Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1)

by Lewis, Rykar

  38

  Monday, March 24th – 1200 hours

  Tehran, Iran

  Alka vun Buvka was on the brink of explosion. His head felt like it was a balloon that someone kept filling with helium. He had been upset for the last few days – credited to receiving the news about Siraj’s team – but all the while it had been nothing like this. This was even worse.

  Vun Buvka reread the email from his leader just to make sure he wasn’t misreading anything.

  Mr. Rashid:

  I would like to make a very important business proposition to you. I am in need of a manager for my business; a man that is well-trained, intellectual, and has a good resume. It has been said by your boss – a personal friend of mine – that you fit the qualifications perfectly.

  Allow me to give you a rundown of the job. I have eight employees that are already in my office, but will not correctly do the work that I ask. I need someone to manage them and help them reach their full potential. They are good employees, and I want to keep them working for me. However, I need a skilled manager that would lead them and help them accomplish their jobs.

  If you are interested, please know that my employees already have all the necessary equipment for the job. All you have to do is bring your personal belongings. Also, the wages are quite impressive; a million up front, and three million when the job is done.

  Please contact me for further information.

  With Best Regards,

  Locus Bradley

  “Locus Bradley” had definitely given explicit orders. Vun Buvka read between the lines and understood that the terrorist attack still needed to be accomplished, and that there was only one man that could be trusted for such a task. Vun Buvka knew that “one man” was him. The letter had further stated that the team that was to be used would comprise of the men that were already inside the U.S. Apparently, vun Buvka was supposed to track them down, gather them, situate everything, and then move out.

  Vun Buvka plopped down into a soft couch and remembered how for so long he had basked in the fact that he was the second-ranked terrorist in the world. He figured that his boss would no longer make him do actual operations but simply coordinate and oversee them. Obviously he had been wrong, but it was infuriating to him that his boss would even contemplate such a measure much less outright order him to do so. It just wasn’t proper to send such a high ranking official to his death like that. Besides, vun Buvka classified himself as a bomber, but not a suicide bomber. He loved to kill Americans, but not at the price of his own life. But then again, why had the email said that three million dollars would be paid when the job was completed? How could a dead man be paid?

  Needing answers to his questions, vun Buvka went back to his computer, clicked the “reply” button and typed a response.

  Mr. Bradley:

  Thank you for your job offer. I am interested, but I do have a few questions. One, will the transportation to your business for an interview be covered? Two, where will I be working? Three, when will you want me there? And lastly, will this job put my well-being in jeopardy?

  I look forward to hearing from you shortly.

  Sincerely,

  Hamah Rashid

  Vun Buvka retired to his couch again, propped his feet on the coffee table, and reached for his .44 Magnum pistol. It was the only friend he had in the world. It was the only thing that would always stick with him, defend him, and kill for him. It was a sad thing to admit to himself, but it was completely true.

  Vun Buvka closed his eyes as he gripped the weapon. Maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, I will see Mr. Hamzah’s friend, Major Keith Parks, and have the pleasure of killing him.

  * * *

  Mr. Rashid:

  I appreciate your interest. To answer your questions, you will fly to Juarez, Mexico on my own personal jet, and from there, you will fly in on a smaller aircraft. As for when, as soon as you think possible. There’s no real time limit. Where you work is up to you, wherever suits you best; however, I recommend it be close by my business. I’m not sure if your well-being will be threatened, I suppose that it depends on the way you conduct business and your own discretion.

  From here on out, you’re on your own, except if something should go wrong.

  Thanks again,

  Locus Bradley

  Vun Buvka exited his email account and began pacing.

  The message had been very clear, and no strings were left knotted. It would definitely be dangerous, and before he left, he’d have to come up with a surefire means of getting out of the U.S. when his job was done. That would be a chore, but if someone could do it, vun Buvka would have to say that someone would be him.

  * * *

  President Winnfield looked at his National Security Advisor and began to shake his head slowly. He was upset about the Viper Team Seven’s failure but a more important issue was at hand. Eight terrorists were running loose somewhere inside the United States, all of them were armed, and chances were, all of them had a supply of C4. It wasn’t a good situation. Not at all.

  “And the FBI can’t even find a clue as to where they are?” the President asked.

  “Afraid not, Mr. President. We don’t know what they’re up to. It’s my guess, however, that they’re going to hide out somewhere until the coast is clearer.”

  “Nice guess, Tom, but the problem is it’s still just a guess. I need solid facts. Something I can rely on. Anything.”

  “I completely understand, Mr. President, but there’s nothing we can do right now.”

  “They couldn’t vanish into thin air. They have to be somewhere,” Winnfield confirmed.

  “Why don’t we let the FBI Director figure that one out,” Smith suggested, trying to convince the President everything was under control. “He’s doing all he can.”

  “And how much doing is that?”

  The NSA smiled and said, “Not much. Not much at all.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Winnfield shared. “But Tom, how much at risk are we of another attack? Do you think these terrorists are heading to different targets or are they saving up for one big attack? I guess either way we’ve got to find and stop them.”

  “True, Mr. President. But as I said, I believe this bunch of terrorists is hiding out until the storm blows over a bit. And there’s the catch, we can’t let it blow over. We can’t let our guard down because if we do, we might have another episode of 9/11 or 1/16. We have to look for them until we find them. We have no choice.”

  “Then where do we start looking?”

  Smith cleared his throat. “As I stated, Mr. President, the FBI Director is doing everything there is to do. He’s got it under control. Don’t worry.”

  “Don’t worry?” the President argued. “How can you say that to me? How can you say that when we’ve got radical Islamic terrorists in our nation that could kill thousands of innocent citizens in a heartbeat? It’s my job to worry, Tom. And yours is to see to this nation’s security.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The President cast his eyes to the floor and tried to piece things together. The Paramount Hotel bombing, the explosion of the USS George Washington, the Wal-Mart bombing, the hijacking of Air Force One, the attempted bombing in Israel, and now this mess. What did it mean? Winnfield knew the attacks were all intertwined, but how? The other question he had was who was responsible? His country had recently fought and won the War on Terrorism, and now Iraq was blown off the scene, Iran’s Hamas was supposed to have been neutralized, so who did that leave? Lebanon? A newer and better terrorist militant group from Iran? Who?

  Winnfield let out a long breath and looked up at the National Security Advisor. “Who did this, Tom? Who? Why?”

  Smith didn’t answer.

  “We need to know,” the President reiterated. “I have to strike back, I have to avenge our deceased citizens who were victims of the terrorist attacks. I have to. But how? How when I don’t know who to strike back at?”

  “Patience, Mr. President,” Smith
responded in a fatherly tone of voice. “Patience. It will unfold; we just have to let the enemy get bold enough and they will make a mistake and expose their identity.”

  * * *

  As ordered by his boss, vun Buvka was on his way to the airstrip where a Gulfstream V was waiting for him. If all went well, he’d be in the air in just a few minutes.

  The plane would head for Juarez, and upon arrival, vun Buvka would fly a smaller aircraft to the U.S./Mexican border. He would cross into U.S. airspace somewhere east of El Paso. Vun Buvka’s boss had said that there was limited air traffic control around the southwest borders of America, and that if a plane was less than 500 feet, it could come in easily because the radar would have a hard time picking it up.

  During his flight on the Gulfstream V, vun Buvka would contact the members of his team still inside America and get the exact locations of each of them. He then would gather them with their C4 and continue with the operation.

  As for a target, that was flexible, which helped things a lot because he could adjust for anything and everything that might happen. Of course, he didn’t expect much trouble and if any came, vun Buvka knew how to handle it: contact the boss. Vun Buvka knew that the problem with Ghazi Siraj’s operation was that Siraj just didn’t have the brains to make it work. The operation would have been a success if an experienced leader would have been in charge. Now that a capable leader was coming, things would work out, and perfectly too. Of that, vun Buvka had no doubt.

  He was almost beginning to hope that the Viper Team Seven would be waiting for him. He was starting to wish he could defeat them and show the U.S. that no American was capable of killing the second-ranked terrorist on earth. It would take some of the starch out of them, that was for sure. Yes, he knew that his boss had ordered everyone not to engage the team and he had gone along with the notion, until now. Things were very different. The Viper Team Seven had not taken out the previous terror team, proving their lack of skill, and Siraj was not leading the operation now, vun Buvka was. And in vun Buvka’s mind, that made all the difference in the world.

  The vehicle stopped and Hamzah told him they had arrived at the airstrip. Vun Buvka nodded, grabbed all his equipment, and got out.

  “Tell you what,” vun Buvka said to Hamzah, sticking his head through the still-open passenger door, “if I see your friend, I’ll give him one for you.”

  Hamzah looked up and replied, “Don’t be so sure you can take him. You’d better watch yourself.”

  “I most certainly will. And don’t you worry about a thing, everything will go perfectly.”

  “Allah go with you,” Hamzah wished for a farewell. “You’ll need him.”

  Vun Buvka smiled and slammed the door. A few minutes later, the terrorist was aboard the magnificent Gulfstream V, heading for Juarez at over 500 m.p.h.

  * * *

  Dog-tired and a bit sore from the fight, Parks drove into his driveway and turned off his truck. He grabbed all of his work things and headed inside, eager to eat something and go to bed.

  When he went inside, he locked the door behind him, threw down his work stuff and went into the kitchen to make something to eat. Something simple, he told himself as he looked through the refrigerator. Just something quick.

  After some searching, he finally found a few hot dogs that could work for a meal, and he pulled them out. Parks thoroughly washed his hands, got out a pan and began frying a couple. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

  “Oh come on,” he groaned. “I just walked through the door.”

  The knock came again and Parks decided to see who it was. He peered out the peephole and saw two middle-aged ladies, dressed in formal clothes and carrying Bibles.

  Oh no, he thought. Just what I need.

  Reluctantly he unlocked his door and opened it. “Can I help you ladies?” he asked, hoping he couldn’t.

  “Um, yes sir, we’re from Capital Independent Baptist Church just down the road, and we are going around your neighborhood inviting people to come worship God with us.”

  “How do you guys worship God?” Parks wondered, trying to remember what he’d learned in Sunday School when he was a very small kid.

  “Well, by singing praises to Him and listening to His Word being preached,” the lady answered.

  “Oh, of course.”

  “Do you have a church you go to, sir?” the lady questioned as she handed Parks a small pamphlet.

  “Ma’am, is this some kind of program sheet or something?” he asked as he raised the pamphlet.

  “No sir, that’s an invitation to our church.”

  “Oh sure. Now what was that you just asked me, ma’am?”

  “I asked if you have a church you currently attend.”

  Parks’ mind raced a hundred miles an hour as he tried to think of a response. “I just moved here,” he told her, “so no ma’am.” Not like I would anyhow, he added silently.

  “Well, you are just the person we’re looking for then.”

  “I am?” Parks asked, wishing he wasn’t.

  “Yes. The meeting times are on the front there, should you decide to join us. And sir, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Fire away ma’am,” Parks allowed, hoping the lady would leave soon.

  “Sir, if you were to die today, are you one hundred percent sure you would be on your way to Heaven?”

  Parks’ mind raced again as he tried to find the right answer. “Yes ma’am, I’d say so.”

  “Could you tell me why?”

  “Well, just like in the military, ma’am, good deeds get good rewards, and bad deeds get punished. I’d be willing to say I’ve done enough good deeds to merit Heaven.”

  “Are you in the military?” the lady prodded.

  “United States Marine Corps Officer, ma’am.”

  “Thank you for your service, sir.”

  “Ah, anytime ma’am,” Parks said, now confident that he had answered her question correctly.

  “But what have you done so well that would get you to Heaven?”

  “Ma’am, I am a Marine. I’ve been in combat action three times, I’ve been wounded in combat, I’ve risked my life for my country; and I realize I’m nothing special. I mean, every Marine is ready to offer up his life for this country. But how could God not let Marines into Heaven?”

  “He does, believe me. But only the Marines that are saved.”

  Parks was thoroughly confused now. “Saved from what, ma’am?”

  “An eternal death in a place called hell.”

  “I don’t understand, ma’am. Are you saying that my good deeds won’t keep me from that eternal death?”

  The lady nodded her head slowly. “Ephesians 2:8 and 9 tell us, ‘For by grace are ye saved through faith, and that not of yourselves it is the gift of God, not of works lest any man should boast.’”

  “Now wait a second, ma’am,” Parks interjected, feeling uncomfortable. “You mean to tell me that God would not allow me or any of my Marine friends into Heaven even though we’ve been ready to sacrifice our lives for something greater than ourselves?”

  “No sir, not unless you’ve asked Jesus to come into your heart and save you. You see, there’s nothing you can do to get into Heaven by your own power. All you can do is ask Jesus to take you to Heaven by accepting His gift.”

  “His gift?”

  “His gift was when He came down to earth and lived a perfect, sinless life and was crucified by the Romans. He died and shed His blood so that you and I can accept His gift and make Heaven our home.”

  “Now you’re really confusing me, ma’am,” Parks admitted. “You mean God’s gift is a – please don’t take this wrong – a dead person?”

  “No, of course not. Jesus didn’t stay dead after He was crucified; He rose again three days after He was buried. That’s what we celebrate during Easter, right?”

  “When I was a kid I thought it was all about Easter egg hunts, but later on in life, I found out that it had some relation to Go
d.”

  “Good for you,” the lady praised. “So, Jesus gave His life, was buried, and rose again the third day, for us. And the only way to get to Heaven is by believing that He did die for you, and asking Him to come into your heart and save you as the only way to get to Heaven.”

  “Hang on a second, ma’am. Jesus died for us, right? I really appreciate that but every time I wake up in the morning I have to be willing – and am willing for that matter – to lay down my own life for my country. Every military man has that self-sacrificial attitude. Why can’t that take me to Heaven? Does Jesus not appreciate that?”

  “Believe me, sir, He does, and so do I. But that cannot take you to Heaven because if it could, it would be by your own works, and I just showed you that can’t happen.”

  “So what you’re saying is Jesus won’t accept my gift?” Parks was thoroughly mixed up and he was desperately trying to make sense of this all.

  “Not if that’s what you want to use to take you to Heaven. You see, if there was any other way to get to Heaven, then Jesus died in vain.”

  “But I didn’t ask Jesus to die for me.”

  “Let me put it this way. You are willing to die for your country without being asked, right? Well, why?”

  Parks leaned against the doorway. “Because I love my country, ma’am, and I love the freedoms my country has. It’s worth sacrificing my life so that America can stay free forever. I don’t feel I need an invitation to do so.”

  “Same thing with Jesus. He loves you so much that He died without ever being asked by you. It was worth it to Him to die so that you can have everlasting life in Heaven.”

  “That’s a good analogy, ma’am,” Parks told her. “But I still can’t fathom that. You’re saying that even though my brother selflessly died for our country, God just looks at that like a normal occurrence and says that’s not good enough? How could a loving God see the sacrifice my brother made and say it wasn’t enough?”