Paladine

by Kenneth Eade

  “Hello, Julio!”

  Robert almost looked around to see who she was greeting, but then remembered that was his official name – it’s just that nobody had ever called him by it before.

  “Hello, Virginia, shall we?” He offered her his arm, she took it, exited and closed and locked her door. Robert walked her to the parking lot to his bike. He detached the extra helmet and held it out to her as he fastened his own. She strapped on the helmet and Robert hoisted her onto the back of the bike, which made her giggle a bit. He took his seat and fired up the motorcycle. Virginia put her hands around Robert’s waist. Her touch was firm but gentle and it felt good as Robert took off. It was not something he should get used to.

  ***

  The rooftop patio of the Carson Kitchen downtown was a cool spot with a great view of Las Vegas. Robert and Virginia enjoyed a tray of gourmet cheeseburgers and small talk. Robert thought she was attractive. She had soft, brown hair, a nice, pleasant smile, luscious lips and wide brown eyes. He focused on her ears and thought how he would like to nibble on them, while he was in the process of moving south, of course. Robert already knew what Virginia did for a living, so after she covered her family history (divorced, no kids, one sister and both parents living) she naturally turned the inquiries into his life, which kicked in a playback of Robert’s canned stories about his fictitious background, which had been memorized and instilled into his brain as if he could recall them as real memories.

  “So what is it that you do, Julio?” She sipped on the straw protruding from a pink concoction which was touted as one of Carson’s innovative cocktails. Robert fidgeted. He knew his phony background by heart and could rattle it out on cue, but it had been a long time since he had talked to anyone. People talked about what they knew and about all he knew how to do well was killing people.

  “Um, I’m self-employed, pretty much doing odd jobs.”

  “What kind of odd jobs?”

  “Mostly waste management. On a project by project basis.”

  Virginia nodded without really understanding what he had meant.

  “Do you have any family?”

  “Nope. Mom and dad are both gone. Never been married. I’ve got a dog, though.”

  Virginia’s eyes perked up. “A dog? What kind?”

  “Oh, you know those Heinz 57 dogs. He’s one o’ them.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Robert paused as he thought, scratched his chin through his beard. “Butthead.”

  Virginia laughed. It was not a surprise to her that a bachelor had named his dog “Butthead.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I ask how he got that name?”

  Robert made a face. “Well, it’s actually the first name he responded to.”

  “That’s funny. I’d like to meet your dog. Maybe you could bring him over to my place. I’ll make you a nice home-cooked meal and he can feast on the leftovers.”

  “You wouldn’t mind having a dog in your house?”

  “Why not? I love dogs. Why don’t you come on over tomorrow night? Do you like steak?”

  “Love it.”

  “Great.”

  Once again, the dog had come to Robert’s aid, helping him avoid areas of discussion he didn’t care to go into.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  A fog of tension loomed over the conference room at National Counterterrorism Center. The president of the United States sat in the seat in the center of the horseshoe-shaped table, under the seal of the NCTC and two rows of digital world clocks on each side of it. The heads of the CIA, FBI, DHS, and the State Department, as well as the president’s national security advisor were all there. After they sat, they all took the president’s cue and forced their respective smiles and thoughtful gestures for the flashes of the cameras before the meeting. This way, no black eyes or bloody noses would be apparent in the pictures that were to be made public.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve decided to hold this briefing here at the NCTC instead of the situation room at the White House. The reason for this is that we have to emphasize unity. Unity of plan and unity of action. Recently, Nathan Anderson has made me aware of his frustration that, despite the NCTC’s mandate for strategic planning and coordination of enforcement, not much besides bureaucratic data sharing goes on here.” The president panned the table, making eye contact with each one of the chiefs. Bill Carpenter directed a glare at Anderson, then nodded for the president’s benefit.

  “That’s why I’m going to direct the CIA and the FBI to each provide Nathan with a team of agents for coordination between planning and enforcement.”

  Ted Barnard, the director of the CIA, looked like he had just become constipated. Bill Carpenter’s face was red as if he had just come in from four hours on the beach. Carpenter raised his hand.

  “Bill?”

  “Mr. President, your intentions are great, but aren’t we curtailed by the legislation that established the NCTC? It doesn’t have any enforcement capabilities.”

  “You’re right, Bill, it doesn’t. But NCTC has the primary responsibility for developing strategy for anti-terrorist law enforcement planning and operations, and that’s not happening. We’ve got a four-year-old Congressional Report that says it should have the power to synchronize enforcement operations and compel specific action when required.”

  Barnard raised his hand. “Ted?”

  “Mr. President, I agree with Bill. We can’t have the NCTC out there doing its own enforcement. Plus, there’s no budget for it.” The other heads of agencies nodded theirs.

  “I’m not suggesting that, Ted. That’s up to the congress. But the authority for NCTC to coordinate efforts and to compel specific action is already in its enabling legislation. We have to stop competing and start cooperating. The two teams will remain a part of their respective agencies, but they’ll work here with Nathan in order to coordinate our efforts. If the CIA or the FBI, respectively, receives a briefing that they decide to act on, they will follow normal channels. But if NCTC warns either one of you of an imminent threat, I expect your agency to act on it immediately, and with all available resources. Now this arrangement will be classified. None of this is for public disclosure.”

  The surprise part of the meeting behind them, Ted Barnard, gave a threat briefing, which showed no significant terrorist threats to the United States at the moment, followed by a briefing by Bill Carpenter on the progress of the investigation into the San Bernardino attacks.

  “Bill, I want to assure you that your office has the full support of the White House in your investigation. Whatever you need. We must leave no stone unturned in determining why and how these terrorists carried this out.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Gentlemen, I think everybody here will agree -- we have the very best intelligence, counterterrorism, homeland security and law enforcement professionals in the world. Across our government, these dedicated professionals, including here at NCTC, are relentless, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. At the operations center here, people from across our government work, literally shoulder-to-shoulder, pouring over the latest information, analyzing it, integrating it, connecting the dots. They’re sharing information -- pushing it out across the federal government and, just as importantly, to our state and local partners. What I want to see here is one, strong, united team.”

  The president looked sternly at his disjunctive team of not-so team players. It was time to start working together so that there were no significant terrorist attacks during the remainder of his presidency.

  ***

  Virginia felt the whoosh of hot air from the oven as she opened its door to check on the green bean casserole and baked potatoes covered in foil, and set them on top of the stove. It reminded her of opening the door to her apartment on a summer afternoon. The table had already been set with her finest stoneware (reserved only for guests) and the tapered candles were throwing off a warm yellow glow against the dancing shadows of the dining room wall. She had turned off t
he overhead lamp and the only supplemental light was provided by the table lamps in the adjoining living room. Nothing left to do but jump in the shower and make herself pretty. She would pop the steaks on the grill after Robert arrived.

  Virginia showered, the cool water pulsating against her body, washing off the heat from the toil of the kitchen. As she toweled off, she went through her mental list of final preparations – appetizers, salads, main course and dessert. She examined her face in the mirror. Only thirty and she could see the signs of age creeping up on her. Doing her hair brought back the memory of the desert heat to her body and she felt like a second shower may be in order. But after she cooled down, she went into her makeup routine, applying a thin coat of foundation, smoothing it on lightly, then a bit of powder, blush for the cheekbones, and accentuated her eyelashes with mascara. A coat of lipstick on her pouty lips made the final touch. Keeping an eye on the time, Virginia hurried into the bedroom. She had told Robert that the dress code was casual, so she slipped into a casual summer dress, her favorite pumps, and regarded herself in the full-length mirror. This was as good as it was going to get. The doorbell rang.

  Virginia opened her door to a man bearing flowers and a large, floppy-eared dog. She beamed, taking the flowers as Robert greeted her and came in. The dog waited obediently on the landing.

  “Come on in, Butthead.”

  The dog waltzed in, wagging his tail and lunging toward Virginia to get acquainted.

  “Sit,” Robert commanded, and the dog dutifully sat.

  “He’s cute!”

  “He’s ugly and scruffy, but at least he’s clean. You should have seen him when he showed up at my door.”

  The dinner went off as perfectly as Virginia had planned, with the dog patiently and silently waiting for any leftovers.

  “He’s quite well behaved.”

  “I’ve been training him. Watch this. Come ‘mere, Butthead.”

  The dog came to Robert and sat at his feet.

  “Good boy. Now, show Virginia how you shake hands.”

  The dog put out his paw, then the other, and Robert awarded him with a small piece of meat, which he caught in mid-air. Then, Robert took the dog through his entire repertoire.

  “He’s so smart!”

  Robert snorted. “Him? He’s a dummy. But he’ll do anything for food. This is the best one.”

  Robert balanced a piece of meat on top of the dog’s brown nose, which twitched and fluttered, catching the scent.

  “Awwww!”

  Suddenly, the dog moved and the meat fell off his nose onto the floor. He gobbled it up immediately. Robert slapped him across his chops and the dog cried.

  “Bad dog!”

  “Julio!”

  “He’s not supposed to do that. He knows better than to defy me.”

  “Julio, it’s normal for a dog to do that. He’s just following his instincts.”

  For a moment, Robert’s instincts were revealed.

  Later that evening, the dog trick debacle had been long forgotten. Robert and Virginia relaxed on the couch. In the candlelight, she looked even sexier than he had originally thought, and the proximity of her body was making every nerve tingle as the pressure built up in his. Robert took the initiative, taking her soft, welcoming lips as she held on to his strong shoulders and he suppressed his bone crushing strength to hold her body with just the right amount of pressure that he had learned to use in these situations. Their kisses became more intense as he moved his hand to her breasts with no resistance. Her breathing intensified as he massaged them, but when he moved down lower, she held his wrist, signaling that she had reached her limit.

  “I’m not quite ready for that yet. Can you wait just a few more days?”

  Robert was already on the hunt and it had been a long time since he had a woman, but he stopped himself.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Robert Garcia set out for Colorado on his KLR 650, leaning back on the Remington 700 in the guitar case. The camp was in rural Buena Vista, a town of about 2,600 people. With only three hotels in the village, Robert would be noticed, so he had picked up food and supplies in nearby Salida and set up his own base of operations within surveillance distance of the camp, which was a hodge-podge of small buildings, mobilehomes and trailers. An all-out raid on the camp would require a team of at least 7 men, but this would be a surgical operation using only one.

  At about 5 p.m. that afternoon, a convoy of three Ford Explorers rumbled into the camp and came to a stop. Robert focused his field glasses on them and counted three security men (not including the driver) in the lead SUV, who exited their vehicle armed with AKMs and established a perimeter. Three more, similarly armed, hopped out of the third vehicle and two security men stepped out of the middle car. Bukhari and an associate Robert did not recognize from any of the reports exited the middle car and, surrounded by the security detail, were escorted to one of the mobilehomes. Four sentinels stayed outside to stand guard and the other four went inside with Bukhari and his charge. Robert could assume that security would be heavy throughout Bukhari’s stay. With perseverance, patience, and a little luck, he planned to make Bukhari’s respite brief, and to send him to paradise as quickly as possible.

  Robert set up his 700 on its bipod. He calculated the distance at about 650 yards. That was doable for the Remington, but it would require a precise shot. At the moment, the wind factor was near zero, but that could change on a moment’s notice. Robert planned to take his shot under cover of darkness, which made for a good getaway, but he had to take advantage of any opportunity that Bukhari could be exposed to his crosshairs, and that may mean broad daylight. He hoped for the former.

  At dusk, two of Bukhari’s security detail exited the mobilehome which probably signaled that Bukhari would be on the move. Bukhari and his friend evacuated the mobilehome next, followed by the last two armed guards. Robert followed Bukhari with his optics carefully, seeking the most accurate shot.

  “Come on, a little to the right.”

  Suddenly, one of the guards stepped in-between Bukhari and the intended flight path of Robert’s bullet.

  “Shit!”

  Robert patiently waited for another window, but Bukhari was whisked away in one of the SUVs before he had another opportunity to shoot. It looked to be a long night.

  The convoy settled about 800 yards away, at another mobilehome. Robert looked through his sight and waited for the perfect opportunity to shoot. As they had established as their protocol, the guards in the lead vehicle exited, formed a perimeter, and the guards in the tail vehicle followed suit after the first two guards and then Bukhari and his buddy emerged from the middle vehicle. They were almost completely encircled by their security, but Robert only needed one fraction of a second to identify a shot, aim carefully and fire.

  He got that opportunity just as Bukhari was about to enter the mobilehome. He was ascending several steps, which left his profile open. Robert aimed, fired, and blew his head off, toppling his body from the stairs. Two guards pounced on Bukhari’s lifeless body while Robert aimed, fired, and hit Bukhari’s associate in the head. They jumped to cover him as well, but he was already dead.

  Robert heard the rat-a-tat of automatic fire from the AKMs and saw the muzzle flashes. They were firing at random, but it wouldn’t take more than a minute for a small army of angry jihadists to spot and surround him. He had disturbed the beehive and the bees were furious. They poured out of the mobilehomes like cockroaches, adding more AKM fire to the mix as Robert quickly packed up his gear, saddled up and flew away with his lights off toward Mt. Princeton. There was only one road leading out of Buena Vista that went north or south. Robert stayed off-road and parallel to the 285 southbound. He would meet up with the 50 westbound at Poncha Springs.

  The two SUVs with Bukhari’s failed security team took off in pursuit and the one in which Bukhari and his associate had been riding sped them to the hospital in a futile attempt to save their lives. R
obert looked in his rearview. He could not see the pursuing cars, but he knew that he had only about a ten-minute lead on them and that would most likely be lost because they were at highway speed and he was in the dirt. He still couldn’t risk being exposed to local authorities or other pursuers that may have been alerted to his presence. He flipped on his headlight so he could pick up speed.

  It was dark, but Robert’s escape still put a cloud of dust behind him that was clearly visible from about a quarter mile away. He didn’t know whether the trucks had gone north or south or split up, but there was no way of determining that because he had no air support. He stayed the course, pushing the motorbike to the limit even past the distance he could see in the headlight.

  He saw some lights of cars on the neighboring highway, but nothing going at an abnormally high rate of speed, so he opted to rejoin the highway earlier and avoid being spotted by the side of the road. He could always go off-road again if they did see him. In the dirt, the KLR 650 would prove to be more agile and maneuverable than the bulky Explorers. Robert pumped his speed up to what probably was its limit at 100 mph, and checked the jittery rearview mirror for his pursuers. He spotted one pair of headlights far in the distance, which appeared to be going at an extremely high rate of speed. Robert passed several cars like they were standing still, and kept in the middle lane to use them to cover his position.

  He could see the lone pursuit vehicle gaining distance on him. Their momentum was superior to the 650, which he was pushing past its limits, the RPMs off the charts. Robert could see them closing in on him, about a mile away, and gaining pace. He would wait until the very last possible moment before jumping off the highway, then lose them in the wilderness.

  He spotted the Explorer closing in on him and could see muzzle fire from the side windows, signaling his time to exit the road. Robert leaped over the shoulder in a cloud of dust as he hit the dirt and watched in the side mirror as the Explorer jumped off road also. It had slowed some, but obviously had four-wheel drive, because it carried the desert floor with ease. Robert headed for high ground with the Ford on his tail, guns blazing.