Black Flag Rising: A James Jackson Thriller

by Jesse Russell

  Out in the distance, a hawk shrieked loudly, circling in the sky.

  “We are asking you now for protection. For wisdom. For bravery and for a clear path to deal with everything set out before us. We pray for forgiveness for this broken and damaged country. Please forgive us all for turning away from you. As you have said in your Word, if we pray and repent and turn from our wicked ways, that you would come, forgive us, and heal our broken land.

  “We ask for that now. We are sorry for forgetting you. We have wrecked this beautiful gift you gave us called America, and we ask now for your mercy.

  “Now, we ask, as your children. Be with us. Guide us. Direct our hands and feet, and show us the way you would have us go in this time of great crisis.

  “In your Son's mighty and resurrected name we pray this, and we believe you hear us in faith and will act upon it. Amen.”

  “Thank you for that fine prayer, Tom,” Sam said.

  Jackie tugged on Jackson's shirt. “Dad, I don't want to leave you.” Payton agreed. Sam looked at both of them, then said, “Me neither. We’re staying.”

  Jackson rolled his eyes and shook his head. As he started to say no, she cut him off. “After all we have been through, we get the decision. We are all staying together and pitching in. You can use some extra hands and minds anyway.”

  He sighed and nodded. He had put them through hell in so many ways. He had no right telling them to do anything.

  Ryan said to the kids, “You guys want to come help me?”

  They both said, “Yes!” in unison and trotted back to the office. George took Sam by the arm and said, “May I interest the lovely lady in a fine, chilled glass of beer on the veranda?”

  “Gladly, kind sir.”

  The wall was now covered with paper. They were trying to develop a theory, but it was near impossible when the crime had not yet happened.

  The kid said, “Hey! I just remembered something important. When they came to get me, they sent in a Federal ICE chopper. I forgot to write that down.”

  “Are you sure, Ryan?” Tom asked.

  “Yes, I'm positive. It came down low and I could read the logos all along the body.”

  George pulled out a piece of paper and wrote that down and stuck it up on the wall into the kaleidoscope. “Here's what I suggest. Let's treat this as if it has already happened. We know the places. We don't know the victims, method, or perpetrators yet. But we have a start. And then, we work backwards.

  “So, we are investigating a major act of terrorism as if there are 40,000 or more people dead. The government may or may not be involved. Let's start with the weapons.

  “Post crisis question one: What did they use to kill that many people at the stadium? Post crisis question two: What did they use to blow up the Hoover Dam? If we figure out those two things, it may lead us to the perps.”

  “It would take more than dynamite in the stadium,” Tom said. “Dynamite would only take out a section, that’s about it. And unless they strategically placed charges on every supporting beam and girder to bring the whole thing down, it doesn't make sense. It’s far too complex. There is really no way they could pull that off with the thousands of eyeballs down there right now.”

  “And it would also take more than dynamite to take out a major dam. They are hundreds of feet thick. Ryan, look up how thick the concrete is and how hard it would be to blow it up,” Brad added.

  “The only thing I can think of is a small nuke,” Brunell said. “We were briefed on them pretty often at the Spook House. There were several of them wandering around the world after the USSR fell.”

  “You mean like a suitcase nuke?” Tom asked.

  “Maybe, but even that would not be big enough. That would create a small blast followed by radiation poisoning. It would take too long to achieve the desired effect. It sounds like they want maximum terror on international TV. I would think larger,” Jackson said.

  “So, what would that be?” Tom asked.

  “We were getting recent intel from down south that some rogue states were manufacturing bigger, more explosive nukes. Nothing big enough for missiles and the like, but certainly big enough to take out a couple of city blocks. Ones that could be placed in trucks and SUVs for easy transport. Those would more than cover the stadium. The cartels have been looking to get them for some time,” Adam told them.

  “Where are they coming from?” Tom asked.

  “Pakistan, North Korea, Iran, Russia, and any number of their satellite states,” Adam said. “North Korea and Iran would be hard to imagine. Too many complications getting it out of the country. Besides, Iran still swears they don't have nukes, but everyone in intel knows differently. They are always on the lookout for those. Pakistan and Russia, on the other hand, are considered allies, or at least respectable players on the world stage.”

  “So, that may be where the Chechens and Russian goon link comes in. Either one of those countries would make sense. No one is really thinking the worst about them because they’re considered ‘friendlies’,” Jackson said.

  “But how would they get a bomb like that over here?” George asked.

  “That is the million-dollar question. It's not like they could just ship it in here unnoticed. The Coast Guard and port authorities are always looking out for nuclear material. They have the latest hi-tech detection equipment and, unless they paid off everyone all the way down the line, I doubt it,” Adam paused, thinking through the steps. “Then, they would have to load it on a truck, get it through multiple truck stops, California border check stations, and so forth. Too many people, too much risk. I don't see it coming that way.”

  “Where is it the easiest to get into the country? The southern border. Hell, thousands stream over that thing every week and Border Patrol helps them! We already know they are helping the mules and shipping jihadis in. An ICE chopper was looking for Ryan. The mule told us that BP was bringing money down to pay him. Who's to say they aren't openly assisting with getting these things in here under the radar? No one would ever know,” Jackson said. “As crazy as it sounds, I think they are willing to ship weapons from gun shops down to Mexico with zero tracking, in the hopes they would wind up back here and kill people, all to further their anti-gun agenda. I put nothing into the impossible realm.

  “Let’s face it. They could not care less about the people in this state. Who's to say they wouldn't blow things up to further whatever insane agenda they have?

  “You have to put aside your feelings about what you think and know is right, and get into their heads. Think like a communist, terrorist sympathizer. They always say you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet. Many in DC also subscribe to this philosophy.”

  “So, the Harvard Faculty take down America once and for all. The damn red diaper doper babies get their ultimate wish,” George said.

  “So we agree it could happen?” Adam asked.

  They all nodded.

  “So, let's say the Russian goons and Chechens are connected over there, and it goes straight back home. I think I know the perfect person to ask,” Tom said.

  They all looked at each other.

  “The goon,” they said in unison.

  They decided that Jackson and Tom would lead the interrogation, with George and Brad hanging back with tasers and pistols in case of a problem.

  They would set up a camera, and the kid would watch from the office. “I found a Lying Tell program a couple of years ago. We used to mess around with it in high school. It is surprisingly accurate,” Ryan said.

  “That answers that,” George said. “Back in the day, we used our own instincts for ‘Lying Tells’. It always worked for us. We don’t need all this tech crap these days. I will know in seconds.”

  “OK. So, we have two ways to tell if he’s lying. One new school and one old school,” Jackson said.

  “Where do we do the questioning?” Adam asked.

  “I have a place in mind,” Tom said. “Follow me.”

  They walked down th
e hall and got into the elevator. Getting down to floor two, the door opened and Tom led them to the third door, the one he said they never used.

  He palmed the lock, entered a code, and the door clicked open.

  He led them into a full survival bunker - basically a large, fully furnished apartment with six bedrooms, four bathrooms, and a gourmet kitchen.

  “This is our worst-case area,” Tom said.

  “You could survive for months down here, fellas!” George said.

  He led them over and showed them into a small warehouse area, stacked with food supplies, water tanks, and medical supplies.

  “This is truly impressive, Tom,” Jackson said.

  “We figure it's better safe than sorry. If we can help a few folks too, all the better,” Tom said.

  “I think we should bring him in here. We have some card tables. We can plug in a cam and have it pointing right at his face for Ryan.” He hobbled over and pulled out a couple of plastic tables and chairs. “So let's get some gear and go wake him up.”

  They walked out, went down the hall, and into the armory.

  When the door opened, George gasped. “Well, I'll be damned.”

  Adam looked around in awe, “This is bigger than anything at the State Patrol.”

  “I had the same reaction,” Jackson said.

  “All right. Let's gear up and go get the goon.” He gave Brad and George each a Taser and a 9mm Glock 19.

  Tom slipped a Desert Eagle .50 caliber in his back waistband. Tom went over to another door and opened a full tech gear area.

  He pulled out two WiFi cameras and handed them to Ryan. “OK. We ready?”

  “What about the noise? I don't want to rattle Sam and the kids.” Jackson said.

  “Pretty slim odds, Jim. This bunker is totally encapsulated. Full lead wrapped, four-foot thick concrete.”

  Ryan went into the bunker and set up the cams. “Wait to start until I get signal. Should only take about five minutes.” They agreed and he left and went back upstairs with Brunell. They would leave him geared up there to protect the kid, in case anything went sideways on ground level. They pulled a four-wheeled cart out of the armory and grabbed a handful of zip ties.

  They went down to level three. They entered into the hold and all the lights blazed on.

  George whistled, “Wow, guys. I am diggin' on this!”

  “OK, big boy. Rise and shine! Were gonna have our little chat now,” Tom said. The goon stirred as they looked at him through the Plexiglas window. “Let's make this really simple. You won't get hurt. If you’re nice and cooperative, you might even get some real food afterwards.”

  “I demand a prayer rug,” the goon croaked out.

  They all looked at each other.

  “This guy is a freakin' jihadi!” George said quietly. “Figures.”

  “You are not getting one in here, buddy. We’re fresh out of rugs today. We’re coming in and cuffing you, so play nice or else.”

  He glared at them through the glass.

  Tom popped the door open, and Brad and Jackson entered with the tasers and zip ties.

  43

  “Now, get up nice and slow, big fella. I am going to cuff you again. Then, we are going for a short ride,” Jackson said.

  He shook his head.

  “Don't make this hard,” Tom said.

  He started to stand, looking like he was about to attack.

  George ran around them and kicked him hard in the knee, the same knee that his fellow goon had hit with the two by four previously.

  “Arrrrrgghh!” He went down in a heap, holding his leg.

  “Damn, George! That was very risky. He coulda broke you in two!” Tom said.

  “I'm sick of him. He was getting ready to attack you guys. No one gets away from my steel-tipped honeys. They always work. Took that bastard right down, huh?” He crowed loudly.

  They reached down and zipped his wrists, zipped his ankles, then lifted him up on the cart and wheeled him out.

  After getting him into the survival area, they sat him down on one of the chairs at the table.

  The chair heaved and almost gave way. He was a heavy one.

  Tom looked at the cameras and gave Ryan the thumbs up. Both green lights were on, indicating they were connected via WiFi. Jackson and Tom sat down across from him. They waited until he stopped fighting.

  “So, goon-boy, how about you tell us why you kidnapped my wife and kids,” Jackson started.

  He shook his head.

  “What's wrong? You afraid to talk?”

  He kept looking down and shaking his head.

  “Look, pal. We are not dicking around here. This ain't the police station, and the only constitutional rights you have up here are the ones I say you have. I’m the judge and jury. So, you can either cooperate or get your ass kicked some more and taken down to the range for target practice,” Tom said.

  The goon looked up at them, then he reared back and spit all over Jackson's face. “You Kaffir are shit! I will cut you heads off! All you!”

  Jackson sat and wiped the slimy goo off his face with his sleeve. George was standing in back, pacing and balling his fists.

  “He does that again, and it's my turn, boys,” he threatened.

  “Let's try this again. Why did you kidnap my wife and kids?” Jackson asked.

  “I make you wife my bitch and sell you kids to our mullahs! After we have them first! You are nothing! You will not even be here soon. Allah destroy you and we rule this infidel country forever!”

  George came flying around the edge of the table and started wailing away on his head and knees, using both of his fists and his steel tips.

  “I! Am! The! In! Fid! El! They! Warned! You! About!” he shouted with every punch and kick.

  He was pounding him to shreds. At this point, it probably wouldn't matter whether he was tied up or not. Nothing would stop George.

  They all sat back and watched. No one even attempted to stop him; they all were at the end of their ropes, too.

  When he finally ran out of gas, the goon was nothing but a bloody pulp lying on the floor.

  George was covered in blood and soaked with sweat.

  He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Sorry, boys. Lost my cool. Hope I… didn't… blow it. Couldn't… take it… any more.” He croaked in between breaths.

  “Aw, hell, George. We all wanted to do it, too. Serves the bastard right,” Tom said.

  “I didn't realize your partner here was a full-fledged MMA champ,” Brad said. He threw up a high five to George.

  They decided to leave him on the floor for a bit. Tom said, “Let me go get something to clean him off with. George, you need to get into the shower immediately. Who knows if this d-bag has some kind of communicable disease. There are lots of clothes in the closets down here.”

  Jackson thought about that then ran to the sink and stuck his face under the faucet.

  Tom pushed back from the table and waited.

  Brad came walking back in, wearing latex gloves and carrying a five-gallon bucket of water. He threw it on the goon, rousing him awake. He was twitching and spazzing. Brad threw some towels on him and wiped the blood up. Tom came over, and they hauled him back up into the chair.

  Jackson walked back in, and sat down and said, “All right, dipshit. Let's try this again.”

  The goon's head was bobbing around like a tennis ball on a fiberglass rod. He was not responding.

  Brad grabbed the bucket and walked back out.

  Tom and Jackson were sitting and waiting for him to come around. George had changed clothes and was pacing the floor like a caged animal. “I'll wake the little bastard up.”

  “George, pull up a chair. I think you had enough fun for today,” Jackson said.

  Brad walked back in and told everyone to get back. He dumped the ice-cold spring water right on top of him.

  The goon shuddered and came alive. “Argggggggg!” He shook his head and stared at them with pure hatred.

 
“OK, let's talk some more, idiot-stick. Why did you kidnap my wife and kids and what is getting ready to happen?” Jackson shouted at him.

  “I kidnap them because you have thumb drive!” he spat out. “I sell them to sex trade. Make big money. We are blowing up infidel sport game on TV.” He was either resigned that his time was over, or was trying to get a last dig in at them.

  “Allah didn't let you get away with the first part, and your greasy brother has already gone to meet his destiny with the seventy-two virgins. In a million pieces, I might add. The rest, we already know. So, what we want to know is how, who, and when?” Tom chimed in.

  He looked confused about the thing with his brother. “This great and wonderful thing is coming soon! It is too late for you to change this thing that he has set in place. The whole world will know he is the great one, and we will have Sharia over this infidel country. The flag of the caliphate will rise over your White House! Then, we go to our glorious reward in Heaven.”

  “I think the current occupant of the White House has beaten you to that one part, and your brother was taken out by a pig's blood-dipped stinger, so he won't be getting any rewards. Now, tell us exactly who is doing this thing and how they plan on pulling it off,” Tom snapped back at him.

  The goon sat and shook his head.

  “Hey, I bet you didn't know the baloney you have been eating is made from local Javelina hunted and killed right here. Do you know what javelina is?” Tom asked.

  His eyes twitched and he shook his head slowly.

  “It is a wild animal. A boar. A wild PIG! It tastes good. I have lots of boar jerky, baloney, salami, and boar shanks. You have been eating it the whole time, so you won't be going on to your seventy-two virgins either. You might as well tell us everything,” Tom said.

  He roared, jerking himself out of the chair and writhing around on the floor.

  George jumped up and stood over him. “Hey, haji! It ain't our fault you chose to follow some stone-age death cult! Now, your entire life is worthless! You might as well tell us everything you know. Maybe the real God will have mercy on your worthless soul!”