by Lewis, Rykar
“I’ve been in my office all night and I still am. No day that is that long is ever too good. Now, is what you’re about to tell me going to be the cherry on the sundae?”
“Possibly, sir, quite possibly.”
“Oh no,” Davis complained. “Well spit it out, Arnold.”
Rule took in a deep breath and looked over his notes. “Sir,” he started, “at about 0130 this morning, we received a report from the Santa Teresa Border Patrol station that one of their agents had engaged a group of illegals crossing the border. The agent was seriously wounded by a gunshot in the chest and a fellow agent rescued him after the illegals had begun to escape.”
“Is the agent all right?”
“Last I heard, sir, the doctors are saying he’ll live but he might be in the Intensive Care Unit for several months. Nothing’s for certain.”
“Go on.”
“Yes sir. Well, we instantly put up a chopper to find and chase the illegals and that is why I’m calling you.”
“Will you stop beating around the bush, Rule? Spit it out.”
“The chopper eventually found the illegals on the outskirts of a neighborhood called Santa Teresita Acres located in Santa Teresa, New Mexico. We now believe they have reasons for heading there. We think that they have some sort of sleeper agent or safe house in the neighborhood.”
“What makes you say that?” Davis wondered.
“There’s a lot of open country between the border and where they’re at now. And with them knowing a chopper was after them, I don’t think they’d risk going through all that exposure without a really good reason.”
“Makes sense. But how do you know they knew a chopper was indeed after them?”
Rule quickly explained. “We aren’t positive, but unless they were blind, deaf, and just downright stupid, I’d say they knew. You can’t hide a chopper when it has its searchlight shining.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“So anyway, when the chopper pilot found the men, he ordered them to disarm themselves and give up, but was not heeded. The illegals escaped into some nearby heavy brush and have been there ever since, as far as I know.”
“What are you doing about it?”
Rule furiously read his notes. “Well sir, I have sent in seven Patrol SUVs to secure a perimeter around the neighborhood and now I have four choppers around the thicket, looking for the illegals.”
“They can’t find them?”
“No sir. The brush is immensely thick I’m told. The illegals could sit still and my choppers would never find them.”
“There must be some way to get them out of there.”
“There is, sir – putting agents in and having them flush them out. It’d be a blood bath though. The illegals could wait for the agents, surround them, and take them by surprise.”
“Is that the only way?” Davis asked.
“I’d say so, sir.”
“Do you have a team that could perform that operation?”
“That’s part of the reason why I called. I’d like to get your authorization to send in the BORTAC team from Fort Bliss.”
Rule held his breath. He knew that the Border Patrol Tactical Unit (BORTAC) was the best special operations team in the entire Border Patrol. Since its beginning in 1984, its members had operated in twenty-eight countries around the globe, serving in counterterrorism and counter-drug operations, high-risk warrant service, dignitary protection, law enforcement, and almost anything else imaginable. BORTAC’s members had to complete a difficult five-week basic training course, which was considered one of the hardest training courses in civilian law enforcement. Rule had been to their headquarters at Biggs Army Airfield in Fort Bliss many times, and he was glad that they were always close by.
“There isn’t any other way to go?” Davis asked once more.
“None that I can think of, other than burning the entire overgrowth, but that’d start a mega fire and it wouldn’t end up so well.”
“So you need BORTAC to flush those guys out, huh?”
“Yes sir. I am somewhat hesitant to tell you this but the chopper pilot swears these guys are more than illegals. He believes they’re...terrorists.”
“Why does he say that?”
Rule stopped and thought of the best way to approach this. “He said these guys are highly equipped for a special operation and that they are heavily armed and very skilled. He’s convinced that they are indeed terrorists.”
“And what do you think?”
There it was – the dreaded question.
“Uh, I was actually the one who suggested them being terrorists,” Rule quietly admitted. “They chewed up one of my agents pretty good, and from the reports of the agent that rescued him, these guys are well-trained fighters.”
“Hmmm. All right Arnold, you’ve got me wondering now. This could be something for the Secretary of Homeland Security. Can you fill me in on all the details? I need to know everything. From start to finish in complete detail.”
“Yes sir. I will,” Rule consented. “Believe me these guys need to be taken out.”
* * *
“Smith,” the National Security Advisor said as he answered his cell phone. He was in his house asleep when the phone rudely awakened him. He was in no mood for any surprise calls after staying up late last night.
“Is this National Security Advisor Tom Smith?” Lincoln asked cautiously. He had just gotten off the phone with Davis after a long briefing, and he had told him all about the situation. Lincoln now felt a sense of urgency and he was taking no half measures. That’s why he was on the phone with the NSA now, so he could tell him about the crisis and lay this on his shoulders.
“It is. Who is this?” Smith wondered.
“This is Jared,” the Homeland Security Secretary said. “How are you doing this morning?”
Smith contemplated his response. “Tired. This call isn’t helping the matter much so could you please get to the point, Jared?”
“Yeah, of course. I am afraid that the Chief of the Border Patrol has contacted me with some very interesting news from his sector chief for El Paso, Texas. It appears that at about 0130 hours the sector chief received information that a group of nine illegals crossed the border into the U.S. and one of his agents from the Santa Teresa station in New Mexico attempted to stop them. He was severely wounded in the chest by a gunshot and was rescued by another agent who came for backup.”
“Did they get the illegals?”
“I’m coming to that, Tom,” Lincoln promised. “Well the station sent up a chopper to survey the situation and find the illegals if possible. At about that time the sector chief was notified. Command then shifted to him, and he ordered all communication with the chopper to go directly through his ops center. Awhile later, he was informed by the chopper pilot that the illegals were presumably running for a nearby neighborhood. He immediately sent out agents and put up three more choppers to secure the place.”
“And?” Smith asked, wondering what all this had to do with him.
“That’s all fine and dandy but there is more to the story. The chopper that was first sent up actually found the illegals before the sector chief sent in the backup. He ordered them to stop and disarm themselves but that warning was not heeded. They escaped into a thicket near the neighborhood.”
“So?”
“The thicket is rather ‘jungley’ and none of the choppers can find them. It’s just too thick of cover.”
“What about ground agents?”
“The sector chief said that it’d be a massacre for his agents if he sent them in. The illegals are too heavily armed and they could sit and wait for the agents, then butcher them when they got close. He asked the Chief of the Patrol to give him authorization to send in the BORTAC team from Fort Bliss.”
“Is this my problem, Jared?” the National Security Advisor questioned with frustration.
“I’m not finished yet. I have received confirmed information that these illegals are actually terrorists who have jumped the
border to get into the U.S.”
Smith was instantly awake and interested. “What makes that info so confirmed?”
“The agent who rescued the wounded one said the illegals were skilled fighters, heavily armed, and very well equipped. The chopper pilot reported the same thing.”
“Okay, now I get your point. The onsite Border Patrol agents are outgunned by the terrorists, so this sector chief wants to send in a special ops team.”
“Yes. The terrorists are pinned down but the agents at the site aren’t sure where to go from there.”
“What’s the possibility that they’ll escape?”
“The overgrown area is so large that their escape is almost inevitable. Four choppers are flying above it right now but I’m afraid it still won’t matter. The terrorists will escape before too long. There’s too much ground and too little firepower to keep them in one place. Our only hope is if a special ops team came in very soon. The Border Patrol does have agents securing the ground around a neighborhood where we believe the terrorists wanted to go. And of course they have agents around the overgrown section too. But I don’t think that’ll help much.”
“Why do you believe that the terrorists wanted to go to this neighborhood?” Smith asked as he stifled a yawn.
“Because the neighborhood of Santa Teresita Drive is where they instantly headed after they crossed the border,” Lincoln told him. “If they didn’t want to go there they wouldn’t have crossed a lot of the open ground to get where they’re at now. They wouldn’t have taken the risk of being spotted if they felt they didn’t need to get to Teresita.”
“Does the Patrol have enough manpower to take them out if they try and go to the residential area?”
“That’s a big if,” Lincoln addressed. “But to answer your question, the terrorists know we are on to what they want to do and I’m not so sure they’re going to play right into our hand. They wanted to go into Teresita but I’m not so sure they’ll do it now that we know about it. Then again, they might just do the unexpected and try and keep us off guard. But I believe that should the terrorists do so, the agents would have more of a fighting chance out in the open than in that jungle.”
“So you’re fairly confident that the terrorists couldn’t get into that neighborhood if they tried?” the National Security Advisor asked.
“If they had a good enough plan and enough nighttime hours they might be able to pull it off right under the Patrol’s noses.”
“And why again do you think they want to get into the neighborhood? I mean, how big is it? Do they want to attack it?”
The Secretary cleared his throat. “It’s not a big place. About eighty acres I’m told. I don’t believe they’d attack there when they have El Paso across the street. We think they need to meet someone that’s in the neighborhood. Whether to pick up supplies or be hidden in a safe house, we don’t know. Frankly, we don’t care. We just know they wanted to get there and we’re trying to stop them.”
The NSA sighed. “So you’re telling me that you think the agents can keep them from getting to their sleeper agent in the neighborhood. However, they can’t keep them in the overgrown stuff, and you doubt the agents’ ability to take them out if they run for it.”
Lincoln blew his nose loudly and answered in a soft voice, “That’s the extent of it. The onsite Patrol agents might be able to take them out if they try and get into Teresita, but if they run, there’s most likely going to be nine deadly terrorists on the loose.”
“All right. I appreciate the notification, Mr. Lincoln, and I’ll see what I can do. Keep me posted.”
“Roger that. Talk to you later. Bye.”
Smith snapped his phone shut, dashed to his room, and jumped into a suit. He gently woke his wife and told her he had to go into the office. She wasn’t thrilled but she was in no position to argue.
Seconds later, he pocketed his keys, combed his hair, and kissed his wife goodbye, then headed out the door.
The terrorists were on the move again and he had to inform the President, fast.
30
Thursday, March 20th – 0500 hours
Washington D.C.
The Marines’ Hymn began to ring on Parks’ cell phone just as he buttoned the last button on his uniform shirt. Instead of immediately picking it up, he just listened to the skillfully played song for another second while singing the words to himself and admiring its truth and inspiration.
He finally answered it.
“Major Parks,” he said.
“Sir, this is the White House operator,” a female voice stated. “Please hold for the National Security Advisor.”
Parks’ eyes went wide. Why was the NSA calling? He didn’t have to guess for long.
“Keith, are you there?” Smith asked with a sense of urgency in his voice.
“Yes sir, I am.”
“Gather your team and meet me in the Situation Room. You’re going in.”
The line went dead.
* * *
Siraj brushed a twig out of his face and glanced up to see a chopper combing the overgrowth with its spotlight. There were now four of them circling above, and who knew how many ground agents were surrounding them. They had to get out of this stuff quickly. Common sense told him that some kind of team would be coming in for them soon. But how could they escape?
“Mr. Siraj, we have to get out of here,” a terrorist concluded. “The Americans know we are here. They’ll be coming in after us before too long.”
Siraj adjusted his goggles and checked his pistol to make sure it was loaded. “Is everyone ready?” he asked as he looked at his partner’s bloody leg.
Everybody agreed that they were.
“Then let’s go while we still have time and they still are ignorant of our exact location,” Siraj ordered as he led the way.
The thick brush and salt cedars shielded the terrorists for most of their journey. Sometimes they were forced into the open, but for the most part, they were covered as they successfully dodged the searchlights. For that, Siraj was grateful.
Then up ahead, a clearing loomed. It had to be crossed if the terrorists wanted any hope of escaping to Santa Teresita. It was only about a hundred yards long but there was no way around it. Beyond that was a mound of uprooted trees, dirt, and shrubs that bordered a sandy road. Though the terrorists could not see the road due to the mound, they could hear a vehicle driving up and down it, in search of them. It seemed to come by every two minutes or so.
Siraj calculated their chances. He knew they were close to the neighborhood. He also knew the Border Patrol agents were in the neighborhood looking for them. Those weren’t very good chances. Finally he decided his team needed a better look at the other side of the mound before they could game out a plan.
He heard the SUV drive by on the road and counted to thirty so they would have some distance between them and the Patrol vehicle. Then he dashed for the mound. His team was caught off guard but they quickly caught up.
Siraj never looked back. He watched the mound come nearer and nearer until he was right on it. He climbed to the top, then hesitated. What he was seeing on the other side was not what he had expected. He had anticipated the neighborhood to be directly on the far side of this dirt road but that was not the case. The road was in front of him and beyond that was a deep canal, presumably an irrigation ditch. Beyond the ditch was another dirt road that ran several yards behind the neighborhood of Santa Teresita. From what he could see as he looked up and down the road in front of him, it U-turned around the mouth of the canal and came back down on the far side of the ditch right behind the neighborhood. He wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. Then he thought about what was beyond that U-turn. There was so much vegetation that he couldn’t tell from where he was.
Siraj felt the others dive onto the mound next to him. Then he looked back down the road and saw the SUV turn and come straight for them. It was only a minute’s drive away, less if the driver spotted them and came faster. He knew
he had to move. But where? Maybe he could stay low and hide behind this mound.
The roar of a chopper’s rotors beat the air behind him and Siraj peered back to see it shining its light where the terrorists had begun their dash.
Great, he thought to himself. Now we have a chopper behind us, a SUV coming at our front, an irrigation canal blocking us from the neighborhood, and about a hundred yards to the nearest cover at the U-turn of this road.
He knew they couldn’t stay where they were, and he also knew they would never make it to cover. Not in forty-five seconds. The sand was too thick, and with his lame team member, the SUV would be sure to spot and kill them. He also knew they couldn’t run back to where they had been. The chopper denied them of that luxury.
That left only one option: the canal. He figured it would be full of water. Slimy, dirty, irrigation water but water nonetheless. His men could make it there in time, hide in the water, and the Patrol SUV and chopper would never find them. But what then?
Siraj decided to take one step at a time. He’d figure out what to do next when he got to safety. But now, his number one priority was to get to a safe place.
Again he took off without warning. The others struggled to get up, and sprinted after him. The SUV was almost on them now. Siraj closed the distance to the ditch fast and upon his arrival he dove down the steep bank, desperate to escape the oncoming vehicle. The other men followed suit.
Siraj felt water hit his face and seep into his mouth. He knew he’d made it, but what about the others? He rolled onto his back and glanced up to see a man jump from the bank and clobber him with his full body weight. Siraj went under the shallow water and accidentally took in a mouthful. It was awful tasting. He kicked and flailed until the terrorist rolled off him. Then he surfaced again and began to cough up the putrefying liquid.
That’s when he saw the SUV’s headlights on the bank above him. He heard it stop abruptly and then the sound of a door opening and slamming shut reached his ears.
He didn’t wait any longer. No verbal commands were given to his team, no hand signals, nothing. He just dove straight down into the water and felt his head hit the bottom.
