by Bobby Akart
Gregg took a deep breath and exhaled. Of course, Yancey was right. Even under normal circumstances, their communications and meetings were clandestine by nature. At times, it took them several days to get together.
“Okay, Billy. I understand. Here’s why I put out the nine-one-one. I came face-to-face with Armstrong meeting with the president. They have her ear and the ability to waltz right in like it’s nobody’s business.”
“Monty, Armstrong can’t tie his orders to either one of us, especially you,” said Yancey. “If anything, I’m the one he’d be looking to for answers, but I’m untouchable in Washington.”
Gregg was not satisfied. “Billy, from what you’ve said, he’s a good soldier and all of that. But he has to be mad that we left him behind. He’d never buy our phony excuses or justifications for leaving the two of them to die in North Korea.”
“Monty, don’t you think Armstrong has more to deal with now that he’s returned? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of the frickin’ apocalypse here.”
Gregg thought carefully before he made the next statement. He’d weighed the options in his mind many times, and the conclusions were always the same. Duncan Armstrong Jr. was a threat to his position in the newly formed Texas government. Gregg stood to lose everything he’d accomplished, both present and in his service to America. The guy had to go.
“I want him removed from the chessboard,” Gregg finally blurted out. “Whatever it takes, Armstrong’s got to go, Billy. He could take us both down. Heck, he has the potential to expose a lot of us.”
“Monty, come on. You’re being irrational. First off, the family is tight with Burnett. Heck, they’re practically neighbors out in West Texas. Second, unless they’re idiots, and they’re not, we can’t just send a team waltzing onto their ranch to remove him from the chessboard, as you say.”
“Are you out of operatives since the botched deal up at Wichita Falls?” said Gregg sarcastically. “You should’ve warned me about that, you know.”
“Maybe so, but Acton kept the whole plan under wraps, and I was out of the loop until the last minute. If I’d known, I would’ve done it much differently.”
“Well, Armstrong aside, don’t let them try that crap again. Our guys have itchy trigger fingers now.”
Yancey nodded and looked around for his driver. He checked his watch. “Monty, we’ve been gone an hour. They’ll come looking—”
“Billy, don’t blow me off,” barked Gregg. “What are you gonna do about this problem?”
Yancey shook his head and stared out the window. “You mentioned trying to recruit him at one point. You know, put him in a position where friendly fire solves the problem for us.”
“Yeah, that’s still an option, but he might not take the job. He’s lucky to be home. I wouldn’t do it if I were him. Any other ideas?”
Yancey sat quietly for a moment and tapped his fingers on the passenger door. “We’ve gotta lure him away from the ranch somehow. Then we can get a shot at him.”
“How will you do that?” asked Gregg.
“Armstrong’s file makes him out to be an uber-loyal, white-knight type. If we can’t get him to come out voluntarily, maybe we can force him out for another reason. Let me think on it. Monty, rest assured, one way or the other, I’ll take care of our mutual problem.”
“Fine, but hurry. I don’t like this hangin’ over my head,” said Gregg, who was rattled for the first time in his life. That happens when one’s chickens come home to roost.
Chapter 24
January 2
McKittrick Canyon
The Guadalupe Mountains
Texas-New Mexico Border
As requested, the early morning security team awakened Holloway well before dawn. Yesterday afternoon had been a test for his unit. While the disguises worn by their fellow North Koreans might have prevented the shooters from second-guessing their shoot-to-kill orders, their reaction afterward provided Holloway confirmation that his men would remain loyal to him. There were no grumblings or challenges to his authority. To the contrary, the evening was lighthearted as the group examined the weapons cache they’d found and traded stories of how they planned to use them on the high and mighty Texans. Moreover, the team’s unity left Holloway comfortable that he didn’t have to sleep with one eye open.
As he gathered his gear for another day of hiking, he thought of the YouTube videos posted from Korean Central Television, or KCTV. Years ago, Kim Jong-un had formed the elite commando unit to be North Korea’s answer to Delta Force and the SEAL teams. Holloway would never forget the words of the KCTV announcer.
Once Supreme Commander issues an order, they will charge with resolve to thrust a sword through the enemy’s heart like lightning over Mount Paektu.
The commandos trained on Mount Paektu, a mysterious volcanic mountain near the border between North Korea and China. The harsh conditions, rocky terrain, and high altitudes created a brutal environment for the Lightning Death Squads, but it hardened them in a way that most other forces like them around the world would never know.
All of Holloway’s men had paid their dues at Mount Paektu. Granted, over the years, they’d become somewhat soft, spoiled by the luxuries and comforts of the American way of life, but the discipline they’d learned at one of North Korea’s most sacred spots was paying off as a cold front found its way south into the Guadalupe Mountains overnight. The mild weather they’d experienced after their departure from Carlsbad Caverns was replaced with an icy wind that was broken somewhat by the pine trees that enveloped their campsite.
After a breakfast of MREs stolen from the armory in Roswell, the group began their final descent into McKittrick Canyon. The sun was up and the wind was beginning to howl down the side of the mountain as Holloway led them out of the forest and into a clearing near the bottom of the canyon.
He was greeted with a welcome sign, of sorts. A half sheet of plywood, which had been painted white, was suspended between two four-by-four posts in the rocky soil. Painted on the board with black stenciled letters was a warning—Republic of Texas: Do Not Enter! Holloway stared in amusement as the rest of this team appeared in the clearing by his side.
“Whadya think, boys? Should we turn around and go back?”
His guys got a kick out of the sarcasm and began to laugh, with some spontaneously pelting the sign with rocks.
Holloway sneered at the warning sign and then muttered, “Wait’ll they get a load of me.”
He slapped the sign hard enough to make it shake on its posts as he walked by and listened as each man who followed him did the same. He was twenty yards past when he heard the last thud of a fist pounding the worthless warning, causing it to topple over onto the rocky ground. He managed a smile and picked up the pace.
He was in Texas.
*****
The midday sun warmed their bodies, but the strong northerly winds continued. Now that his team was in Texas, Holloway would focus on finding them transportation. His first opportunity came as they approached the trailhead, the entrance point of the route they’d followed from the top of the mountain to the base.
They came upon a small contact station, which was part of the Guadalupe Mountains National Park facilities. The building resembled a rest area complex on an interstate highway. There were shaded picnic areas, outdoor exhibits showing the various trails that originated there, and a building that acted as a visitors’ information center and restroom facility.
What grabbed Holloway’s attention the most were the two vehicles parked at the front door and the smoke that floated in the air from behind the building. It was occupied, and the vehicles might be operable. He put his commandos to work.
Holloway ordered his men to surround the building as he continued to conduct his surveillance. Thus far, nobody had appeared in the front of the building although he could make out the faint sounds of muffled voices.
He and his men trained periodically in a remote area of the Chino Hills State Park east
of Fullerton. There were several dilapidated cabins, which provided them a training facility to conduct dry-fire exercises. He spent a considerable amount of time learning their forms of visual hand signals, and he also taught the basic commands he’d learned in the service.
His team didn’t have the benefit of advanced communications gear such as microphones and headsets installed in helmets. They had to operate old school, using hand and arm signals, which enabled a team leader to keep control over an operation without being detected. The men knew they had to space themselves to maintain a continuous line of sight to one another in order to transmit their messages rapidly over short distances.
The signals were being relayed to Holloway’s position. Left hand covering their eyes meant I see, which was followed by four fingers. Four hostiles were seen at the rear of the building. The next set of signals came in.
A left arm was held straight into the air with the man’s hand shaped like a pistol. This was followed by two fingers raised in the air. Two of the hostiles were holding rifles.
Holloway studied the scene and considered their location. The sound of gunfire would echo throughout the canyon. Ideally, they’d take out their targets by lighting up the place with their automatic weapons. He considered his options for a moment, and then he motioned for two of his men to follow him into the parking lot.
They ran at a low crouch, using the two Chevy Suburbans as shields to prevent anyone inside the building from seeing them. Once they arrived, he sent one man to each side of the entrance and posted them against the stucco and block wall.
He turned to the men who’d filled the void he and his men just left. He held up two fingers and waved them forward. Two men scampered across the parking lot and joined him. He gave them instructions to enter the building, one working the left side and the other working the right. He would go through the center to the rear entrance.
Holloway was the only member of the team who carried a silenced sidearm. It had been part of his gear since he’d left the service and became a mercenary. You simply could not be a successful assassin unless you were able to mask the sound of your gunfire.
His men led the way. Quiet, deliberate, catlike. They entered the building with their rifles swaying back and forth in choreographed unison. Holloway followed, quickly assessing the building’s layout, but staying focused on the rear exit to where the hostiles were standing around a fire. He trusted the men to his left and right, comforted in knowing they’d kill anyone who threatened him.
He continued through the building until he reached a plate-glass door. Pressing his back against the wall, he slowly peered around the edge to get a better look. Four men, dressed like hunters in camouflaged clothing, were standing around a fifty-gallon drum, which was spewing flames, ash, and smoke into the air. They were sharing a cigarette and laughing at what Holloway imagined were the same tired old jokes they told on all their hunting trips.
With the men only twenty feet away, he was able to quickly identify the two with the rifles slung over their shoulders. The other two men appeared to be unarmed. Clockwise from left to right, they stood at positions two and three for the riflemen, with one and four being unarmed.
The hunters’ lack of awareness turned them into the hunted and easy prey for a professional killer like Holloway.
Holloway readied his Beretta M9A3 pistol. His weapon held a seventeen-round, double-stack magazine of nine-millimeter rounds. He’d only need four. Holloway took a deep breath to relax his body.
He leaned his hip into the push-bar handle of the glass door and burst into the opening. His aim was dead on the money. Bullet holes appeared in the nose of position two and the forehead of position three. Their bodies stood momentarily suspended in disbelief before they fell over backwards like trees cut down in the forest.
Holloway swung his pistol quickly to the left, sensing that the man in position one was reacting faster. He was right, catching the man in the chest with a glancing blow. His body twirled in a pirouette motion as he tried to catch his balance.
The silenced barrel of his pistol swung back to the right, catching the slower of the two unarmed men in a state of frozen animation. His gaping wide mouth expressed his disbelief and made a perfect bull’s-eye for Holloway’s fourth shot. The round tore through the man’s upper palate, ripped through his brain, and exploded out the back of the man’s skull.
Holloway turned his attention back to the wounded man, who tried to catch his balance by grabbing the searing hot barrel of fire. His hands gripped the edge, unable to release, as he fell backwards toward the ground. Burning embers and branches fell on top of him and immediately lit up his camouflage coveralls with fire.
The man’s screams were deafening as Holloway walked up to his body, which was being engulfed in flames. The heat of the fire began to irritate Holloway’s eye socket, which caused him to squint as he enjoyed the spectacle of the man burning alive.
The only reason Holloway considered wasting the fifth bullet on the dying man was to stop the screaming. He allowed himself another few seconds to watch the flames melt the man’s skin before he sent the final bullet into his skull as an act of mercy.
Chapter 25
January 2
Preston Smith International Airport
Lubbock, Texas
Airport authorities loved to refer to their particular local airfield as insert-name-of-city-here international airport, when in reality there was nothing international about it. The same was true of the Lubbock Preston Smith International Airport in the Northwest Texas city. Prior to the collapse, all of the LBB inbound and outbound flights were between Texas cities except two—Denver and Phoenix. Of course, after Texas seceded, any flights continuing to those locations, technically, would be international destinations. But flights to those two locales had been cancelled indefinitely: Phoenix because the city was under siege from Mexican drug cartels in a turf war that rivaled Vietnam; and Denver because, well, the city had been mostly destroyed by the hydrogen bomb dropped on nearby Colorado Springs.
Today, Lubbock was truly anointed international status as the first Boeing 737 jets bearing the humongous black-and-white UN lettering landed on the runway. Part of the United Nations Humanitarian Air Service, the UN charter flights originated in Europe and were the first to arrive in Lubbock as part of the accord reached with the United Nations to distribute aid to the U.S. and, in part, to Texans.
Like its counterparts in Dallas, Houston, Austin, and El Paso, Lubbock also welcomed the UN Trojan horse orchestrated by Chief of Staff Acton together with his coconspirators at the UN. The tale of the Trojan horse arose from the literary accounts of the Trojan War between Greece and Troy.
After ten years of fighting, which resulted in a stalemate, the attacking Greek forces offered a gift to the people of Troy—a large wooden horse, the recognized symbol of the city of Troy, as a gift.
After wheeling the massive trophy off its ships and up to the gates of Troy, the Greeks sailed away, seemingly giving up the fight. However, after the wooden horse was allowed inside the city, under cover of darkness, elite warriors inside the horse infiltrated the city and destroyed Troy, thus ending the war.
The term Trojan horse became an often-used metaphor to mean a trick that allowed the enemy to enter a secured location to cause harm.
The UN flights contained two types of elite soldiers—members of the United Nations Protection Force, or UNPROFOR, and the media. For decades, reasonable minds would argue which of the two was deadlier, the warriors or the press.
UNPROFOR was first used as a peacekeeping force in Bosnia during the Yugoslav Wars between the Yugoslavian government and the ethnic groups of Serbs, Croats, and Albanians. Over the next three decades, the UN secretly diverted humanitarian-designated funds to the UNPROFOR division of the UN peacekeeping forces. Make no mistake, the commandos recruited and assigned to UNPROFOR were not interested in keeping the peace. They were there to quell nationalist-leaning dissent in the host country.
<
br /> The United Nations and its globalist supporters feared the rise of nationalism around the world. The media labeled those who had strong tendencies toward patriotism for their nation as authoritarian and intolerant. In the minds of the Secretary-General and his deputy secretaries, the success of Texas could not stand. The secession of the Texans was nationalism’s finest hour and must be shown to be a failure.
A cold wind swept across the former South Plains Army Airfield as the UN personnel walked across the tarmac to the processing center. As the passengers began to enter the airport, an explosion was heard near the aircraft and smoke began to pour out of the aft cabin doors.
Momentarily, chaos ensued as ground personnel assigned to the airport from Fort Hood raced toward the aircraft with their weapons raised. Many of the UN personnel, especially those who were truly humanitarian aid workers, crushed one another to get inside the airport out of fear.
The military forces that made up the UNPROFOR contingent ran back to the aircraft in an effort to help their comrades. They had not been issued their weapons as of yet, but they didn’t hesitate to assist the members of the Texas military.
As people ran haphazardly in all directions, four men and one woman wearing khaki pants and black North Face jackets quietly slipped out of the line and made their way in between the idle blue luggage truck trains that were parked off to the side. Once they were clear of the cover provided by the carts, they swiftly walked along the side of the airport terminal building and ran across a tree-lined walkway toward a tall chain-link fence.
One of the men retrieved a set of bolt cutters from his backpack and quickly cut an opening for them to pass through. Amidst the carefully orchestrated chaos, five elite operatives of the international media entered Lubbock—becoming the second of the new nation’s many nightmares to arrive.
