Secession II: The Flood

by Joe Nobody

  Museum row was especially interesting to the ranger. Most of the structures were new construction of imposing mass, having been designed with a modern flare. This contemporary architecture stood in stark contrast to much of Jerusalem, which was bursting with historical design, populated with quaint structures, generally crowded, and unwaveringly traditional.

  More than any other city in the world, Jerusalem had endured a 3,000-year history of strife. It was amazing in a way, as the town held no military or strategic value. Yet it had been conquered, rebuilt, seized, and razed again and again. Zach had read somewhere that 118 battles had been waged over the “City of Peace.” Go figure.

  Traffic began to slow, bringing the ranger back to his professional responsibilities. “Is this normal congestion, or has there been an accident?” he asked no one in particular.

  Pen, craning her neck for a better view from the backseat, replied with a hint of concern. “There shouldn’t be any traffic issues this time of day.”

  The problem soon became evident; a service truck was blocking one lane, a group of helmeted men tinkering with a utility box.

  “I’m not falling for that old trick,” Zach barked, pointing to the turn lane. “Take a right here; we can go around the block.”

  But the driver didn’t understand. The sergeant repeated the order in Hebrew, and only then did the vehicle begin to turn.

  Now why in the hell does an English-speaking embassy hire a driver who doesn’t understand the language? Zach thought, throwing the older gent a questioning glance.

  A flash of black appeared, followed by an ear-splitting crash. A blizzard of glass shards filled the interior as Zach was rocked hard against his seatbelt. The embassy car, T-boned on the driver’s side, was pushed onto the sidewalk with enough force that it almost tipped over.

  Missy screamed at the same moment that Zach opened the door.

  The driver’s head exploded, warm blood and gristle splashing across Zach’s arm and neck as the Texan uncoiled his frame and drew his weapon in the same motion.

  Zach’s ears rang from the impact and adrenaline dump. In the Texan’s scrambled brain, the only discernable sound seemed to be coming from a buzz saw. Attempting to clear the mental fog, he shook his head as he tried to regain his balance. His confusion dispersed with remarkable speed at the sight of the masked man with a sub-machine gun spitting bullets in his direction.

  Three of the rounds stitched across Zach’s chest, the impact like someone hitting him square with the business end of a baseball bat. For a hundredth of a second, he wondered if his armor had stopped the incoming lead.

  The ranger’s .45 caliber 1911 was climbing up, the front post now even with the sparkle of the shooter’s muzzle blast. Zach dropped the hammer.

  The second round hit the assailant square in the chest, the 230-grain slug tearing a half-inch hole through the sternum and continuing until it shredded spinal cord. Some combination of nerve impulse and muscle command froze the dead man’s finger on the trigger, his weapon becoming an anti-aircraft gun as he corkscrewed to the earth.

  Another attacker rounded the blocking SUV, his MP5 belching white fire. Zach managed a wild shot as he squatted to get low. His pistol barked again as the shooter’s spray flung stinging bits of dirt and chips of concrete that blurred the ranger’s vision.

  Now, nearly blinded by the debris, Zach was furiously working his sidearm, aiming at the cloudy outline of the black-clad figure less than 30 feet away.

  The 1911A pistol locked back empty, the ranger’s training overriding his fear. His thumb found the magazine release while his left hand fished for a full box of pills.

  As the empty bounced on the sidewalk at his feet, Zach slammed the reload home at the same instant his thumb released the slide. Back in business. Looking for work.

  Through ringing ears, heavy breathing, and pain that racked his torso, Zach detected another weapon barking in protest. Pen, with Missy on the ground beside her, was firing desperately over the trunk at some unseen aggressor.

  The ranger managed one step when motion drew his watering eyes. Like a baseball replay of a great pitch, the slowed image of a canister flying through the air filled his vision. Grenade!

  The urge to cover Missy’s prone form consumed him. He bent at the knees, straining his legs and core, readying to dive for the cowering child.

  The grenade hit the pavement on the other side of Sergeant Kott, its metallic whack registering just as Zach’s boots were leaving the ground. He never felt the landing.

  Over a million candles of illumination filled the air when the flashbang exploded, a striking, brilliant white light wreaking havoc on the human optic nerve. Adding to its disorienting pulse were enough decibels to shred any eardrums unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity. Zach’s last thought was a childhood memory, recalling the day when a lightning bolt struck the barn.

  The ranger’s lashes fluttered as he struggled to shake the remnants of his bottomless slumber and the nightmare that accompanied it… to free his mind of the haunting images of destruction and battle… of life leaking from the bodies at his feet…. Vaguely aware that he was somehow trapped in sleep purgatory, that trance-like state between his dream world and full awareness of the day, he fought his way to consciousness. Zach blinked away the disconcerting mental image, waking to the faces of Colonel Callan and two other men he didn’t recognize staring down at him. In a flash, the memory roared back, the collision, gunfight, and grenade. Missy!

  The Texan tried to sit up, but Callan and one of the other men held him fast. “The girl, sir. Where’s Missy?”

  “Relax, Ranger Bass. You’re in an ambulance; we’re on our way to the hospital.”

  “Sergeant Kott? I’ve got to help them, sir,” Zach spat, trying again to rise.

  For some reason, it all didn’t register in the ranger’s foggy mind. Why wouldn’t they let him get back into the fight? When the two men above him again held fast, Zach became angry, determined to rise.

  “Need some help here,” the ambulance tech called.

  Straining against their grip, Zach managed to raise his right arm off the gurney before the other EMT leveraged his weight in the struggle. Zach continued to thrash, the three men straining to hold the ranger down.

  “Ranger Bass! At ease! We’re the good guys, remember?”

  And then Zach did recall the event, relaxing instantly, a look of embarrassment crossing his face. “But… I don’t… understand. Wh---what happened? Why am I going to the hospital, sir?” he thought to ask.

  “You took three rounds in the chest. Your Kevlar stopped the lead, but we need to make sure nothing is broken. In addition, the flash-bang used against you was a big one. I want you checked for a possible concussion.”

  “And Missy?”

  Zach could tell by the despondency in his commander’s expression that the girl was either dead or in the kidnappers’ hands.

  Callan confirmed the worst; “They snatched her.”

  “No,” Zach groaned, again trying to sit up, instigating another scuffle.

  “If you don’t calm down, Zach, one of these men is going to put a needle in your arm.”

  Again, the big ranger chilled, but he wasn’t done trying to figure it all out. “Sergeant Kott? Pen?”

  “She’s in worse shape than you are, but she’s still breathing. She’s in another ambulance right behind us.”

  That did it, Zach now fully grasping there was nothing he could do. Finally, he let his head fall back against the stretcher’s hard surface, a look of helplessness filling his sad eyes.

  It had taken three hours before Zach convinced the docs he didn’t need to be admitted or observed. Between doctors and tests, he was constantly tasked with debriefing the Israeli authorities, everyone from the local cops to the military having him repeat his story time and again… each retelling only reinforcing his mounting sense of inadequacy.

  Eventually, he found himself waiting outside the operating room, eager for any n
ews of Pen’s condition as the surgeons worked frantically to save her life. She hadn’t been wearing armor.

  Zach entered Sergeant Kott’s room wearing a sheepish look on his face while carrying a small bouquet of flowers.

  He discovered his short-term partner lying with her head elevated, a jungle of tubes, wires, and monitors surrounding her. A young man was there, sitting bedside and holding the patient’s hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Zach whispered, turning to leave, embarrassed over interrupting a moment.

  “Wait,” the man said. “You’re the Texas Ranger… Zach?”

  “Yes, that’s me. And you are?”

  “My name is David. I’m Pen’s brother.”

  The two men shook hands, David accepting the fragrant buds and setting them on a nearby table where his sister was sure to notice. “I am glad you stopped by. I heard what you did on the street,” he continued. “I really want to thank you. One of the police officers told me you probably saved my sister’s life.”

  “Huh? I don’t know why someone would say that. That grenade hammered me pretty hard, and I was knocked out of the fight.”

  “According to my friend, you killed two of the cowards. Sis got one more. That left only one kidnapper standing, and that sewer rat grabbed the hostage and ran. Ordinarily, they would have stayed long enough to execute the bodyguards.”

  “Oh. Any word on who’s behind the snatch and grab?”

  David’s eyes dropped instantly and his hand massaged his chin, almost as if he were questioning how much he should say. Finally, “No one has come forward yet and claimed responsibility or asked for a ransom. But that’s normal nowadays. They’ll hold onto a high-value hostage like that, selling her to the highest bidder. Lately, that’s been ISIS. I’m sure your people will hear from the thugs in a week or so.”

  Zach was taken aback, both by what he’d just been told and by the fact that David knew so much. “I didn’t know ISIS was active in Israel.”

  “They’re not, at least not so much as we know. This job was probably pulled off by that fat bastard everyone calls the Butcher. He’s a Jordanian and runs the local organized crime syndicate. It had to be him… or at least someone who had his approval.”

  Zach’s thoughts were now split, part of him wondering where Pen’s brother got all this information, the other trying to digest what he was learning. The curious nature of a cop won out. “So… David. What do you do for a living, if I might ask?”

  But Pen’s brother didn’t answer. Instead, he continued explaining the local kidnapping industry. “The Butcher would never grab an Israeli citizen; he’s way too smart for that. He stays out of the limelight, running illegal schemes all over the city, but never stepping too far over the line. The authorities have arrested him several times, but he’s always managed to beat the charges.”

  “Well, if he’s involved in an international incident like this, I’m sure they’ll be bringing him in for a little chat.… For sure that’s what I’d be doing.”

  David shrugged, “I doubt it. It wouldn’t do any good. He’d keep his mouth shut, no matter how aggressive a motivational technique was applied. Besides, if word ever got out that he had helped us, Hamas would send down a hit squad and riddle his carcass with bullet holes.”

  While he appreciated David’s insight, Zach found himself growing angry. Visions of a scared, defenseless, little girl monopolized the Texan’s thoughts. There was no telling how brutal Missy’s captivity would be or what her kidnappers would do to the child. The ranger had seen some pretty ugly things in his career, and several political groups in the Middle East had gained notoriety for their heinous treatment of Westerners. There is no telling what those savages will do to that little one, he worried.

  And then there was the insult to Texas. Zach had little doubt the new diplomatic relationship had played a role. Somehow, he couldn’t help but think a message was being sent to the new kid on the block. It was the act of a bully and served to fuel the ranger’s simmering rage.

  But what pissed him off the most was losing his charge. Missy’s family had counted on him… put their trust in his diligence and skill. He should’ve seen it coming, should’ve been faster.

  “So I’m going to ask you again, sir. What do you do for a living?”

  Something in Zach’s tone seemed to resonate with the young man sitting beside his critically injured sister. Still, he didn’t answer the inquiry.

  Nodding toward Pen, he reported in a monotone, “She took a bullet to the face.” He paused to maintain control of his voice before continuing, “It shattered her cheek and tore through the back of her throat. She was so lovely, so bright and fresh…. Now, I wonder what she’ll see when she looks in the mirror.”

  Zach sighed, understanding the brother’s pain. “Look… David… I’m not from around here. I don’t know the streets, the culture, or the people. But no one knows me either. If this Butcher character is actually involved, there might be something I can do. We look at things a little differently in Texas. But I can’t go running off like a bull in a china shop unless I know what you’re telling me is straight up and accurate. Do you understand?”

  Glancing into the hallway, David rose and closed the heavy wooden door. Zach was a little surprised when he heard the lock click. Returning to his seat, the brother studied the ranger for several moments. Then, without a word, he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a thin, leather case. He flipped it across the bed.

  Zach picked up the mini-wallet and found himself staring at an official looking, government identification card. David’s picture was in one corner, surrounded by writing that the Texan couldn’t read, but had learned was Hebrew. There was one word in English that the Texan did understand. There in bold and black were the characters, “Mossad.”

  It made sense.

  Mossad was the equivalent of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency… and well respected throughout the world. They were also super-secretive, rarely divulging their presence to anyone.

  The low profile was to ensure the effectiveness of their operations, but there was also a survival component as well. The list of terrorist organizations that would pay huge sums to have a man such as David in their clutches was probably as long as Zach’s right arm.

  Zach closed the ID and handed it back with a respectful nod. “So where would I find this fat bastard you call the Butcher?”

  “Why? You can’t kill him. We’d all like very much to empty our weapons into his head, but he is an Israeli citizen and afforded certain protections. He won’t tell you anything – of that, I’m positive. That… and he’s always well protected.”

  “Does he have a family?”

  For the first time during their discussion, David flashed fear. “We don’t do that here. There’s what you would call an unwritten code with a very distinct line drawn in the sand. If families were brought into the conflict, no one would ever accomplish anything. We would all spend our days guarding our loved ones and accomplishing little else.”

  Zach’s reply dripped with guile, “Well, someone just violated this polite, little code of honor. I don’t think anyone could consider Missy Remolds a combatant.”

  Exhaling, Zach’s expression softened. “Look, David, I’ve been dealing with the most vicious animals mankind can offer since I was a little kid. One such scumbucket of DNA shot my father. Along our border, the playing field boasts an all-star lineup of monsters from the Mexican and South American cartels. You have bombings and assassinations. We’ve seen the heads of an entire town hanging from an overpass. I’ve learned a few things about how these types think and react. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  But the Mossad agent wasn’t convinced. “I can’t be a part of any action that violates our laws no matter how much I would like to exact my own revenge. It is a matter of honor; I’m sorry.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything of the sort, and I guarantee I won’t hurt anyone. All that I ask is for a little guidance, and perhap
s that you look away from a few minor indiscretions I may be forced to execute.”

  David pondered the Texan’s offer for a few moments, his eyes darting toward his sister, taking in the thick layer of bandages that covered most of her face. He finally nodded, adding, “Okay, where do we begin?”

  Zach considered his itinerary. The colonel had relieved him from duty for the remainder of his assignment in country, despite the ranger’s insistence that he was fit for service. He was already scheduled to be on a flight to Dallas the following evening. President Simmons was securely aboard Texas One and flying back to Austin. There was time.

  “I want to see this overweight, butcher fellow,” Zach said coldly. “I want to briefly study him from afar. After that, I want to hear everything you know about his family.”

  Zach and David guided the Mossad agent’s car to the curb, both studying the large group of men strolling to the local bakery. As they’d witnessed on several occasions, the butcher’s bodyguards remained outside and diligent, waiting on their employer to exit the shop while they scanned the street.

  “What’s he doing?” Zach asked. “Buying doughnuts?”

  “Doughnuts? What are doughnuts?”

  “Never mind. I want to see what he’s doing.”

  “The guards won’t let either of us enter the shop while he’s in there.”

  “Stay here,” Zach said while reaching for the door handle. “I’ll be right back.”

  The ranger exited, meandering like the typical tourist taking in the market atmosphere. He paused a few times as he got closer, window shopping and admiring the local goods.

  As he approached the confectionary’s threshold, one of the bodyguards put his hand in the Texan’s chest and spat a warning in a language Zach didn’t understand.

  “I’m sorry, partner, but I don’t comprehend a word you’re saying. Is this store closed? Do you speak English? I don’t get it?”