by Richard Bard
Marshall glared at the screen like a gunslinger about to draw. “Damn straight, I did, but I should have had it all. Either way, it’s not good news. Give me a few seconds to sort it out.”
Alex’s gaze was glued to Marshall’s laptop screen. “Try YouTube and Facebook streams,” he whispered.
Marshall nodded. “You’re right.” He manipulated one hand on the touch screen, and the other on the keyboard. After several moments, he said, “Use the USB, plug us into the wall screen.”
Alex nodded, and thirty seconds later an image of the Los Angeles Rams and Chargers stadium popped up on the left half of the wall screen. The right half was a grid showing live-stream cell phone videos and a news broadcast.
“That’s their target. And they’re hitting it in less than two hours.”
Everyone went dead silent for a beat. All eyes were on the screen. The massive teardrop-shaped dome stretched over the largest NFL stadium facility ever built. The stadium and surrounding entertainment center could handle nearly one hundred thousand visitors, and a full house was expected for that day’s Liberty and Justice event, a half-day affair of concerts, entertainment, and food, culminating in a fireworks display.
“It’s already packed,” Tony whispered.
Francesca said, “There are kids everywhere.”
Marshall enlarged one of the smaller windows. A young female TV reporter was speaking to the camera. She stood beneath the extended dome in the vast Champions Plaza situated between the stadium and the performing arts venue. Throngs of people milled about behind her, where rows of food and souvenir vendors had been set up. Crowds gathered around street performers, and the underside video surface of the dome featured a clip of a waving American flag. LAPD police officers, including K-9 units, dotted the crowd. Marshall increased the volume, and music from the concert inside the stadium echoed behind the reporter’s words.
“…have to submit to body searches, electronic screening, and bomb-sniffing dogs to get in. But amazingly people are taking it in stride. Young and old alike seem to be soaking it all in on this beautiful summer day in the Southland. The excitement level here has doubled since word leaked a few minutes ago that the president and first lady would indeed be attending, quelling rumors that POTUS would cancel his plans in view of yesterday’s attacks. As expected, former president Alexander Jackson—Los Angeles’s favorite son—and his wife, former first lady Susana, will also be attending. They will be hosting the first couple in their private suite overlooking the fifty-yard line. Yes, folks. This is the place to be in L.A. today. The music, the food, and the opportunity to celebrate the birth of our nation’s freedom in these troubled times is being embraced by Angelenos, and this reporter, for one, is proud to see it. For KTLA channel five, this is—” Marshall muted the volume.
“That cuts it,” Sam said. “We’ve got to contact Homeland immediately. Start an evacuation. Turn the president around before it’s too late.” He pulled his phone out.
“Put that down!” Marshall said. “We can’t call anybody. Look.” He made an entry, and a satellite map of the stadium and surrounding areas filled the wall display. “We don’t know everything, but we do know the gist of their plan. You can bet they’ll use attack drones just like they did when they tried to nail us at the lodge. And they’ll launch them from here.” Using the cursor, he pointed to a warehouse district a couple of miles north of the site, and then two other spots. “And here, and here.”
“Even more reasons why we need to get people out of there now!” Sam said.
Tony waved him off. “That third location is a cemetery. How are they going to find cover from there to launch an attack?”
“Drone magazines,” Ahmed said in a gravelly voice. Eyes turned toward him on the couch.
Pete muttered, “I don’t much like the sound of that.”
Jake rushed to Ahmed’s side and knelt down. “You okay?”
“Hurts to breathe.” Taking strained, shallow breaths between phrases, he said, “They’ve got hundreds of drones…boxed and prepped for launch…and a high-tech control center to manage them…don’t underestimate them. They know what they’re doing, and …” He winced. “…they changed the license plates on the vehicles.”
“No wonder we couldn’t track them,” Marshall said.
Jake smiled at Ahmed. “Take it easy. The RAT worked. If not for you, we’d be running blind.”
“There are thirteen of them…the leader is Farhad…they came from my village. I knew them…” Ahmed’s voice trailed off.
“We’ll take it from here. Now, no more talking. Get some rest.”
Little Star crouched beside Ahmed and held out a glass of something he’d concocted using small bags of herbs he’d unpacked. “Drink this. It will help you heal.”
Ahmed grimaced as he swallowed, but he finished it. His eyes were tired. He looked at Jake and whispered, “Like father, like son.”
Jake nodded. “I couldn’t be prouder.” Ahmed closed his eyes. Jake pushed to his feet. He’d been focused on his son, but another part of his mind had been sorting through the situation they faced. He needed more information, and he needed it fast.
Sam said, “I still think we need to call Homeland.”
Jake held up a finger. “You may be right, Sam. But—” He stopped himself when the former SEAL commander pressed a finger to his ear.
Sam shifted uneasily. “We’ve got company.”
“Bringing it up,” Pete said, pointing his remote at the wall screen to display. A brightly painted pickup truck and two sedans approached along the drive.
“Good,” Tony said. “Looks like the bangers found us. Let ’em through.”
Walt looked at Tony and raised an eyebrow. “Bangers?”
Tony nodded. “Former bangers. Welcome to our world. We’re not sure what we’re facing here, so I wasn’t about to leave any stone unturned when it comes to looking for help. These guys are rough around the edges, but trust me, they’re on our side, and they know how to handle themselves.”
Two tough-looking Latino men sauntered into the room like they owned the place. They wore black combat uniforms and sidearms. They weren’t kitted up, but Jake was sure they’d brought all the gear they’d need. The two men disregarded the pair of SEALs escorting them, and the sideways glances from the SWAT guys didn’t seem to bother them. Jake recognized the men immediately. They had been part of the contract fire team that helped Jake free Francesca and Sarafina from Battista’s mountain stronghold in Afghanistan. They’d also helped stop Battista’s followers who came to Los Angeles to poison the city’s water system. Jake clasped wrists with each of them and smacked their backs. “Damn, it’s good to see you two.”
“Same here, hombre,” Ripper said with a grin that revealed a gold front tooth. The wiry soldier was half Mexican and half Native American, with a broad face, wide eyes, and long black hair in a ponytail. He wore a combat knife on each of his calves. “What you got us into this time, jefe?”
“Yeah, wassup, homey?” Snake asked. He was clean shaven and built like a featherweight boxer. And deadly with a sniper rifle. “Now that you’re a YouTube star and all, we figured you were keeping it on the down low.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Snake. But the long and short of it is that we’ve been left with no other choice but to break out of hiding to face down a bigger threat than ever. And guess what, it’s coming from the very same terrorist tribe we put down eight years ago. They’re back on our home turf, and deadlier than ever.”
Ripper sniffed. “Bring ’em on.”
Skylar stepped in front of the two men, crossed her arms, and sized them up. “You’ll do.” Both men went cock-eyed. She grinned and smacked each on the shoulder. “Just funnin’ with you. The rest of your boys are welcome to join us. It’s hot out there.”
Ripper grinned. He pressed his ear and said, “Dismount, boys. It’s all good.”
The other six men on Ripper’s crew wore the same black combat uniform. They
were Latino as well, all hardened contract operators. After quick introductions and a brief outline of what was going on, Jake turned to Marshall. “What else did we get besides target and launch points?”
“Not much. A slew of schematics on the stadium complex, and a bunch of data on the drones.”
“Fill the wall screen with it.”
“Which parts?”
“All of it. Spread the pages across the screen. Large enough to be readable, but small enough that I can see as many pages as possible at the same time.”
“We’re talking hundreds of pages.”
“Do it.”
“Oookay, give me a second.”
“Can I?” Alex asked, reaching toward the laptop.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Marshall slid the laptop over. “You’re the speedster. Go for it.”
“Hang on,” Little Star said behind them. He shuffled through his open roller bag and pulled out a Spider headset. “Will this help?”
Alex’s eyes went wide.
“My nephew had a spare. You used it with him in the village, remember? He learned from that encounter with you. It was he who identified the secret chat room you’d accessed that morning. He asked me to give the headset to you as a gift.”
“Of course I remember,” Alex said, slipping the device over his head. “It’s perfect.”
Moments later pages of data were flying across the screen so fast that only Jake and Alex could make sense of it. It took only a minute for Jake to absorb everything Marshall had captured.
Jake shook his head. “We’re in big trouble, guys. Hell, America’s in big trouble. Farhad and his crew are way ahead of the curve on drone tech and armed delivery systems.” He looked at Sam. “There’s no way we can call in the authorities. The moment there’s the slightest indication their plan has been compromised, they’ll launch three hundred armed drones at the crowd.”
“Three hundred?” Lacey asked.
Jake motioned to Alex. “Bring up the overhead satellite map we were—” The map appeared on the screen. His son was way ahead of him. Jake approached the screen and pointed to the industrial area next to the 405 freeway. “This is the farthest of their three launch points. Once the drones are launched, they will arrive at the stadium in less than two and a half minutes. That’s one hundred drones carrying C4 explosives, traveling at fifty miles per hour.”
Sam put away his phone. “It would be the nation’s worst disaster ever.”
Tony’s face was red. “That’s exactly what the bastards are hoping for.”
Ripper said, “Suckers made a big mistake coming here.”
Jake pointed at the other two launch locations. “Each one will launch one hundred drones. Worse yet, once the drone magazines are in place and armed, they will launch automatically in accordance with a timed sequence, or if they’re tampered with, or if the team in their control vehicle chooses to launch all the drones remotely. That means simply charging into firefights isn’t going to cut it. They’ll launch at the first sign of trouble. We need to be smarter than that.”
“Dear God,” Francesca said.
“Is there any good news?” Lacey asked.
Tony sniffed. “Yeah, there is. The bastards picked the wrong team to piss off.”
Walt stood up. “They’re not taking our city.”
“I hear that, holmes,” Snake said, fist bumping Walt.
“Right on,” Sam said. The two SEALs with him stood up.
Marshall’s phone buzzed. He answered it, listened a second, and hung up. “The racket you’re about to hear outside is the cavalry. Cal and Kenny are about to land the Osprey on the south forty.”
Skylar rubbed her palms together. “That rounds out the crew, boys. Time to go to work.”
Pete leaned forward. “Bleedin’ hell. We’re gonna stop ’em, lads. Whatever it takes.”
Jake looked at those around him. Most had served at his side in the past, diving into peril despite impossible odds. They all knew the mission would be a death sentence for some, and yet they remained steadfast in their resolve to help. Francesca locked eyes with him. She’d been through hell and back because of him, yet even now she masked her fear behind a determined expression. His heart ached with the realization she was once again being forced to steel herself against what might happen. She nodded, giving him permission to do whatever he must, and that simple act gave him strength.
“Nuttin’ to lose,” Alex said.
Nothing to lose? Jake looked at his family and friends.
Everything to lose.
“Damn right, we’re going to stop them,” he said. “And I know just how we’re going to do it. Gather round.”
Chapter 32
Rams/Chargers stadium
Inglewood, California
6:30 PM
“I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU DO IT,” Jake said.
Lacey pulled her tinted glasses down a fraction and looked at him. “It’s easy, dahling,” she said, in a perfect mimic of the first lady’s voice. “To play a role, one must not pretend to be someone else. One must become someone else.” They were seated in the back of a stretch limousine. Pete sat across from them, and Skylar was driving.
“You look just like her,” Pete said. “Sky performed miracles on you. As usual. She could have had a career as a makeup artist just as easily as working the stunt circuit.”
Lacey nodded. “Jill of all trades. That’s Skylar.” She nudged Jake. “Did you know she used to be a stock car driver?”
“I’m not surprised.” Jake adjusted the fake paunch beneath his clothes. Between that, the ballistic vest Francesca had insisted he also wear underneath, and his grandpa’s Colt .45 tucked in the small of his back, he was damn uncomfortable. He wiggled his nose and cheek muscles. “Are you sure these prosthetics will stay put?”
“Not if you insist on stretching your face like that,” Lacey said.
He sighed. He hoped like hell he’d thought of everything, but how could he have? They’d gleaned only bits and pieces of information from the RAT, and he’d built their entire plan around that. For the rest, they’d have to improvise. And they’d better get it right, because the lives of the seventy thousand people packed in the stadium depended on it. “I don’t sound anything like the president.”
“It’s not like you have to give a speech or anything,” Pete said. “And the cameras won’t get a close look at your face through the tinted glass in Jackson’s private booth.”
Lacey reached over and made a slight adjustment at the side of Jake’s wig. “Remember, it’s not your face people will notice. It’s your mannerisms. You are the president. In the meantime, put those dark glasses back on.”
He donned the glasses and turned to Pete. “You think this is going to work?”
Pete straightened the tie under his black suit. With the coiled earpiece and dark glasses, he looked every bit the Secret Service agent. “If they don’t, just frown and point a threatening finger at ’em.”
“Like this?” Jake scowled and aimed a finger pistol at Pete’s face.
Pete palmed the air. “Yes, Mr. President! Whatever you say, Mr. President.”
Jake sniffed.
Skylar spoke over her shoulder. “We’re coming up on it now.”
Now or never, Jake thought. He hoped Doc hadn’t misplaced his trust in Alexander Jackson. Everything hinged on it.
***
Sixteen-year-old Cassie James had always wanted to see her idol on stage, and she could hardly believe it was about to happen. Miley Cyrus! I mean, come on. It was Cassie’s birthday, and her dad had treated her and six of her squad with the tickets. The stadium was packed, the energy was electric, and they’d been lucky enough to get second-tier seats in the middle of the field. Except for the four seats beside them, all others in this section were occupied. Of course, the tickets came with strings attached, since Dad, Mom, and her little brother were there as well. At least Dad had been considerate enough to separate their seats by two rows. She turned
around, and sure enough he was looking at her. He winked, and she waved. He was a great dad, no doubt about it, but he’d put the quash on her when she’d asked if she could invite a couple of boys. I am sixteen now…
Her best friend Emma nudged her. “Your dad is so cool. What a great way to celebrate your sixteenth!”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts, look.” Emma pointed to the stairway, where four boys were making their way up the stands. One of them looked up and waved.
“Oh my God. Is that…?”
“It sure is,” Emma said, drawing the words out. “Your heartthrob.”
Cassie jumped to her feet and waved back with both hands. Jacob smiled, and her heart leaped.
Her friend Madison sat on Cassie’s right. She reached up and pulled Cassie back down to her seat. “Don’t make such a scene. Play it cool. Boys like that.”
“You knew about this, too?”
“Of course,” her friend Kaitlyn said, leaning around Madison. “We all did.”
Hailey and Olivia peeked around her with wide smiles, and chimed, “Happy birthday!”
The boys slid past people at the end of the row. Madison and the other girls rearranged their seats in what was obviously an orchestrated way. Each of the boys wished Cassie a happy birthday as they brushed past, and Jacob plopped in the seat next to her. He gave her that look he sometimes did across the table from her in chemistry lab, and it made Cassie’s knees go weak. “Surprise.”
She couldn’t seem to form a word, so she just smiled.
“I brought you something.”
“Oh, yeah?” she managed to say. They’d flirted a little in school, but it had never gone beyond that. It wasn’t like they’d ever gone out or anything.
He pulled a gift from his shirt pocket. The wrapping wasn’t anything to brag about, but she didn’t care. She ripped it open to find a pair of funny-looking, pink-framed sunglasses with the words BIRTHDAY GIRL molded on top of the frame in rainbow colors. She laughed, and the others joined in. She put the glasses on, stupid as they were. She stood up, placed her hands on her hips, and tossed her hair to one side. “How do I look?”
