They were in the shadow of a tall commercial building when gunshots rang out behind them. Stryker swiveled the big .50 to the rear and searched for targets.
When he saw a man in the rear of the first Humvee getting cuffed by Tom, he knew what happened.
“So much for stealth,” he muttered
“Sorry,” Tom yelled. “It won’t happen again. He got spooked by a dog.”
“If it does, I’ll shoot that asshole myself,” Stryker shouted back. There was no point in maintaining silence discipline; the gunshot had already rendered that useless.
They again started forward at a more brisk pace and were soon at the border crossing.
“Stop for a second.” Stryker got his binoculars and glassed the area ahead. They were about to enter the choke point of the crossing area, and it was the most dangerous part of the journey back to San Diego.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Stryker did not detect any movement in the area, but had this nagging sensation that he might be missing something. The entry point for pedestrians leaving Mexico was surrounded by chain link fencing, and the piles of construction materials still sat on the American side of the border.
The parking lots on both sides of the border where largely empty, with a few vehicles sitting on either side, clustered close to the border crossing.
“I don’t like this, Erin,” he finally murmured.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Something just feels off about this, and I didn’t feel that way on our way south. Something is different about this area than it was on the outbound trip. I just can’t bring it to mind.”
He walked around the corner, sat on the curb, and closed his eyes. Stryker ran through all the photographs that he had stored in his mind from their southbound border crossing, and stopped each one.
Twenty minutes passed, and he was aware of the men grumbling and speculating on what he was doing.
He finally got to one that made him focus in on it and noticed a window above them.
He walked across the street and then got it. That window had been closed when they headed south, and now a curtain was puffing out of it with the wind.
Somebody had opened the window, and possibly another one on the other side of the floor.
“That window wasn’t open when we crossed the border.” Stryker pointed to the opening.
“How could you remember that?”
“I do.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I need to think on it before we move forward.”
Stryker looked up again and saw what looked like the tattered remnants of an American flag hanging from the façade of the building.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“This was the American Consulate.”
Stryker looked at the front of the building, saw the sally port and the barrier that would rise from the ground to only allow cars to pass one at a time. He looked at the front of the building again and noted the blast-protected mesh windows, and then looked up and saw the barrel of a .50 that stuck over the parapet of the building.
“Post two,” he murmured.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Erin asked.
“The embassies, and some consulates, were guarded by marines. This building housed our consulate and that’s why we see the sally port and the barrel of the .50.
Stryker glanced at a bronze plaque bolted to the wall of the building and then up again at the tattered American flag.
He turned to Tom, who was standing in front of his Humvee with the carbine perched on one hip.
“Form a perimeter with the .50s facing out. We are going to see if we can get in.” He turned and tried the large steel and ballistic glass door and was surprised when it opened easily.
Stryker entered the building with his M-4 at the low ready position and stopped after sweeping the room. After waiting a minute and hearing no noise, he walked over to a large cubicle made of more ballistic glass and peered into the interior, where he saw a bank of radios and a rack of M1014 tactical shotguns
“There were marine corps guards here. That is kind of weird; usually they only guard embassies.
“What’s the difference between an embassy and a consulate?”
“Embassies are in capital cities and consulates are in towns important enough for us to have a presence.”
“Maybe because of all the drug wars on the border they needed extra security.”
“Probably.” Stryker looked through the glass again, and saw a duty roster on a clipboard hanging against the back wall under the shotguns.
“Marines called this ‘post one’. They controlled who got into the building and made sure no weapons, recording devices, or cell phones got into the embassy.”
“I get weapons and recorders. But, why cell phones?”
“Because you could take pictures with them and they could be used as recorders.”
Stryker moved the right of the cubicle and looked at another heavy steel door propped open with a large rock
“Is there more than one post? You said something about post two,” Erin asked as she moved up behind him.
“There is always one on the roof, called “post two,” and it’s stocked with heavy weapons and, sometimes, at the back entrance to the building there is post three, if it is used for deliveries.”
“Why heavy weapons at post two?”
“In case of attack. The standard plan was to try to keep attackers away from the building, and if it got overrun, to fight up the stairwells and cover the employees retreat.”
“Where would they retreat to?”
“They had helo pads on the roof. The usual plan was to hold until they could evacuate by helicopter.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I got a tour of the embassy in Baghdad. The CO of the detachment invited me, so I went.” Stryker moved through the door and into a waiting room.
It was a standard government-issued space, with heavy institutional furniture. A wall covered with framed photographs of the president, the ambassador, and the consul general. Stryker supposed they were all dead now, shrugged, and moved to an open stairwell at the side of the elevator bank.
Erin followed behind, and they entered the second floor of the building.
A piano started playing above them, and Stryker walked back to the stairwell and stared up. It was some sort of classical music, although he had no clue what it was.
Erin joined him and whispered, “Do you think that’s a person playing?”
“With no power, it can’t be anything else.
He stepped into the stairwell, and started up the stairs with Erin covering the rear.
After stopping to listen for a moment, they moved up until they stood at the entrance to a long hallway. The sound was coming from the right, and they quietly approached an open door.
Stryker glanced around it, and then pulled back. The music was loud and had covered their approach. The man playing the piano was facing away from them.
“Who is it?” Erin whispered.
“Just some guy playing the piano, but he has a shotguns on top of it, so stay here until I disarm him.”
Stryker slowly walked across the room until he stood behind the man, who was staring out a large plate glass window that overlooked the city below. He quietly shouldered his M-4.
Stryker grabbed the man by sandwiching his neck into the v of his left arm and patted him down with his right.
The man struggled, making strangling noises and flailing his arms and legs, but Stryker had him in a death grip. He grabbed the shotgun off the piano and let the man go.
“How dare you?” He fumed. “Give me my gun back.”
Stryker examined him carefully.
What stood out most was he was immaculately dressed, in a three piece suit that looked like it just came off the rack from an expensive store. He was also rail thin, bald, and clean shaven. His e
yes were blue and glittered with anger. He straightened his vest with a look of outrage and stared at Stryker in a manner that conveyed contempt and scorn.
“Off to a bad start. My apologies. We heard the music and came to see what was going on. I saw the shotgun and didn't want to take any chances.”
The man continued glowering at him.
“Erin, come in,” Stryker yelled over his shoulder.
She entered the room with her weapon ready.
“Take it easy. He’s not armed.”
Stryker looked again at the piano player.
“And you are?” the man asked.
“Stryker is my name.”
“Is that a first or last name?”
“It’s the only one.” Stryker grinned as he said it. “This is Erin, my wife.”
“My name is Paul Herring, Acting Ambassador of the United States of America.” His tone was officious and he seemed to puff up a bit as he said it.
“Pleased to meet you.” Erin offered her hand and Paul bowed down to kiss it. She jerked her hand back. “A simple handshake will do.”
Paul nodded, offered his hand, and they shook. He did the same with Stryker.
“Are there other survivors that you know of here?”
“I had one unfortunate run-in shortly after the plague. That’s why I keep the shotguns.”
“Plural?”
“Yes, there is one behind my desk.”
“Good to know,” Stryker said dryly. He walked to the desk and placed the shotgun he carried next to the other weapon, after he unloaded both and pocketed the ammo.
“No need for that,” Paul said. “I mean you no harm. I’m here to defend America’s interests and people.”
“Thanks for that, but why don’t you come with us? We are from a large group of survivors rebuilding the Naval Station in San Diego. We have power and water and are looking for more people.”
“I couldn’t possibly leave. I have two years left on my assignment here and am representing the President of the United States in this country.”
He again seemed to puff up.
Stryker stared at the man for a long moment, confused, and then looked again at the man’s eyes. There was something clearly off about them, and while he couldn’t describe it, he did recognize it. It was the look that soldiers and marines assume when they have reached their limits and have no choice but to fight on.
“There’s nothing left to represent.” Stryker was growing tired of the conversation. The man was clearly an ego-maniac and crazy as bat shit.
“Still, I committed to a four year assignment and I have two left.”
Stryker stared at Paul. The man was a liability. “You’re quite right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you should finish your tour, and when you do, we would be delighted to host you at the Naval Station. And, do feel free to pay us a visit any time you like.”
“Why, thank you very much. You are indeed a gentleman and I am sorry we met in such an…undignified manner. I would love to accept your invitation, but the press of work here, now that I am alone and acting ambassador, will prevent any such journey for me.”
“We had better be leaving, and thank you for your service.” Stryker said it as though he meant it, and the man assumed a valiant expression.
“I won’t quit,” Paul said with a steely glint in his eye. “I have suffered setbacks and challenges, but I will not leave until my assignment is complete.”
“Good for you. Come on, Erin, let’s go.”
Erin had been baffled by the conversation at first, but quickly understood what Stryker was doing.
When they got to the ground floor, Stryker stopped to try the door to Post One. He was interested in grabbing the M1014s, but it was locked.
“No luck.” He sighed, turning to Erin.
“What is wrong with him?” Erin asked.
“I’m not really sure, but he obviously hasn’t come to grips with what actually happened. He seems to have invented a different world than the one we live in.”
“What will happen to him?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe we should have forced him to come with us,”
Erin said in a troubled tone.
“And then what? What would we do with him?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like we should help him.”
“I don't have any idea how you help someone like that,” Stryker replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
“You’re right. I don’t either.”
They walked out the door and stood in the shadow of the building.”
“What did you find?” Tom asked.
“A crazy diplomat playing a piano.” Stryker sat in the passenger seat of their Humvee. Jose was still in the back, speechless, and Stryker wondered how long it would take for him to regain his desire to chat.
“He’s not kidding.” Erin slid behind the steering wheel.
Tom laughed and sat in the driver’s seat of his vehicle. “Why does that not surprise me?”
Stryker stared at the San Ysidro Port of Entry. The choke point was still there and had to be crossed. The more he thought about it, the less challenging it seemed. If the crazy diplomat had been banging away at his piano for two years and lived, the likelihood of anyone being around was close to zero.
“Let’s go,” he said to Erin.
She pulled away from the building and accelerated to the border crossing. They passed it without incident and the name of the highway they were on changed from Via Oriente Norte to Tijuana - San Diego highway.
They passed a number of currency exchange offices, and then by a grouping of chain hotels, banks, auto glass stores and an RV park.
“I know this is crazy, but it is nice to be back in America again. In the past, trips to foreign countries have not been the most pleasant experiences.” Stryker spoke without taking his eyes off their surroundings.
“I feel the same. It’s not really rational. We just crossed an arbitrary line drawn by a bunch of guys who are all dead now. It doesn’t really change much.”
They merged onto Interstate 5 North and continued at a good rate of speed until they passed an area with multiple overpasses and ramps, got off on Harbor drive, and drove to the gates in front of the base.
Erin waved at the two guards, who motioned them through the gates and on to the base.
The three trailing Humvees parked next to Erin, and everyone got out of the vehicles and stood in a group.
“Erin, can you take them to the admin building, set them up with places to sleep, and get them fed?”
“Where are you going?”
“To talk to Thomas. I’ll meet you at the cafeteria later.”
“Okay, see you later.” She stood on tip toes and kissed his cheek, turned to the men and motioned for them to follow.
Stryker strode through the ops center and entered Thomas’ office.
“How did it go?” The captain looked up from a mound of paper on his desk.
“We only came back with eight,” Stryker replied.
“What happen to the rest?”
“A group of sailors left on their own around two weeks ago, three were killed by a Mexican drug gang, and we brought back everyone else.”
“Who’s dead?”
“The captain and his XO were both killed. Also, one enlisted.”
“Shit,” Thomas muttered.
“It wasn’t pretty either. The captain was tortured brutally. My guess is that’s how they knew we were coming and were able to ambush Erin and me.”
“Is Erin okay?”
“Not a scratch.”
“Why don’t you take it from the top and tell me the whole story?”
Twenty minutes later, Stryker finished.
“Christ, that was supposed to be a walk in the park.”
Stryker shrugged. “The park was in a bad neighborhood.”
“Where are the men now?”
“They are getting sleeping quarters and food.”
> “Are they at the cafeteria?”
“Yes.”
“Let me finish what I’m doing, and then I’ll come over to meet them.”
“Fine, see you there.” Stryker rose from the chair and disappeared through the office door.
Stryker was with the men, choking down yet another tuna sandwich with a grimace.
Erin had left to let her sister and Elle know they were back.
“Jose?” Stryker said.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I just never saw anything like that before. It was awful.”
“Well you need to put it behind you. I can’t eat this shit anymore, and we need you to get us some decent food, so pull yourself together; we are all depending on you.”
He sighed. “I’ll do my best.”
A few minutes later, Thomas entered the cafeteria, took a seat at the table, and everyone introduced themselves.
Thomas welcomed them to the base, explained how it worked, handed them a paper with work assignments listed on it, and asked them to report to the XO in the morning.
He stood up to leave, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then asked, “Those men who left before Stryker found you; is it worth going to find them?”
“No sir,” Tom replied. “They were troublemakers and slackers, and I get the feeling we don't have room for either now.”
“That would be correct, and thanks for being honest.”
He shook hands with each of the new arrivals and then turned to Stryker. “Well done.”
“Not a problem.” Stryker shrugged.
“Let me know when you’re ready to go after the next group.”
“Where are they?”
“Believe it or not, Corpus Christi. Your neck of the woods.”
“Anything critical about it?”
“No, it’s what’s left of the crew of another vessel. They are a mixed group of twelve, officers and enlisted. Two of the enlisted are mechanics and one of the officers is an engineer. They should be a good addition.”
“I want to take a few days before I decide. I need to get Erin checked out by the doctor.”
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