Reb's Rampage

by J B Black

  “Yeah, but there’s just one little problem, darling,” Reb said.

  “What’s that Reb?”

  “They won’t release me from the hospital until the day after tomorrow.”

  “Goddamn it, Reb, why didn’t you tell me you’re in the hospital? What happened?”

  “We had a little fire fight with the cartel’s men and I got wounded. Don’t go getting all worried, it’s not life threatening, but they had to dig the bullet out and I needed some blood and some stitches. Anyway, today is what? Wednesday going on Thursday? The doctor who came by on rounds this evening told me I’d be able to check out of the hospital on Friday morning. So, after I get out of the hospital Friday morning, I’ll just go by the condo, change my clothes, get your safe deposit key, grab some luggage to put the cash in, go by the bank, and get the money. Then I’ll head on over to the airport in Pensacola and catch a flight to Veracruz. How’s that?”

  “That’s just fine, darling.”

  “Hey, Honey, will it be all right if I call you tomorrow evening?”

  After a brief pause, Honey said, “Reb, they said not to call until you’ve got your plane ticket for Veracruz. I love you. Gotta run, bye now.”

  * * *

  Carlos held out his hand to Honey for the phone and Honey slid it back across the desk to him. Carlos put the phone back in the handbag and put the handbag back into the desk drawer.

  After a moment, Honey said, “I was wondering what had happened to my handbag after it disappeared on the airplane. Do you have my companion’s handbag, also? And I had a pistol in my handbag. Is it still there? It was a gift and I really would hate to lose it.”

  “I have both of your handbags here in my desk and your pistol is still in your handbag,” Carlos replied. “Don’t worry, your handbags will be returned to you when you leave.”

  * * *

  After Raúl returned Honey to the guest suite, Honey and Sarah took their seats in the easy chairs they had moved earlier so they could eat at the coffee table. Sarah leaned forward and asked, “Did you find out why we’re here?”

  “I sure did and it’s not good news, Sarah,” Honey replied. “We’re being held for ransom by the drug cartel that owns this place, because Reb and Billy Morris, the Police Chief in Seaside Beach, hijacked one of the cartel’s drug submarines earlier today.”

  After Honey brought Sarah up to speed about her conversation with Carlos and her subsequent conversation with Reb, Sarah said, “I’m so sorry about Reb getting shot, Honey. And I can’t believe you’re so stupid with your money that you’d leave two million in cash sitting around in a safe deposit box in Seaside Beach.”

  “I just made that up about having the cash in the safe deposit box for Carlos’ benefit, Sarah,” Honey said. “And Reb’s not in the hospital. He just said that to play along and buy us some time while he comes up with a plan.”

  “So, you think Reb’ll come up with something to get us out of here?” Sarah asked.

  “Sarah, Reb’s my knight in shining armor,” Honey said. “And, if I know my Reb, these bastards will wish they’d never kidnapped his warrior goddess.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Jake Gant’s Residence

  Washington, DC

  Thursday, May 6, 2010

  12:08 a.m. EDT

  Jake Gant—Deputy Director of the Federal Bureau for Internal Security (FBIS), an off-the-books, Black Ops, counter-terrorism agency created after 9/11, during the Shrubb administration—was at home, lying in bed with his newest girlfriend, catching his breath—after a bout of really intense sex—when his smartphone rang. Jake glanced over at the phone sitting on his bedside table and saw that Reb Rogers, his close friend and old army buddy from his days in Afghanistan, was calling. Jake said, “Sorry, sweetheart, but I’ve got to take this call.”

  “Hey, Reb, what’s going on?”

  “I see you’re still burning the candle at both ends.”

  “You know what the SEALs say about sleep don’t you?”

  “All right, I’ll bite,” Reb said. “What do the SEALs say about sleep?”

  “Only pussies need sleep,” Jake said.

  His girlfriend playfully punched him in the arm and said, “Jake, you’re such an asshole.”

  She rolled out of bed and mimed she was going to the kitchen to get something to eat so Jake could have some privacy.

  Jake admired her derrière as she sashayed out of the bedroom, before asking, “Why the late call, Reb, you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Jake, I need your help.”

  Jake heard the stress in Reb’s voice and instantly got super serious. “All right, what’s going on, Reb? How can I help you, buddy?”

  For the next five minutes, Reb filled Jake in on how he and Billy had captured the drug sub, the subsequent attack by the drug cartel gang members at The Farm, and then getting the call from Honey informing him she had been kidnapped by the Vicario drug cartel and was being held for ransom somewhere in Mexico in retaliation for Reb’s interference with the cartel’s business operation. Reb told Jake about the deal Honey had made with the cartel leader, Carlos Vicario, for Reb to bring two million dollars in cash to Veracruz for the release of Honey and her business manager and how Reb had gained some time to come up with a plan to rescue Honey by pretending to be in the hospital recovering from a gunshot wound he supposedly received during the fire fight at The Farm.

  When Reb finished bringing him up to speed, Jake said, “Tell me what you need.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that fighting narco-terrorists was included in the FBIS’s charter?” Reb asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “What I’d like to do then, instead of going along with the cartel leader’s little plan that I show up at the airport in Veracruz for their prisoner swap scheme, is find out where Honey is being held, go rescue her, and wipe out the Vicario cartel in the process.”

  “Reb, in order to find out about this Vicario drug cartel and where they’re holding Honey, we’re going to have to bring the DEA into this for whatever intelligence they have on the cartel,” Jake said. “I’m not going to be able to get that kind of information from the DEA until tomorrow morning after I’ve briefed General Davidson on the situation.

  “By the way, Reb, how long would it take you to drive over to Hurlburt Field there outside Mary Esther, Florida?”

  “About an hour and a half. Why?” Reb asked.

  “The plan I’ve got in mind has us meeting up at Hurlburt Field and flying to Mexico from there. It will take about the same amount of time for me and my team to get there, so I’ll call you as soon as I know we’re heading out,” Jake said.

  “Jake,” Reb said. “I’m really worried about Honey and what they might be doing to her.”

  “I know you’re worried, buddy,” Jake said, “but you need to get as much rest as you can tonight, because tomorrow morning I’m going to get right on this, and when I call you back it will be to tell you we’re on the way to pick you up to go rescue Honey and her friend.”

  * * *

  After ending his call with Reb, Jake decided he’d better call the other two team members who would be joining Reb and him for the mission tomorrow to make sure they wouldn’t stay up all night long playing Halo or Call to Arms and not get any sleep.

  While Jake listened to the phone ring and waited for it to be answered, he thought about the plan forming in his mind and how much the success of his plan hinged on the tech savvy of the two men he was calling.

  It hadn’t been that long ago—April 22, the day after the business with the jihadists who had tried to kill Reb had been put to rest—that there had been a knock at the door to his office and, when Jake looked up from the stack of papers he was reading through, he saw Justin Beauregard standing in the doorway.

  Justin was the Quartermaster and Chief Engineer in the FBIS’ R&D section.

  “Hey, Justin, come on in,” Jake said. “What can I do for you?”

  Justin came in and took
a seat in one of the armchairs in front of Jake’s desk. “You remember telling me to let you know when I felt like the time had come to take on another hand in R&D?”

  “I take it that time is now?” Jake asked.

  “Yessir.”

  “You got someone in mind?” Jake asked.

  “I do,” Justin said. “His name is Rich Carson. He was a couple of years behind me at the North Avenue Trade School and we were in the same fraternity.”

  “What are his qualifications?” Jake asked.

  “He’s got a double Masters—Electrical Engineering and Mechanical Engineering,” Justin said. “He’s currently working for the NSA, one of their eavesdroppers, so he’s got his security clearance taken care of.”

  Anything else I need to know about him?” Jake asked.

  “He’s a hell of a gamer, boss,” Justin said. “We get together and play Halo every week and his skills and reflexes with a joystick and game console are off the charts. He’s almost as good as I am. Bottom line is I could sure use someone with his talents for these new weapons projects I’m working on.”

  Jake told Justin that he would have General Davidson steal Rich Carson away from the NSA. Rich had shown up for work at the FBIS’ R&D section the very next day.

  Justin’s girlfriend—whom Jake had met at the office Christmas party—finally answered Justin’s phone. Jake told her who he was, apologized for calling so late, and asked to speak with Justin. The girlfriend told Jake that Justin and Rich were playing some computer game, but, if he’d hold on, she would go get him.

  When Justin answered the phone, Jake said, “You and Rich playing Halo or Call to Arms tonight?”

  “Hey, Boss,” Justin said. “We’re playing Halo tonight. What’s up?”

  “Got a mission in the works for tomorrow. You and Rich are on the team,” Jake said. “Need you guys operating those high-tech weapons you’ve been developing for me. And I need you guys at the top of your game, too. You might want to lay off the Jolt colas and get some sleep tonight.”

  “Gotcha, Boss,” Justin said.

  “Good, then. I’ll see you guys first thing tomorrow morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Jake said. “Goodnight.”

  * * *

  Jake was back in bed under the bedsheet when his lady friend came back to the bedroom. She took one look at him under the sheet and said, “Something’s come up and you’re not going to be any more fun tonight. Right?”

  Jake said from under the sheet, “Sorry about that sweetheart, but duty calls and I need to get some sleep tonight because tomorrow night I probably won’t get any at all. How about a raincheck?”

  Jake’s girlfriend smiled as she started to get back into her clothes and said, “Anytime, Jake. Just give me a call. I’ll turn off the lights and lock up on the way out.”

  By the time she finished dressing and left the house, Jake was sound asleep.

  CHAPTER 22

  Hacienda Vicario

  Veracruz, Mexico

  Wednesday, May 5, 2010

  11:15 p.m. CDT

  After escorting Honey back to her guest suite and making sure she locked the door from the inside, Raúl returned to the study, where Carlos Vicario was waiting for him, and sat down on the couch in front of the desk.

  “You were right, son, Honey Brown is a very attractive woman,” Carlos said.

  “You’re not serious about letting her, her friend, and this Reb Rogers leave, once you have the two million dollars, are you?”

  “Of course not, but we needed her to believe that to be the case when she spoke with Reb Rogers so she could convince him to personally bring the money for the exchange without fear that any harm would come to him.”

  “In that case, I have something to tell you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Yasser al-Ali stopped me on the way back. He saw the American woman when I brought her down to see you. He was very taken with her.”

  “Understandable, like I said, Raúl, she is a very attractive woman,” Carlos said. “What about it?”

  “He wanted to know if she is for sale.”

  “He wants to add her to his harem, does he?”

  “I would guess that’s what he plans to do with her,” Raúl said.

  “First, they want us to smuggle some shipping crates into the United States for them, but they refuse to tell us what is inside the crates,” Carlos said. “And now, they want to buy the American woman. Fine, tell Yasser al-Ali he can have the woman for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Go back and tell him that if the money for the woman comes in tomorrow with the money for smuggling their shipping crates across the border, he can take the woman with him when he leaves tomorrow.”

  * * *

  After going back up to the guest suite where Yasser al-Ali was staying and delivering his father’s terms for the sale of Honey, Raúl returned to Carlos’ study and sat down on the couch in front of his father’s desk again.

  “What did Yasser al-Ali have to say?” Carlos asked.

  “He agreed to your terms. He told me he would call his people in the Caymans tonight and he assured me the extra two hundred and fifty thousand dollars would be on the jet when it returns tomorrow.”

  “Excellent,” Carlos said. “In the meantime, keep an eye on him. He may try to sample the goods before paying for them. That would really piss me off.”

  * * *

  Two days earlier, on Monday of that week, a Gulfstream G550 carrying Yasser al-Ali—a senior leader in the Jihad Brotherhood, one of the more radical Islamic terrorist groups currently waging jihad around the world, founded by the recently deceased Saudi businessman, Faisal al-Waheed—arrived at the hacienda’s airfield. Traveling with Yasser al-Ali was a battle-tested field commander by the name of Hashim al-Harbi and four mujahideen bodyguards.

  The purpose of Yasser al-Ali’s visit to the hacienda was to arrange for Carlos Vicario to smuggle Hashim al-Harbi, the four mujahideen bodyguards, and two large wooden shipping crates across the Mexican-American border into the United States.

  Carlos had a long history of conducting business with the terrorist group. In the past, Carlos had been contracted by the terrorist group to smuggle members of their group across the Mexican border and into the United States. This had been going on for years since 9/11 and had proven to be a lucrative sideline for the cartel. Although the terrorists claimed the people they wanted smuggled into the United States were innocent refugees from the war-torn areas in the middle east, Carlos knew that was not the case and he always charged the terrorists an exorbitant fee for the smuggling services he provided them—usually ten times what any other person wanting to enter the United States illegally would have to pay. When President Shrubb was in office, illegal border crossings had been somewhat difficult and Carlos felt he could legitimately justify the exorbitant fees he charged the terrorists. Now that the Soetoro administration had relaxed the efforts of the United States at securing its southern border, Carlos almost felt guilty about what he was charging the terrorists to help them cross the border.

  When Yasser informed Carlos that he wanted him to smuggle two large wooden shipping crates along with Hashim al-Harbi and the bodyguards into the United States, Carlos asked Yasser what was inside the shipping crates.

  Yasser had not expected the question and declined to answer, as it was customary in his part of the world not to tell a smuggler what it was he was smuggling for you because the smuggler might decide to steal your contraband from you.

  Rather than continue to pursue the question of what was in the shipping crates with Yasser, Carlos decided to take another tack and told Yasser he would need some time to think it over before he could decide what would be an appropriate fee to charge for his smuggling services, in this case.

  Knowing that the terrorists always used the same cargo ship to transport their contraband from the Middle East to the port of Veracruz, Carlos contacted his friend, the Port Master of Veracruz, who confirmed for Carlos that the freighter, Sta
r of Baghdad, was in port.

  Tuesday morning, Carlos instructed his chief of security to escort the cartel’s chief chemist—the man responsible for the crystal meth and the heroin production at the hacienda—to the port of Veracruz, board the Star of Baghdad, find the terrorist’s shipping crates, and provide the chief chemist with whatever assistance he required, in order to determine what was in the shipping crates.

  The cartel’s chief of security, the chief chemist, and ten heavily armed cartel security personnel boarded one of the cartel’s business jets at the hacienda’s airfield and made the short flight to the port of Veracruz.

  Accompanied by the Port Master, Carlos’ men boarded the ship and, while the Port Master kept the Captain of the ship occupied, they found the two shipping crates, and opened one of them.

  Despite the fact that the cartel’s chief chemist had earned his PhD in chemistry, he had taken enough courses in biology to be able to recognize the international sign for biohazardous material that was stenciled on the metal canisters inside the wooden shipping crate and to realize that whatever was inside the canisters was something he wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

  When he returned to the hacienda later that day, the chief chemist reported to Carlos that, although he was no expert in biological warfare, he was convinced the contents of the shipping crates contained some type of bio-weapon.

  On Tuesday afternoon, Carlos called Yasser back to his study and confronted Yasser with the information his chief chemist had reported to him. Seeing no benefit to lying and not wanting to alienate Carlos any further, Yasser admitted the shipping crates contained canisters of weaponized plague virus, which the Jihad Brotherhood planned to use in an attack against the United States.