Josh shrugged. “How about you?”
“Army,” Gregg responded. “Where did you do your tours?”
“I made a trip through Saudi Arabia and Iraq in the first Gulf fiasco and then got shipped to Bosnia.”
“Haven’t been through there, but I’ve seen enough of the Middle East to know that I’d trade a hardwood forest over an oasis in the desert any day. I don’t care how majestic the Bedouins say it is at sunset.”
Josh actually laughed at the comment.
“You and I might have a lot in common. Why don’t you come on down and we can talk about it,” Josh said sincerely.
“The only way I’m coming down without putting a few holes in you is if you can magically present my wife.”
“Okay. Who’s your wife?” Josh asked.
The ground erupted in the wake of a fresh round.
“Don’t play dumb with me! I know she’s here!” Gregg screamed into the handset. “Now where is she?!”
Josh didn’t flinch. It was clear to Josh that whoever was in the woods had no intention of killing anyone. He trusted this feeling so much that he turned and started walking toward the porch.
“Hey! Where are you going? Get back here!”
When he didn’t stop his progression, Gregg sent another in to the steps. Josh calmly stepped over the shattered step and picked up a wooden chair. He nonchalantly carried it back to the area of chewed up earth and placed it right in the middle of it.
“What the hell are you doing? I could kill you at any minute,” Gregg said incredulously into the handset.
“No you won’t. If you truly wanted me dead you’d have done it already,” Josh responded. There was silence on the other end. Josh took the lull as an opportunity to stuff his pipe and relax. He just sat there, reclined in the log chair with the sun on his face, and calmly smoked his pipe.
“You smug son-of-a-bitch,” Gregg started to say before he pulled the trigger and shredded what was left of the fence post.
* * *
“Go for –,” Dallas began before being cut off.
Juan, winded, interrupted him and quickly asked, “How far away are you from the farm?”
“Were about five minutes out, why? What’s going on?” Dallas answered.
“Someone found the big gun in the barn and is currently taking pot shots at our friend. I think he’s in Señor James’ nest. Can you come over the top on that location from behind?” Juan said hurriedly.
Dallas disconnected the call and turned to James. “We got a big problem.”
* * *
Josh knew exactly what Juan would do. While he waited for the Cavalry, he decided to waste as much time as possible. He queued the handset and said, “Well, if you’re not in the mood to talk, then I guess I’ll tell you all about the British designs for our great nation.”
Before Josh even got started with his winding tale, Gregg answered, “You don’t know the half of it, buddy.”
“Oh,” he said surprised. “Then how about you enlighten me,” Josh replied.
“I’m not here for that. All I want is my wife,” Gregg shot back.
“And who is she exactly? I only ask because the woman I intend to marry is named Samantha. I don’t know who you are referring to. Why don’t you tell me her name and I’ll see if I can rustle her up,” Josh said calmly and reassuringly.
As silence permeated the farm land, a bird call rang out.
“Uh oh,” Josh spoke into the mic.
“What are you going on about now?” Gregg demanded.
“Can you do me a favor?” Josh asked.
“Sure, why not,” Gregg answered sarcastically. “What can I do for you?”
“How about you stop looking through that scope for... I don’t know, just a few seconds... and look behind you. Tell me what you see.”
Gregg was about to answer and tell Josh to go to hell when the distinctive click-click of a hammer being cocked resonated in his ears.
“Don’t make us shoot you, son,” James said as he drew down on the man hiding in his snipers nest.
Gregg slowly placed the rifle on its side. He then calmly put his hands behind his head. To his right he saw the skinny one closing in as well.
“You sure are quiet for a big fella,” Gregg said complimenting his captors. “Of course, the last time I had a run in with a guy your size I stuck a screwdriver in his head.”
“Shut up and put these on,” Dallas said as he threw zip ties at him.
“It’s your world boss,” Gregg answered and did as instructed. “Front or back?” he asked.
“Cuff yourself in the front, if you don’t mind,” James growled but answered as politely as possible.
The three emerged from the woods and began walking towards Josh reclining in his chair. The large sparsely snow covered field took some time to cross on foot. As they neared, he tapped out the burnt contents of his pipe and stood.
Off in the distance, the whine of a remote controlled plane taking flight could be heard. The low altitude buzzing sounded like a swarm of angry bees.
“Oh good,” Josh stated as he heard the machine take to the air. “Do you hear that?” he asked the prisoner as they approached.
“Yeah, so,” Gregg answered.
“Uncuff him,” Josh said to Dallas.
“But we –,” Dallas began to answer.
“It’s okay. Please.”
Dallas produced a large knife from his belt and cut the zip ties. Gregg began rubbing the scars on his wrists.
“See that little plane way up in the sky?” Josh asked.
“Yes, I see and hear the damn plane. I don’t care about the damn plane all right!” Gregg snapped. “I just want my wife!”
“Young man,” Josh started. “We have been more than polite... even when you were shooting at us. As such, I will ask you only one time to watch your tone with me. Do I make myself clear?”
Gregg was a trained operator. Everything about his being was forged in countless crucibles the world over. They had made him hard, cold to his surroundings, especially to his wife. What he thought was a protective shielding only served to push her away. He wasn’t there for her when she needed him the most. When he was given a job, it was executed with military precision and to the best of his ability at all times. The man before him though, whether through the tone of his voice or through the ease and directness with which he carried himself, torn down the walls. He felt like he was a child being scolded by his father all over again. He was ashamed.
Josh could see the man shrinking in front of him.
“Son, look at me,” Josh said.
Gregg slowly turned his gaze upward from the ground when Josh concluded, “I am only directing your attention to the plane because it is being flown by your wife, Emily. That is her name, isn’t it? Gregg. She just arrived this morning.”
Chapter 17
Secret Service Agent Edward Monahan ended the call and nudged his new partner and fellow Agent, “Start looking for exits.”
He then turned and addressed the man half asleep in the backseat, “Sir, we have an issue,” he said.
President Tom Sarkes arched his brow in response.
“Our airborne escort believes that they have identified a tail, sir.”
Sarkes sat up and rubbed his eyes. He turned his head to look out the back window and began scanning for the offender. “Okay, Ed. Which one?”
The Agent sighed an exhale. “Sir, they’re trailing almost a mile behind us. You can’t see them.”
“Oh,” he said and turned back around sheepishly. “So who’s spotting for them? We could turn anywhere and they’d never see us. Let’s just get off the main road,” Tom replied.
“Sir, we are the lead car in a twenty-eight vehicle convoy going sixty miles per hour in a seventy-five zone. We stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Options, where are we?” Sarkes asked.
The driver turned his head and replied, “We just passed Richmond, Indiana. We are about to cros
s the state line into Ohio.”
The armored sedan and the rest of the contingent had been on I-70 since departing the facility in Denver two days ago. The winter weather typically associated with the plain states was calm and allowed them to make good time. By mid-afternoon on the third day, the Delta One transport only had about three hundred miles to go to their destination in Cleveland, Ohio.
“Well this complicates things, doesn’t it,” the former President said rhetorically.
“Sir, I think that we should –,” the Agent started to recommend some options when Sarkes’ cell phone starting ringing. When it played the “Hail to the Chief” ring tone, they all knew who was calling.
“Hold that thought, Ed,” Sarkes said to the Agent as he picked up his phone.
“How’s it hangin’, Jim?” Tom decreed as he answered the call. Seconds later the Agents heard Sarkes say, “Whoa, whoa, slow down. Hold on, let me put you on speaker so I don’t have to relay this intel.” He pushed the icon and then held the device aloft. “Okay, you’re on speaker, go ahead.”
“Who’s on your end Tom?” the POTUS asked frantically.
“It’s just me and two Agents, why?” Sarkes replied.
“Have they been read in?” Rayburn quickly asked.
“As much as they needed to be. What’s going on?”
“Tom, do you recall our conversation at Camp David? The one regarding the electrical disturbances.”
“Yes, why? Do you guys have more detail surrounding those incidences?” Tom asked.
“Well, it seems your trip to The Hague is panning out. Our French connection just called me. Those weren’t random. Apparently there’s an Iranian faction bent on bringing down the ‘last empire’, whatever the hell that means. The British were watching the facilities like we thought, and they caught one.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Too much so for President Rayburn.
“Tom, are you still there?” he asked.
“Yeah, yes, we’re still here. I’m just trying to process that information.”
“Tom, those eight little bastards are running around our country with those devices,” the POTUS added. “And they’ve linked up with the British. The Brits are now directing these jihadists to various targets around the U.S.”
In the background, Tom and his security detail could hear a commotion in the Oval Office.
“Jim? What is that?” Tom asked in earnest.
“Hold on a sec. The Director of the Secret Service and the Secretary of Defense (SecDef) just walked in.”
There were some muffled sounds like the mouth piece was trying to be covered and then President Rayburn came back on the line.
“Close that door, gentlemen,” Jim said as he started to resume the conversation. “Tom, I have you on speaker with Director Anderson from Secret Service and SecDef Fielding.”
“Secretary Fielding, Director, nice of you to join us. What’s going on?” Sarkes asked.
“Hey, Tom, are your Agents on the line?” the Director asked.
“We are, sir,” Agent Monahan said immediately.
“Who’s ‘we’, son?”
“Special Agents Monahan and Smith, sir.”
“Agent Monahan, secure that device please,” the SecDef said.
Sarkes handed the phone to Ed who promptly took the phone off of speaker.
“Yes, sir. The phone is secured. How can I –,” Agent Monahan started to say before his boss cut him off.
The Head of the Secret Service leaned on to the President’s desk and spoke directly into the phone, “Agent Monahan, I want you to answer me with only ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’ is that understood?
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I am ordering you to secure that vehicle by any and all means necessary. Copy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Once the vehicle is secured, place Agent Smith under arrest. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Faintly, Agent Monahan heard, “Oh, would you cut the cloak and dagger crap. Just tell him he needs to shoot Smith in the head!”
“Hold one, Agent,” the Director said as he pushed mute.
Not sure what to do at this point, Ed replied to no one when he said, “Yes, sir. I’ll hold.”
While he waited, he decided to start putting plans in motion, “Go ahead and take the next exit, Smith. They are telling us to get off the highway. I’m on hold while they finalize the route. We need to use the secondary roads.”
“Roger that,” Smith said casually.
Agent Smith turned on his blinker to alert the rest of the convoy and started heading down the off ramp. When the vehicle stopped at the end, Agent Monahan, dropped the cell phone on the seat, drew his service weapon, and pointed it at Smith’s head.
“Put the car in park and turn off the engine,” he said as he slowly reached over and removed Smith’s service pistol from its shoulder holster.
“Whoa, what the hell, man! What are you doing?” Smith said as he reacted to the injustice.
Ed placed the driver’s 9mm in his own holster and grabbed the cell phone. He checked if his boss was back on the line, but there was still silence. He flipped the phone to Sarkes who sat in the backset with his mouth agape. Agent Monahan toggled a switch in the dash and the bulletproof divider immediately went up between the front and rear seats.
“Do it now or so help me,” Ed growled.
“Okay, okay, relax man,” Smith said as he pushed the handle up into park, turned the key, and complied.
With the car safely off, Ed ordered his detainee out of the car. Before exiting, the Special Agent in charge picked up his walkie and queued the other Secret Service vehicles, “Whiskey One, Whiskey One, Agent needs assistance.”
Two trailing SUV’s suddenly appeared from the middle and rear of the column in either side mirror. Each came to a screeching halt, one in front and one behind, prohibiting escape for the lead car. Both autos immediately emptied. Agents in bulletproof vests with weapons drawn littered the roadway. All were trained on Whiskey One.
“Okay, Smith, please exit the vehicle slowly.”
Before putting the device in his coat pocket, Ed relayed his intent by saying, “We’re coming out. Detain Agent Smith, driver-side.”
The Agents rotated their position accordingly.
The man was summarily manhandled and placed face down on the cold February pavement and cuffed. Once the prisoner was under control, President Sarkes began exiting the vehicle.
As the detainee was being stood up, a red mist exploded from his neck. His body went limp in his captor’s hands.
“Sniper! Get down!” one of the Agents yelled.
Ed reflexively put himself between the President and their surroundings. As he shielded him, Agent Monahan grabbed Sarkes, pushed him back into the town car, and slammed the door. The remaining Agents scattered and took up defensive positions. As the Secret Service surveyed the scene, they had failed to notice that the tail previously identified by their air support was stopped on the overpass.
Their attention was only drawn to the bridge when the vehicle lost traction and squealed the tires as it accelerated.
Ed quickly spoke into his concealed mic and said, “Zulu-Tango-Two-Five-Eight, do you still have visual on the green sedan?”
“Roger that,” the pilot answered back. “He’s east bound on I-70 a half mile beyond your location.”
“Pursue and keep eyes on that target!” Agent Monahan screamed into the device. “Radio updates as available.” He then turned to the remaining Agents and said, “Whiskey Two and Three, chase that son-of-a-bitch down!”
The Team Leader from the other vehicles yelled over his should, “How do you want him?”
“Alive if possible, dead if necessary!” Ed hollered in return.
The Special Agent in charge of the former Presidents security noticed the rear door start to open. He discreetly slid over and stood in front of it so it couldn’t be opened further.
“Not a chance in hell, sir. Sit tight. We’ll be moving again in a few minutes,” he answered before gently closing it on Sarkes.
Agent Monahan removed the walkie from his coat and queued the device, “Alpha Team, presence requested. Column lead, ASAP.”
Down the line, the whine of a diesel engine could be heard pulling out of formation. The initial dark plume of exhaust betrayed its position as the next to last vehicle. The convoy was a mix of heavy machinery. In addition to President Sarkes armored sedan, there were two Secret Service Suburban’s, two refuelers, three ‘deuce and half’s’, and twenty tarp laden cargo haulers with material handling equipment.
Given the mission and the precious materials being transported, both President Sarkes and Rayburn insisted that all Operation Delta convoys carried armed escorts in the form of SpecOps teams. It was an extreme precaution that the Joint Chiefs eventually relented on. At the request of President Rayburn, Sarkes’ convoy also came with added counter measures. An armored box had been placed inside one of the M35 deuce’s.
As the truck slowed, Special Agent Monahan whisked the door open and grabbed the former President by the lapel.
“Come with me, sir,” he said as he forcefully pulled the man from the vehicle.
Before the massive transport was even stopped, the tailgate was dropped and a ladder was extended.
“Get in!” Ed yelled over the sound of the rumbling diesel engine and tire noise.
Sarkes looked up and saw three heavily armed operators. One bent down to assist the President. Another turned and opened the vault like door. The third took a kneeling position covering the one hundred and eighty degree field of fire.
“You can’t be serious!” Tom Sarkes said exacerbated.
“No choice, sir. I think you’ll find the accommodations comfortable,” the soldier replied as he half pushed half escorted the President inside.
Once he was in, the door was immediately shut and locked.
“Where to, sir?” the team lead asked Agent Monahan.
“Let me see your map,” he replied.
President Sarkes began banging on the bulletproof window and held up the phone. Agent Monahan directed the President to a call button near the rear of the box.
Hannibal is at the Gates Page 17
