by David Spell
At 0215 hours, it was time. Tu and his team were in place at the rear of the house. They had driven in with their lights off and parked on Elm Street, the next street over from the target location. They then quietly made their way through the neighboring yards and into position. Walker's and Marshall's CDC teams loaded into a white box truck with the rest of the SWAT force at the elementary school. When Trang radioed and said that they were in position in the backyard, Eddie gave the order to move.
The unmarked truck pulled up and stopped one house shy of the suspect address in less than two minutes. Jay rolled the door up as softly as they could and the heavily armed men walked quickly towards the residence. The SWAT officers fanned out and assumed cover positions around the house. Both the front and the rear CDC elements had a SWAT breacher with them. Both men were carrying heavy metal door battering rams that would assure a fast entrance.
The goal was for both the front and rear teams to enter the house at the same time. Sensor lights prevented that from happening. As Eddie and the other officers approached the front door, they were suddenly bathed in light as two spotlights were activated.
Without hesitating, Eddie hit transmit on his radio. "We're compromised. Make entry now!"
Inside the safe house, Usama Husan Zayad was awake instantly, reaching for the 9mm Browning Hi-Power pistol he kept beside the bed. He used the room at the front of the house because the imam often spent the night there and used a rear bedroom. Zayad could react faster to protect him if he was in the front bedroom. Now, he realized that it was himself who needed to be protected.
His senses had been trained by years of fighting and fleeing American forces. Zayad listened. It could have just been a neighborhood dog setting the sensor lights off. No. He heard footsteps. Muffled voices and then, "We're compromised. Make entry now!"
Haseem was sleeping on the couch in the living room. He was another prison convert but had proven faithful and loyal. His primary job was to make sure that Terrell Hill did not leave before the imam allowed it. Once Hill had been given a job, Haseem would make sure that Terrell completed his assignment. He also provided security for the safe house. Maybe he can slow them down, Usama thought.
A loud crashing came from the front of the residence and then another from the rear. Two explosions rocked the residence. Flash bang grenades, the terrorist recognized. The Americans loved to use those. He was shielded from the full effects of the blasts inside his bedroom. Haseem might not be so lucky out in the living room.
Usama instinctively knew that he was surrounded. Even escape through the window would be futile, as he guessed that more law enforcement was surrounding the house, watching and waiting. This was Allah's will. He had fought the infidels for many years. Maybe he could kill a few more before they killed him.
The SWAT breacher with Eddie's and Jay's teams slammed the metal battering ram into the front door, shattering the frame and opening the door on the first strike. Every breacher's goal was a one strike entry. Eddie tossed the flash bang inside and then turned away from the entrance. As soon as it exploded, he was in, the muzzle of his suppressed M4 leading the way, the flashlight illuminating the hallway in front of him. Marshall could see another hallway up to the left and what was probably the living room straight ahead. The flash and crack of another grenade went off in that area.
"Police officers! Search warrant!" he yelled, putting those inside the residence on notice as the law required.
To their right was a dining area and another doorway that appeared to lead into the kitchen. Jay and his three officers peeled off to the right and cleared the kitchen and circled around towards the living room. The deafening blast of a shotgun rang out from just in front of Walker in the living room.
Tu had thrown his stun grenade through the back door after it was smashed open. It had exploded on the opposite side of the room from Haseem and only slowed him down momentarily. Trang and his team burst into the living room from the rear door just as Haseem fired his Mossberg twelve gauge shotgun down the front hallway towards Eddie and his team. Trang heard a grunt from that direction and brought his rifle up. Movement to his left. He recognized Jay coming into the living room from the kitchen.
The big black man with the shotgun racked the slide, ejecting the spent shell and loading another one. He tried to swing the Mossberg towards the new threats behind him. Before he could get off a second shot, Jay and Tu both fired, striking Haseem in the torso and head with 5.56mm rounds. As Walker's and Trang's teams kept moving forward, Trang fired one more shot into the downed gunman's head. Smoke and the smell of cordite filled the air.
Eddie had felt the heat of the shotgun blast go by him and heard Jimmy groan in pain. He heard the shots from the living room and saw the muzzle flashes lighting up the dark house. Marshall peeked down the hallway to his left and saw a figure sticking his head out of a doorway ten feet down and then a pistol rising towards him. Everything slowed down but Eddie felt like he had to move faster. The gun was almost pointed at him. Marshall sighted on the man's forehead and fired two shots. A red mist hung in the air as Usama Hasan Zayad fell to the floor, dead.
Marshall kept his rifle pointed down the hallway. There were three more closed doors that would have to be checked. "Status report?" he called over his shoulder.
"One tango down in the living room," Walker said.
"And I've got one down in a doorway, first room on the left. I think it's Usama," said Eddie. "Jimmy, are you ok?"
"I'm hit. My vest stopped most of it but I may have a cracked rib," the assistant team leader answered, the pain evident in his voice.
"Go out and get the SWAT medic to check you."
"I'm fine, Eddie."
"That's an order, Jimmy. We've got plenty of officers to clear the rest of the house. Go!"
Jimmy turned and left the residence.
The crashing sounds, the explosions, the loud voices announcing the presence of the police, and then the sound of gunfire woke Terrell up. He threw himself off the bed and ducked behind it, between the bed and the wall. He did not have a weapon and his bedroom was an interior one without any windows. Oh, man, they were coming to get him.
What should he do? he wondered. If he gave himself up, they would give him the death penalty. He would go back to prison for ten years before they finally strapped him to a gurney and killed him. Maybe I could get the police to kill me, he thought. He had never thought about suicide before. At least this way, he said to himself, I can go out as a warrior. Anything was better than going back to prison and then being executed like an animal.
Estrada and Rogers quickly cleared the room that Usama had come out of and then the one across the hall from it. Eddie, with Hollywood and Chris behind him, was about to turn the doorknob of the next room when the door was flung open and Terrell Hill threw himself out into the hallway. A less experienced officer would have shot Hill then and there but taking him alive was important if they could do it.
Marshall quickly saw that the terrorist did not have anything in his hands and was not an immediate threat. He swung the stock of his rifle into Hill's face, snapping his head back and ripping open his cheek. Terrell staggered but did not go down. He drew back his right hand to punch the big federal officer, but Eddie was faster, stepping in with an elbow strike that impacted on the bridge of his nose, breaking it and knocking him into the wall.
As a bloody Terrell Hill slid down the wall to a sitting position, Marshall drove a knee into his face to make sure he stayed down, the terrorist's head smashing through the sheetrock of the hallway wall. Alejandro and Chris grabbed the unconscious man, handcuffed him, and searched him. They dragged him towards the front door. Jay and his team moved up to help Eddie finish clearing the house.
#
Springfield, Virginia, Friday, 0300 hours
The full-size black Ford van was there within thirty minutes of Eddie calling Chuck and giving him a status update. Terrell Hill was handcuffed and secured in a police car with a SWAT offic
er guarding him. A paramedic had already checked Hill and said that his nose was broken, he probably had a few other broken bones on his face, and had likely suffered a concussion. The paramedic had cleaned the cut on Terrell's cheek as best he could and put a bandage onto it.
Two muscular white men, both sporting thick beards, got out of the van and approached the CDC officers. They were wearing black t-shirts and jeans. Their pistols were only partially covered by their shirts.
Eddie, Jay, and Tu walked over to the newcomers. One of them was holding a clipboard. "Which one of you guys is Marshall?" he asked.
"That's me," Eddie said. "You guys here for Hill?"
"Please sign here," he said, handing Marshall the clipboard. Eddie shone his light on the paperwork to see what he was signing. He scribbled his name on the form and handed the clipboard back.
The other bearded man glanced at Jay Walker and his face registered surprise. Jay had recognized him, too, but the man shook his head slightly before Walker could say anything.
The bearded men took Terrell out of the police car and secured his hands and feet with restraints, attaching them to a belly chain around his waist. As they moved him towards the van, the terrorist found his voice.
"I need a doctor. I want to go to the hospital. And I want to press charges on all of those officers who beat me up."
One of the bearded men opened the back of the van to reveal a secure metal cage, tall enough for someone to sit inside. He opened the cage door and motioned for Terrell to get in. "Where are you taking me? I'm not getting in there. I need medical attention," the prisoner demanded and tried to back away.
The two men grabbed Hill, picked him up, slid him into the cage, and secured the door. They then got into the van and drove off without looking back.
"Well, that was strange," said Tu.
"You're telling me," said Jay. "I know that guy who was driving the van. He was a SEAL. He was on Team Six just as I was getting there and then he left. The rumor was that he was going to go work for the CIA."
Trang nodded. "And the other guy was a Delta operator, the last I knew. He was in special forces and then one day he was gone. We heard he had gone to Delta. And now they're doing prisoner transports? But who are they transporting for?"
"If anybody asks," Eddie injected, "Hill was taken for questioning by officials of the DHS."
"What was on the clipboard you signed?" asked Tru.
Eddie smiled. "Nothing really. Just a piece of paper with Hill's name on it, this address, and a place for me to sign."
The Asian man shook his head. "Sounds kind of shady to me. Is that even legal?"
Marshall wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't authorized to discuss anything about the CIA's involvement in what they were doing. "Well, guys, we just killed two dangerous terrorists and arrested the worst mass murderer in American history. If I had to guess, other government agencies want to have a chat with Mr. Hill to see what he knows. It might not fit nicely into our law enforcement framework, but good riddance to him."
Jimmy's wound was not serious but was painful. His body armor had stopped most of the blast of buckshot that Haseem had fired. One .30 caliber pellet had hit him in the side panel of the vest but had not penetrated all the way. It felt like he might have a broken rib. Jones had been transported to the closest hospital to be tended to. Chris Rogers rode with him for moral support.
The FBI's Supervisory Special Agent Daniel Ward had not wanted to respond to a shooting scene involving CDC agents in the middle of the night. He especially did not want to deal with Walker or Marshall again. He alerted his team, however, and got there at 0400 hours. When the CDC supervisors walked him through the scene, the FBI agent realized quickly that this was going to be scrutinized at the highest levels. How had this Usama guy even gotten into the country and what was he up to? Ward wondered.
The garage at the Islamic "charity house" appeared to have been Usama's workshop. There were explosives, detonators, vests, and a refrigerator that contained several half-liter bottles of a clear liquid. A Nissan Pathfinder SUV was parked in the garage with it's rear cargo door open. Usama had been installing explosives in this one but it appeared to be a work in progress. The officers kept the garage door shut to prevent nosey neighbors or reporters from seeing what they were working on.
A Fairfax County Police Explosives Ordinance Disposal expert made sure there were no live devices present in the garage. The bomb in the Pathfinder looked like it was almost complete but still needed a few more elements. The EOD officer saw something in the corner of the room that made him stop suddenly.
"Why don't you guys step out of the garage and wait outside. I need to check something."
They followed him out of the house while he retrieved a small electronic item from the SWAT truck. He disappeared into the garage again but was back within a minute.
"There's radioactive material, maybe nuclear waste, in a yellow bucket in the garage. They were building dirty bombs," the bomb expert said.
#
Northeast of Atlanta, Friday, 0430 hours
McCain couldn't sleep after Eddie's call, updating him on their shootout and what they had discovered, and finally got up and made a pot of coffee. He was planning to fly up to Virginia later in the morning on the Department of Homeland Security's corporate jet. Thankfully, with the exception of Jimmy's minor wound, Eddie and his team were fine. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission would be advised about the discovery of nuclear materials, but not until later.
They did not need the dirty bomb story to hit the news yet. With the terrorism element involved, it was important that only minimal information be released to the public. The zombie virus had spread panic nation-wide, causing thousands of people to flee from the various targeted cities. In many cases, however, they had taken the virus with them into the nation's interior.
If the terrorists were now creating dirty bombs, it could easily create the worst panic the United States had ever known. And, at this point, no one knew if any of these bombs had been deployed yet. The presence of radioactive materials and explosives together was an ominous find, though. Chuck was especially curious as to what the clear liquid was that was found in the refrigerator. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer.
McCain was also apprehensive that Andy and Scotty were heading for their stakeout in North Georgia by themselves. They had briefed him on their mission the previous evening. Chuck's only concern was that they were so far from backup. They would be almost two hours north of Atlanta and the local law enforcement in that area was spread very thin and lacked the training of the metro Atlanta police agencies. At the same time, if there were ever two men who could hold their own against terrorists, zombies, or any other threats, it was Fleming and Smith.
As he sipped his third cup of coffee, McCain opened his Bible and read a few Psalms and a chapter out of Proverbs. He prayed for wisdom and for protection for his daughter, his men and for himself. He asked for courage for all of them and prayed that the plans of the wicked would be exposed. When he was finished, Chuck took a deep breath and closed his Bible. I might as well go on in to the office, he thought.
As he drove to CDC HQ, Chuck dialed Shaun Taylor's number. If I'm awake, he can wake up, too, Chuck thought. The groggy voice of Admiral Williams' assistant answered and McCain said he had some important new information for their boss. When he was sure that Taylor was awake, Chuck told him about the radioactive materials in the bomb maker's workshop.
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Taylor finally found his voice. "Thanks, Chuck. I'll pass this on to the admiral."
Chuck got to HQ, worked out, showered, and was at his desk by 0630 hours. He had gotten the text that Andy and Scotty were in place and watching their target location. They suspected that the two buildings and the large gravel parking area were being used as a terrorist training camp. Andy said there were seven cars and two vans there. No one was stirring yet.
At 0645 hours, McCain heard
their office door open. Their administrative aide, Vanessa, did not normally report until 0800 hours and the rest of his men were out on assignments. Chuck walked to his door and peered down the hallway. Luis García was limping towards him, wearing a stiff walking cast on his injured ankle.
"Hey, Luis. Good to see you. I thought you weren't coming back until next week. How're you feeling?"
"Hey, boss. I took a few days off but I was bored out of my mind at home and figured I could do something here."
Chuck smiled broadly. "It's great to have you back. Come on in here and let me give you a run down on everything that's going on."
#
Gilmer County, North Georgia, Friday, 0500 hours
Andy and Scotty had been on the road since 0300 hours and were finally nearing their destination. After studying the satellite imagery provided by the NSA, as well poring over Google maps, they both felt that they had discovered a terrorist training camp. Some of the photos were just a week old and showed around twenty men training in hand-to-hand combat. One of the latest images showed the gravel parking area, packed with multiple vehicles, that wrapped around two buildings. One of the structures was bigger and looked like a small house or dormitory with the other possibly being used as a storage facility.
This area of North Georgia was very rural and it was not hard to find secluded areas to grow and manufacture drugs or to train terrorists. The closest town was Elijay and it was almost twenty miles northeast of the suspect location. The officers located the address in the intel folder that Chuck had given Andy to dig through and a little investigation revealed that the one thousand acre tract of land was owned by an Islamic non-profit organization. They could find no specific information on this particular NPO, however, which indicated that it was probably a charity in name only.
