Terror Rising: Book 0 – The Insurgence

by Roger Hayden

  “Hello?” she said in a tired voice after swiping the screen.

  “Angela, I’m sorry to wake you.” He sounded upset. He had rarely called her by her first name.

  “What time is it?” she asked, rubbing her head. The clock on her phone had been a sleepy-eyed blur.

  “A little after two. Again, I’m sorry, but I really need to talk to you.”

  She held the phone for a moment, not sure what to say, and she was still so tired, she wasn’t sure she was fully awake. “So talk,” she said.

  “Not here. Not like this. Can you meet me somewhere?”

  She glanced at Doug, unsure how to respond. Soundly sleeping, his chest rose and fell with the subtle sound of his breathing.

  “What is this about, sir?” she asked.

  “Please. You’re the only one I can trust. There’s a little diner on Orange, Roxy’s. They’re open twenty-four hours. Ten, twenty minutes. It’s all I ask.”

  Strange as his request was, she couldn’t say no. Her interest had been piqued. Doug would be against it, but her partner needed her. That was all there was to it.

  “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  “Great. I’m leaving now. Meet you there.”

  And then he hung up.

  Secret Meeting

  Angela nudged Doug and told him she had to meet with Captain Martinez.

  “Are you out of your mind?” he asked, immediately angered.

  “This investigation could have serious implications for my career. I have to go,” she said, already getting dressed.

  “Don’t do this,” he said, his voice rising. “Whatever you need to talk about can wait until morning.”

  “No, it can’t,” she responded, with a look of conviction in her eyes.

  Doug shook his head and lay back down. She apologized and left the room as quickly as she could, promising him that she’d be back in less than an hour.

  Angela drove along the quiet, empty streets of her neighborhood, feeling alert and refreshed, even with only a few hours rest. The diner wasn’t far, and for that she was grateful. Whatever the urgency, Angela had to admit that she was intrigued despite the lack of details over the phone. What was Martinez up to? That was the main question on her mind.

  There were a few cars in the Roxy parking lot, night owls and other dwellers of the evening. In her haste, Angela had forgotten her gun. She panicked, feeling the emptiness at her side but then figured that she probably didn’t need it.

  Roxy’s Diner was located on a corner intersection. Neon letters buzzed above the entrance, and through the window she could see a few people sitting inside at booths.

  She squinted to see any sign of Martinez. She saw his Jeep, so he had to be somewhere. A bell jingled as she opened the door and walked across the tile floor past the cashier. She turned and saw her boss sitting at a booth in the far corner, nursing a cup of coffee. The café smelled of eggs and sausage, enough to make her stomach growl.

  Martinez looked up as she approached, not wearing her uniform but dressed in jeans, a jacket, and a T-shirt underneath. Her hair was tied up and her face bare of makeup. What else did he expect to see at two in the morning? His eyes darted around nervously as he feigned a smile and thanked her for showing up.

  If Angela’s outfit was different from the usual, so was his. He wore a hoodie and a ball cap on his head. Angela smiled as she sat, amused by his covert appearance. She glanced at a paper menu but didn’t plan on staying long enough to eat.

  A pretty young waitress, oddly perky at the late hour, approached the table from out of nowhere. “Can I get you something to drink, dear?”

  Angela glanced at Martinez’s cup and just asked for coffee. “Lots of sugar,” she said.

  The waitress nodded and went to the kitchen as Martinez leaned in closer, talking discreetly.

  “Again. I can’t thank you enough. This is very important.” He stopped and glanced out the window, surveying the parking lot. Angela had been right about his behavior in the chief’s office. He was growing increasingly paranoid.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what this is all about?” she asked. “What can I do to help?”

  He took a sip from his coffee and set the mug down. She could see that one of his hands was shaking. “I’ve got a friend in the FBI, and she told me something about one of our guys. The one who wasn’t vaporized in the explosion.”

  “He’s a terrorist,” Angela said, taking a wild guess.

  “Not just any terrorist. He is the brother of a man named Sayed Rahman. Does the name ring a bell?”

  Angela thought to herself then looked at Martinez. “No. Should it?”

  “Just a few days ago, they caught Sayed in Belgium. He was hiding there after that London train station attack.”

  The carnage came rushing back to Angela. She remembered it from the news. Two months prior, terrorists had detonated a series of dirty bombs at the Central London Metro Station, killing more than forty people and injuring a hundred more.

  The attack had awakened the world to the reality of terrorism as the new normal. It was even worse than the attack in 2005. The Islamic State had taken credit for the tube’s bombing. Three of the four men had blown themselves up, but the fourth had gotten away—a man by the name of Sayed Rahman.

  Angela looked at Martinez with fear in her eyes, realizing what he was telling her. “You’re sure about this? His brother? What was he doing here?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Angela. ISIS is here. They’ve been here, and they’re growing.”

  Angela laid her hands out on the table, not fully understanding Martinez’s secrecy. “So why keep all this to ourselves? Can’t we just bring this to the chief tomorrow?”

  “We’re on our own,” Martinez said, cutting her off. “The government isn’t interested in ISIS. I have some dangerous information. Things I’ve learned about some of the higher-ups, people supposedly on our side, and it ain’t pretty.”

  The conversation seemed headed toward a conspiracy theory, and Angela wanted to clear things up. “Everyone wants to stop ISIS. It’s absurd to suggest otherwise.”

  Martinez hit the table, rattling his coffee mug. Angela froze and went silent.

  “Who do you think is arming them? How do you think they’re getting here?”

  She looked back at him in disbelief. “I don’t know, but to suggest that Chief Drake—”

  “Not him. Others in higher positions. This all goes back to that major clusterfuck in Syria and our involvement there. It’s all connected.”

  “No, sir.” Frustrated, Angela rose from the booth just as the waitress brought her coffee and set it down. The woman stopped and glanced at them strangely, then turned and walked away.

  “Please sit down,” Martinez said. “I don’t mean to be so cryptic. I’ll tell you everything that I can.”

  Angela slowly lowered herself back into the booth against the vinyl. “Go on…”

  “The government, through Homeland Security and Immigration Services, releases an annual report on the number of people living in the United States illegally. There is a separate report that also details the number of terrorist suspects that the FBI is tracking.”

  He paused and took a breath, looking around. He stared directly at Angela. “They haven’t released either report in two years. Think about that. FOI requests from the media have been tied up in litigation. Why are certain agencies so reluctant to release the numbers?”

  Angela shrugged. “You got me.”

  Martinez leaned in closer with his voice barely above a whisper. “Because the numbers are devastating. And they won’t see the light of day until big changes come from the inside.”

  Angela took a careful sip of her hot coffee and then put it down, stirring it with a spoon. “Maybe the FBI is keeping it under wraps so they don’t interfere with surveillance efforts.” She held her hands out. “Ever think about that?”

  Martinez nodded and rubbed his chin. She didn’t like seeing him i
n such a wired state. He was normally someone she could rely on to have it all together. “Whatever it is, I’m going to find out. I’ve got a couple of leads, and it’s time to ruffle some feathers.”

  “We’re Border Patrol agents, sir,” Angela said, wary of his outlandish theories. “We have a very specific job. If you know something about terror cells, it’s my professional opinion that you should bring it to the FBI and let them do their job.”

  Martinez slid his hands off the table and backed against his seat with a disappointed expression. He then spoke slowly and carefully. “Our families, Angela. Our children. Our parents. Even our friends on the force. All of that is at stake right now. These guys go after soft targets. Shopping malls, concerts, airports, you name it. We are the target, Angela. Don’t forget that.”

  Angela had no argument, but she still believed he was being extreme. “We just need to keep our eyes open. Do our jobs the best that we can.”

  “It’s not good enough,” Martinez said, launching up from his seat. The table shook, and it looked like he was now the one leaving. Angela was confused.

  “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he said with his hands flat on the tabletop. “That’s what it’s going to take.”

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Whatever you can to keep your family safe. We’re at war, even if no one wants to believe it.” He dug into his pocket and tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Thanks for coming. We’ll be in touch.”

  He walked away before she could say anything else, and went out the door without turning back. Angela sat for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Sausage and eggs sizzled in the kitchen, the inviting smell drifting past her booth. The waitress came back, surprised to see Angela alone.

  “That all I can get you, hon?” she asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” Angela said, staring ahead. The waitress left a check on the table and went away with a smile. From outside the window, Angela could see Martinez’s Jeep drive away. With everything he had said, she still didn’t understand what he wanted her to do or why he had summoned her to the diner in the middle of the night.

  Perhaps he just needed someone to talk to. He was a man on a mission, and there was little she could have said to convince him otherwise. She got up and walked out with more on her mind than she had counted for.

  Angela arrived at the station the next morning bright and early. The fleet of black SUVs was still in the parking lot, but Martinez’s Jeep was nowhere to be seen. She thought nothing of it, considering that he sometimes came in a little after she did. He might even have taken the day off, which she would have understood. Doug had implored her to do the same, but she needed to be there. She didn’t want to miss a single beat of the investigation.

  She could feel the tension the moment she walked in through the double doors. Two different agents were beginning their day shift at the front desk, looking grim.

  She walked through the lobby to the hall where all the chatter from the evening prior had resumed for a new day. Every cubicle and office was swarming with Border Patrol, FBI, Homeland Security, and some men in suits, whose affiliation she didn’t know. At the end of the hall, she could see into Chief Drake’s office. He was standing in front of his desk in full uniform with what looked like FBI agents around him.

  Does he ever sleep? she thought to herself.

  A coffeepot hissed in the breakroom as she walked by, and she saw Captain Reynolds sitting at a small table, pulling her red hair into a ponytail.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” Angela said, poking in.

  Reynolds looked up with a nod and slight smile. “Morning, Agent Gannon. I hope you’re ready for this.”

  Angela’s boots clicked along the white tile floor as she went straight to the coffee machine. She grabbed a Styrofoam cup from a stack and poured herself a cup while turning to Reynolds. “Did they find Rex yet?”

  Reynolds ran her hands down her face with a sigh. “Yes. Thank God. He actually came back for me. Can you believe that?”

  “Smart dog,” Angela said, taking a sip.

  “He sure is.”

  Angela walked to the table but didn’t sit. There was no one else in the room, and she thought there was no better time to clear the air. “Is everything okay? I mean, how are you holding up?”

  Reynolds’s blue eyes moved up, then back down to the floor. “As good as you are, I imagine. They’re putting out some info today on his memorial service and where donations can be made.”

  The question was on Angela’s mind. She didn’t want to ask, but she had to know. “Did they… recover Agent Dawson’s body from the fire?”

  “What was left of it, yes,” Reynolds replied. Her eyes were averted, and her elbow propped on the table holding her coffee cup, as if she had forgotten about it.

  “It’s terrible. I couldn’t sleep last night,” Angela said.

  Reynolds put her coffee cup down and stood abruptly as her chair scraped against the tile floor. “You and me both, Agent Gannon.” She paused. “You and me both.”

  She picked up her cup and walked out of the breakroom with her coffee, leaving Angela standing there. The thought of Dawson’s charred body was the last thing she wanted on her mind. Why couldn’t he have just gotten out of the truck like everyone else? Why did he have to search around some more? Then it hit her: how close they all had come to dying that day, and they would have died if they’d been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Never again, she thought, would she not wait for backup.

  Angela sighed and looked outside the breakroom as agents rushed by. She hadn’t heard the news yet, didn’t know what they were saying—part of her didn’t even want to know. She wanted to remain focused, and the best way to do that was to try to pursue the station wagon. It was their only link, their only chance at getting to the truth. She dug into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. No calls from Martinez yet, and it was already ten after eight.

  She felt lost without him, not even sure how to start the day. Facing the chief first thing in the morning wasn’t the most tantalizing idea. She left the breakroom with only one destination in mind. It was time to check in with the chief.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said, knocking on the side of his door.

  Drake’s worn face shot up, but his body remained slouched over his desk. The four FBI agents in the room were slow to turn and acknowledge her.

  “Agent Gannon. Good that you’re here,” Drake said, straightening up. “Come in and close the door.”

  Angela walked in and slowly shut the door. All eyes were on her as Drake took a moment to introduce her to his guests, all wearing white, button-down long-sleeved shirts, ties, and slacks. He stood up and held an arm out toward the first FBI agent.

  “This is Special Agent MacLauchlan.”

  A tall man with moussed black hair and a thin beard nodded.

  “Supervisory Special Agent Sutherland.”

  A short blond-haired man with a square jaw and clean face waved.

  “Agent Lynch.”

  A bulky man with wavy gray hair, pointy nose, and glasses nodded.

  “And Special Agent Hopper.”

  A man with a crew cut, goatee, and wild eyes smiled and nodded.

  Angela introduced herself, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you gentlemen,” she said.

  Glancing at the television, she could see that the news coverage hadn’t stopped. The aerial view of the truck explosion had transitioned to daylight. In the darkness, the vividness of the scene had been lost, but in the bright daylight, everything was clear: the widespread destruction, the mound of smoldering ash where the truck used to be. The news banner read, No Answer from Feds on Terror Bombing. It was enough for everyone to know that things were serious.

  “Please, have a seat,” Chief Drake said warmly.

  She smiled the best she could and sat in one of the chairs in the front of his desk, prepare
d to be questioned.

  Drake looked among the FBI agents, each one giving him knowing glances. Angela knew little about the ongoing discussion they’d been having, but had a good guess. Drake rose, moved to the front of his desk, facing Angela, and sat on the front of it, legs swaying in the air, arms tucked at his sides, and looked directly at Angela.

  “The media are expecting a response to all of this today, and from what we’ve gathered so far, this appears to be an isolated incident.”

  Angela disagreed, but she kept such reservations to herself.

  “When was the last time you heard from Captain Martinez?” he asked, as the FBI agents studied her.

  “Last night,” she answered. “He called me very concerned about everything that had happened.”

  Drake rose his head and studied her closely through the thick lens of his glasses. “I don’t doubt it. Seems he’s gone rogue on a fact-finding mission of his own.”

  “Sir?” Angela said, feigning confusion.

  “We have to get a handle on this thing, Agent Gannon. I think you can appreciate that. But what bothers me is when one of my agents, a damn fine agent, I might add, goes off the radar.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Angela said.

  Drake hopped off his desk and began pacing his office, hands at his side. “We received a call from Captain Martinez’s wife, Gloria, about an hour ago. She’s worried sick. Apparently, he hasn’t been home all night. His Jeep is gone. He didn’t leave a note. And all attempts by his wife to contact him have failed.”

  Angela felt an intense worry building in her gut. She didn’t like where the conversation was going. Now more than ever, she needed Martinez at her side, not off on some rogue fact-finding mission.

  “I don’t know what to say, sir. He expressed grief about Dawson and said that he had to do some investigating of his own.”

  Her comments piqued the interest of the FBI agents, and she immediately regretted saying so much.