Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises

by Cliff Roberts

  “Shit, boy, you’re one lucky mother,” the smaller trucker called out. “If we didn’t have a schedule to keep, why, he’d probably kill you.”

  The man then turned and followed his friend into the shower room, the door banging closed behind them. Yousef put them out of his mind and finished dialing the ten-digit access number on his calling card and then dialed the number. The phone rang twice before it was answered.

  “Yes?” asked a male voice with a slight Middle Eastern accent.

  “Yes, the doctors say the prognosis is good. Perhaps you could let my father know that all goes well and that I will be home soon,” Yousef spoke code into the phone.

  “Yes, it will be done,” the voice stated flatly. Yousef hung up the phone and walked off towards the lounge. As he passed a trash can, he tossed the phone card in.

  Returning to the lounge area, Yousef patiently waited for the go-ahead acknowledgement for the second stage of his mission. It took about twenty minutes.

  The local news anchor was a pretty blonde in her late twenties or early thirties. Yousef had no doubt she was a whore who had slept with her boss to get the job. He had learned all about her type in the madrasa. It is a fundamental teaching across the Middle East; all western women are whores. She sat reading the news, covering local events and updates on Houston until she was interrupted by someone off camera who handed her a sheet of paper. She read it first, then looked up at her co-anchor, making sure she showed just the right amount of concern before speaking.

  Her co-anchor was a mature dark-haired man who was semi good looking. He returned her look of concern as she spoke. “Dan, this is major breaking news! CNN is reporting that they were contacted just a few minutes ago by an undisclosed source outside the country claiming to be the terrorist responsible for the attack on Houston today.”

  After waiting briefly for effect, she continued. “It’s a chilling statement, calling the loss of life meager. It goes on to say it is ‘Allah’s will’ that America suffer further for its attempts to destroy the Islamic way of life. It also claims that the attack was in retaliation for the previous Republican administration’s policies in the Middle East and Far East. The statement ends with ‘Allah may show mercy towards the infidels, but I will not. America can expect to cry again tomorrow!’ How chilling is that?” she questioned while frowning.

  The camera shifted to her co-anchor who concluded the story by saying, “Well, there you have it. It is reported by CNN that the tragic fire in Houston which is still burning as we speak was an act of terrorism and that the attack may not be over. Federal authorities, however, have yet to comment on the authenticity of the call. When the authorities in Washington do break their silence, we’ll bring it to you in its entirety.” The anchor stopped talking and the picture switched back to the pretty blonde who was sitting facing the camera with huge smile etched upon her face, and after a moment, she started reading a story about a lost cat.

  Yousef had stopped listening by then. He was focused on the success of his mission and his belief that Allah was smiling at him. The thought was very pleasing, and Yousef couldn’t help but smile. Instantly, he knew it was a mistake, and although he quickly caught himself, it was too late.

  “Did you see that?” someone bellowed from across the room. It was the big cowboy trucker—the same one who had threatened him by the phones. He was pointing at Yousef and pulling on his companion’s shirt to get his attention.

  “That little shit was smiling at the news. He liked the fact that good Americans died today and that the fucking terrorists are threatening to do it again tomorrow!” Both men began moving in Yousef’s direction. Several other truckers turned and looked at Yousef, their faces hard, their eyes cold.

  Yousef leapt from his chair, cursing himself, and quickly raced for the door at the far end of the lounge that led to the main part of the truck stop. He hoped to mingle with the crowd and lose these two sons of whores among the crowd there.

  Slipping through the doors, he ducked behind a shelving unit filled with all kinds of different hats—cowboy hats, baseball caps, and sombreros. A moment later, he heard the two men enter. The big one snarled something unintelligible, and the other one began stomping his feet on the floor as if trying to drive an animal from cover.

  “I saw the wetback come in here. Spread out!” the big man bellowed. “I’m going to teach that son of a bitch to smile about terrorists killing Americans.” Several people were now looking at Yousef crouched behind the hats, so he decided he’d better move. Staying as low as possible, he weaved around the displays as he raced towards the front door of the store and the parking lot beyond.

  “Hey, he’s heading towards the door!” someone yelled just as Yousef broke into the clear, off to the side of the entry door. His movement immediately drew the two truckers’ attention. Reaching the door, Yousef found his way blocked by several people trying to enter, causing him to have to hesitate for a moment.

  “Hey, grab that asshole!” one of his pursuers bellowed, and Yousef charged into the crowded entrance. As he charged forward, the crowd shifted en masse creating a small opening through which Yousef might pass. Taking full advantage of the opening, Yousef lunged forward. Several hands reached out to grab him but missed; and he slipped through the open door.

  “Excuse me, please!” Yousef stated in his best Hispanic-accented voice as he shoved an old woman out of his way just outside the door. The old man with her, wearing a blue jean jacket and leather work gloves, tried grabbing Yousef as he brushed by, but his hand glanced off his shoulder. The old man’s momentum caused him to stumble to his knees in the doorway, momentarily blocking the path of Yousef’s pursuers.

  “Get out of the way, you old asshole!” the big cowboy bellowed, shoving the older man back down to his knees as he plowed past him. The old man’s misfortune allowed Yousef to slip into the gathering dusk outside in the parking lot.

  Outside in the growing darkness, Yousef headed straight out into the truck parking area where he hoped to quickly lose himself in the maze of vehicles.

  “Where’d that asshole go?” asked the smaller trucker, looking around as he came up short behind his friend who had stopped to do a visual search just outside the doors, unsure himself where Yousef had gone.

  “Shit! How the hell should I know?” the big one snarled as he continued looking about the parking area.

  Another trucker who was walking past them heading into the truck stop asked, “Ya’ll looking for that little Mex that just ran inbetween the trucks?” His right arm pointed in the general direction Yousef had gone.

  “Yeah, thanks pardner,” the big one shouted as he grabbed his friend and pulled him along. Together they trotted off towards the maze of parked trucks, pulling hunting knives from sheathes at the small of their backs as they went.

  “We’re gonna kill us a wetback,” hollered the big trucker, his face twisted into a wicked, gap-toothed grin.

  Yousef surveyed the trucks as he ran. He needed to find a place to hide and fast. He wanted the element of surprise on his side, so he chose to climb up behind one of the cabs, tucking himself against its back wall where he was shielded by the fairings and waited for the moment to strike. Once he had chosen his spot, he crouched down and consciously slowed his breathing. Once relaxed, he removed the 9mm handgun from his pants’ waistband at the small of his back. He then quietly pulled the suppressor from the front pocket of his pants, screwed it onto the gun and waited.

  To Yousef, the waiting seemed to stretch on for hours, but it actually hadn’t been ten minutes when he heard the stomping steps of the small trucker as he approached Yousef’s hiding place. A moment later, he heard him call out in a harsh whisper for his friend.

  “Lyle? Where the hell are you? Lyle? Will you answer me, you stupid shit? Hell, the spic is probably up in a cab somewhere. Let’s get a beer, and if he shows, we can get him then. Lyle, are you listening to me?”

  “Boo!” the big cowboy, Lyle, jumped around the front
corner of the truck behind him, startling his companion.

  “Shit!” the small trucker blurted out as he spun around. “I could’ve stabbed you, you son of a bitch!”

  “With your rapid reflexes? Shit, I could’ve gutted you and you’d never have known it,” Lyle hissed venomously.

  “Shit! You’re an asshole, sometimes! I’m going for a beer. We ain’t gonna find him. Come on, let’s get a beer and a burger. That little wetback is long gone,” the small trucker stated as he sneered at his friend.

  “Bullshit! That wetback was smiling and I’m gonna make him pay,” Lyle scowled.

  “Well, you’re gonna do it without me,” the small trucker replied. “I’m getting a beer and a burger. Then, I’m going to find me a bunk bunny and make like a rabbit.” With that said, he stomped off, heading back towards the main building of the truck stop.

  “You’ll be moaning when I bring you the little wetback’s ears. You hear me? I’m gonna cut his ears off and maybe his nuts, too,” Lyle bellowed after his buddy who just kept walking.

  “Shit, I’ll take on the whole fucking world myself, you hear me? Those fuckin’ foreigners think they can shit on America and get away with it. Well, not while I’m around,” he boasted to himself as he continued down the gap between the trucks towards the rear of the tractor trailer on which Yousef was hiding.

  “You should have gone with your friend,” Yousef spoke just loud enough for Lyle to hear as he reached the rear end of the trailer. Lyle jumped and spun around, crouching down slightly, expecting to meet Yousef face-to-face and use his knife. He seemed confused when there was no one behind him.

  “Like most Americans, you are over-confident and too stupid to know when to quit,” Yousef spoke as he jumped to the ground from behind the cab, hiding his gun behind his back.

  “Sneaky little bastard, aren’t you?” Lyle exclaimed as he started slowly marching towards Yousef.

  “Oh my, what a big knife you have. Do you know how to use it?” Yousef asked snidely.

  “Well enough to cut your ass to bits,” Lyle snarled as he broke into head long charge at Yousef.

  “I’m smiling!” Yousef called out as a loud truck crossed the lot in the distance, almost drowning out his mocking call. He waited a split second longer, as the huge man pounded his way up the fifty-three foot gap with surprising quickness. Rage was written on his face, and he was smiling that twisted, wicked gap-toothed grin again.

  Yousef remained calm. His face showed no more emotion than if he was about squash a sand beetle. When Lyle had closed to within fifteen feet, Yousef raised the gun and pointed it right at him. Lyle stumbled to an abrupt stop about ten feet away and looked at the gun, then back at Yousef, and snickered.

  “You think that little thing is going to save you? Shit, boy, that’s just going to piss me off!” With that, Lyle lunged forward and Yousef’s gun phiffed.

  Lyle’s momentum carried him forward and past Yousef who easily sidestepped the charging bull of a man. Lyle dropped his knife as he collapsed to the ground, desperately clutching at his neck as blood spurted between his fingers.

  Yousef calmly walked over and stared down at Lyle who had rolled onto his back and was staring up at Yousef, his eyes still glaring menacingly. Yousef showed no mercy. There was no empathy in his eyes as he stared back at Lyle—only cruel hatred and the cold satisfaction of the kill. Yousef slowly bent down and picked up the knife that Lyle had wielded only moments before. He looked at it and then at Lyle whose eyes were quickly dimming due to the rapid loss of blood.

  “You brought a knife to a gun fight, you stupid son of a whore,” Yousef grinned mercilessly. “So, you would have cut off my ears and maybe my nuts?” Yousef grinned as he quickly swung the gun towards Lyle’s crotch and fired, hitting him in the genitals. Lyle screamed and doubled up in pain as Yousef sneered, “You won’t need those anymore.”

  Yousef grinned wickedly as he quickly bent over, brandishing the knife. Lyle tried to slap the knife away, but Yousef easily parried the move. Fear flickered across Lyle’s face a split second before Yousef reached out and grabbed his right ear, quickly slicing it off and dropping it on his chest. Then Yousef quickly did the same with his left ear. Lyle failed to cry out in pain; he was too far gone to muster the strength. Yousef waited a moment longer watching Lyle’s blood pool, then began to run down the parking lot towards the storm drain. Bringing his gaze back to Lyle once more and seeing that he was dead, Yousef dropped the knife, turned and disappeared into the maze of trucks once again.

  He wasn’t sure how long it would be before someone found the body, but he didn’t want to be anywhere near here when they did, so he briskly walked across the parking lot to the hotel.

  “Dress quickly, we need to leave,” Yousef directed the driver as he pushed into the room, nearly bowling over his comrade who wasn’t quite awake.

  “What has happened?” the driver asked.

  “If it were your place to know, I would have told you,” Yousef snarled. The driver dropped his eyes and quickly started dressing. Yousef stepped into the bathroom and checked for blood on his clothing. Finding none, he stepped to the window and peeked around the edge of the curtain. So far it appeared as though no one had discovered the body yet. Allah must be with them he reasoned because he didn’t see any police cars, flashing lights or even a small crowd gathering in the early evening darkness.

  Once the driver had finished dressing, he and Yousef quickly made their way downstairs and across the parking area to the stolen gasoline tanker they were driving. Yousef didn’t bother checking out of the room. The credit card he had used had been stolen several days earlier from a now deceased, elderly man in Florida. He’d made the fatal mistake of answering his door and letting a stranger in to use the phone.

  From the truck stop, Yousef and his driver drove the Interstate to downtown San Antonio. There they parked the tanker in the parking lot of a gas station that was closed for the night and took turns sleeping. They skipped evening prayers since there was no sense in drawing attention to themselves. They trusted Allah would understand if they said silent prayers tonight.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “We’ve temporarily closed the borders and there are no planes flying tonight, but it doesn’t mean that we’ve got a handle on this.” Jason Combs, the president’s Chief of Staff, sat in the situation room speaking on the phone with the president who was upstairs in the White House residence.

  “The perpetrators could be anywhere in the country. Yes, sir, I know you don’t want to scare the public on the busiest shopping day of the year, but, sir? No, I can’t say for sure the message was real. No, I don’t know where the attack will take place. That’s the beauty of terrorism.” Combs stopped talking for several seconds as he was verbally abused by the president, then he replied sheepishly.

  “No, sir, I wasn’t trying to lecture you. No, sir, I was only trying to state a fact. Yes, sir, I was a little sarcastic and I apologize. I just don’t want us to make mistakes that the other side can use against us politically.” Combs did his best to eat crow while still trying to make his point. “Sir, what if they attack New York? What kind of political fallout can we expect then? No, sir, I can’t say that. No, sir, I wish I knew. No, sir, I don’t think we can negotiate with them…Yes, sir, I understand. Yes, sir, I will. Yes, sir.” Jason Combs returned the phone to the cradle as the rest of the National Security Council sat silently waiting for him to speak.

  General Clarett had used the time while Combs received his instructions to doodle on the back of his status report. Doodling helped to calm him and clear his mind. He was sure that President Starks’ reaction would be less than adequate to the attack of today and to the threatened, second attack tomorrow.

  “Well…” Combs finally spoke. “The president is very concerned about the ramifications of today’s attack.”

  “But not concerned enough to do anything about it,” General Clarett sniped before Combs could finish. “And why wasn’t I called by
the situation room on this issue?”

  Combs shot a withering gaze at the general, but he was looking at his doodles, trying to keep his cool and failed to notice. Combs cleared his throat and started again.

  “The president,” Combs stated, “is planning on a public address tomorrow evening or Saturday, and in the interim, he wanted all of you to know that he has the utmost confidence in your skills and capabilities to handle this crisis. He also stated he is not going to implement any further safeguards at this time as he feels the message received by CNN is either a hoax or it was meant to be a psychological attack, causing us to deliberately overreact on the busiest shopping day of the year, thus damaging our economy further.

  “The president wants the threat level raised to the highest level, but under no circumstances is there to be any National Guard call-ups for anything other than the fires in Houston. The president feels this is a police matter not a military one. He strongly feels that it would cause a panic if we showed we were reacting to the message.” Jason finished his statement and looked down, purposely avoiding the eyes of the other members of the Security Council.

  “He won’t even let us deploy the National Guard around the major cities in Texas?” the Deputy Homeland Security Director, Ronald Kline asked, his voice betraying how stunned he was.

  “Just to fight the fires in the greater Houston area,” Jason reiterated. “I know this is not popular with most of you, but no matter what we do, it is either way too much reaction or way too little. The president just wants to take it slow.”

  “Slow until what? A thousand more are confirmed dead or five thousand more?” General Clarett caustically growled. “And I’ll ask you once again, why wasn’t I called about this issue by the situation room?”