Rise of the Phoenix

by Gibbs, Dameon

They tested the flooring until they found the loose board. Beneath ii, as promised, lay the video recorder, wrapped in a plastic bag. Tucker removed the bag and attempted to turn the camera on but found the battery dead.

  “So much for a sneak peak,” Tucker sighed in disappointment. He took out the memory disc and placed it into a plastic evidence holder, which he then tucked into his inner jacket pocket.

  I’m going to check the rest of the house quickly,” Tucker told Edge.

  The forensic team had taken nearly everything in the house for processing except major pieces of furniture and small decorations. Drawers and cushions had been removed and left on the floor, but things didn’t appear to have been searched any deeper than that. Edge and Tucker began to examine the furniture and other objects more closely for hidden compartments.

  After a few minutes, Edge said, “That Arslan kid seems nice. Too bad something like this had to happen to him.

  “I guess,” Tucker responded dismissively.

  “What, you don’t like the kid?”

  “It’s not that. I just usually steer away from kids; we tend not to mesh.”

  “Why?”

  “Because kids are such irrational beings. You tell them one thing, and what do they do?”

  “What you tell them not to do,” Edge laughed.

  “Exactly.”

  Edge cocked his head to the side at the explanation. “But experiencing new things is a much stronger a form of learning than being told. Sometimes you just have to find out for yourself.”

  “That’s true, but why ignore warnings about those experiences that only lead to pain, which is what kids usually do. You know, the usual ‘don’t do that’ or ‘don’t touch that.’ We tell them not to do those things for their sake,” Tucker explained as he leaned against a nearby doorway.

  “Yeah, that’s youthful optimism and feelings of invincibility but, in actuality, ninety-nine point nine percent of the time they get away with it. And it’s a good thing that they do. Otherwise they’d spend their entire lives hiding under the bed, afraid of being struck by a meteor or something.”

  “It still makes no sense to me,” Tucker stated with a shrug.

  “Soooo… I guess that means no kids for you then?”

  “Well, that’s an entirely different story.”

  “Is it, now?” Edge asked. Tucker chuckled and walked back into the room.

  As Edge went to search another room, Tucker called out to him, “So what about you? Any kids?”

  “Not yet. I do have a niece that I’m close with. However with all that’s been happening the last few years, I haven’t seen much of her,” Edge responded. “Time has been so tight that I almost missed her high school graduation.”

  “Our profession does demand a rather substantial amount of sacrifice,” Tucker said. How does Gamze not have a single thing here telling us what he has been up to? Tucker thought, his search not returning anything. Is it hidden away in Evidence and we missed it? Did our mystery men destroy it? And if they took the time to do that, why not hunt down Arslan?

  “Hey Edge,” Tucker called out again, “are you finding anything in there?”

  “Nope. If there was anything useful here, DHS must have it back at the office. Speaking of which, what is your opinion of Reid?” Edge asked.

  Tucker looked at Edge, wondering why he was asking. “He’s thorough. Not doing too bad a job as a lead agent, for how young he is. I think this is the first time he’s overseeing a case this large, and he’s a little out of his depth. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wanted your opinion. I agree.”

  Tucker squinted at Edge, “My opinion? I think over this past day, I’m starting to understand how you think, and I don’t think you’re asking out of the desire to chit chat. So what’s the real reason? You’re still looking for somebody working against us?”

  Edge answered, “When I go undercover I not only have to read the people I’m working with but their interactions with others. I have to be aware of the relationships and dynamics of everyone involved and to recognize the meanings of things spoken and unspoken so I can anticipate how events will play out. How one player interacts with another can tell you a lot about a situation. Was he just told to take us out back and shoot us? Does he plan to sell out his cousin? Does his partner trust him enough to hold up his end of the deal? Most of the time, I’m dealing with people who are very guarded about revealing their thoughts and intentions so I have to look as deep below the surface as I can.”

  “So, you don’t trust Reid?” Tucker asked, confused.

  “First, I’m still thinking the government agency angle. Someone had to be providing Gamze support for him to get in here unnoticed. Those same people would find it beneficial to put someone on this investigation to monitor and sidetrack us as needed to prevent us getting to the bottom of whatever this is.

  “Second, going back to the big league and deep pockets business: the fact that Gamze built this elaborate cabin so far into the middle of nowhere, in a deodorant-challenging climate which is nothing like his homeland, tells me that what you stumbled on is only the tip of some iceberg, and we aren’t even close to having a handle on it.”

  Tucker stood up from a dresser draw that he was rummaging through, crossed his arms and glared at Edge. “So you think Reid is a mole?” he challenged.

  “If he is, he is a very good one but no, I think he’s the genuine article; and Dana too. But in this business, you have to ask the questions and be prepared to think the worst.”

  Tucker took a step forward, even more agitated. “So, if not them, do you suspect me? You think I’m sabotaging this investigation?”

  “Hey, you’re from spook country so that’s two strikes against you from the get-go but, no, you’re not the sort, either.” Edge shook his head in annoyance. “I didn’t realize you offend so easily, but now I do. So let me ask you this: why did you get your back up when I asked about Reid when you’ve been so hard on him yourself?”

  “Multiple reasons,” said Tucker, forcefully. “A, we’re not dealing with shoplifters or tax cheats here. We’re dealing with a potential major terrorist attack against the United States or its interests. The clock seems to be ticking, and if we don’t figure the puzzle out in time, a lot of people are likely to die. We haven’t got time for a business as usual pace to this investigation, and I was looking to establish the necessary sense of urgency.”

  “B,” he paused and continued in a milder tone, “I don’t like seeing good agents get bad-mouthed. He’s doing a good job. He’s new to this level of work and he reminds me of me when I was in that situation.” Tucker leaned back against a cabinet. “When I was trying to get my foot in the door of the CIA, I learned that advancement doesn’t simply land on your lap. You have to work hard for it, and deal with a lot of people who will question everything you do, down to the color pen you write with. Situations like that can get intimidating, but he’s managing it well.”

  “Well, well, it’s not all testosterone after all. So back at DHS, you were mentoring him by taking the role of the inpatient ballbuster to toughen him up?” Edge summarized.

  Tucker smiled. “If it wasn’t me then it would’ve been someone else. Probably more dickish than I was.”

  Edge laughed. “Mental note: don’t work under Tucker.”

  “Who says you’re not right now?”

  “Liaison,” Edge corrected with a smile. “That’s a dotted-line report that I can end at any moment. Speaking of chain of command, tell me a little bit about your boss? I never saw someone that high-ranking so involved in the minutia of a case.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, when you were talking on the phone before, you spoke as if you were continuing from a previous conversation about what we were doing. I understand he’s the director, and he wants to know what is going on, but those calls were fairly lengthy; I expected him to be a more bottom-line type.”

  “How did you hear my conversation? You were talking on the pho
ne while I was.”

  “Tucker, I have to listen to orders, create a plan, and avoid gunfire all at the same time. Do you think I can’t have my conversation and hear yours?”

  Tucker shrugged in agreement and said, “Well, the reason he called back was because he had to leave in the middle of our last conversation. Like you said, he’s a busy man. I told him your theory of the rogue agency or agents,” Tucker informed him. “That’s an area of special interest to him: he spent the first few years of his career weeding out informants, double agents and just plain crooks. Director Winford personally cleaned up one of the largest government agencies in the world while simultaneously creating new branches like the Counter Intelligence Department. I’ve been consulting with him because a man with his experience would provide some great insight."

  “You must look up to him,” Edge observed, as he noticed the admiration in the analyst’s voice.

  “It’s not so much looking up to him as having a high regard for his work ethic and what he stands for. I respect him,” was Tucker’s simple explanation.

  “So how long have you been doing this?” Edge wondered.

  “Doing what?” Tucker asked.

  “You know, working for Uncle Sam?”

  Tucker paused, not sure where Edge was going with these questions. I can’t tell if he’s making small talk or if I’m being interrogated.

  “I would say for about a decade now,” he finally replied. “A lot of intern work, in the beginning, paying my dues. Then one day I recognized the connections between some seemingly unrelated bits Intel, got assigned to Operation Nightwolf, and now here I am.”

  Edge waved his hand through his hair. “Man, that seems like ages ago. I never got to tell you how good that call was you made on Wafeeq. If we’d followed your esteemed colleague’s directions, we’d probably have ended up in a sand pit.”

  The smattering of raindrops hitting the cabin sounded like BBs on a piece of tin, as they announced the beginning of the storm.

  Well, shit; so much for beating the weather. Edge thought.

  “Tucker, we better hit the road. It’s getting late, and that storm is going to make it too dark to see much. Besides, I’m not sure there’s even anything left here.”

  Tucker sighed and hung his head in defeat. “You’re right. Let’s get out of here.”

  As the two started for the front door, Tucker felt it was his turn to ask the questions. “I’ve read your military record, but what about your life outside of Delta?”

  “Crap,” Edge muttered as he drew his gun.

  “Your life can’t be all that bad,” Tucker commented.

  “I saw a vehicle through the trees,” Edge replied, sounding concerned. “Get down and follow me.”

  The two crept to the front of the cabin and peered out of the window. A black SUV pulled into the driveway and parked next to their car. The doors opened and out stepped seven men dressed in sinister-looking black tactical gear.

  “Friends of yours Tucker?” Edge asked.

  “I don’t think so. They sure didn’t come to mom’s family cookout last summer,” Tucker responded, joking to try to hide his alarm.

  The seven men spread out into a two-meter separation skirmish line across the front of the cabin. Seconds later the man in the middle stepped forward and spoke in a very cultured British accent that Edge thought could have come out of an episode of Masterpiece Theater.

  “Mr. Tucker, we know that you and your compatriot are inside and that you have an extremely important video in your possession. My superiors believe it rightfully belongs in their possession. Do the right thing; save you and your friend’s lives and place it in our possession!”

  Staying out of sight Tucker turned to Edge. “How do these jokers know my name, let alone what I’m doing here?” he whispered.

  “Does that agency angle make any more sense now?” Edge answered as he crab walked to another window for a clearer view. “Man these guys are packing some serious weaponry.”

  “What the hell are they wearing?” Tucker asked. “They look like warrior robots.”

  “ATA-X2, advanced tactical armor, ballistic fabric, and jell. It’s lightweight and super strong,” Edge responded.

  ATA-X2 armor provided the wearer with the best body armor available, protecting them from small to medium size caliber rounds. Unlike traditional padding that attempted to reflect projectiles away from the wearer, ballistic jell was created to absorb the force of the impact and disperse it evenly over a wide area. Completing the tank-like appearance of their outfits were the tactical ballistic helmets.

  Each man carried the G36C compact assault rifle with various attachments: close quarter red dots sights and medium range ACOG scopes, flashlights and laser sights. If that was not enough to get the job done, each man also carried a sidearm and a black bladed Sog Seal Pup knife for close quarter combat.

  Edge continued, “That shit is still experimental, and I guarantee those outfits are custom-made. Remember what I said about the big leagues and deep pockets? Well, there it is,” gesturing out the window with a nod of his head.

  The British soldier in command impatiently scratched his cheek. “I promise that if you hand over the video, we will allow you and your friend to walk out alive! But if you do not, I can only promise a less desirable outcome. Either way, we walk away with what we came for. I’ll give you four minutes to think it over.” He clicked his watch as if starting a countdown. His men all flipped off their safeties. It was clear that they intended to be the only ones who would be leaving alive.

  “You are interfering with a government investigation and threatening the lives of government agents! That’s a life sentence, so I suggest you drop your guns, get back in your car, and leave!” Tucker yelled back.

  The seven soldiers outside laughed at the comment. “Make that two minutes, then,” the leader continued.

  Edge just stared at Tucker with a look of disbelief. “Did you actually believe that was going to work? They know your name; they know you work for the government. These guys are mercs, and they just don’t care…ever.”

  “Then what do you propose we do?” Tucker asked.

  “Impromptu excursion into the ‘Glades. We’re damn well not giving up that video; that’s our leverage. Them simply being here, more than emphasizes the importance of whatever is on that recording,” Edge said as he played out the situation in his head, which appeared to be spiraling downhill fast.

  Barely a minute had passed since their arrival when the leader yelled, “Time’s up!” Your decision has been made for you.”

  Four of the men promptly stepped forward and raised their guns. Their lasers sights started flickering throughout the cabin like fireflies in the night; then their bullets came like rocks.

  “OH SHIT! Get down!” Edge shouted as he planted his face to the cabin floor. Tucker followed suit.

  The front of the cabin became a sieve, punctured by round after round. The windows dissolved into a crystalline mist. The sound was nearly deafening. Edge and Tucker frantically crawled away from the window. When they cleared the hallway, they got to their feet and sprinted toward the rear of the cabin as the wooden walls around them shattered in a splintered frenzy. As they turned a corner, the hallway ended at a large window in the rear; Edge lifted his weapon and fired, shattering it.

  Oh, no, we’re not… Tucker thought to himself, just as they dove through, landing on the rear deck. Glass and rain greeted them as they rolled into the fence. Um, yeah, we did.

  “Get up Tucker, we have to keep moving,” Edge ordered as he helped Tucker to his feet.

  Shocked and feeling his body pumping massive amounts of adrenaline, Tucker managed to mumble, “I can’t believe I just did that.” Scrambling to his feet, he ran to keep up with his partner. Glass continued to fall from his clothing as they ran to the tree line and disappeared into the dark shadows of the Everglades.

  ۞۞۞۞

  Bull, the British leader commanding the attack put his fi
st in the air, and the firing instantly ceased. “Ramirez, Anderson, Razor check out the cabin. Chou checks the grid to the left; Wolf, head right; Klien, you stay with me!”

  The former Special Air Service soldier’s ruthlessness had earned him the leadership of Team Foxtrot. Most of his team had been part of the assassination of Gamze, and like the many other members of their organization, the men had been on standby for just this scenario. Bull felt that this particular mission was an unnecessary bit of cleanup that could have been avoided had his superior not left so many loose ends last time.

  Of course, I don’t dare say that to him, Bull thought. The tosser would have me crucified and used for target practice.

  His men moved in to sweep the cabin. They moved every bit as quickly and precisely as Edge had done earlier, making their way to the rear.

  “Sir, the cabin is clear. It appears they made out the rear and ran into the woods.” Ramirez reported, looking out the broken the window and at the dense woods. “Do you want us to pursue?”

  “You are cleared to pursue. Remain in radio contact. Rendezvous back at the cabin once the package has been retrieved. Just don’t get yourself trapped in bloody quicksand. And remember, no loose ends this time,” Bull ordered as he and Klien stood under the roof of the cabin’s front deck. No point in standing in the rain when we got such a posh establishment currently vacant.

  As Tucker ran through the thick vegetation, he noticed that Edge seemed to glide around the outstretched branches, whereas his progress was more like a football lineman barging his way through a bunch of leafy linebackers, trying not to slip in the rain.

  They stopped a few hundred yards away from the cabin and took cover behind a log that was surrounded by thick brush. Tucker took a moment to look at his mud-encrusted suit.

  I think there’s a worm in my shoe. He shook his foot. Every time he moved he felt it squish and squirm. This whole play-in-the-dirt thing is highly overrated, thought Tucker, looking at his partner who seemed perfectly comfortable.

  The sky flashed and was instantaneously followed by an explosion of thunder so forceful that they felt the concussion in the air.