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

by Lewis, Rykar

  Parks couldn’t see where vun Buvka was, he was only guessing, but he did know where he was trying to go. He scrambled from where he had been lying and ran for the nearest vehicle. It was going to be a foot race, and if Parks could reach the Suburban before the terrorist did then he could probably capture vun Buvka. If not, then it was very likely that the terrorist would escape. So Parks began sprinting toward the Suburban.

  Several rounds were fired only a few feet away from Parks. Both Parks and vun Buvka were close to the Suburban but if either wanted to get to it they’d have to cross a few empty spaces with no cover. Parks decided that his position was good enough and that he could keep vun Buvka away from the vehicle easily.

  Solomon, Marler, and Norse, also began closing in on the terrorist, and Parks was almost sure that victory was near. But he couldn’t make that guarantee. Not yet anyway. There was still work to be done.

  He knelt down and could see vun Buvka’s feet underneath the vehicle to his front right. Without hesitation Parks tried to fire off a shot at the terrorist’s feet but when his hammer hit the firing pin it resulted only in a clicking sound. He fished in his pocket for six more bullets, ejected the spent rounds, and reloaded the cylinder. Then he carefully aligned his sights and squeezed off a shot. Unfortunately he missed, and vun Buvka wasn’t waiting around to give him a follow-up shot. The terrorist made a dash for his vehicle and Parks jumped to his feet. From the hip, he fanned two shots which went in front of the fleeing man, but then bullets from the three other guns started flying too.

  Vun Buvka stopped, half-turned to Parks, and shot a couple bullets which sliced into the vehicle blockade’s side. That was all the target Parks needed. He cocked the Colt’s hammer, extended his arm slightly, and squeezed the trigger. He never heard the bullet or felt the pistol jump back in his hand; he was too captivated with anticipation. Sure enough, Vun Buvka spun around and crumpled to his knees, screaming in pain. His hand flew to his right shoulder and Parks watched as blood began to pour from the wound.

  Hesitantly and fearfully, Parks took a step toward the terrorist, his gun at the ready. He wasn’t sure what to expect, or what to do.

  Solomon and the two others jogged up to Parks and looked to him for instructions.

  “Drop your gun, raise your hands, and lie flat on your stomach,” Parks ordered to vun Buvka. “Don’t try anything or we’ll turn you into Swiss cheese.”

  When the terrorist didn’t move Parks really wondered what to do. “I said, drop your gun, raise your hands, and lie flat on your stomach,” he repeated with more authority in his voice.

  Again, vun Buvka didn’t respond, and Parks began debating his options.

  “Maybe we should try Farsi or Arabic,” Solomon suggested.

  “Oh, well I know he speaks English. But you can try it,” Parks allowed.

  Solomon started speaking Arabic fluently and Parks was amazed at his ability. Still, the terrorist didn’t listen to the commands.

  A sudden wave of boldness mingled with hate compelled Parks to walk up to the wounded man.

  “Maybe you don’t hear so good or maybe you just don’t listen,” he snapped. “Well I’m letting you know that if you want to play around I’ll blow your head off.”

  Vun Buvka raised his head and looked directly into Parks’ eyes. Parks was suddenly chilled to the bone as he felt the terrorist’s eyes pierce through him. Needing to react quickly, Parks snatched vun Buvka’s gun and threw it aside.

  “Maybe now you’ll be a little more reasonable,” Parks said, slamming his pistol’s barrel against the terrorist’s head. “Now get on your face you filthy, murdering, terrorist.”

  This time vun Buvka consented and after a quick check, Parks found that he wasn’t carrying any explosives on him.

  A police patrol car’s siren could be heard in the distance and Parks ordered Solomon, Marler, and Norse to stay with the terrorist as he went inside.

  As he entered the restaurant he saw Lee, Corley, and Samuels checking pulses on the fallen bodies of the terrorists.

  “They all dead?” Parks asked them.

  Corley nodded his head. “Yup, all but this one. None of the civilians in here were hurt; they all ran out through the fire exits.”

  Parks stared down at the wounded and unconscious terrorist. Instantly he recognized the face and matched it to the photo that Kano had showed him at Langley during the intel briefing. Then he put two and two together.

  “That terrorist is the same one that skipped the Mexican border with his team,” Parks declared. “He’s identical to the photo that Nancy Kano showed me.”

  Lee shrugged. “I figured that they were the same guys. I wonder where they did go after we lost them in El Paso. Anyway we have them now.”

  “It was a good deal,” Parks conceded. “Come on, let’s go outside. I’ve got a nice reward lying on the parking lot with a hole in his shoulder. Oh, Jim, you stay here and keep an eye out until the police relieve you.”

  “Sure thing. You got Alka vun Buvka?” Corley wondered.

  “We did,” Parks answered as he moved to the door. “And alive too.”

  The trio stepped out of the restaurant and met up with the rest of the team. At the same time, three police cars screeched up and five policemen emerged from them, their hands on their guns.

  “You mind showing your badge?” Parks whispered to Solomon. “I’m not sure my ID would convince him.”

  Solomon didn’t have time to answer. The lead police officer walked up and cleared his throat. “What on earth is going on here? Who’s responsible for this?”

  Solomon dug in his pocket and flashed his badge in the policeman’s face. “As far as you’re concerned, we were never here.”

  The officer swallowed hard at the sight of the CIA badge. “Do you have authorization for this?”

  “You’ll find several others inside, all but one’s dead,” Parks told him, completely ignoring the question. “Have a good night, sir.”

  Two of the policemen went inside to look around and moments later Corley came out.

  At that moment, a black, unmarked van drove up and four armed men got out. One of them walked up to Parks and dug in his pocket. “U.S. Marshals, sir,” he explained, showing his badge. “We’ve come to get the terrorists.”

  “Carry on,” Parks responded authoritatively.

  The marshals grabbed vun Buvka and shoved him in the van, then went inside the restaurant to gather the others.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Parks commanded. When he looked at Norse, he saw an unexpected sight. His head was bleeding, but it didn’t appear to be the result of a gunshot wound. “Hey, Greg, what happened to your head?”

  “The explosion threw some shrapnel at me. I got hit I guess,” he replied. “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

  “All right then, let’s head for home.” Parks reached in his pocket for his keys and told everyone to load up. It had been a wild night and all he wanted to do was get home, get in bed, and go to sleep.

  Mission accomplished, he thought to himself as he pulled out onto the highway.

  The terror team had come close to accomplishing their mission, but not quite.

  * * *

  Parks swung open the National Security Advisor’s office door, stepped in, and stood at attention. It was 0600, and it was a beautiful Thursday morning. Parks was checking in with the NSA to go over the previous night’s operation, and receive any orders that his boss might have. This time, Parks was actually looking forward to reporting to Smith.

  The National Security Advisor’s head shot up and a humungous smile formed on his face when he saw who was at the doorway. “Major Parks, you are...” he tried to find the right words. “A Marine. Huh, that’s all I can say, son.”

  Parks suppressed a smile and stayed silent.

  “Congratulations, Major. I saw the whole thing. Good work.” The NSA rose from his seat, walked over to Parks, and shook his hand. “Well, shall we have a seat, Keith? I’m sure you’re very
tired. When did your team get in last night?”

  Parks followed Smith to the couches as he answered. “We got in about 2130, sir. It wasn’t the hour we got in that was tiring; it was the fact that we only got a couple hours of sleep during the last few nights. But surprisingly everyone on the team is feeling well this morning, sir.”

  “Glad to hear it. But before we get into anything else, tell me everything.”

  Parks hadn’t expected the utter excitement of his boss. The National Security Advisor was about to explode with excitement – which was fine with Parks. After all, excitement was better than anger.

  Parks went into the fine details of the entire operation, and every now and then the National Security Advisor would whistle with amazement.

  When Parks finished his briefing the NSA began to speak. “We were getting worried there for a while when the terrorists kept on dodging your team. Finally the President decided that every man was going to stay in the Situation Room until the matter was settled. We did it too.”

  “Yes sir, that’s nice. Do you have any orders for my team, sir?”

  Smith downed a breath mint and pondered the question. “Let me tell you this, when we get Alka vun Buvka to squeal on some of the info he knows, we’ll be needing you. I can assure you of that. We’re setting up a special interrogation team as we speak. Believe me, he’ll talk, sooner or later. And it’s all thanks to you, Major.”

  Parks wasn’t sure it was all thanks to him but he kept his mouth shut and heard Smith out.

  “Take it easy for the rest of the day,” the NSA continued. “Hang around the office, look at intel reports, and give your team my personal thanks.”

  “I will sir.”

  The National Security Advisor leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “We may have the key to it all, Keith. The next few days will tell us a lot. But I feel like this is just the beginning of a major nightmare. But now at least we’ll know where the nightmare’s coming from – again thanks to you.”

  “I don’t know about that, sir. I could never have done it without my team. They deserve equal or greater credit.”

  “Yes, but remember what you told me when we spoke after the last operation? You said that you are the commander of the team and with whatever happens during work, you’re responsible for it. Good or bad.”

  Parks didn’t hide his pleased look. “I guess I did say something like that, didn’t I sir?”

  Smith ate another breath mint and ran his hand through his short hair. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No sir, that’s all.”

  “All right, thanks for stopping by. And again, good work.”

  * * *

  Parks came out of the National Security Advisor’s office and headed down the hall toward the double doors.

  “Hey Keith,” a voice called from behind him. “Wait up.”

  Parks pivoted around hard and saw Cummins jog up to him. “How are you today, sir?” Parks asked.

  “Oh fine, fine. I stayed at work late last night but hey, it was worth it. Great job man, way to go.”

  Cummins extended his hand to Parks and the two shook hands. Parks fought off the urge to thoroughly Germ-X his hands right then and there.

  “I tell you what, Keith, you may have missed your calling,” the D/CIA went on. “The CIA needs some good counterterrorism agents like you. Any plans after retirement?”

  Parks laughed. “I’ve got ten years left, sir, and I haven’t even made plans for a year down the road. But I appreciate your offer.”

  “Yeah any time. You sure did great last night though. Oh, it looks like Ghazi Siraj will live too.”

  “Ghazi Siraj?”

  “Yeah, he’s the guy who the PMI managed to capture a picture of. He was leading the terror team until vun Buvka came in.”

  “How’d you get his name, sir? Did he talk?”

  Cummins looked over his shoulder to check if anybody was listening. “A little. We’ve been running the interrogation. I can’t tell you about it here. You’ll be briefed in the intel reports. I can tell you he seems a bit soft to be a terrorist though. He keeps on moaning about how he shouldn’t have done it.”

  Parks shrugged his shoulders. “A chink in the armor I guess, sir. Maybe that’s why we couldn’t find him, maybe he made a run for it.”

  “Doubt it. The others would have kept him in line. Anyway, I’d just like to know how vun Buvka got in on this and how he made it into CONUS.”

  “Me too, sir.”

  “Well I have to run but I’ll see you around. Good work, Major.”

  Cummins turned down a hall and left Parks alone. He resumed heading for the doors, but after a few steps he was stopped by someone else.

  “Major Parks,” the Secret Service Director said as he strolled up. “Good to see you boy. How’re you doing?”

  “I’m fine, just fine,” Parks answered. “How’s everything in the Secret Service today, sir?”

  Roxon evaded the question and switched the topic. “That was a good operation you pulled off last night. It took a while to finally pin the terrorists down but at least it all turned out okay. How’d you know what they were going to do?”

  “I didn’t, sir. I just guessed – it was a miracle actually.”

  The Director adjusted his blue tie and chuckled. “Yeah I guess it takes luck when you’re dealing with ‘suiciders.’ Problem is you can’t scare them with death because they’re ready to die.” Roxon drew in a long breath. “What do you think vun Buvka was trying to do? I mean, he couldn’t have really thought he could escape.”

  Parks was taken aback by the question. “With all due respect, sir, it would seem obvious that he was trying to escape, whether he thought he could or not. Either that or he was trying to go elsewhere so he could continue the mission. I don’t know, sir. But what does worry me is how much he knew.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Parks shifted nervously. Even though this was the White House, his job was not public White House talk, and he didn’t want it to get that way. “It doesn’t matter, sir. I suppose he has to be pretty smart, being that he’s worked for Hamas as long as he has and still kept alive.”

  “I don’t work for the CIA, Major, but I do know vun Buvka pretty well – the Service really took a leap in counterterrorism intelligence in the past few months given 1/16 and all. We thought it would be a good thing to know who we were dealing with. Anyway, I found out some interesting things about him from the CIA.”

  Parks fidgeted with his tie and wished the Secret Service Director would be quiet. Parks knew he was trying to be nice but he had things to do and he still wasn’t very comfortable just casually talking with White House staffers yet. “Yes, I guess you would at that, sir,” he agreed after a second of silence.

  “I’d better let you get back to work,” Roxon said finally. “Good job last night, and let your team know I said so.”

  Parks promised he would and the two split ways. Quickly, Parks went for the doors. He knew there would be a full inbox waiting for him when he arrived at the EEOB.

  46

  Sunday, March 30th – 0700 hours

  The Eisenhower Executive Office Building

  Parks’ desk phone rang and to his surprise, the caller ID displayed that the call was from HQMC. Puzzled, he answered the phone.

  “Major Parks,” he said.

  “Hi Keith, it’s General Mosley. How’ve you been lately? Last time I saw you was when you came back from Iran and I pinned on your Medal of Honor.”

  Parks instinctively stood at attention just from the sound of the Commandant’s voice, and his mind raced to catch up with the general. He knew the man well enough and the two were good friends, as far as majors and generals could be. Parks had reported to the general back when he was a second lieutenant at Camp Pendleton, with the 1st ANGLICO. Mosley had been a major general then, and the Assistant Commanding General of I MEF. But this call was quite unexpected and Parks was trying to register what was goi
ng on.

  “Uh, hello sir. How are you, sir?” Parks asked.

  “I’m great. Things have been going well enough over here. Oh hey, sorry about the bad news, I couldn’t help it much. I have to take orders too you know.”

  Parks was silent until he realized what the general was saying. “Oh. Don’t worry about it, sir, Washington D.C.’s not too bad. I guess some things are just meant to happen, sir.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so. How’s the new job working out for you?”

  “Fine, just fine, sir. It’s a little different than commanding Marines, sir, but I can’t complain too much.”

  The Commandant laughed. “I know how it is. Back with the previous administration, being a Joint Chief of Staff was loads of fun. Dealing with those liberal politicians was almost more than I could bear. But at least that’s over with, and the White House is in shipshape now.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Well I know you’ve got a job to do so I’ll get to the point of this call,” Mosley declared. “Do you know what’s coming up, Keith?”

  Parks thought for a second and then gave up. “No sir, I don’t.”

  “It’s going to be the President’s birthday next month. He’s going to be fifty-five years old.”

  “Well congratulations for him, sir,” Parks responded, not knowing what that had to do with him.

  “We’re going to throw him a birthday party at 8th and I.”

  “That’s nice, sir.”

  “The Marine Corps will be hosting the whole ordeal. It’ll be real showy; Silent Drill Platoon, Ceremonial Marchers, the Marine Drum and Bugle Corps, that sort of deal. Every military branch’s top brass are invited. I’m assuming that just the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be attending though. We’ve gotta bring the cake, food – and here’s where you come in – a gift on behalf of the Marine Corps. Every branch will be bringing a present but since we’re hosting the deal, we’ve got to bring the ultimate best. Besides, being the best is what we do best, right?”

  “Of course sir. But you said that I will come in on the gift thing. What do you mean by that, sir?” Parks wondered.