Rain unto Death

by Alex Ryan

  “Fuck!” Jacobs muttered. “Now what?”

  “Hold on. Tell you what. And this is plausible. He’s sort of at the south end of the box, right. Look on the map. Turn him north, directly towards Albuquerque. That will buy us time.”

  Jacobs nodded. “Air Mexicali Flight three one eight, suggest Albuquerque heading three five seven.”

  After a minute pause, the radio broke silence. “Three five seven. Wilco.”

  “Whew!” the supervisor said. “They bought it.”

  “What are they doing?” Jacobs asked.

  “Looking for a closer target.”

  “Striker one, adjust your heading left three degrees. Estimated six minutes to intercept. You are authorized to engage the target when able, with nuclear weapons, by order of the President of the United States.”

  The words were mesmerizing. It was like being in a slow motion dream. He had the sensation of being suspended, mid-air, even though he was travelling approximately Mach 2. The flashing light on the display turned in to a steady green as the missile’s radar was locked. Arm. Fire.

  The missile rapidly disappeared past the smoke trail, as he cut the cut the engine thrust, and executed a maximum G turn towards the other direction. He hadn’t even completed his turn when the intense light flashed to his side. He performed the maneuver with his eyes closed. They said it could be blinding; the world looked red through his closed eyelids.

  Then he punched the throttle. He knew he wouldn’t beat the shock wave, but the farther from it, the better. Then it hit. It shook the aircraft violently, but then, there was calm. He turned the aircraft slightly so he could admire the distant plume.

  Chapter 11 – Aftermath

  The deputy director was back in the Pentagon briefing room. Agent Maples did not come with her today. She wasn’t needed and was still on the west coast anyway; nor did Ernest Carver, bioterrorism expert, attend either. He already did his job.

  The president came in the room. All stood, with military personnel in salute. “As you were. Now, let’s get down to business. As I understand it, the threat has been eliminated by being vaporized by a nuclear missile? Air force?”

  The Air Force general spoke. “That’s right sir. The threat has been eliminated. The target aircraft has been engaged with a nuclear warhead over a remote section of the White Sands missile range. No civilian casualties. There was some damage to unoccupied ground structures in the immediate area.”

  “What’s the condition of the aircraft?”

  “There isn’t really much left of it. Crews are on the scene now looking for fragments.”

  “What about nuclear fallout?”

  “Minimal. Since it was a high altitude detonation, no dust was scattered. There will be some residual gas transport but it will be diffused enough not to be a health issue by the time it reaches inhabited areas.”

  “What does the press know about this thing?” The president asked.

  The press secretary fielded the question. “Mr. President, so far nothing. There were local reports on Mexican media about the seized compound in Sonora. They stayed local and the media lost interest. No releases have been made regarding the terrorist efforts themselves.”

  The president looked around the room. “I want to keep it that way.”

  “Why sir?” The deputy director asked.

  “Somebody is out there, wearing a damn turban, trying to make a big name for himself, I assure you. Look at the big picture. We won this battle. We got lucky. But they didn’t fail, not entirely. They were able to produce a weapon of mass destruction on our neighbor’s soil, and take that weapon of mass destruction onto our own soil. The best defense I can think of for future such attempts is to minimalize the importance, if not existence, of this attempt. Nothing would be more frustrating to Abu Nidal, or whomever is behind this, for this attempt at terror to have never gotten off the ground in the first place.”

  “I see, Mr. President.”

  “Well, as I see it, any way you look at it, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

  There was a murmur going through the room. The door opened, and an Air Force major dressed in blues entered, accompanied by a colonel. “Ah yes,” the president continued. “Is that him?”

  The Air Force colonel spoke. “Mr. President, I am pleased to present Major Abdul Sharif, pilot of the aircraft that brought down the terrorist aircraft.”

  “Gentlemen,” the president directed. “Please stand at attention.”

  Both the colonel and Major Sharif stood at attention, unsure of that the president had in store. The president walked over to the colonel, and faced him. The colonel saluted. “Colonel, I’m sure you are proud of this young man, are you not?”

  “Yes sir. Extremely so, sir.”

  “So am I.” The president pivoted to his left, stepped in front of Sharif, and faced him. Sharif saluted him. “Major,” the president began as he dug an object out of his inside suit pocket. “This is the United States Air Force Distinguished Service Medal,” he hung the ribbon, bearing a medal, over Sharif’s head. “It is the highest honor that can be awarded during a time of peace. Personally, I think you deserve more. But we need to have an understanding. Only you, and you alone, save for your commanders and a handful of civilian and military personnel involved, can know why you received this. Are we clear on that?”

  “Yes sir, Mr. President.”

  “Good. At ease, you are dismissed. And thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, this episode may be over, but the show is not. Let’s learn from this, please, and make sure we address the vulnerabilities that allowed things to progress that far.”

  AP News, Phoenix - Residents of Albuquerque, and as far away as Phoenix, were jolted from a bright flash and shock wave originating from the White Sands Missile Range. The Air Force has confirmed that the aerial nuclear test was successful, and successfully demonstrates, once again, the ability of the nation to engage threats of Soviet hostility. When Air Force spokespersons were asked why the test was not announced, they replied with the following: ‘When nuclear tests are conducted, it is our policy not to announce such activities in advance for reasons of national security, as well as public protection. We don’t want onlookers to gather and expose themselves to danger.’ The spoke persons were further asked if the activity had anything to do with rumored terrorist activities involving biological agents. ‘Certainly, there is an element of conspiracy theorists that tend to be attracted to activity of this nature. Area 51 is a prime example. Whether it’s UFO’s, space aliens, nuclear explosions, or evil terrorists; it’s all the same.’

  “Did you read this crap?” Rex asked as he threw the paper down on the conference table at Arrow headquarters in Los Angeles. He was seated with Kirsten Maples for the final debriefing prior to her return to Washington.

  Simon smiled. “It doesn’t surprise me. Sometimes the decisions that are made upstairs are illogical. But you can’t really judge them unless you were actually there when they are being made.”

  “So this officially closes this case.” Kirsten noted. “Thanks, Simon for all of your help.”

  “My pleasure, any time.”

  “At least my work had become a lot simpler. The director wants to bury this. My report is easy. No report. Well, I guess I’ll be going now.” Kirsten said, as she gathered her briefcase.

  Rex sat in his seat fidgeting. “You mind if I uh, walk, uh, Agent Maples down to the garage? I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Rex left with Kirsten.

  Simon walked out in to the main room and spoke to Carly. “That was an odd exchange. Kirsten Maples thanked me, but said nothing about Rex Muse.”

  “I’m going to guess that she’s already thanked him plenty of times.”

  It was a tense few minutes standing in the damp, dark parking garage as the sounds of the traffic on Wilshire Boulevard echoed off the concrete walls. “So...” Rex said.

  “I need to go.” Kirsten said.

  “What next?” Rex
asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about my own future; mainly because of you. I’ve gotten too used to lying next to you in bed. Experiencing passion beyond belief. Then, you go, and reality sets in. I don’t know how we can make it work.”

  “You have to live in a secret world. I have to live in a secret world.”

  “It’s not that simple, and you know it. You are in a vulnerable position, and the closer you are to me, the more exposure you get. You don’t want that. I don’t need that.”

  “Simon thought you would be my mentor.”

  “I’m not your mentor. I’m not a field agent. I’m not a spy. I’m an office worker. An administrator. You know that. Welcome to reality. This is how the agency operates mostly. A part of me craves to be in your world, but another part of me enjoys the security of my own.”

  “There will be some day when I get past all of this.”

  “Yeah, I hope so. And I hope I’m not too old before that day comes.”

  Rex sat in the conference room. Simon hung up the phone in his office, came in, and shut the door. “I suppose all kinds of big congratulations are in order,” he said, as he sipped a hot cup of tea. “And you did well, believe me, don’t think I don’t appreciate it, as well as the client and millions of people who will probably never know what could have happened, but... don’t let it get to your head.”

  “Okay then, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You were sloppy. You got the job done, but you could have done things better. Cleaner.”

  “Better? Cleaner? Like how?”

  “You young kids are all the same. You can’t be told otherwise. You have to learn the hard way. Keep your personal life outside of your professional life.”

  “You’re talking about Agent Maples, aren’t you?”

  “See, it’s already become a problem. You are confused. So is she. That kind of confusion leads to carelessness. Carelessness leads to you being called out for who you actually are. And let’s forget about her for a moment. That trip you took to Korea? You’re leaving a trail. There are people that know you’re alive that shouldn’t. You can’t keep that up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now let’s get back to Miss Maples. Right now, she’s got you by the balls. She’s probably the one thing keeping the FBI and the military from finding out who you are. That’s not a good position to be in. You can be sweet and lovey-dovey all you want, but once that goes south, she could be your worst enemy.”

  “Is that really what pisses you off, Simon? Really?”

  “Perhaps I have a jaded view. But I’m utterly disappointed with what happened to my tac ops.”

  “What happened to tac ops? They seemed fine when I left them.”

  “Fine? Three of my members spend two weeks in Mexico replacing a passport for a girl. Oh, and it gets better. Do you know how William Lattimore was able to secure a visa to bring the girl in to the United States?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “He married her.”

  Rex busted out with laughter. “Oh jeez! Are you serious?”

  “It’s not funny! They are going soft!”

  “You’re blaming me for that?”

  “Maybe I’m being unreasonable.”

  “So, what’s next?”

  “We’re in a holding pattern for a few weeks. There is a corporate job in the Philippines. Someone’s extorting a company. There are a few jobs in North Africa, more merc work, but I’m not sure I want to chase them yet. The golden gem is the agency. We need to stay in their good graces.”

  “Do I get a little bit of time off?”

  “Yeah, but stay close to home. Check in with the safe house at least every couple of days.”

  “What’s close to home?”

  “Any place within the continental United States that isn’t Washington, and I do mean both the state and the greater DC area.”

  “You really don’t want my name to be cleared, do you?”

  “I can see why you might think that, but that’s not true. The only problem is, just like getting too close to Maples, you will expose yourself and put yourself in a vulnerable position. The fact that we were able to dig up such a perfect alias as Brian Rexall Muse was a small miracle. It’s the exception and not the rule. I’m not sure we can do that a second time, if we had to.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  “Welcome to Kabul,” the man in the white scarf headdress said as Nassir Al-Hasan walked into the restaurant facing the lake. They hugged with the ceremonial kiss to the cheek.

  “I have not imagined Kabul to be such.” Al-Hasan said. “The weather here is actually quite pleasant. And this lake, it is lovely.”

  “Yes, it is the Quarga Reservoir. Originally constructed in 1933. It is the main water supply for the region, and they even have plans to stock it with European fish in a couple of years. Trout.”

  “Western fish?” Al-Hasan asked.

  The man in the turban laughed. “Fish are fish. We have other issues with Westernization going on here, but that isn’t one of them. Sit, please.”

  The two men sat on a rug placed in the middle of a hardwood floor. A servant brought a steaming carafe of water with unroasted coffee beans and two small ceramic cups. The man in the turban poured two cups. Al-Hasan spoke. “I understand tomorrow we will meet Saleem.”

  “Yes, that is right. Tomorrow we will meet Saleem. I trust your journey was pleasant, yes?”

  “It was challenging, but I was able to make it, by God’s grace.”

  “Good, good. Very good.”

  “I would imagine that Saleem will have some questions about the mission.”

  The man in the turban laughed again, in a rather condescending tone. “What mission? To our knowledge, it never happened!”

  “I saw the plane take off. I watched it myself.”

  “Then were did it go? It certainly didn’t deliver any package or do any damage. There is no evidence of its existence even.”

  “In the American newspaper, they reported an aerial nuclear test that happened exactly when the aircraft would have been in the position where the test happened.”

  “You are saying it strayed in to a nuclear test and that’s what happened to it?”

  “No,” Al-Hasan said, sipping his coffee. “They shot it down.”

  “You do realize that this is arguably the largest operation against American aggression we have financed in our entire history? We purchased a building, some very costly production equipment, technical expertise, not one but two large aircraft, plus we have invested hundreds of thousands of dollars training those pilots to fly those airplanes. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing to show for it! The United State government even denies that there was ever such an attempt. Even if we could have demonstrated the ability to deliver a weapons package on United States soil, that would have been a victory. But we don’t even have that!”

  The three hooded figures on the bank of the reservoir sat cross-legged as they heated a small pot of lamb stew. Families could be seen picnicking among the rocky slopes. The two men did their best to hide the large dish of the directional microphone as the woman in the hijab translated for them. Her eyes lit up, and she pulled the headphones off. “Al-Hasan is going to meet Saleem tomorrow!”

  The man with the short bushy beard grabbed a piece of flat bread and scooped out a small portion of lamb stew. “I wonder if he’s actually going to show this time,” the man sneered.

  “Who is he talking to?” The man with the thin, black goatee asked.

  “I don’t know his name, but it sounds like he is one of Saleem’s key persons. Maybe he handles finance? He is not happy with Al-Hasan, and it does not sound like Saleem will be either.”

  “Keep listening. Find out where they are going to meet.”

  The woman in the hijab replaced her headphones and continued to listen. The thin goatee man lit a cigarette.

  “Those things will kill you,” warn
ed the man with the short bushy beard.

  “Somehow, I think these are the least of my worry right now,” the man replied coolly.

  “I once shot a Viet Cong colonel from nearly a thousand meters in the middle of the night because he was smoking a goddamn cigarette.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind when the sun goes down.”

  “Shhhhh,” the woman shushed, holding up one finger.

  “What?”

  “Saleem is coming here, to that hotel tomorrow. Nine o’clock in the morning.”

  “What’s the weather like tomorrow?” The man with the bushy beard asked.

  “Light overcast, about seventy five degrees,” the other man replied.

  “That is Fahrenheit, I hope.”

  “Yes.”

  “Pleasant. I wonder what the chances are they will meet outside on that wooden balcony.”

  “I might be able to make that happen,” the woman volunteered. “I can have someone instruct the servants to set up a table outside.”

  “That would be great,” the bushy bearded man said, looking around the area for a sniping location. “I see a place where I can set up. The roof top on that villa over there.”

  “I’m estimating four hundred meters; should be a piece of cake for you.”

  “Yeah but remember all I got available is that Dragunov. It ain’t no replacement for an M21. But it’s doable. Really, all I think I need now is an extraction plan.”

  “We’ll cut Qandi loose. We don’t want to blow her cover. I’ll arrange for a cab.”

  “No,” the woman said. “That won’t work. You can’t trust the drivers plus it is not maneuverable enough. I will wait on a motorbike. I will take you to the safe house.”

  “You sure about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you need me to do?” The man with the thin goatee asked.

  “Hang out in the safe house. The less of us out traveling, the better. I think we’re going to have to camp out there for a while until things blow over.”

  “Your call, brother.”

  “You know what I really wish I had right now, which I can’t get in this whole goddamned country?”