Patriot Deception: A Thriller Suspense Novel (Mason McCall Book 1)

by Ross Elder

  “Do we think Upton, or whoever, is actually there?” I’d love to get my hands on the guy so I’m pumped about bashing in his door and snatching him.

  “Most of the traffic leads there. He’s either on premises or there’s a connection between him and that residence. If he isn’t there, we are hoping we can find a lead that points us to him,” Frank tells me.

  “And… Mason,” Carter continues. “You aren’t kicking any doors. Not just yet. The FBI is basically just letting us observe and assist in exploitation. Their SWAT guys will make the initial entry. Once they give the all-clear, we will enter and do our thing.”

  Frank is sifting through some papers he removed from his briefcase. “We want you there in hopes you may see something that will help jog your memory. Maybe you’ll have a breakthrough or something.” He flips two black and white photographs onto the coffee table and beckons me closer. “FBI thinks these may be the two guys who busted into your place and extracted the nurse. Do you get anything from these? I know they had their faces covered but does anything look familiar?”

  Who uses black and white these days? Seriously, it’s 2016, people. Upgrade your surveillance package. The pictures show two men, both Caucasian, walking past what I assume is an outdoor video camera. Looks like a sidewalk under their feet. You can’t really tell much from the grainy images. It must have been night when these were taken. The men are indistinct. Nothing really stands out about them. That night in my bedroom, everything happened so fast I didn’t have time to study the two men. Then, of course, the next few minutes were all about the effects of the Taser on my nervous system.

  The two men in the photographs are moving from right to left within the frame. They appear to be walking casually. Their manner of dress is typical of those who work in an office, but not a fancy office where a bespoke suit is required. They are just a notch above business-casual. Nothing. I see noth…wait. There. That watch. The man closest to the camera lens, his left arm is in front of his hips, and the wrist is turned toward the camera. That’s a Suunto Core with a brushed steel bezel. I can tell by the digital display configuration. Yes! I noticed that watch while I was falling to the ground after being tased. I watched him pick up Toni and carry her away. The bezel reflected the light from the window, and I remember it. Why do I know so much about watches, anyway? It’s a respectable watch, and the brand is popular with outdoor enthusiasts. It’s on the low end of the expensive watch scale.

  “Here! Look.” I’m sliding the photo toward Frank, turning it. “See that watch? I recognize it. One of the men in my house was wearing it, or, well, a watch just like it. For some reason, I even know the make and model. I guess I have a weird thing about watches.”

  “You’re sure?” Carter asks as he steps toward the table.

  “I think so. No. I don’t think so, I know so. That’s the same watch. Not too many people around here are going to be wearing a watch like that.”

  “Why not?” Frank has looked up from the photo and is raising an eyebrow at me.

  “Well…” I sigh a little. “This is going to sound bad. My house is in an exclusive complex. These people spend more than the cost of that watch on a pair of shoes. It’s not…you know…it’s expensive, on the normal scale, but not expensive enough for those people. It’s the kind of watch a working man saves up for. It isn’t something a wealthy person even pays attention to. So, it’s sort of in the middle and uncommon in these parts. This guy is outdoorsy. Uses all the features. A military guy or an adventure guide kind of person.” I’m speaking too rapidly. I’m agitated or excited or anxious. Something. My heart is racing a little. I feel Amanda’s warm hand on my shoulder, and it immediately has a calming effect.

  “It’s okay, baby,” she whispers.

  I’m sure the others heard it. Susan looked up, and I thought I saw a glimpse of a sympathetic smile. Amanda saw that I was blazing out of control for a moment. She knew what to do. She knew what to say. She knew how to bring me back down to earth. The fact it worked was as shocking to my system as the plummet from the mania I was building.

  “Or a thug on a government salary,” Carter offers.

  “Yeah.” My voice sounded weak just now.

  “It isn’t much, but it’s something. I will pass that along to the feds.” Carl makes a note in a small, weatherproof notebook and then slips it into an inside pocket of his sports coat. “I’ll go link-up with the SAIC and get the details on briefing and launch.”

  “Go. Make it happen, brother.” Frank didn’t even look up from other papers he’s browsing. As Carl left the room, Frank continued, “You know, if we could find that file of yours, we might be able to thwart whatever it is these people are doing just by releasing it to the public. We could hit up our media contacts and get it out there. Might shed some light on what’s happening and maybe people will start resisting some of it. I mean, we aren’t going to have you on a panel discussion on CNN, or anything, but we can always throw one of the policy wonks at it. They love being on television.”

  I’m not even sure what the file contains, let alone where it may be. I have no idea what I did with the stupid thing. Regardless, they were able to find Upton’s people, and we may be able to bring this to an end. The Russians really wanted to get their hands on it, but it appears to be too late for that. I hate not remembering, though. It’s like a form of insanity. One minute everything is clear as a bell, the next, it’s a fog of confusion and amnesia. The ringing in my ears is increasing now, and my head is starting to pound. That now-familiar pressure in my chest is again making itself known.

  “Take a breath,” Amanda whispers.

  She’s standing in front of me, holding my face in her hands, looking into my eyes. I didn’t know she was there. I guess I drifted off for a moment. I take a deep breath. It helps. My hands seem to be shaking a little. I’m blinking a little too often.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Susan asks while glancing at Frank. “Do you really think he’s up to this?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. We need him.” Frank returns to his study of the files before him.

  This is a bit awkward, people discussing you while you are standing right there and acting like you aren’t really standing right there hearing everything they say. Amanda is unaffected by their words. She’s smiling at me, and her eyes seem to be sparkling. Her energy is soothing.

  “Hello, Mason,” Amanda whispers. “Welcome back.”

  “I’m Mason. Mason McCall. I have a… thing. A problem. Damaged.”

  “I know,” she says.

  “I love you,” I tell her. And I really mean it.

  “Yes, you do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  September 26, 2016

  1745 hours

  We’re waiting for sunset. That should officially be around 7:20pm. The day was spent performing more research and getting me acquainted with the technology used by the team. Some of it seems familiar, or similar to things I’ve used in the past, both government and private sector. The rest, however, seems like something out of a movie. Having been the beneficiary of many of the government’s intelligence tools, I knew the capabilities were mind-blowing but, never having seen it myself, it was shocking to witness.

  Clarence was showing a live stream of the internet traffic flowing to and from the suspected safe-house after exploiting a security weakness in the VPN being used by the cell. This appeared to be relatively easy for Clarence, but he didn’t do much of the actual “hacking” by typing things into the system. He utilized hacking tools that, once activated and pointed toward a target, do much of the work on their own. Once the weaknesses were identified, Clarence just had to decide which penetration route he wanted to try.

  The information flowing in both directions was encrypted so we couldn’t read it in real time, but Clarence also possessed decryption tools that could crack just about anything, including our own government’s preferred encryption. The messages would eventually be deciphered, and text data would b
e readable. Then it’s just a matter of sifting through the troves of information to determine what is useful and what is just a guy ordering pizza and not a guy using pizza-related code words to pass a message.

  There is a drone in the sky high above the house already. A live feed of the video is running on Susan’s laptop. There doesn’t appear to be any abnormal activity. None of the vehicles have moved in the hour since we started watching. There are three sedans present at the house, which gives us a possible bad guy count of upward of fifteen. That’s unlikely, though. Based on the garbage cans and other indicators around the property, I’d guess we were looking at around half that number.

  The SWAT commander, or leader, or whatever, a Special Agent… something, says they aren’t expecting any violent resistance. He says these spy types know the likelihood of their ever being held for any amount of time is slim. Political deals, prisoner swaps, and all sorts of other things, many embarrassing to the government if made public, usually conspire to ensure they will be back on their way to the motherland in a matter of weeks. Oh, they’re still going to hit the house like the Midwest branch of the Islamic State is hanging out in there, don’t doubt that. They aren’t expecting trouble. That doesn’t mean they aren’t prepared for it.

  Our team, and I have no idea what to call us, will be in a trailing vehicle just behind the second raid vehicle. The small convoy will motor down the road at high speed before quickly braking and turning into the yard of the house. One vehicle will go to the rear of the house while the other goes to the front. By the SWAT commander’s explanation, his men will be dismounting the vehicles before they stop moving. A handful of men will secure the perimeter and deal with something he referred to as “squirters.” I felt like an idiot having to ask what the hell that meant. Apparently, it’s a super cool operator word for people who try to flee the scene. The description makes no sense to me.

  There will be a simultaneous dynamic entry through the front and rear entrances of the house. It will happen immediately. This is a no-knock type of warrant and entry. Shock and surprise will be the main advantage. If that doesn’t work, the guy who tackled the shit out of me in the motel room will probably knock some sense into them. They’ll hit the doors with battering rams. During the briefing, I asked about an explosive breach of the residence because I thought that would be impressive. I suffered a few blank stares and received a quick kick to the ankle from Susan, who apparently thought I was speaking out of turn and needed to zip it. She was sitting to my left, Clarence to my right.

  Carter was standing along the side of the cramped conference room during the briefing in the Navarre Police Department’s offices. He seems to have a good rapport with the shooters, as he calls them.

  It’s cloudy outside, in the low sixties, and there’s been a drizzling rain off and on most of the day. Still, I’m kind of sweating. My armpits are wet, and I can’t seem to be still. Anxiety, I suppose. Anticipation, too. Everyone else seems to be relatively calm. Chilled out, even. I realize this isn’t really my lane. I was always the guy in the office, doing technical things, nerdy things, and leaving the shooting and looting to the agents in the field. I think I must have held no small bit of jealousy over it, too. I think that’s why I spent so much time training for physical combat. I wanted to be out there. I was, from time to time, but in my memory, it seems uncommon.

  I remember being in Venezuela on an operation to extract an asset. I created his papers and helped coordinate his disguise. The danger was very real and I was prepared for physical confrontation if it came. It did not. The operation went smoothly and everyone was safe and sound back in the U.S. right on schedule. I do have memories of violence but they are disjointed and muddled. More so, I seem to recall having done some very terrible things in the past. The memories are not really there but I can tell through the feelings I don’t have. I’m still not upset about killing those two shitheads at the hospital. It felt good. I should feel ashamed that I feel good about it, shouldn’t I? Is that the part of my brain that was damaged; the sympathy parts?

  I guess I’ll have to worry about that later. I’m being beckoned by Carl. It’s time for a final gear check, communications check, and vehicle assignments. I know which vehicle I’ll be in but Carl, ever the professional, is requiring that we go over everything yet again.

  Looking down at my tactical vest, holster, and identification lanyard, I feel a sense of pride and excitement. The trauma of the last few weeks could come to an end, tonight, in just a few more minutes. I could be free of it and free to pursue the life I want again if I can recover those parts of my brain that tell me what life it is I want. I think I just said a silent prayer.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  September 26, 2016

  1923 hours

  The trucks are barreling down the road, heading south. As we approach the target, the speed increases. Surprise is key. We would like to be in the house before they even know we are there. Since these are trained foreign agents, we assume they will have some sort of security in place. Perhaps closed circuit surveillance cameras and sensors around the property. We assume we won’t have much time between entering the yard and the personnel inside being aware of our presence.

  I’m in the rear driver’s side seat. Carl is on the passenger side with Susan squeezed between us. I’m trying my best not to make contact with her, but it’s impossible. Our thighs keep touching, and she keeps looking at me every time I pull it away like she has cooties. I’m kind of getting the impression she doesn’t like me much. Yet. I’m sure I’ll grow on her over time. Maybe. She’s kind of tough for a nerdy girl.

  “It’s gonna be muddy,” Susan tells Clarence, who is behind the wheel.

  “Yeah, I hope they slow down before hitting the yard,” Clarence yells over the road noise.

  “Doesn’t look like it! Shit! Slow down, man,” Frank instructs as the first two vehicles in the raid party jerk to the right and leave the blacktop. “Carter’s gonna be pissed. He’s probably cussing up a storm right now.”

  Carter, who has more experience than probably several of the SWAT agents combined, was allowed to hitch a ride in the second assault vehicle. They still wouldn’t let him breach the building with the team, but they were comfortable having him right behind them as added backup.

  The first vehicle left the road and made a straight line toward the rear of the house, cutting across the muddy lawn and barely missing a large Maple tree less than thirty feet from the north wall. Mud splashed and flew through the air as the all-terrain tires on the SUV cut deep ruts along its path.

  The second vehicle, the one in which Carter was a passenger, turned later and attempted to make a sharp curve toward the front porch on the east side of the house. It’s fishtailing now, the rear sliding hard into the muddy ground sending a wave of chunky mud flying. As our slower moving vehicle also left the road, attempting to stay on the driveway, the second assault vehicle struck a large rock in the yard and raised up onto the two driver’s side tires.

  “Shit! They’re gonna roll!” Clarence yells.

  Our truck slides to a stop about twenty feet from the southeast corner of the house, approximately thirty feet from the teetering second assault vehicle. I can no longer see the first assault vehicle. I don’t know if they were successful in stopping and dismounting. The second truck is teetering dangerously. Holy shit.

  “Bail out! Move! They’re gonna need help!” Frank orders.

  I’m not wearing a seatbelt because I couldn’t get the damn thing buckled in the cramped confines. Between all the gear and the three bodies, there just wasn’t room to squirm and force it. Luckily, Clarence is a good driver and didn’t hit the mud too much going in. If we had rolled, we were all going to just be flying heads and elbows slamming into each other inside the passenger compartment.

  The doors open. I’m out. Susan is scrambling to follow out my door as Carl struggles to free himself on the passenger side. He wasn’t buckled in, but the seatbelt somehow got ta
ngled in his gear. He’s halfway out of the truck, cursing like mad, jerking against the sturdy belt.

  “Mother…fucker! Get…off me!” he’s yelling through clenched teeth.

  I glance back through the passenger compartment just in time to see Carl break free and tumble to the mud beside the truck. Now his obscenities are louder and a bit more personal. Something about mumble mumble fucking mumble fucking fuck. He ain’t happy.

  We’re all out now. Clarence, who seems to move like an agile cat, is already at the second assault vehicle when it slams back down onto all four tires in the yard, the driver’s side front quarter panel wedged against the cinderblock foundation of the front porch. The assaulters are piling out, but it’s happening too slowly.

  A large bang just came from the back of the property. The breacher must have slammed the back door. There’s only one bang so I assume the breach was successful on the first attempt. The assaulters in the second vehicle are scrambling to get onto the porch for their own breach. One of the guys is in the mud on his side, trying to get to his feet unsuccessfully. Carter leaps from the driver’s side rear of the damaged truck and runs around the rear of the vehicle, snatching the bogged down assaulter by a web loop at the back of the assaulter's vest. At a nearly full run, Carter jerks the man to his feet and pulls him forward behind him.

  Guns are drawn and the breacher, better late than never, is in place. The team commander jerks open the screen door, and the breacher drives the ram forward, slamming the door just below the doorknob. It didn’t open. He draws back and takes another swing. I can see the door moving a little, but it still isn’t open. The assaulters are moving around on the balls of their feet, preparing to run forward with every strike of the ram and each time having to stop themselves.