He turned with a smile as the four plates appeared on a large screen in front of them.
“Got them, sir.”
“Good. Trace them. I want to know who they belong to, where they came from, and where they went. Whoever did this are traitors to their country and must be stopped.”
Booker spun on his heel and headed toward the prisoner’s cell. They had identified her as CIA Agent Sherrie White, apparently only on the job for a couple of years. He felt almost insulted that they’d send a junior agent to investigate him, but all it meant was that the CIA had no damned clue at the time what they had stumbled upon. But now they knew. Their tap had been discovered and according to what his techs could pull, they had been accessing footage of the interrogations as well as the entire facility.
He had managed to nip it in the bud with the isolation of Langley, all communications cut or jammed, but who had been responsible inside was unknown. But he had a hunch. According to Homeland Security files a CIA Senior Analyst named Chris Leroux was living at the same address on file for White.
He doubted they were just roommates.
Which meant he now had leverage over her.
He felt no guilt in what he was doing. What was happening was necessary. ‘A necessary evil’ he had called it. The country had gone astray, blinded to the enemy within by political correctness gone mad. Islam was the greatest threat to the world today and America had to purge itself before it was too late. Europe was already in crisis with murders being committed by crazed fundamentalists and they were powerless to stop the spread. Muslims had more children than Westerners and it would just be a matter of time before they outnumbered those that had fought for generations to build the freest societies history had ever known.
And he’d be damned if he let that all fall apart because some whacko civil rights activists thought discriminating against one religion was “not nice”. The fact was Islam wasn’t compatible with any other religion on the face of the Earth. It was the only religion that demanded it be the ultimate religion, dominant over all others. It actively encouraged forced conversion and murder of the non-believers.
Not a single other religion on Earth advocated that.
The Judeo-Christian values Western societies were based upon were fundamentally incompatible with those of Islam, which most of the West didn’t realize was much more than a religion. It was also the framework for law and governance. Sharia Law was integral to Islam. There was no Islam without Sharia Law, as there was no Sharia Law without Islam. And with the Koran and the approved follow-on interpretations of its teachings advocating the creation of a Caliphate that would rule the world under the flag of Islam, it was a clear and present danger to the United States and all likeminded countries.
He had realized it long before ISIS had come on the scene. He had witnessed it in Iraq, a religion so twisted that they killed each other over a thousand year debate on who should have succeeded Mohammed after he died. Christianity had gone through this as well, but had grown up long ago. Islam showed no sign of ever growing up, and he and the likeminded individuals now fixing the problem were determined to make certain their barbaric ways of thinking wouldn’t harm this country.
And when we’re successful, Europe will follow.
Political leaders around the world were condemning the actions now underway, but he had it on good authority that the back channels were carefully monitoring the successes and failures, just in case they needed to enact similar measures. Already there was rioting by Muslims in Toronto, London and Paris, with the non-Muslim populations of these cities demanding similar actions, though they had yet to experience the level of terror that had been orchestrated here.
He did feel bad for the victims, but sometimes the spilling of innocent blood was necessary, and every one of those who died did so paying the ultimate price to serve their country. They were patriots, whether they knew it or not. History would be written by the victors, and those “responsible” had already been identified, their arrests and executions for treason to begin in the coming weeks, but not until the scourge had been removed. Enough would “slip through” the cracks to maintain the heightened state of fear that would be necessary for America to remain vigilant, and his group would orchestrate additional attacks should the civilian regime, once it was returned to power, waver in its commitment to keep America safe.
But he was confident the American people, after a few years of feeling safe, would kick out any government that would put them at risk again.
The only question now that the plan had succeeded was how long to hang on to power. It would take years to deport everyone, properly vetting them for terrorist ties, and until that job was done power had to remain with the military. As long as martial law was in place they could proceed—it didn’t matter who was at the helm, who was the figurehead. General Thorne was doing a fine job but should he be replaced with someone else, it didn’t matter. The plan was being implemented quickly and the public for the moment continued to support the moves, cooperating with the authorities and cheering them as their convoys passed in the streets.
It helped that the attacks had been ratcheted down, “proving” to the public that the policies were working and that some of the guilty were among those already rounded up.
The troops were following their orders, nothing illegal being asked of them. The illegal operations were handled by Raven Defense Services personnel, thousands of them deployed across the country to act on a moment’s notice should anything go awry.
And so far the only problem was from Langley, which was temporarily neutralized.
Now he just needed to find out how much they knew, and who knew it.
And Sherrie White’s boyfriend, Chris Leroux, would be his means to figuring this out.
US-Canada border, north of Havre, Montana
Dylan Kane scanned the horizon but could see nothing. Civilian air traffic had been almost non-existent for days, most airlines grounding their flights after LAX and LaGuardia were bombed. It was an eerie quiet in the skies, reminiscent of 9/11 when everything was ordered grounded except for military flights. The occasional contrail in the sky belonged to military transports and fighters, but at the moment nothing was near them.
And less than a mile away lay the border with Canada, essentially unguarded.
Security had been stepped up dramatically since 9/11 on this once undefended border, but only because morons, many of them politicians and political appointees, kept operating under the false belief that some or all of the 9/11 terrorists came across the Canadian border. The fact was not a single terrorist involved in those attacks came through Canada. As confirmed by the 9/11 Commission, every single one of them had a valid US Visa when they entered the country, and all entered on flights originating from outside North America. The closest any came to Canada might have been flying over it on their way to JFK or sampling Canadian bacon while drinking alcohol and watching strippers before killing Christians for being infidels that did the same.
Kane had Canadian friends and colleagues and he knew how pissed off they got when they heard these “inaccuracies” as they put it—they were simply too polite to call it was it was—spoken by leading American politicians and commentators.
And he shared those frustrations. People needed to realize that the threat could come from anywhere under the guise of a student or tourist, from anywhere in the world.
Or from within, as he felt the American public had been made to think with recent events.
And now America was no longer America, he and his companions now the villains, the terrorists trying to cross the very border falsely blamed for contributing to the darkest moment in American history.
“Do you see anything?” asked Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson as he stood on the runner of their SUV, scanning their surroundings. They had swapped their vehicle for an SUV a few hours ago, a retired Delta Force operator happy to help his comrades. They had a hearty meal, showers, and his wife had insiste
d their clothes be laundered. Kane was certain Lee Fang was the most appreciative of the taste of civilization.
It had “wasted” two hours but it had been well worth it, the SUV much better than the Impala on the ground they were now covering, roads being avoided. Master Sergeant Mike “Red” Belme’s vehicle had already reported road blocks along the entire Canadian border and UAV patrols. They had managed to cross two hours ago by “borrowing” an old Jeep and crossing through some farm fields. The other two teams were already across in a similar manner and were on their way to Ontario to cross the border back into the United States through the Akwesasne Reserve that straddled the border.
They were the last to cross thanks to their layover.
“No, I think we’re clear,” said Kane. “Let’s just hope there aren’t any UAV’s we can’t see.”
Dawson nodded. “Agreed.”
They climbed back in and Niner put the SUV in gear, slowly pulling toward the border.
“Keep it slow, we don’t want to be throwing up too much dust,” said Dawson.
“Yes’m,” squeaked Niner, the Korean American comedian of the Bravo Team. Kane grinned at Fang who he was pretty sure wasn’t certain what to make of Niner, his jokes non-stop during the entire time they had been together.
“Nine o’clock!” she suddenly shouted, pointing out the driver side window. All heads turned as two plumes of dust rose on the dry land. Kane raised his binoculars and looked.
“Border patrol. Punch it Chewie.”
Niner did a remarkably good Chewbacca roar as he floored it, their own dust trail blossoming behind them.
“Looks like regular Border patrol, not military,” observed Dawson, his head poked out the sunroof. “I doubt they’ll pursue across the border.”
“Agreed, but they’ll definitely be radioing this in.”
“Another one to our right,” announced Fang.
“Jesus Christ, they’re close!” yelled Niner as he stole a glance. He adjusted slightly left, still trying to make a straight run for the border which was less than half a mile away.
“Down!” shouted Dawson as he dropped back inside, Kane throwing his body over Fang, gun shots ringing out, the distinct ping of one finding their target causing them all to curse.
“Not even sixty seconds, BD!”
“They could take us out before that!” yelled Kane.
Dawson took a bead on the nearest vehicle with his MP5. “I’m not shooting guys just doing their job!”
Kane grabbed Niner’s MP5 sitting in the rear then rolled his window down. “Hit the brakes on three! Three rounds in each engine block, then hit the gas!”
“Three-two-one-now!” shouted Niner, hitting the brakes, bringing them to a halt in a cloud of dust, the border only a few hundred yards away.
Kane took aim, firing three rapid shots at the first vehicle as he heard Dawson do the same. Two of his shots were true and smoke began to pour from the engine compartment. He repeated the effort on the second vehicle, it swerving after the first shots were fired, his second group taking out the vehicle from the side.
“Go!” he yelled, Niner already revving the engine in neutral. The SUV leapt forward as he put it in Drive and they were soon across the border, three border patrol vehicles left behind them, disabled, with no casualties on either side.
But as Kane watched them through his binoculars, he could see one of them on the radio, calling in their location.
This isn’t over yet.
Shore Haven Apartments, Brooklyn, New York
The screeching of tires and slamming of doors had Samir jumping for the window. What he saw below from his eighth floor apartment sent his heart into his throat. Uniformed men, head to toe black with ski masks pulled over their faces were swarming out of several large cube vans, Raven Defense Services emblazoned on the sides.
And the sight of half a dozen school buses arriving crushed any doubt he had as to why they were here.
It was the purge.
Friends he had been corresponding with over the Internet and by phone were telling of large apartment complexes known to have significant Muslim populations being raided by private security. It was happening all over the country in every city in America. Most round ups that were being reported on CNN and other stations showed peaceful searches conducted by local police, but it was the ones that only made the foreign websites that troubled him and those like him.
And now they were here for him and his family.
His wife had begged him to let them go to one of the “Secure Facilities” set up by the Governor but he had refused, calling them Muslim Concentration Camps. His father in Pakistan had laughed at him when he called them that, telling him he was a fool to believe the Jewish pig’s false history. Samir had hung up on him, unwilling to listen to the hatred spewed by an uneducated simpleton. He loved his father but his backward beliefs were why they were in the situation they were in today.
Samir considered himself a good Muslim, but his version of good Muslim and that of the radicals were two completely different things. He prayed, but didn’t lose any sleep over missing one of the demanded sessions. He attended his mosque once a week, but no more. He felt the Quran was a guidebook, but not law. It wasn’t that he felt you could necessarily pick and choose what to obey and what not to obey, it was that he felt it all needed to be put into the context of the time it was written in. The Quran for example had so many references on how to properly go to the bathroom, if they were all followed, one would be using fingers, rocks and shitting in a hole in the ground.
Much of the Quran was a product of its time and he felt could safely be ignored as being such. Including the mistrust of other religions. In the seventh century when Mohammed relayed the teachings of the archangel Gabriel to those who could actually read and write he was the leader of a small tribe, constantly under threat. With religious fervor in his heart, he conquered neighboring tribes, forcing them to submit to his new religion, or die.
Most submitted.
It was this mistrust of his neighbors that Samir felt was what caused the Quran to be so violent and mistrusting of others. And as the Quran continued to be written, more and more of it seemed to be aimed at capitalizing on that mistrust, stirring up a hatred for Jews and Christians so that newly converted Muslim populations would be more likely to turn on Mohammed’s enemies, for these populations truly were his enemies. Jews and Christians fought among each other, as they did the Muslims. All were fighting to prove their version of God’s word was the only word.
And like the Old Testament referred to the Egyptians and Philistines in manners unbecoming, so did the Quran of its enemies.
The difference was the Jews weren’t still trying to kill the Egyptians and Philistines.
Like the Bible, much of the Quran should be treated with an historical context. At least that’s how he felt, as did his Imam, considered a great moderate and therefore a target of much hatred among the Wahabists in their community.
But as the Quran painted all non-believers with the same brush, today all Muslims were being treated the same, moderate and fanatic alike.
Someone pounded on his door. His wife yelped, her hand covering her mouth as their son and daughter, neither yet five, clung to her legs, tears rolling down their cheeks, no idea of the reason for their parents’ fear, but aware of it nonetheless.
He placed a finger against his lips.
“Samir! It’s me, Todd! Open up!”
Samir breathed a sigh of relief. Todd and his family had been providing them with food for the past several days, it too dangerous to leave the house anymore. He opened the door and Todd stood there, motioning for them to come.
“Quickly, before it’s too late!”
Doors were open up and down the hallway, neighbors he had known for years looking at each other with fear and confusion. Many were Muslim, many were not, but this a poor building, there were many Asians and Africans here, and far too often they were all labelled as Muslim despite the
fact many had fled to America to escape Muslim death squads.
Samir motioned to his wife as he grabbed the two suitcases by the door, packed days ago for just such an event. They rushed out, Samir closing the door behind them, Todd leading them down the hall.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked one large white woman in a nightgown that Samir had never seen her out of. “They’re Muslim, ain’t they?”
Todd hustled them past her. “So what if they are. You know they’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I want them out of my goddamned country, that’s all I know.”
Todd stopped and turned, looking at her, then looking at everyone standing in their thresholds. “I’m sure many Germans felt the same way about the Jews when they were being rounded up.” He pointed at the woman. “Would you have turned an innocent family in to the Nazis? Or would you have kept your mouth shut?” He raised his voice as he turned. “Do the right thing people! This is America, not Nazi Germany!”
Samir pushed open the door to the stairwell and urged his family through, waving for Todd to stop his political debate no matter how honorable and just it might be.
Todd ran toward him and they took the stairs, two at a time, shouts from several floors down heard as the security sweep began. They climbed two floors and exited to find much of the same on Todd’s floor—neighbors looking out the hallway doors, many unsure what to do.
Fortunately Todd’s apartment was the first on the left and his wife already had the door open, waiting for them. They hurried inside, Samir hoping few if any saw them.
Todd’s wife Sharon ushered them into the master bedroom, their teenage son Jeff already waiting. Several large storage bags, the type Samir had seen on television that you hooked up to a vacuum cleaner to compress them had been moved out from under the queen size bed, it shoved into the corner, the furniture still being hastily rearranged by Jeffrey.
Death to America (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #4) Page 19
