Black Flag Rising: A James Jackson Thriller

by Jesse Russell

  “There's Brad. My brother. Let's go down and see what he's got.”

  “This is an entire heliport, Tom! What the hell? And when you said a helicopter, I was thinking one of those little two-seat whirlybirds. This thing looks like Marine One! It had to cost you millions!” Jackson said, awestruck.

  “Actually, it was Marine One. We bought it in a private government sale six years ago through a Canadian contact. They won't let US citizens buy them, but we worked a backdoor deal. Off the books. We had it painted and re-registered up there. The US government doesn't even know we have it. Officially, it is still owned by a wealthy oil man up in Calgary. It needed next to nothing, but when the new president came in, he ordered all new ones. Nineteen of them. Didn't trust the old ones - or the pilots either,” Tom said as he rolled his eyes.

  “Total paranoid, that one,” Jackson said.

  “We got it for pennies on the dollar. You know how the government works. You were there.” Tom said. “The others went to Saudi Sheikhs and high-dollar, international billionaires, but we had an ‘in’ with a dude in government reclamation. We had his brother out here multiple times for some Iraq PTSD rehab. He helped our buyer and made sure we were the only bidder. Sometimes it helps to have contacts in high places.” Tom said.

  “I never thought I would see one of these up close. My God.” Jackson felt like a kid in a candy store.

  “Yeah, it has all the latest gear too. We painted it in Laser Veil G5 Stealth Coating. Even has the nuke sniffer and imaging, anti-missile flak units - the works. They just re-outfitted it when they put in mothballs. It has NV gear and rotor silencing too. We couldn't get another one like it for any amount of dough. We had some very special help on that. Some might say otherworldly kind of help. We try to put it to good use helping people.”

  “Amazing.” Jackson said.

  “They took all the heavy weapons and missiles, understandably. We use it for fire- spotting, sheriff support, evacuation stuff, and a regular aerial photo business too. It's got heat sensing radar so we can spot lost hikers, illegal smuggling, and pot growers. We’re starting to see more of them now that California is in a drought.”

  Jackson thought about Sam and the kids. “How fast is it?”

  “We can get down to the Scottsdale Airpark in just under 25 minutes. It'll go up to two hundred miles per hour if we push it hard.”

  Brad powered down the helicopter and hopped out.

  “Hey Captain, so sorry about your family.” He shook Jackson's hand.

  “Thank you, Brad. Did you spot the truck?”

  “I got a yellow Ryder down about two miles west. Sitting under a tree in the driveway of the Jefferson's old place,” Brad offered.

  “That’s it! Thank God.” Jackson shouted in total relief.

  “Did you get any imaging on it?” Tom asked.

  “No. I didn't want to do that yet. Wasn't sure if it was just someone moving in or not. Also, best not to tip off any unfriendlys.” Brad said.

  “Let's go up and get a look,” Tom said.

  They all jumped in the chopper, and Brad powered it back up. They lifted off, and Jackson thought about how he could never, ever thank the guys enough.

  Brad flipped a switch for rotor muting so as not to alert anyone on the ground, and instantly, the sound changed it was unbelievably quiet.

  “The rotor effect kills the top speed, so we don't use it very much, but it will be a big help here,” Brad shouted over the noise.

  He turned on the thermal imaging as they approached. The screen powered up, and they could see five heat prints inside the house - two larger ones and three smaller. Two of the smaller images were much smaller.

  The larger ones were moving around, and the three smaller ones were not moving. It looked like they were on the floor.

  “That's them!” Jackson shouted.

  They also noticed a semi parked a few blocks down the street. Jackson wondered if they had anything to do with that. Why else would it be there? The nearest cabin was a nearly quarter mile away.

  “Ok, this has to be them. No one is moving furniture in or out. Let's head back and get a plan together,” Tom said.

  They banked off and headed back to the ranch. After they touched down, Tom asked, “Do you have any experience with full auto rigs or flash bangs?”

  “I've shot a couple back in the day. Never needed them, or the bangs. I was more on the desk intel side. I usually showed up after that stuff was over.” Jackson said.

  “Let's head over to the range and get you back up to snuff and then decide what the plan is.” Tom was already out of the chopper and moving.

  28

  Tom pulled up in a new side by side ATV with a mini truck bed. He loaded the autos and a couple of grenades, as well as a couple of pistols, and they jumped in.

  He drove down a narrow gravel road through the forest and wound around onto a gun range cleared out of the middle of the trees.

  “This is amazing Tom, and I appreciate you guys more than you know. But I just want to go in and get them. This is nearly killing me.” Jackson was nervously pacing the floor.

  “I get that, Jim. But you know as well as anyone what going in loaded with emotion can lead to. Nothing good.”

  Jackson realized he was right, but he hated waiting. Yet, the last thing he wanted was anyone getting hurt. “Yeah… I guess. but let’s make this fast and get moving.”

  “Copy that.”

  There were thirty shooting stations in all, outfitted with stands, chairs, mounted scopes, and binoculars.

  They walked up to two of the stations, and Tom hit a switch. Two targets moved in on rail tracks, with body shaped Kydex targets on them.

  Tom grabbed the Mac and stuck a pre-loaded, 100-round mag into it. He attached a full-sized body target on the track and rolled it back out.

  “This Mac is just like a small AR, but it will buck and go wild if you don't have a pretty firm hold,” Tom explained. “It will creep up every time, so you need to purposely aim low.”He held it up and cycled through fifteen rounds. It was much quieter than Jackson had imagined.

  “Here, you give it a run.” Tom handed the gun to Jackson.

  Jackson pulled it up and let loose on the safety.

  He gently pulled the trigger and saw what he meant. It wanted to pull itself straight up. The rounds formed a line straight up and off to the right. It also had a surprisingly nice feel. “I see what you mean. It kind of has a mind of its own.”

  Tom showed him how to point it lower, and they went again. This time he got them all within twelve inches.

  “That's pretty good, Jackson. Go again.” Tom said.

  He pulled it up, this time getting ten rounds into a six-inch circle.

  “Good enough for goon killing. Hopefully we won't need these,” Jackson said.

  “Let's run a few through the pistols.”

  They ran a box of 45 through two Sig 1911s and got comfortable with them.

  “I'll hold the frags. I have some history with them, and you don't want to play with those things. Let's head back up and get a plan together.” Tom said.

  They sat down around a huge hand-crafted wooden table with custom benches just off the kitchen and talked things out. The stress was starting get to Jackson. He nervously tapped his hand on the table. “Guys, this is killing me, knowing my kids are over there. They have to be scared to death. I appreciate all the help, but I'm just going to head over there are get them out. I think I can handle things from here.”

  “Jackson, we can’t let you do that. This is our territory up here and we are in with you,” Brad said.

  “I realize that, but this is almost too much to handle. Those bastards are holding my innocent kids. They had nothing to do with any of this. I brought it all on them!”

  “Jim, the more you beat yourself up and put this all on yourself, you are not going to make proper decisions. You don't want that,” Tom chided. He and Brad looked at each other worriedly.

  Jackso
n stood up and said, “I know all that, but I'm going over there. I can't wait any more.” He started to bolt for the door.

  Both Brad and Tom stood up and stopped him.

  “We can't let you do that, Jim. Please, let us help.” Brad said.

  “Ok, ok, ok.” Jackson took a deep breath. “You’re right. Let's just get something going.” He sighed out heavily.

  They sat back down and hatched out a rough plan. Jackson would pull down the street and come in from the side. Brad would drive by in a pickup and get a lay of the lot and slip around back.

  Tom would come in on an ATV and go to the front door. It wouldn't seem out of place in the neighborhood. It was better to have a 3rd party going in from the front to avoid an emotional bum-rush in on them all.

  “Since they don't know us, I’ll tell them there’s an emergency,” Tom said.

  “Brad will come around from the back, and I will come thru the trees from the other side. Once you have their attention, we will slip in and grab them. But what if the back and side doors are locked?” Jackson asked.

  “I can get in anywhere,” Brad said. “Done it many times in fire situations when we didn't want to take down the door and create a blast of oxygen.”

  “OK, so if I can't find a way in, I'll come around and back you up,” Jackson said.

  “What are their names, Jim?” Brad asked.

  “Payton, Jackie, and Sam. Sam is my ex. Payton is my daughter.”

  “Ok. Let's load up and leave in five.”

  They took all the gear out front and each selected a gaggle of weapons.

  “No shots fired unless absolutely necessary. Eyes open and straight fingers. If I can, I'll use the taser on them. We'll keep it clean,” Tom said.

  Brad handed each man a radio. Let's check comms. Channel 1-A.

  They each tested their radios and clipped them on.

  “Keep the volume low. Use clicks if you can. 1 for Yes, 2 for No.”

  29

  Back in Fountain Hills, George hung up from talking with Lindsay. Everything was fine. The kids were playing video games and eating snacks, all getting ready to lay down for much needed naps. Julia and Lindsay had hit it off like long lost friends. They been talking about many things over the last few hours. They had clean sheets and towels, and Lindsay had stocked up on supplies at Safeway.

  Brunell had gotten his wife to meet them in Fountain Hills. He was going to send her up the cabin with the others until they figured out the next steps.

  Juan was still cuffed and lying down in the bedroom. They had fed him and let him take a leak and were about to question him further.

  Brunell walked into the bedroom and un-cuffed him. He winced and rubbed his wrists.

  “Damn, man, are those really necessary? I've already told you everything I know! I need to get out of here and get to my wife and kids,” Juan complained.

  “Well, if you prefer, we could take you back down to jail. I'm sure your buddies would give you nice warm welcome. Hang on, let me call the State Patrol. I'll drop you off in the middle of town, and you can see how far you get before they or the Moon God Warriors take you down,” Adam offered.

  “No, no. I didn't mean that. Everything is fine. How are Julia and the kids? Are they safe?”

  “Of course they're safe. Unlike you, we make sure things are taken care of. And we don't go hanging out with Jihadi terrorists.”

  “I told you why I did that, man,” Juan whined.

  “Uh huh. I'm sure there was no other way to get your kids into that school. Like a second and third job, or working with your brother. Face it, you went for the money, and now you’ve screwed over your family and the rest of the country.” Brunell was losing patience.

  “At least I gave you the drive,” Juan said, snottily.

  “That's true. You were covering your own ass, not caring about your wife and kids, this state, or the country, weren’t you? I ought to take you out on this balcony and hang you over the edge into that canyon. Just because. In fact, I think I will.” Brunell stood up and went towards him.

  “No! Wait. Whatever you need. Whatever you want. Let me help you. I know I'm an asshole. I am a greedy idiot who got wowed by the cash. But once I tried to get out, they wouldn't let me. They would have killed everyone in my family, including my mother and brother.”

  “Speaking of which, who are they holding in Mexico? They got you to say something in jail,” Brunell asked.

  “No, they didn't! I never said a word to anyone in there. I swear!” Juan begged.

  “We'll see about that. Now go take another leak and get ready because we want to know every last detail of who we are up against. And no bullshitting. Otherwise, you are going off the deck. Got it?” Brunel threatened.

  “Yes, yes, I got it.”

  Brunell walked out into the living room where George was getting the table ready for further questioning.

  “I guess we don't need to cuff him and tape him to the chair for now, but if it goes wobbly in any way, I am taking this whole thing over, and he's gonna spill his guts. Through missing teeth and all,” Brunell said.

  “OK, let's get him out here.” George said.

  Just then Ryan called.

  “Hey, I'm on to something with the Chechens. Jackson's old boss is definitely the guy who rented the truck. I searched the entire country and there are only ten Aslan Ramzan’s in the country, and only one in Arizona. I'll do more research about why he has a United States government ID, but I'm starving. There's no food in here. I need to run down to the Circle K for some grub. When I get back, I'll figure more out about him.”

  “I don't think that's a good idea, Ryan. Not good at all. We need to get info off the drive to question the mule further. Plus, we don't need to be out walking around. Can you run over to Jackson's and see if he has anything?” Brunell said.

  “I already did. Nothing there except some funky butter and three-week-old milk.”

  “OK… I don't like it, but if you must. Please use the back streets or walk by the canal and stay out of sight. Get your ass back to the computer asap. We'll wait to hear from you. Hurry up.” Brunell ordered him.

  “OK. I'll call you back in 15 or less.”

  30

  Ryan looked out the door both ways. Up and down the street. He didn’t see anyone, so he slipped out the door and hustled across the street, through a backyard and onto the canal walkway. He jogged the three blocks, passed by a couple of bikers and a runner, and ducked through a huge Oleander bush behind the store.

  He snuck around back and entered the front door, going over to the ATM.

  He put his card in and pulled out forty dollars.

  Ryan hurriedly walked up and down the aisles and filled his arms with jerky, crackers, soda, and candy.

  As he walked up to the counter to pay, three black and whites roared up, and behind them was a Border Patrol Suburban.

  He turned around and headed to the back of the store. He burst through the service doors and entered the area behind the coolers and shoved the back door open. The fire alarms all went off. He ran across the parking lot and darted through the huge bush, back onto the canal. He realized he had stolen the food too.

  “Shit!”

  Off in the distance he heard the whine of a fire truck.

  “Maybe they aren’t coming after me anyway. What was I thinking? I’m so freaked out by everything, I’m just getting paranoid. I should have just paid and left.” He muttered to himself.

  He hugged along the block wall that lined the neighborhood backyards and tried to stay under bushes and trees. When he got to the trailer park, he heard the distant thump of a helicopter in the air.

  “So much for being paranoid. They are definitely after me.”

  He noticed a tool shed behind a trailer and jimmied the door open and slid inside.

  The sirens got closer, and he heard them stop back at the Circle K. The chopper sound was much louder. He peeked out the door and saw it making turns and going up and do
wn the canal. It came down low enough that he could see a logo on it. US Immigration - ICE.

  “Shit. The Feds. Jackson was right.”

  He assumed they would be on him quickly if he didn't get out now. As the chopper turned back down the canal, he bolted out and got up next to the trailer. There was a black and white cruising up and down the street, and another one was pulled up in front of Jackson's place. Obviously someone had put two and two together with Brunell, Jackson, and himself. Luckily for him, they weren’t paying any attention to George’s place.

  He had to figure out a way to get across the street and over to the trailer.

  Two cops walked out of Jackson's place and looked up and down the street. They spoke for a moment and started walking down towards him, one on each side of the street.

  Their heads were on swivels. One stopped at the trailer next door to Jackson's. He rapped on the door with his Maglite. No one answered, and he stepped off the porch and peered inside. Then he walked around the sides and the back, looking behind bushes and into the skirting around the bottom. The other one did the same on Ryan's side. No one was home there either.

  They were working their way down the street to see if anyone might know where Jackson was. He had to move fast.

  When the cop on Ryan's side of the street got to the house across from George's, he walked up the old man's driveway and headed towards the door. Just then, the door burst open and little Pakito came flying out and down the steps. He jumped up and latched on to the cop's leg like a pair of vice grips. The cop spun around screaming in agony as the second cop ran across to help. The dog was chowing down on him and would not let go.

  The old Latino hobbled out on his walker waving his gun around. “Wha chu doin' mi little hermano! I shoot you!”

  The other cop put up his hands and said, “We’re police! Put the gun down!”

  The dog continued to chomp away, and the old man was getting really pissed now.

  “I no care if you President of United States! You leave me little doggie alone!” The old timer shouted.