Day of Reckoning

by G. Michael Hopf

  “That was a quick stop,” he mumbled. He started his car, put it into gear and waited.

  Basher approached the street slowly. He looked both ways before turning right out of the mosque parking lot.

  Cassidy promptly pulled out behind him and was three car lengths behind.

  A flash of red and blue lights followed by a loud wail sounded behind Cassidy. He looked into his rearview mirror and saw a San Diego police cruiser.

  “Shit!” he hollered. He slowed and pulled over.

  The police car parked behind him.

  Cassidy did as he had always done, kept his hands on the wheel at a ten and two position. He did this as a courtesy so the cops always knew where his hands were.

  The police officer walked up to just behind the driver’s side window and ordered, “Step out of the car.”

  “Officer, what’s the trouble?” Cassidy asked.

  “Step out of the car. Keep your hands where I can see them,” the officer ordered.

  “Was I speeding? What did I do?” Cassidy asked. He looked in his side mirror and saw the officer had his hand on the backstrap of his holstered pistol. Not wanting to escalate the situation, Cassidy opened the door and stepped out with his hands clearly visible.

  The officer stepped back and said, “Face the vehicle and place your hands on it.”

  “What did I do?” Cassidy asked while he did as the officer commanded.

  The officer stepped behind Cassidy, patted him down quickly then took his right arm and pulled it behind his back.

  “Hey, what did I do?”

  “You’re under arrest for stalking and harassment,” the officer said as he took Cassidy’s left arm and placed it behind his back.

  “Stalking?” Cassidy asked but knew he’d been compromised. He’d been seen for sure.

  The officer placed handcuffs on Cassidy.

  When Cassidy heard the unique clicking of the cuffs, he saw his life with Sophie flash before him. He let out a heavy sigh as the officer led him to the police car and placed him in the back.

  Sitting in the back of the cruiser, he began to question his stupid and impulsive behavior. He stared out the window and caught sight of Basher, who was in his car parked across the street.

  Basher gave Cassidy the same shitty grin and waved before driving off.

  Cassidy had been outmaneuvered, there was no other way to put it. He was fucked.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Thursday, April 27

  Coronado, California

  Brennan, Vickers, Klyde and the rest of the team walked into the briefing room. There they saw Owens at the front of the room, talking to an unknown officer.

  Tracy was present as well; however, she was sitting at a table in the far corner, crouched over a laptop.

  Grouped in the center of the room, thirty men sat. Their uniforms told Brennan they were SEALs and other Marines.

  Owens saw his team and called out, “Take seats, all of you, hurry up.”

  The team did as Owens said.

  As he often did, Vickers sat next to Brennan. He leaned in close and asked, “Do you suppose that zero is our new commanding officer?”

  “Who knows,” Brennan replied.

  “And who are these motherfuckers?” Vickers asked, pointing at the other men.

  “Who knows?”

  Owens took a seat at the table in the front.

  The officer, a naval commander, looked to the back of the room and said, “Can someone close the door?”

  Dietz jumped up and did it.

  “My name is Commander Shenkman and I’m now the commanding officer for Unit 5.”

  As usual, Vickers leaned in and said, “What’s Unit 5, is that us?”

  “Ssh,” Brennan said.

  “Unit 5 is now an official QRF, with a singular mission, to address the mutant threat.”

  “They’re calling them mutants,” Vickers whispered.

  Brennan glared.

  “Due to the hasty nature of how this unit was formed, it started with inadequate resources and manpower. It began with you gentlemen, because you had firsthand encounters with the mutants. However, that is not enough. For you to be effective, you need more men.”

  Brennan looked at the others in the room.

  Shenkman continued. “We’re also reorganizing Unit 5 into four platoons, each platoon consisting of three five-man fire teams. Each team will have a team leader, machine gunner, demolitions and two riflemen. First platoon will be commanded by Owens here. The other three platoon leaders are Senior Chief Jones, Senior Chief Dillon and Senior Chief Alvery. We’ll operate from Coronado here, which is to our advantage, it gives us access to air and sea assets we’ll need.”

  Tracy raised her hand.

  Shenkman gave her an odd look.

  “Excuse me,” Tracy said.

  “Yes, Ms. Dalton.”

  “Where does my team fit in to the org structure?”

  “You’re not actually an operational element of Unit 5, you’re just being attached for a single mission, nothing more. And I’ll get to that in a bit. Just please sit patiently, Ms. Dalton.”

  “Hmm, not what I understood, but no need to discuss it now,” she said.

  Shenkman waited for her to continue, but she remained quiet. “With that out of the way, let’s get down to our next mission. Intel gathered in Juulu points to another facility south of Cuidad Juarez, Mexico. What we know about the facility is it appears to be another secret laboratory and research facility that we must assume houses these mutants. Your job will be to secure that facility. However, we need you to use caution so that you can preserve as much evidence as possible,” Shenkman said. Picking up a remote, he clicked a button and zoomed in on an aerial photo that appeared on the screen behind him. He pointed and continued, “We don’t know what to expect or what you’ll encounter once you get there, but time is of the essence, so we haven’t had a lot of time to conduct reconnaissance. All four platoons will deploy on this.” He pointed at a large warehouse and said, “First platoon, you’ll be the lead element going into the actual labs, which we believe is this building due to the volume of HVAC equipment outside the building.” He clicked the remote. A second image appeared; a red line encircled three buildings and a large courtyard. “Second platoon will provide over watch and secure the perimeter. Third platoon, you will secure this building here.”

  Everyone sat taking in all the information.

  Shenkman went through more details of the raid, pausing near the end. He took a drink of water and went on. “We will be taking Ms. Dalton and her team of biologists from the CDC on this. Treat them like you would any imbed journalists. Ms. Dalton and her team will go in with first platoon.”

  “Now we’re babysitters, great,” Vickers mumbled under his breath.

  “We’re wheels up in three hours, and remember once we touch down at Fort Bliss, we’re going straight to the birds. Make sure you have your shit together, and first platoon, let’s not kill the specimens this time,” Shenkman said with a tinge of sarcasm.

  Ramona, California

  Sophie put the car in park in front of their garage. She put her head in her hands and started to cry.

  Cassidy, just released on bail, looked at her sorrowfully. He thought of words to help ease her pain and disappointment but nothing came. It all sounded like bullshit in his head. He reached out with his hand and touched her.

  She recoiled from his touch.

  He tried again.

  “Don’t touch me!” she barked.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll keep saying it, I fucked up. I just thought I could salvage my reputation and prove—”

  “Prove what? You’re an idiot? Listen, I don’t know if that Basher guy is a terrorist. He could be, but is it really your responsibility now to stop him? You tried; the police brushed it off. I would imagine the cops know more than you. Did you ever think of that?”

  “What if they’re under pressure, you know, political pressure not to really do their job
s as it pertains to Muslims?”

  “What am I supposed to do? Huh?” Sophie complained wiping tears from her cheeks.

  “I’ll fix this, I promise.”

  “The job interviews, those were lies. You lied to me?”

  “I had every intention of going to some. I just needed…I just felt—”

  She held up her hand and shouted, “Stop! No more. I can’t sit here and listen to more of your bullshit.” She opened the car door, got out and slammed it shut with all her strength.

  He cringed.

  She marched into the house, slamming the front door to the house as well.

  Cassidy sat in his own self-inflicted misery. He wasn’t sure what his next step should be. He now had to worry about what the outcome of his hearing would be and how bad it would impact his record, which in turn would complicate his job prospects.

  His phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

  He pulled it out. It was a number he didn’t recognize. Normally he wouldn’t answer but after dealing with the police, bailiffs and everything related to being arrested, he thought it could be something that pertained to that. With great reluctance, he answered, “Hello.”

  “Trevor Cassidy?” the voice asked.

  “This is him.”

  “Hi, my name is Brett Silver. I’d like to speak to you about the incident at school.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Brett Silver. My kids go to Rancho Nopal Elementary. I desperately need to speak with you,” Brett said.

  “How did you get this number?”

  “I really need to talk with you. It’s urgent. There was an incident yesterday.”

  “An incident, what happened?” Cassidy asked, his curiosity piqued.

  “Someone spray painted the symbol of that terror group The Bloody Hand on the front of the school. I think it’s a message, a warning. I desperately need your help. I need to know more about this man you thought was a threat.”

  Cassidy got excited, here was a man just as concerned as him.

  “Mr. Cassidy, can you meet with me? Can you help me?”

  The front door of the house opened. Clothes, shoes and a suitcase flew out and onto the deck and lawn.

  Cassidy’s heart melted. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Don’t call me again,” he said and hung up.

  The front door slammed again.

  He sat looking at his life strewn across the front lawn. He had reached a new low in his life. What was left for him? He wanted to feel angry and blame Basher or Kathy or his damn friends for offering him those last few drinks years ago, but he couldn’t, he was to blame. He was taught at a young age that he was the master of his own destiny and that only he could alter his path. But how?

  He opened the door of the car and got out. He looked at his things and thought about gathering it all up, but why? They were just that, things. What he needed to do was gather his shattered life and that began by trying to make things right with Sophie.

  San Diego, California

  Brett looked at the phone. “He hung up on me,” he grunted.

  He began pacing through his house, his thoughts going from taking extreme measures like directly confronting Kathy to passive approaches like seeing Madison and begging for forgiveness.

  The ring of his phone gave him respite from his conflicted thoughts. He raced over and picked it up. Seeing it was Chris, he answered.

  “Hey, buddy.”

  “Hi. Any word from Trevor Cassidy?”

  “Yeah, he said no.”

  “No shit, he won’t help us?”

  “Yeah, he was pretty adamant too.”

  “I’ve been reaching out to all my old buddies in the force and they’re saying it’s a total shit show inside the ranks. The brass is being told to all but stand down against these fucking protestors and they’re being told to keep the investigations on the tagging quiet. The rank and file are pissed but there’s not much they can do.”

  “It’s like we’re living in an alternate universe. What the hell?” Brett exclaimed.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. One of my old friends told me the tension between the street cops, detectives, and the brass is explosive. He said it’s as if they’re being given orders from someone higher up. It’s so weird. So not like when I was a deputy.”

  “Then we need to protect our own,” Brett said.

  “Agreed.”

  “This damn ten-day waiting period is killing me. I hate to ask…”

  “Don’t say it, I got you. Let’s meet for lunch. Okay, gotta go. See you at the usual place. Bye,” Chris said and hung up.

  Brett looked at the time. He still had a good several hours. In the meantime, he’d wait but outside the school. He wasn’t going to sit around and idly do nothing. He grabbed his car keys and headed for the garage.

  Rancho Bernardo, California

  After having a good night’s rest, Mo was ready to take on the day. He was still struggling with the images from the other night, but needed to put it behind him.

  He expected he would have been on the receiving end of an endless streams of texts from Malik but suspiciously, none after the last he’d received midday yesterday. Maybe Malik was going to give him the space he needed.

  His stomach grumbled as hunger pangs signaled it was time for breakfast.

  He raced out of his bedroom and down the stairs. He turned to head to the kitchen but froze when he saw his mother, Kareem, Malik and the unknown man from the other night sitting in his living room.

  “What?” Was the only word he could muster.

  “Mohammed, please come and sit down,” his mother said, patting the empty space next to her on the couch.

  “Where’s Dad?” Mo asked.

  “He left for work. Now come, sit down,” his mother urged.

  “Mom, that’s the man from the other night. He...he murdered someone,” Mo said, his voice cracking.

  “I did no such thing, for it is not murder to take the life of an infidel. You have much to learn, my young friend. Sit, go sit, like your mother said,” the man said.

  “Mohammed, come sit next to me. We have much to discuss,” his mother pleaded.

  “Mom, I can’t,” he said, still in shock at seeing everyone there.

  “C’mon, bro, sit, you’re safe. I talked to Kareem and Farouk. Nothing will happen to you,” Malik said, waving Mo over.

  Mo shook his head.

  Farouk stood and approached Mo.

  “No, get away from me,” Mo barked.

  “I won’t hurt you. I promise,” Farouk replied. He stopped feet from Mo and continued. “Your dear friend Malik contacted us concerning your doubts. We thought it best to have, oh, what should we call it?”

  “An intervention,” Kareem blurted out.

  “Yes, an intervention, that’s the word. You see, your mother, the beautiful sweet Nahid, has been a believer and follower of ours since 2004, right after the Americans killed her brother. She has been instrumental all these years in supplying us with much-needed resources,” Farouk said.

  “Mom?” Mo asked, stunned by the revelation.

  “It’s true. I didn’t, I couldn’t tell you. I needed you to want this on your own. When Malik gave you the opportunity, you didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t have been prouder. But now, in your hour of doubt, I thought I needed to let you in on my secret and to beg you to continue. You’re on a holy path, you just need to see it through,” she said.

  “But I…do you know what happened the other night?” Mo asked.

  “I am aware. It’s ugly, but necessary,” she acknowledged.

  “I feel sick,” he mumbled. He stepped back and sat on the stairs.

  His mother raced to him. “Mohammed, are you okay?”

  “I don’t feel well,” he answered.

  She whispered so no one else could hear, “I need you to stand. You need to go along or we’re all dead. Nod if you understand?”

  He nodded.

  “Come, get up,” she said in a normal vo
ice, helping him to his feet.

  He wiped his clammy forehead and said, “I’ve not been feeling well.”

  Farouk approached closer. He placed his hand over his heart and said, “If your mother wasn’t who she was, we wouldn’t be here talking. You’ve been given one chance, something we rarely do. You are with us or you’re not. We need an answer…now.”

  Mo blinked heavily, opened his mouth but nothing came out.

  Malik pressed his eyes closed in prayer that Mo would give the proper response.

  “Answer,” Farouk ordered.

  “I’m with you. I’ll do what you need,” Mo replied. His mind spun. It all made sense now. Why would a terror cell take him so quickly? Because he was already known, he had already been vetted, same for Malik.

  “Good, we’ll be in contact soon, very soon,” Farouk said. He then stepped up to Mo, placed his hand on his shoulder, leaned in close and whispered, “That was your one chance. You get no more and, Mohammed, we’re watching.” He slapped him on the back and walked out of the house.

  Paris, France

  David lugged his bags up the three flights of stairs, only dropping them when he reached his front door. He pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door.

  When he entered his apartment, he was greeted by a musty but familiar odor. He tossed his bags onto the bed and headed for the bathroom. He had been looking forward to a hot shower since before leaving Ankara. He turned on the water to warm it up, then stripped down. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He leaned close and gazed at the dark bags under his eyes. He swore he looked older than he was. Such was the life of a foreign correspondent and photographer.

  Steam began to fill the small space.

  He climbed in the shower. The hot water felt great against his skin. He stood for what seemed like minutes under the steady stream of water as his mind wandered back and replayed everything that had occurred in Ankara. He had been so close to the story that would remake his career. But just like that, good fortune was replaced with bad luck.

  Max, the ever-supportive and bottomless reservoir of optimism, was ready to help with more interviews and a possible contributor position on Fox News. All he needed to do was be available later and tomorrow morning.