When the Stars Fell From the Sky

by David Spell

  "It was kind of a no-win situation," said Chuck, shrugging. "If you'd done nothing, all twenty-two terrorists would have gotten away. Another question: did any of the dead guys turn into zombies?"

  Scotty shook his head. "No, but we were making head shots and after the explosions, there wasn't much left to reanimate."

  McCain looked as if he was thinking about how much he should say. He decided to share it all and looked at the other federal agents. "The reason I was asking about zombies is that one of our teams is in the DC area tracking one of the tangos from the UGA attack. They hit a house early this morning and got into a shoot out. They arrested the UGA terrorist and killed two others. One of them happened to be a really bad guy. He was a professional bomb maker who had killed a lot of Americans in Iraq.

  "He's dead now but at the house they found radioactive materials and a liquid that I'm almost positive is going to be the zombie virus. It looked like he'd been turning out some suicide vests of his own. Small dirty bombs laced with the zombie virus. Oh, and he was making car bombs and doing the same thing with them."

  Agent Burns and the ATF agents all looked pale. This was news to them and they questioned what else they hadn't heard. Burns wondered again about Chuck McCain. He had intelligence and sources that the FBI did not. There was much more to him than met the eye.

  "I'm sure by now our guys up in DC have notified the ATF to come and process the scene and the FBI has been there helping, as well. As we get our forensics people working on this mess," he motioned with his hand towards the scene behind them, "let's check closely to see if we can find any traces of radioactive material or the zombie virus."

  Clean Up Crew supervisor, Nancy Long, had already started walking the scene and making notes on a clipboard. She had a camera around her neck and was snapping photo after photo of the carnage. Both of the Clean Up Crews were on their way to the location, along with a team from the FBI and the ATF. It was going to be a long day.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  East Coast Destruction

  37,000 feet, Friday, 1430 hours

  Luis García was glad to be back at work. His ankle still hurt but as a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu black belt and instructor, he had a high tolerance for pain. He glanced at Chuck sitting across the small aisle from him in the Lear jet, tapping away on his laptop. Luis knew that he and Rebecca had loved each other, no matter how much they had downplayed it, and he couldn't imagine how horrible it must have been for McCain to watch her die in front of his eyes.

  Rebecca Johnson had been a friend, as well as a boss, and she had always treated Luis well. Johnson had really given him a fresh start and he would always be grateful to her for that. His law enforcement career had begun as a City of Miami police officer. The son of Cuban immigrants, García worked hard to make his parents proud.

  He had worked as a bouncer at a few of the nicer Cuban clubs but always aspired to make a difference with his life. Miami police officers often worked part-time jobs as security at these establishments and Luis became friends with several. They had encouraged him to apply to join the police department.

  After twelve years as a local police officer, Luis began thinking about going federal. The only agency that would even talk to him, since he didn't have a college degree, was the Secret Service. He found out later they were being told that they had to hire more minorities. When García heard that, he was angry. He didn't want to be anyone's token anything.

  His friend and fellow agent, Tu Trang, had calmed him down and given him some fresh perspective. "Don't worry about why they hired you, Luis. You're here now and doing a great job. Make them respect you because of who you are and for your work ethic."

  When he had first started with the Secret Service he realized it was not what he had envisioned. Because of his law enforcement background, his first assignment was as an investigative agent. The Secret Service has jurisdiction over counterfeit money, cyber-crimes, and many other forms of financial fraud.

  These investigators were also called upon to follow up on threats made towards the President, Vice-President, and other protectees. Usually, these were mentally unbalanced people who had not thought through the results of sending a threatening letter or email to the White House. The last thing that they expected was Secret Service Special Agent García and his partner knocking on their door. In most cases, it was obvious that these people were not a legitimate threat and knowing they were now on the Secret Service's radar was enough to keep them walking the straight and narrow.

  After three years as an investigator, Luis applied to get on a protection detail. His dream was to get on the counter assault team but he knew he had to pay his dues. He was assigned to protect an elderly former President. It wasn't exciting work but the aging man and the former First Lady were beautiful people and treated the protective detail like members of their family.

  When he was finally approved to try out for the counter assault team, García was thrilled. Even though he was one of the older guys in his group at thirty-eight, his lifetime regimen of martial arts training and fitness kept him in the front of the pack. Being older also allowed him to handle the mental games and the stress that the instructors put on the applicants.

  One hundred and ten men started the six-week CAT course. At the end, only twenty-two were left. The instructors seemed surprised that the, "little, old, Hispanic guy" had made it. Not only had García passed the course, he was ranked number three out of his class. After sweating thru the grueling application process, the real learning had started.

  Luis was assigned to a team where he spent three more months, training with his new teammates. The protective details in the Secret Service are designed to remove the President or other protectee out of a hostile environment as quickly as possible. Protection details are not trained to go after the threat unless it is in close proximity to the person they are protecting.

  The CAT, however, is trained to respond with overwhelming force to suppress and neutralize attackers. They counter assault team is also responsible for the logistics of Presidential trips. These agents arrive a week ahead of the President or Vice-President and coordinate all the security details with with local and other federal law enforcement agencies.

  After joining his team, García realized that unless they were on a mission, they were training. They practiced every possible scenario that they might encounter. The CAT agents also focused on their weapons skills, shooting hundreds of rounds every week.

  When Luis' team was given an assignment, he was excited. This was what it was all about. His group was being sent to Amsterdam as an advance team for a Presidential visit as he made a European tour. The President and his entourage would be staying in a five star hotel and the CAT was sent to set up security arrangements.

  During the day, the agents met with law enforcement officials to discuss and set up protective measures for the President's trip. They looked at each building the President would be visiting, marking entrances, exits, and possible safe rooms. Motorcade routes were planned in conjunction with the local police so that they could make sure the roads were clear and side streets were blocked.

  In the evenings, after the day's work was done, however, Luis found out that his teammates drank and partied. He had never been much of a drinker, but he was the junior guy on his five man team. Even though he was older than all but one of his fellow CAT agents, he was new to the unit. For the first two nights, García nursed a single beer while his friends drank themselves into a stupor and tried to pick up women in the hotel bar.

  On the third night, after sitting with his teammates at the bar for an hour, Luis excused himself and went to the hotel fitness center. He worked out and stretched for an hour, showered, and went to bed. At 0330 hours, his phone rang. He answered it on the first ring, wide awake.

  "Hello?"

  An accented voice said, "Are you with the American Secret Service detail?"

  "Who is this?"

  "I am sergeant with the Amsterdam Police. I need you to c
ome down to the bar. Your friends are drunk and causing big problems."

  "I'll be right down."

  When he got off the elevator in the lobby, he could hear the yelling. Mike, his team leader, was poking a uniformed police officer in the chest and screaming profanities at him. Larry, a teammate, was handcuffed and sitting on the floor, staring at his feet. Luis' other two teammates were standing just behind Mike, looking like they were ready to start fighting the local police officers.

  Three other Dutch police were staring apprehensively at the scene, not sure how to proceed. Two female waitresses were standing nearby, one of them crying. The other had her arm wrapped protectively around her friend's shoulders.

  Mike yelled at the sergeant, "You need to take those handcuffs off of him right now and walk out of here and go back to writing parking tickets. You don't know who you're messing with."

  Luis shook his head. This was not going to end well, he thought. He stepped in front of Mike, between him and the police officer. Mike's breath reeked of alcohol.

  "I got this, Mike. Let me talk to the officers."

  Even though Luis was the junior man, Mike had already come to like and respect him. He knew Luis had years of law enforcement experience and was cool under pressure.

  Mike took a step backwards, took a deep breath, and nodded. García turned back to the Dutch officers, smiling in an effort to diffuse the situation.

  "I'm sorry for all of this, officers. What can we do to resolve it?"

  The sergeant, who had been getting poked in the chest, motioned for Luis to step away from the group. The other three Dutch officers watched Larry and his cohorts warily.

  "Your friends are very drunk and caused a bad situation," the sergeant said.

  "I'm really sorry about that. I tried to keep an eye on them but then I went to bed. I'm not much of a drinker," Luis shrugged. "What did Larry do? He's the one you have handcuffed."

  The sergeant sighed. "He tried to kiss that girl who is crying. He asked her to go to his room but she said no and he grabbed her and put his hands all over her. Hotel security called us. When we got here, Larry was passed out at the table. The girl pointed him out and told us what he did so we handcuffed him. The other men acted like they wanted to fight us."

  No, this is not going to end well, Luis told himself again.

  "Ok, are you going to arrest him? I was a City of Miami cop before I went to work for the Secret Service. I understand you have a job to do but I'll need to know what to tell my superiors."

  "You seemed to have calmed your other friends down," the officer observed. "Maybe, I can talk to the girl and see if she will not prosecute? I can try and if you will give me your word that this will not happen again, I will go back to 'writing parking tickets' as your friend said."

  "Hey, I know you guys do a lot more than that and we need to stay friends. Mike's just had a little bit too much to drink and didn't really mean that. We need your department's help when our President visits in a few days. Why don't you talk to her and I'll talk to my guys and make sure they aren't going to cause any more problems?"

  In the end, the waitress declined to prosecute Larry but the hotel management forbade them from entering the bar or hotel restaurant during the rest of their stay. The Amsterdam police sergeant documented the incident and turned the report in at the end of his shift. When the Chief Commissioner of the district police in Amsterdam reviewed the report the next day, he picked up the phone and called the American Embassy to lodge a formal complaint.

  Luis was hoping the incident was over and that his teammates would learn from their close call with the local authorities. Later that day, however, Mike received a call from their Supervisory Special Agent in Washington, D.C., ordering them home immediately. Another CAT would be arriving within a few hours to take their place.

  All of the men were interviewed by internal affairs when they returned to Washington. Within a week of the incident, the investigation was complete. Garcia's four teammates were transferred out of CAT to the Uniformed Division. This was as far down as they could be demoted without being fired. Larry and Mike were given two-week suspensions and the other two were suspended for one week.

  The Supervisory Special Agent met with Luis last and told him that he, too, was being transferred out of CAT but not being suspended.

  "I'm sorry, García. Your teammates all said you weren't involved and actually got things calmed down without Larry, or anyone else, getting arrested."

  "So, why am I being kicked out of CAT?" Luis asked, incredulously.

  "That was the Deputy Director's call. He said you should have been watching over your friends and kept this from happening."

  Luis opened his mouth to protest, but the supervisory agent cut him off with a wave of his hand. "It's done, Luis. There's no arguing with the man. He wants to be able to say that all of the agents have been disciplined and reassigned. What I will do, though, is give you your pick of assignments. If you want to go back to protection, there is an opening on the VP's detail. That's a good slot. If you want to do something else, I'll make it happen."

  García had a lot of vacation time built up and asked for a week off to think about his options. He knew he would probably take the slot on the Vice-President's detail. That was a prestigious position and would put him in line for the Presidential detail at some point. If he performed well, maybe he could get back on the counter assault team, he thought.

  Luis had also considered taking a corporate security job. He had done quite a bit of bodyguard work over the years when he had been a local cop and as a federal cop. When a client needed him, he would take vacation for the week or two that the particular job required.

  All his training and traveling with the Secret Service had taken a toll on his jiu-jitsu training. A week of good, hard rolling was what he needed to clear his head. When he was in town in DC, he always went to his Brazilian friend's school to train and sometimes teach.

  The following Tuesday night, a very attractive, tall, blonde woman was waiting for him at the martial arts school, wearing a pink gi. He noted her purple belt and caught himself staring at her. Luis had been divorced twice. His first wife left him when he became a police officer in Miami. His second wife divorced him when he went to work for the Secret Service. Now, he figured he would be single for life.

  "Hi, are you Luis García? I'm Rebecca Johnson. I was hoping to get a private lesson with you tonight if you can work me in. I called ahead and got the price. I've been a little sporadic in my training and I was thinking that private instruction might be the way to go."

  "For sure," Luis said, a little too eagerly. "Private instruction is the best way to progress quickly. I see you've gotten your purple belt, so you're at an advanced level. With private lessons, if you train hard, you could probably earn your black belt in two years."

  Her eyes lit up. "Really? That'd be great."

  García took Johnson through a warmup, stretching, and then an intermediate workout. She was technically solid, just a little rusty. As the professional instructor that he was, he had forgotten for a moment how attractive she was and was thinking of how he could help her improve in her jiu-jitsu.

  After an hour of rolling and working intermediate and some advanced techniques, Luis and Rebecca sat with their backs against the wall, cooling down, and sipping water. There were no other students around them. Luis was about to ask her about herself. He wanted to know a little more about this beautiful woman sitting beside him.

  Without making eye contact, Rebecca spoke first. "I'm sorry about what happened to you in Amsterdam."

  Luis's head shot around. "What did you say?" he demanded.

  "I said, 'I'm sorry about what happened to you in Amsterdam.' You got shafted."

  No one knew about that incident outside of the upper levels of the Secret Service. It had not hit the news yet, thankfully. She must be a reporter, he quickly surmised.

  García angrily started to push himself to his feet. "No comment. Class i
s over."

  "Luis, please sit down. I work for another branch of the government and I have a job offer for you. I promise that's all. Just listen to what I have to say. If you aren't interested, no problem. I'll still be back Thursday for my next lesson."

  He eyed her suspiciously but sat back down. "You want to offer me a job? What kind of job?"

  For the next twenty minutes, Rebecca told him about the CDC's new federal law enforcement agency that the President had created by Executive Order. When she was done, he stared at her without saying anything. Was this what he was looking for? Who was he fooling? Of course it was.

  Even if he took the position on the VP's detail, he was always going to be that agent who got kicked off the counter assault team for partying in Amsterdam. The Secret Service would never put him back on CAT. Once black-balled, always black-balled. This was the chance for a fresh start, and to be on the cutting edge of the war on terrorism was a great opportunity for him to really make a difference.

  "Why the charade? Why not just call me?" he asked.

  Rebecca laughed. "This was no charade. I love jiu-jitsu and heard that you're a pretty good instructor. I figured I'd multi-task. Get some training in and try to recruit you."

  García shook his head. Wow, she has a beautiful smile, he realized. "How did you hear about me? I didn't realize the CDC had such good intel and that thing in Amsterdam is not public knowledge."

  She laughed again. "Oh, you'd be surprised at how good our intel is."

  When Rebecca came for her Thursday night lesson, Luis told her that he would take the job.

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