Black Flag Rising: A James Jackson Thriller

by Jesse Russell

  “Better there, than anywhere you or this murdering God, Allah, is,” Ahmed shouted back.

  The Imam stood up, reared back and spat on him, then turned and walked out, slamming the door.

  Ahmed sat back down in frustration, wiping the spittle off his shirt.

  Ten minutes later, the door cracked open and Ibrahim slipped in.

  “What did he tell you?” he asked quietly.

  “There is an explosive device and it will detonate. He said I will be sitting on top of it.”

  “It must be large then. Did he say where?”

  “No,” Ahmed replied.

  “I can only think of one place where there will be a lot of people tomorrow.

  “The World Series,” they said in unison.

  “Stay put. Don't say a word. I'll be back,” Ibrahim whispered, and slipped out the door. He hustled down to his room and picked up his phone. He hesitated to call his police contact, concerned that he may even be involved, somehow. He was not sure he could trust even him. The police contact had been acting very strangely whenever he had spoken to him recently, almost like he was in on things. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

  He thought about who he could tell. He had listened to Barry Yant on local radio a few times, and had a feeling that he was a good man. He had been talking about this mosque on his show lately. The local flock hated him for it. The Imam cursed his name every time he said something on air. Ibrahim was sure the powers in the mosque had a hit out on him.

  He looked up the station information. There was link to email Barry. He hesitated, but it was better than calling, if they were tracking his phone, which he was sure they were.

  He typed out a quick email and pressed send. Then, he laid down and tried to sleep.

  61

  At 4:00 a.m., Ibrahim awoke to the sound of vehicles and movement in the back parking lot.

  He rolled over and lifted the curtain at his small window. There were two vehicles: a semi and an ambulance.

  He checked his phone. No email. No calls.

  He crept out of his room and went around to one of the back doors.

  He cracked it open and peered through. Outside, several men were opening the rear door of the semi. They pulled a forklift up to it. There was also a Border Patrol SUV and a police cruiser. The cops and agents were keeping watch. Two of them went up inside the trailer and directed the forklift forward. They pulled it back and there was a large item on a pallet. It looked very heavy, and the forklift was tipping forward.

  They lowered it down onto the ground. Two men undid the belts around it and pulled back the covering. There was large enclosed box on the pallet. They backed the ambulance up, and one of the men pulled open the back doors. They used the forklift to lift it up off the pallet and wheeled it over. The man was directing it in. The forklift moved forward and slid it inside. The ambulance heaved and sank a few inches under the weight. They closed the back door and bolted it securely.

  Ibrahim was crouching down. He pulled out his phone and cranked up the zoom and turned off the flash. He noticed some of the men looked Latino and had strange tattoos on their faces of crescent moons, scimitars, the swords of Allah, curved for more effective beheading, and skulls with blood drops. These were not the usual men that were seen around the place.

  The ambulance was from some small town, not a Phoenix one. He squinted. It said Jerome FD. He began snapping pictures, making sure the flash was off.

  “Ibrahim! What are you doing out here? Taking pictures?”

  It was the Imam. He grabbed his shoulder hard.

  Ibrahim wheeled around and dropped his phone in shock.

  “Why are you interested in this? You are only a janitor!” the Imam demanded.

  “I, uh, heard some noise. I thought someone was doing something bad out here. We have had that vandalism from the Kaffir lately. I was worried,” Ibrahim stammered in shock.

  “There is no vandalism. This is not your concern. I will take your phone. Give it to me now.”

  “Oh. I need it,” Ibrahim said.

  “Not any more. You will give it to me at once!”

  Ibrahim bent over to pick it up. He pulled it into his hand and lurched forward at the Imam. He punched him the face as hard as he could and took off in a dead run around the front of the building.

  “Stop him! Stop him! He is a spy! A filthy Kaffir spy!!” the Imam shouted, rubbing his jaw.

  The men loading took off running after him, and the Border Patrol and cops jumped into their vehicles.

  62

  “I think it's time we make a plan to get to the stadium. I don't see any way we are going to find it. We know where it will end up. We might as well get our plan for that,” Tom said.

  “Do we want to wait that long?” Adam asked.

  “What other choice do we have?” Tom said.

  “None,” Jackson said. “Ryan, pull up all blueprints and schematics of Chase Field. Let's see what we can glean from all that.”

  Tom stood, preparing to go down to the armory. "We need to get the chopper armed up and get everything out of the armory that we think we'll need. Put cams all over the outside, so Ryan can stay here at the nerve center and direct. We'll take the Urban Assault Vehicle for any prisoners, if there are any."

  Tom and Brad pulled out dozens of weapons and crates of ammo, along with ten Wi-Fi cams outfitted for outdoor work and night vision head gear.

  They picked up handcuffs, tasers, and zip-ties, along with shoulder-fired missile launchers and grenades. They had chosen the Israeli gear for its reliability and accuracy, Uzis for size and ease of use and TAR-21 Bullpup Assault Rifles and Desert Eagle .50 calibers for their power and foreboding appearance.

  “Hang on to these Eagles tight, guys. They are a total hand-cannon. Those things will stop an elephant in its tracks,” Brad cautioned.

  When they were loaded up on two large carts, they made their way up and out. Everyone stood and looked in awe.

  “Man, this stuff looks good, fellas. Can't wait to get my hands on them,” George said.

  Tom rubbed his hands together. “I'm saving the best for last. Follow me, boys.”

  They went out the main back entry and down to one of the large, green-roofed barns. Brad wheeled up on a side by side, pulling a smaller trailer.

  Inside, at the back of the building, he opened a large garage door. Sitting inside on pallets were two GE M-134 electric mini-guns with multiple twelve hundred round ammo reels. All were loaded with 7.63 NATO rounds. There was also mounting gear to bolt them onto the inside of the chopper.

  “We've never had to use these. Looks like it's time,” Brad said.

  “Now you’re talkin', boys! I used some of these back in the day in 'Nam. Except they were twice that size and heavy as all hell. They would shred Charlie up real good,” George crowed. He walked over and ran his hand over the metal barrels in awe. “These are just smaller versions.”

  Adam and Jackson stood with their mouths open.

  “Six thousand rounds a minute, up to one thousand yards. Yeah, they bring the beast of hell with them,” Brad enthused. “Let's load them up and get them mounted on the bird.”

  They lugged everything on to the trailer and headed down to the heliport.

  Tom drove up in a Special Ops white Toyota Sequoia, got out and opened all the doors. “This is our ranch model Urban Assault Vehicle, gentlemen. Full armor plate, bulletproof glass, run-flat tires and a surprise in back.”

  He hit a button and the whole rear end opened up like a clam. The top half lifted and slid back over the roof, and the bottom half folded down into itself like an accordion.

  In the rear, there was a seat with a bench mount for weapons where the third row of seats normally was. It had a full plexiglas guard on the front of the seat with a slot to stick barrels through. There were multiple gun racks mounted down each side for gear, and a night vision mask was mounted on a swivel that could be swung into place by the operator.

  “That is
a full body, clear Kevlar shield. One of the first ones developed by an Israeli firm. They are using them extensively over there now. It allows the operator to see everything in front of him while still giving full protection. A real marvel of technology. Unfortunately, our idiot in the White House has pissed them off to the point where they are not sharing a lot with him any more,” Tom said.

  “Does it work?” Jackson asked.

  “We tested it on the range with almost everything we had when we first got it. Not even a dent,” Tom replied.

  “I think I may be getting aroused. And that's saying a lot at my advanced age,” George said.

  “Jackson and Adam, you can drive this thing down, and the three of us will take the chopper, since George has experience with the ratt-a-tats. We will need some general close-up work and eyes on the ground.”

  They proceeded to load the chopper, then chose several of the weapons and ammo for the Sequoia. Of course, they picked the Uzis with thirty-two round mags, for ease of size. They also chose Israeli TAR-21s for the back of the rig and Desert Eagle .50s in their carry holsters. A full Israeli armory. Still the best weapons in the world.

  First, they removed the seats and any extra weight. They needed as much free space as possible, and all added weight would only slow down their top speed and eat up fuel. They stripped off interior panels and anything else that would add weight and take up space. They laid out all the launchers and stingers and strapped them all down in the back. They put all the TARs, Macs, and pistols into the wall racks and loaded in thousands of rounds of ammo.

  “Looks like we’re ready here. Let's go get our comms and bring Ryan up to speed,” Tom said.

  In the office, they gave everyone in-ear communication and tested the connections. Ryan would be manning the nerve center and relaying video and operational detail, via web and cellular technology. The in-ears would operate on a multitude of systems in the event of a cell blockage. When things went south, it would be near impossible to get a signal down there. The system would be swamped with people calling. They tested the comms on all systems and they worked perfectly. They showed him how to access the chopper cameras, and they agreed on the language they would use.

  “Looks like we better get some chow and hydrate up. No telling when we might do it again,” Brad said.

  Tom laid out a spread of deli meats and cheeses with loaves of bread and chips.

  They all bowed their heads as George said a prayer of thanks and protection for all of them, and then they wolfed it down.

  Brad made a few Boar salami sandwiches and took them down to the hold for the goon.

  Jackson decided to check his email online and waded through all the ads and spam to one from Barry Yant.

  It was ominous.

  63

  Ibrahim had been hustling in and out of yards in the residential neighborhood for some time, after he had escaped. He had thrown himself into a hole that City Water had been digging behind a bush in front of the mosque. The police took off like yesterday’s news, and the loading men came back cursing that they had lost him. He waited until everyone had disappeared and then snuck out of the hole just as the sun was coming up. He kept checking his phone, but there were no messages.

  Finally, at 5:45 a.m. his phone pinged. It was a text from Barry. He left his phone number.

  Ibrahim hustled into a Circle K and headed into the bathroom. He locked himself into one of the stalls and called.

  “Barry, this is Ibrahim. I work at the West Valley Islamic Center…” he whispered, hoping no one was around.

  He told Barry everything he had seen and heard.

  Barry hung up and immediately emailed Jackson. Suddenly, his phone rang. It was Jackson, calling from the Ranch.

  He told him to start warning people on his Facebook and Twitter, and to get hold of Tracey Brent in L.A. to alert people coming over from Southern California and elsewhere. He gave him Sarah's email address to get to her, too. Barry said he would send out the alert and had to get busy. He was on the air soon with some pre-game banter.

  64

  “Nuke devices use a very complicated trigger mechanism. That is why they are usually kept separated from the main device, and need a highly trained expert in triggering to complete it. It requires specifically-routed logistics to detonate fissile material,” Tom explained, after talking with his bomb-diffusing buddy.

  “What does all that mean for us?” asked George.

  “I asked him specifically what someone could do to neutralize it,” Tom said.

  “And?” they asked.

  “He said you could blow it up. The only by-product is the escape of radiation and any shrapnel from the blast. If it is outside, it may dissipate fairly quickly, depending on the size of the device, but there’s a very good possibility that people around it would get sick. Some may die. The way I see it, what with time constraints, we have only one choice.”

  “We gotta blow it up,” George said.

  65

  Aaron Baxter was walking the perimeter of the interior of Chase Field, looking for anything suspicious. He was a Scottsdale PD cop by day, but worked security for the Diamondbacks during home games. Normally, it only involved hauling some drunks out of the game or breaking up fights, but everyone was on high alert with rumors of looming trouble. Aaron got paid fairly well for only a few hours a week, plus he got one free season ticket to do what he pleased with. He had been there when they’d won the World Series, as a young man in 1999. He usually traveled to a few away games every year, too.

  It was four hours before first pitch.

  The roof at Chase Field had been closed all day, and it was time to open it for the opening game. The roof was a marvel of technology. It could be opened or closed in approximately five minutes. It still mesmerized him every time it went into action. Each side could open independently to allow sun in for the natural grass field, yet keep the metal and concrete structure from heating up.

  He had worked there, selling hot dogs and soda as a teenager, and had jumped at the chance to do security when they had come recruiting at the PD a couple of years ago.

  Watching the huge steel panels roll back silently and fold into each other like an accordion never got old. He became a kid all over again every time he saw it.

  The city was on full spit shine polish with every camera in the world on it tonight. It wanted to put on its best show.

  Finally, the last panel locked into place, and the roof stood wide open. Next, the huge panels behind the outfield slowly waved open. They were giant squares that framed the massive scoreboard and TV. When opened with the roof, the stadium was effectively an open-air stadium. The afternoon sun came beaming down on the perfect grass as the field workers scurried about, mowing and putting paint finishes on the field.

  He walked around the outfield and came past the visitor dugout, looking along walls, nooks, and crannies for anything suspicious or out of place. With the alerts, he was examining areas of the structure for possible explosives.

  He radioed in, “Baxter. Clear in the field.”

  “Roger, Baxter. Come on up.”

  “10-4”

  He walked around and went into the D-backs locker room. He walked into the elevator and went up to the security office on the third floor.

  “Baxter, I'm sorry to tell you, but we are short two guys tonight. I need to have you outside.”

  He was bummed. He had been waiting for this moment for sixteen years and now, he was going to miss it.

  “I know how disappointed you must be. But I need your eyes out front. Who knows what we are looking for at this point, and you happen to be our best man.”

  “It's OK. I'll get my chance,” he said dejectedly.

  He walked out, checking his holster, gun, cuffs, binoculars, and taser. He carried his service pistol, a Glock 19.

  He stopped and grabbed a hot dog from a vendor and choked it down. Then he walked out front and watched the freak parade of hawkers, drunks, and media wags. There wer
e hundreds milling around, and there were still three hours until game time.

  He paced the front and kept eyes on everyone, not sure what he was watching for exactly, but he was ready. No jihadi was going to come in and wreck his beloved stadium or team, if he had anything to say about it.

  66

  The boys all gathered around in the secret room at the mosque. They were looking around nervously; some were praying, others were just fidgeting. The Imam walked in.

  “The time has come for Allah to be known in this infidel land. You will now take your parts. The caliphate will begin here, and all of you are the original pilgrims of this jihad. Soon, you will all meet your just and honored rewards in heaven. You will be filled with every pleasure you can imagine. It is time we defeat the infidel right here and now, on their very lands, at their disgusting sports event. Their leisure and their disgusting habits. They are worse than pigs.”

  Three other men came in, wheeling boxes on pallets. Inside, were Junior Ranger uniforms. They got them out and tried them on.

  They opened other boxes and pulled out multiple vests. Each one contained half a dozen charges, all wired to blow simultaneously. They contained C-4 explosive as well as screws, nails, and BBs for maximum death and destruction. They were shown the detonators and how to disguise them until it was time. The vests were all deactivated for now. No use blowing everything up on the way down. They all put them on. All, except Ahmed.

  They gathered around and were shown a schematic of the stadium and where they should each go.

  After a final meal and prayer, they filed out to the parking lot where there was semi waiting with the back gate down. A Latino man was sitting behind the wheel with a Medic uniform on. He had death tattoos all over his neck and arms.