by Lewis, Rykar
* * *
Agent-in-charge of this BORTAC team, Kyle Washington, ran his hand down the stock of his 12 gauge shotgun. It was a Remington 870 with a 14” barrel. Perfect for the shrub in which he had to fight. Half of his twenty men toted similar shotguns while the others carried M4A1 carbines.
Each man sported a shrub-green flight suit, and all but one was wearing a Kevlar ballistic helmet. That one exception was him. He never wore a helmet unless he had to, and right now as he was in this Border Patrol transport chopper headed to Santa Teresita, he didn’t have to. He hated the way they clung to his head and made it feel like he was carrying a bowling ball on his shoulders. Since the sun wouldn’t be up for about another hour, everybody had night-vision goggles strapped tightly around their faces.
“Estimated time arrival, five minutes,” the pilot yelled back over the roar of the rotors.
Washington casually turned back to his twenty-man team and nodded. “Five minutes. Get ready,” he ordered.
The plan was for this chopper to touch down right outside of the overgrowth and empty its occupants. The instant Washington’s boots hit the sand, he was to dive in with his team and go on the hunt. His orders: find the terrorists and take them out.
The orders were not lengthy and they definitely were generic. But that was all he had to work with and the rest would be up to the quickness of his mind upon engagement.
Washington looked out the chopper’s window into the night that, through his goggles, was a dark shade of green. He could see lights in the distance. Lights from a town. He looked further and saw the lights of several Border Patrol helicopters swarming around.
The chopper decreased altitude as it passed over the neighborhood. Washington took in a long, deep breath and looked over the condition of his men. Everyone seemed to be ready. So was he.
The palms of his hands began to sweat as he saw the designated landing point approach. He was scared, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. He was always scared. If everyone was true to themselves, they’d say the same thing. No one wanted to die. No one wanted to leave their loved ones behind. Death was frightening. There were no two sides to it.
“Get ready,” the pilot instructed. “We’re landing.”
The stir that followed among the team was short lived. Everyone quickly checked their weapons, goggles, and equipment, and then prepared to go.
Washington felt the chopper go down, down, down, until it hit the sand, and then the pilot gave the thumbs-up.
It was time.
Without a word spoken, Washington flung open the door and leaped for the ground. His men followed his lead. He searched left and right for a sensible way into the thicket but none was found. He decided to plunge in headlong.
The twenty men crashed through the cedars and shrubs, guns pointed in front of them, until they were deep in the overgrowth. They were either going to find and kill these terrorists or drive them out.
After a while, they found a small road winding through the mess, and they followed it. They quickly and thoroughly searched the area, and suddenly, Washington stopped and gave a hand signal for his men to do the same.
On the side of the little trail was a faint path of broken and smashed branches and shrubs leading deeper into the overgrowth. Washington examined the path and concluded it had to have been manmade. It looked as though a hasty group of terrorists had plowed it during their escape.
His heart beat wildly. He gripped his shotgun tighter and began to slip his right forefinger from the trigger guard to the trigger. They were in there. He was sure of it. There was no way they couldn’t be.
Cautiously he took a step toward the path, then another, and another. His eyes flashed from side to side as he began to walk on it, searching for any sign of life. The choppers’ lights above him attempted to pierce through the unyielding thicket from the air, while he could hear the sound of SUVs driving on patrol in the distance. It comforted him just to know they were near.
The team was on high alert and ready for anything. They were good at their business and being ready was what made them so good.
Washington was looking a few yards ahead when his second-in-command grabbed his shoulder roughly and forced him to a stop. The deputy’s eyes were cast to the ground and he knelt down. Washington did the same and that’s when he saw it. Blood. Lots of it. It was fresh too from what he could see. A shudder ran up his spine. His team was close, unpleasantly close.
* * *
Parks entered the Situation Room and snapped to attention. The Directors of the CIA, FBI, Secret Service, and National Intelligence were seated around the conference table along with the National Security Advisor, the Vice President, and the President.
“Come in, Keith,” the President said after he’d left him standing at attention for over a minute.
Again, Parks uniformly walked over to the seat on the President’s far right and sat down. He waited.
Finally the National Security Advisor turned his head and looked him squarely in the eyes. Parks could see how bloodshot Smith’s eyes were and how tired the man was, but still, he was here on duty.
“Keith, we may have a show for you to attend,” Smith began.
Parks thought that was a crazy way of saying that a terrorist had been found but he listened intently.
“I’ll put it to you plainly. Nine guys jumped the border just east of the Sunland Park Port of Entry in Santa Teresa, New Mexico. They had an engagement with a Border Patrol agent, shot him up, then ran into his partner just as they were beginning to leave the scene, and convinced him to grab the wounded man and get out of there. Then they ran. They ran far. About six miles. Right now they are on the outskirts of a neighborhood named Santa Teresita Acres.”
Parks’ eyes lit up with recognition. He knew where that was. He’d driven through that neighborhood several times when he was stationed at Fort Bliss. He loved that place. Actually, he had considered buying a house there but had thought better of it when he saw the price tag. Were terrorists really there?
“The Border Patrol said that the terrorists didn’t make it into the neighborhood – they still aren’t sure why the terrorists wanted to go there in the first place. Apparently they’re holed up in a large thicket just behind the neighborhood,” Smith explained. “The Patrol can’t find them with choppers. I was told they’re sending in BORTAC to take out the terrorists.”
Parks knew all about BORTAC. He’d worked right alongside them for counter-drug affairs when he was with JTF-North at Fort Bliss. He knew the team leader, Kyle Washington. Parks and Washington had worked closely and were good friends. Maybe he’d see him again while on this operation.
“Unfortunately,” Smith continued, “we’re still waiting on the results of that mission. But,” the NSA paused and rubbed his weary eyes, “I’m not going to send you guys in unless BORTAC fails. We do have a special assignment for you though.”
“Mike.” The President signaled for the D/CIA to go ahead with his briefing.
“Yes, Mr. President.” Cummins turned to Parks. “Since this ordeal is taking place within the Department of Homeland Security’s ‘Constitution Free Zone’ of a hundred miles from the Mexican border, the CIA is taking charge of this operation. My guys at Langley have been working hard to get intelligence on this situation, and right now, we’re suddenly getting flooded with it. Now, my Director of Intelligence, Nancy Kano, is working her tail off to wade through it all and get some sort of confirmed lead as to where, why and how these terrorists made it into the United States. I think you need to look at some of her stuff.” Cummins coughed and continued. “We rated BORTAC’s chance of success on their mission very low, which means we have to have a plan B. That’s you. Now we just can’t throw you in, we need intelligence on where these terrorists are heading. So, in a nutshell, your team is going to do the cleanup work should BORTAC fail.”
“What Mike is trying to say is that he wants your team to go to Langley so you can look at all the intel coming in, so that if
BORTAC’s mission fails, you can know what you are up against when you go in,” the VP explained.
“Yes,” Cummins agreed. “We just want your team to know everything possible about these terrorists. As your Marine Corps dictates, who, what, where, when, why.”
Parks was impressed with the Director’s knowledge of the five Ws.
“But the minute we receive word that BORTAC has failed – if they do – you’ll be sent in just as normal,” Cummins confirmed.
Parks felt every eye turn to him. He wanted to sink through the floor he was so self-conscious. He felt like such a peon compared to these big-name National Security Council members in the room. But he tried not to show his discomfort.
“If you have to be sent in you’ll do a videoconference from Langley with us and we’ll nail down the plan,” Anders spoke again. “But the important thing is that you get a first-hand look at the intel coming in.”
Before Parks could acknowledge the Vice President in any way, the President asked a question. “Is your team gathered in the EEOB?”
“Yes sir, Mr. President, they are.”
Winnfield nodded. He admired Parks’ quiet, obedient mannerism. He didn’t ask a lot of questions, he just listened and waited for answers. That was what the President especially liked about Parks. He was not outspoken and his mouth didn’t get him in trouble, from what Winnfield could tell anyway. The President was definitely not regretting he’d chosen a Marine for this job, and right now, he doubted he ever would.
“All right then,” the President concluded, “you’re headed to Langley.”
31
Thursday, March 20th – 0615 hours
Santa Teresa, New Mexico
Siraj knew that if his team was going to move, now would be the time. The Border Patrol agent had exited his vehicle and examined the ditch but had driven off without further trouble. Siraj and his men had stayed low in the water for quite a while and now he was assuming the coast was clear and they could resume their run. Siraj decided that it was unnecessary to hole up in the safe house in Santa Teresita since the Border Patrol was already swarming the neighborhood, and instead planned to go straight to El Paso.
Just then, another SUV could be heard coming down the road on the opposite bank. Siraj again ducked down in the water and since he had goggles on, he opened his eyes under the sludge and saw the others copying his move.
What could he do now? There was an SUV on one bank, regularly patrolling, and now another on the opposite side. There was no hope for them if they climbed out of this ditch and tried to escape by land. The Border Patrol agents were seeing to that. So where could they go?
Siraj felt his lungs begin to ask for oxygen, then beg, then demand. But he was not going to allow himself to come up for air until he was sure this Patrol vehicle had passed. Suddenly, he could hold out no longer. Slowly and as quietly as he could, he surfaced and gulped down as much air as he could. He scanned both banks. Much to his delight, no one was there. Gently the others came up. Siraj looked down the irrigation canal and then up it. He debated which way to go. Both ways seemed to pose the same amount of risk. Then he made a discovery that he hadn’t made during the heat of his escape. The water was moving. Slowly, yes, but moving indeed. It was flowing down the canal. All he had to do was head downstream, using the water for protection, and he would get away from the Border Patrol. If they made it across the Rio Grande and into El Paso, everything would be fine, and they could head for their sleeper’s house. Of course, he thought. Yes, that makes sense.
Siraj motioned with his hand for his men to follow and he waded through the waist-deep water to the side of the bank where numerous cattails were growing. They could swim or wade next to the cattails and when a Border Patrol SUV came by, they could easily duck down again in the water and the Patrol would never find them.
Siraj smiled at his brilliance. This was going to work better than he expected.
* * *
Parks flung open his office door and only peeked his head inside. “Okay everyone,” he began, “let’s hit the pavement.”
Solomon spun around in Parks’ swivel chair, which he’d taken the liberty of occupying, and asked the question on all of their minds. “What’s happening?”
“I’ll tell you on the way to Langley. ICEBERG is outside, and we need to get going.”
“Langley?” Norse questioned in confusion. “Why on earth are we going there? CIA Headquarters?”
“I said I’ll tell you on the way. Now let’s go,” Parks insisted.
The team began to file out the door with Parks in the lead. They were all tired. It had been a tough week and it was only going to get tougher. They were running off almost no sleep and right now, sleep was most likely not on the “to-do” list for the next twenty-four hours.
Parks exited the EEOB and nodded to the Secret Service agents who were posted outside. Instantly he spotted the white, military-style van parked out in front of the doorway, and walked over to it.
Corporal Yahtzee greeted Parks as he pulled open the passenger’s door and climbed in. He extended his hand to Parks who shook it briefly and instantly applied Germ-X. Yahtzee didn’t seem fazed in the least and Parks was glad for that. Most people were offended. He didn’t do it to offend though; he did it to defend his mostly germ-free hands.
Parks heard the side door slam shut as Solomon pulled it closed. The van began to move. Once again, he heard Yahtzee speak into his radio.
“ICEBERG to GOLDEN TOWER, the VIPER TEAM SEVEN is inbound. I repeat, the VIPER TEAM SEVEN is inbound. Over.”
“ICEBERG, this is GOLDEN TOWER. Copy that. Keep us up-to-date. Over and out.”
Yahtzee placed the radio down and put both hands on the wheel. Obviously he had been informed about where he was to go by the logistics officer. Parks was amazed at how on-the-ball Bohn was.
A few seconds later, Parks climbed into the backseat and did his best to explain to his men the current situation, although he didn’t really have a good understanding of it himself. When he was finished with his brief explanation, Corley spoke up.
“And why the Langley trip?” he wondered aloud.
“Well the D/CIA wants us to see the intel his Intelligence Director has gathered,” Parks informed him. “There’s a mountain of it and more is coming by the second, although none of it is solid as of yet. He wants us to be physically there to sift through it to get firsthand information and have an opportunity to ask questions. If and when BORTAC fails to accomplish their mission, it will fall to us. We will then do a videoconference with the President, Vice President, National Security Advisor, and the Directors, and come up with a battle plan for the best way to take out these terrorists.”
“Do you think that BORTAC will fail?” Norse demanded in a cocky tone. “I mean come on, they’re the best of the best with the Border Patrol.”
Parks was beginning to tire of Norse’s know-it-all attitude. The guy clearly didn’t like him and he obviously thought that a Marine was incapable of leading the team. That was the part Parks hated the most about Norse. He was not even giving a military man a chance just because he didn’t belong to the Central Intelligence Agency or the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
“I don’t think you need to tell me about BORTAC,” Parks shot back to Norse. “I worked with them for two years when I was stationed at Fort Bliss in El Paso, Texas. I personally know the leader and I’d say I have at least seen each of the team members. I’ve seen them in action; I’ve been with them during the action. I even know what kind of plan they’re using right now because it would be the same one I’d use. But all that doesn’t affect my orders one way or the other. The President wants us to be prepared and that’s what we’re going to do. Whether BORTAC fails or not.”
Norse had an icy-cold glare on his face as he locked eyes with his leader. “Well if BORTAC can’t do the job,” he began, “there is no way we’re going to be able to.”
Parks was about to blast back but Lee had something to say
. “Hold on, Greg. If our Major Parks wants to play the role of a hero, let him. If he thinks he can do the job, let him try. They’re his cards to play, let him play.”
The statement had a little too much attitude for Parks’ liking, but it was true. Norse ultimately had no say in what would go on. Everything rested on Parks’ shoulders, no one else’s.
“Any questions?” Parks asked, eager to diffuse a possible explosion.
There were none, so silence filled the van for quite some time until Yahtzee yelled back at the team. “Here we are,” he said cheerfully. “Welcome to Langley, Virginia, home of the Central Intelligence Agency.”
* * *
“Here,” Siraj whispered to his men as he pointed at a large culvert.
They had finally found their escape route. If they climbed into this culvert and began squirming to the end, they would find themselves traveling underneath the Rio Grande. Siraj could hardly believe it had been this easy. After they crossed the Rio it wouldn’t be too hard to find the sleeper’s house, pick up the C4, and get on with their operation. So while the Border Patrol was hunting for them back in that thicket, they’d be across the Rio, in El Paso, heading for their sleeper agent’s house.
“I’ll go first,” Siraj stated as he pulled himself into the culvert, gun first.
His night-vision goggles were working overtime in the pitch-black darkness. Even though he figured the other side would be safe, he still held his pistol in front of him just in case.
After quite a while, his head stuck out of the culvert. He was almost completely out. El Paso was just outside. He looked back at his men and saw them piled up behind him, eager to escape from the closing trap the Border Patrol had set.
Siraj emerged from the culvert and entered a shallow irrigation canal. He looked around. It seemed as though no one was nearby. Eager to move to a safe place where he could make a plan, he gave a short order to his men. “Follow me. If anyone sees anything, let everyone know about it and then duck down and stay down.”
