by Shirley Mallory and not just blindly follow orders from higher up.” He pulled a memory from the back corner of his brain. “Thirty-five years ago as a butter-bar lieutenant, I took an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I’m guessing you did the same more recently.”

  She nodded and they fell silent for a while. Carl considered the commitment they both seemed to have just made. Palmer stuck a USB thumb drive in the side of the keyboard and Carl dragged the entire Operation Unity folder, with all of its video files, document files, and subfolders, onto the thumb drive.

  Palmer paused, then pointed at a page in the folder on the desk. “Look at this sheet.” She laid it in front of him.

  He noticed the title of the page first: Task List.

  “What the hell?” he said as he scanned the contents of the page.

  The page held only the names of people
he had become intimately familiar with over the past two weeks during his war with the US government. FBI Special Agent Lenore Cummings was at the top of the list, along with her daughter Lisette. Cummings’s mother was on the list too. Anita McGrath Chapman was also on the list with her husband and four children.

  “What the hell does this mean?” He could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

  Palmer nodded. “A task list is operator-speak for people to terminate with extreme prejudice.”

  Carl looked at the last name on the list: Garcia, NFN. He knew NFN was a government acronym and it was easy enough to figure out—No First Name. He’d encountered its cousin, NMI for No Middle Initial, back in his Air Force days—as in Johnson, Carl NMI.

  “This is a government hit list?”

  Palmer shook her head. “Not government. It’s our adversary’s hit list.”

  “But why? Except for Cummings, these people are all civilians, noncombatants. They’re innocent victims of my road rage last week. Well,” he said with a grimace. “I guess technically Mr. Garcia is a terrorist, like me.” He looked at the list again. “They’re going to murder children? And who or what is this Unit?”

  He saw a notation at the bottom of the sheet, under the names and addresses, with a recommendation to prioritize the targets as listed. It was signed by someone named Costas Drake, and he was listed as the commander of the Unit.

  Palmer said, “Think about what this means.” She paused, but Carl had no new insight. He was still dazed by the discovery of the list. Palmer said, “This task list means that someone is going to finish what you thought you needed to do last week.” She pushed off from the desk and stood up straight. “And they’re going to frame you for it.”

  Carl took a deep breath and lowered his head. “I don’t know why these guys have such a hard-on for me, but whatever it is, I just got all these people killed.”

  “Carl, this isn’t a random footnote in a report or some kind of attempt to punish you. This is an on-going operation, and it has been in planning for many months. Melissa’s kidnapping was the opening salvo. But this part,” she said, pointing at the task list. “This has to be a new development. Something is happening soon and you’re going to be the fall guy. If they’re successful, the whole world will be looking for you and not them.”

  Carl nodded and she continued, “So we’re no longer just trying to find out what they did to Melissa Mallory. That was part of a larger plan, which we need to understand and stop.”

  Carl looked up at the agent and nodded. “But, what could murdering these people possibly have to do with trying to assassinate the president?”

  Chapter 25

  1701 hours MST Friday

  The Reyes Estate, Northern Mexico

  Cassiopeia Englebaum, also known as Mercenary Number Four or Merc Four for short, examined the yacht parked a half-mile off-shore, simply because it was still there. She’d noticed the boat cruising slowly to the north about half an hour after the boss left. Now, it was just sitting there with its portside anchor cable extended into the water.

  By habit, she was paranoid about such things. She was, after all, an illegal mercenary. In that business, one never knew when the authorities would find you until they actually knocked down the door. Since she was engaged in an active operation, she preferred to call her paranoia by its other name: situational awareness.

  Besides, everyone was on high alert since the comm went down. One instant the op center agent was in mid-sentence, and the next there was only dead silence on the channel. Carl Johnson would continue his mission. Four wasn’t quite sure how she knew that, but she did. She and her husband had only known Johnson for a week, but they’d come to know how he operated. Whenever an unknown factor or a new challenge was introduced into the mission, Johnson was one to charge full speed ahead, even when retreating was the smart thing to do. Four was convinced that was why he was still alive.

  If Johnson were here, Four thought, he’d probably already have ordered the yacht nuked with an RPG on general principles, because it is an unexplained anomaly. So Merc Four was prepared to do just that. On the other hand, a stationary fifty-foot yacht anchored off the private beach was generally not cause for alarm according to Mrs. Reyes.

  Julia Reyes, or Hoolia as she pronounced her name, had translated while her mother explained that everyone in the region knew the mansion belonged to her late husband. Alfonso Reyes was well known as a globetrotting philanthropist along with his reputation as leader of a drug cartel. It was not uncommon for boats to park off the coast so tourists could watch the house with binoculars. Everyone wanted to get a glimpse of the flamboyant, charitable playboy.

  Merc Four took a liking to Julia and easily saw why the boss was so attached to her, despite only knowing her a couple days. She was cheerful and inquisitive; always smiling and asking questions.

  Four took a liking to Luisa Reyes as well, but for different reasons. Luisa was petite and curvy and brown, just like Merc Four liked her women. She and her husband had a fairly open relationship, but they had long since agreed only Four was allowed side partners, not her husband. And Four’s partners were only women, which made it agreeable to her husband because she often let him watch or even participate. She had considered confessing her interest in Luisa to her husband when he returned, but once when she caught Luisa’s gaze and smiled, the woman had simply looked away. There was clearly no mutual interest.

  Merc Four considered the interpersonal dynamics of their mercenary fan club. Johnson was smitten with his new pseudo-daughter, Julia. When he first met the girl during their failed first attempt to find Melissa Mallory, he took to giving the girl full-body hugs and holding her and kissing her forehead, like he was afraid to ever let go of her. Like he needed another kid. But, when he hugged her mother an hour ago, it was a friend-zone, half-sideways, no-frontal-contact hug. It was also clear to see that Luisa Reyes both loved and hated Carl, this new man in her daughter’s life who looked almost exactly like her late husband. What a storm of emotional turmoil Luisa must be feeling, Four thought, every time she looked at the man. Four had the hots for Luisa even though Luisa had the hots for Johnson, and he clearly had the hots for Nancy Palmer, Four’s long-time friend.

  Merc Four considered the psychological quagmire of the group’s interpersonal dynamics. Luisa Reyes was in love with the man who delivered her husband to the TER, and the boss was in love with the TER agent instrumental in the death of his son and who helped run the op to kill Johnson, as well.

  For her part, Nancy Palmer was a blank slate. She was completely unreadable. She didn’t have an interest in anyone, but that didn’t surprise Four. She’d known Nancy for three years since their shooting competition. During the competition and after, she’d tried to bond with Nancy, but the woman warrior kept her emotions completely walled off. She had no friends and no attachments and seemed comfortable maintaining her life that way.

  Merc Four abandoned her fantasy relationship with Luisa Reyes and continued to allow Julia to follow her around like she was the girl’s gun-toting role model. Maybe the girl considered it all simply a big adventure she’d tell her kids about in a couple decades.

  When Johnson was around, the girl clearly loved the way he let her cling to him. He wasn’t quite a father figure or a big brother, and he definitely wasn’t a role model. To say the girl is love-struck is probably not accurate either, Four thought. It might be more like a pre-teen crush on a guy she thinks can protect her and keep her safe.

  Johnson seemed to have a unique sense of righteousness about him. When he promised something, you could take that to the bank. Relying on someone’s word was rare in Four’s business.

  Julia didn’t seem to understand how dangerous Johnson really was. He was a raw, open wound. You never knew if he was going to hug you or kill you…or kill your family. Four realized that was not the kind of dynamic an eleven-year-old girl would understand or even care about. Johnson made her feel safe and that’s all that mattere
d to her.

  In the beginning, all Merc Four and her husband cared about was that the terrorist paid extremely well. A lot of jobs they’d taken in the last couple of years were bodyguard gigs, driving legal or illegal bigwigs around. Mostly, they just stood around looking dangerous, but every now and then they took a gig where they actually got to do some gun work. Just three months ago, they escorted a drug shipment across Texas. There was a little dust-up at the end and some shots were fired, so they’d had to leave the country for a while.

  The odds were the two of them against ten, and six of the ten had died. When you have elite army training and expensive high-tech, black-market weapons with low-light and infrared scopes, two commandos could hold off a hundred times that many when all the opposition had were shotguns and chrome-grip pistols. There was never really any danger on that gig, and there most certainly was no adrenaline rush like they’d been seeking.

  They’d hid down in Mexico where Mr. Garcia’s network came calling with the promise of real action and crazy money. Two thousand a week for six weeks minimum!

  The boss had more than delivered on his promise of action and adrenaline. At first, Four and Three were completely happy with grabbing a couple grand while some lunatic civvy who’d lost his son declared war on the FBI. But, the way he’d lured those assault teams into that building and blown them to hell had earned the respect of both her and her husband. Then, there was the way he planned and directed the ambush of that elite TER team. And they had prevailed! She was ready to follow that man into any battle now.

  She shivered involuntarily as she recalled watching the video of what he did to the TER survivor. He literally hacked the man’s head off while he was still alive! She couldn’t have done that. Hell, her husband couldn’t have done that.

  The boss excited her because he wasn’t a desk commander. He’d gotten into the shit with them. He promised action and delivered. Not once or twice, but three times now. Merc Four always knew this was how she wanted to go out—fighting a big fight against a big enemy. Kicking butts and taking names.