by Jace Killan
Raiya tapped on the green dot that he suspected to be a hostile and reassigned the person to the color red. A moment later, Raiya and two others appeared red as well. One of his soldiers had stopped, confused, pistol to the ready.
“Something’s not right,” Raiya changed his men back to green. As soon as he’d finished the others were now red and a moment later every dot on the screen glowed red.
“Dammit!” He threw his cell phone, shattering it on the ground. A poor move he instantly regretted. Regardless of friendly or hostile indication, the app would still show location and arsenal.
“App does not work,” Raiya said in broken English. He wished he could speak Arabic to his comrades but none in his current group would understand.
“Someone’s hacked the app,” a soldier said. “It can’t be trusted.”
“Use local only,” Raiya said.
“Use it for location only,” the soldier repeated. “We’ll still have to verify if the mark is friendly or hostile.”
Raiya held out his soldier’s phone and pointed at the now red dot moving through the west wing when suddenly it vanished. Not even an x remained.
“Follow me,” Raiya said, checking the desert eagle’s clip.
Joaquin ducked back into the Oval Office fleeing from the smoke and flames advancing down the hall. Seconds later the sprinklers kicked on. He needed to get out. According to the app, the National Guard had started their efforts to retake the White House, though they’d stalled at the front, most likely from the fires. Others however had entered through the back and now engaged in firefights throughout the place.
He left the Oval Office and bolted down the corridor away from the flames. He found a large room that led into the Cabana. Joaquin ducked a moment watching the doors that were closed to the outside. Nothing stirred in the dim light. He opened a French door and crept out to the pool.
Joaquin sighed in relief then coughed. It had stopped raining, a cool freshness filled his lungs. He’d grown accustomed to the alarm—now he barely heard its screech.
Flashlights appeared in the cabana. He crouched and made way for the shrubs flanking the pool. He followed the hedge to the far side of the pool and knelt low, catching his breath. A moment later several men appeared in the cabana and filtered outside, weapons raised to the ready.
Joaquin consulted the app, shielding the light from his phone. There were four men, all armed with pistols, two with AKs. Surprised, he discovered that he no longer showed up on the map.
Joaquin pulled the AK from his shoulder and pointed it across the pool. He’d only brought one and no backup clip. If he fired they’d converge on his position. Being invisible, he decided to play it safe and wait.
The one in charge barked orders to the others directing them back inside. Joaquin looked for an escape from the courtyard, away from the battle. The man in charge remained behind with another to clear the courtyard. Joaquin had proven a threat to merit so much attention. One hostile made way to the hedge and followed it toward Joaquin. The other in charge circled the pool.
Joaquin readied his AK, leveling it at the hostile in the hedge. Sprinkles tapped his back and arms. The sky provided no light, and a red glow highlighted the edges of the White House outlining plumes of smoke darker than night, like ghostly shadows bellowing high into the air.
Shooting at a doorway only feet away was one thing. Shooting across a yard was another. With the AK he could probably down the man nearing him to his right, but would end up in a firefight with the other still sixty yards to his left and that guy would call his friends back. Joaquin would lose the element of invisibility. And what if he ran out of ammo?
He’d have to take the chance. Running at this point would end his life and he couldn’t hide from the nearing hostile. He fired a three round burst, tagging the guy in the head. Joaquin spun his weapon toward the other who ducked behind bushes and returned fire from the distance. Just as he’d feared.
Joaquin shot the bushes. The returning fire told him he hadn’t hit his mark. Two men appeared in the doorway. Joaquin took the shot, though further away he had a clearer line of sight. The two men dropped. This invited a few more rounds from the hostile hiding in the bushes.
Joaquin crept around the hedge toward that side of the pool. He let off a few rounds then ducked for the return fire. None came. He crept closer, listening with every step.
Two more men appeared in the doorway. Joaquin, closer now, took them out though he emptied his clip to do so. Now what? He was essentially unarmed. He followed the bushes toward the hostile. Maybe he’d gotten lucky and hit the bastard. He listened, hearing nothing. The silence gave him hope. He thought about heading to the doorway, to the weapons there. But maybe this guy was dead and he could just nab his pistol. Then he wouldn’t feel so naked.
Joaquin quickened his crawl, searching the bushes where he thought the hostile would be. Between the bushes and the pool he spotted a glint in the darkness. A pistol.
He searched around for its owner, but saw no one. Perhaps the wounded terrorist had headed back toward the door unseen. Joaquin reached the pistol and checked the magazine. Empty. He jolted forward, propelled from behind, his legs useless as they folded beneath him. The man he hunted held him in a bear hug forcing him to the ground, but the floor gave way, transforming into cold water.
Joaquin wanted to breathe from the icy shock but fought the urge as his head was below the surface. The man climbed above him, pinning him down. Joaquin dropped his hand to pull the buck knife he carried in his pocket. He’d almost forgotten about it.
With as much force as he could muster he slammed the blade into the hostile’s leg, then again into his gut. The hostile relinquished his grip on Joaquin who spun and slammed the knife once again into the hostile’s neck.
Joaquin’s head broke the water’s surface. He gasped for air and coughed as he found his footing and stood. When his vision returned he saw several men in gas masks and tactical gear, their rifles trained on him.
Joaquin raised his hands. “I’m FBI. Sort of anyway.”
The rifles lowered and one man extended his hand to help Joaquin out of the pool. He accepted with a winded, “Thank you.”
“You know,” the soldier said, “if I was going to take a swim in the White House Pool, I’d probably do it in the buff. It’d make for a better story.”
“Yes sir,” Joaquin forced a laugh. He sat on the side shaking from the cold or adrenaline or both. He couldn’t ever remember being more physically exhausted than he was now.
The soldiers fished the dead guy out of the water.
Joaquin pointed at the corpse. “He was one of the leaders.”
A soldier pulled three syringes from the left pocket of the man. The man he’d killed with his bare hands. Delirium was setting in. How many had he killed? A dozen? More? His eyes closed and he passed out.
50
“Is this JJ’s father?” Bruce asked. He spoke directly into the phone and quietly, so as not to wake the kid.
Bruce had fed him some lie about his dad getting tied up but would be there soon. He’d checked into a hotel, went swimming, got the kid real tired, then gave him some melatonin and Benadryl. JJ snored as soon as he hit the sheets. Still, Bruce hoped to keep it that way.
“Who is this?” Junior replied.
“I’m the guy that’s got your kid.”
“Tell Askari I’m getting his money. C’mon. He don’t have to play like that.”
“Who the hell’s Ass- whatever his name is?”
Silence followed. “What do you want?”
“I want to know that Joaquin’s mom is safe.”
“You work for Joaquin?”
“Listen, dude, unless you want your kid taking a long bath and never coming up for air, don’t ask me another question, got it?”
“Got it.”
“I’m a nice guy,” Bruce said. “And I ain’t never hurt no kid before, but for your boy, I’m gonna make an exception.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I thought you would. Now, what I want is Joaquin’s mom. When I know she’s safe, I let your boy go back to his Abuela.”
“I don’t know where his mom is.”
“Not my problem, Junior.”
“But...”
It scared Bruce how good he could be at this game. He’d become the monster now.
“I’ll find her. How do I know you got my boy?”
“I chopped off his finger. You’ll get it in the mail tomorrow.”
Silence.
“I’m joking, Junior. I’m texting you a video now, as we speak. He’s zonked out, but he’s alive. For now, anyway.”
Bruce ended the call, texted the video, then destroyed the burner phone.
He let an hour pass before calling Junior back. He didn’t bother asking if Junior had located Joaquin’s mom, he knew that as soon as the man saw the video of his sleeping JJ, he was on the phone making it happen.
“She still in Arizona?” Bruce asked
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Town called Coolidge.”
“Great.” Bruce keyed Coolidge into his laptop. Google showed a large town but hardly populated, not an ideal place for an extraction.
He thought a moment. He had a friend that worked for Chandler PD. Chandler was a thirty-minute drive from Coolidge, and an hour drive from his hotel. That could work. Early morning would be best.
“Listen, Junior. I’m going to spend the night here with your son. If you want to see him again, you’re going to take good care of that lady, got it?”
“Yeah.”
Bruce heard something in the background. He tried to place it. An overhead announcement. Junior was at the airport, no doubt catching a flight to Arizona. He hadn’t planned on that, but it didn’t much matter at this point.
“I’ll call you in the morning at this number.” Bruce hung up and destroyed another burner.
He spent some time trying to track down his old buddy from the service, Rogers. They’d done two tours together. He finally found him on Facebook under the name Ramjet Rodriguez. An hour after the friend request, Rogers accepted. Then Bruce spent some time shooting the bull through chat, working in the question about employment. Sure enough, Rogers worked as a Sergeant for Chandler, specializing in family crimes.
Bruce indicated that he’d stopped in town for a layover. “Want to get some coffee in the morning?”
“Hells yeah,” Rogers said. “I start my shift at six. You want to meet before?”
Bruce laughed. “Nah, six is too early for me these days. What if I come grab you from the police department at eight?”
“That works.”
Bruce almost ended the call but had a passing thought. “Say, Rog, I’m here doing some investigative work and I’m tracking a guy that’s wanted for a murder up in New York, but I wonder if he has any outstanding priors here in Arizona?”
“I can check it out. Text me over his info and I’ll have my gals run it.”
“Thanks that’d be great.” As soon as he hung up, Bruce texted over Junior’s info, including his address.
Morning did not come quickly. He wondered if he should restrain the kid, just to make sure he didn’t try to get out or call home or any of that, but JJ didn’t so much as roll over. He snored a little around 2 a.m. but other than that, slept through the night.
At six, Bruce made coffee and woke the kid up.
“Where’s my papi?”
“He couldn’t make it last night, but we’re going to go see him right now.”
While the kid used the bathroom, Bruce called Junior.
“Have your guys drop the lady off so she walks through the front doors at 7:59 am of the Chandler PD. Not 7:58. Not eight o’clock. Got it? I’ll get a call as soon as my friend sees her there, safe and unharmed. If I don’t get that call, your boy’s dead.”
“Understood.”
That went smoother than Bruce had expected. He loaded the kid up and drove North toward Phoenix after going through a McDonald’s drive thru.
At 7:55 he drove through Chandler, but miles away from the PD. He called Rogers. “C’mon out to the front, I’m on the curb.” He hoped to get confirmation from Rogers that Joaquin’s mom was returned safely.
Bruce wasn’t even sure what the curb looked like, but Rogers didn’t seem surprised at Bruce’s assertion. “Be right there. Oh, that guy you had me run info on does have a prior. Turns out he’s wanted for narcotics trafficking and killing a cop about six years ago.”
Bruce smiled.
“Do you think he’s in town?” Rogers asked.
“Maybe.”
“Cause he’s supposedly got a kid that went missing last night.”
“Huh. That’s good info. Thanks Rog.” He had to keep talking, but best to change the subject. “Hey, how’s your lady friend doing? What was her name, Marissa?”
“Good memory, Bruce. But I don’t know. We split about three years ago. Actually, she kind of cheated on me during that last tour.”
“No way. Serious?”
“Yeah. But I got a sweet ol’ gal now. Becky. Hot, I’m telling you. And she’s 26 dude.”
“Damn, you could be her daddy.”
“Almost. But no man. This chick is...”
There were muffled cries over the line. Bruce looked at the clock in his rental, 7:59.
He held his breath. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Rogers said. “Um, give me a sec.”
It sounded like Rogers tried to mute the call, but Bruce heard a woman speaking. The moment of truth.
“You’re all right now,” Rogers said. His voice grew louder with each word. “Hey, you there, Bruce?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, man. Something’s come up.”
“No problem, Rog. Was that the lady I saw? Everything alright?” He phished.
“Yeah, she’s shook up, but...I guess she was kidnapped.”
It worked. “I’m glad there are people like you in this world. Keep her safe. And have her call her family. I’m sure someone’s worried sick about her.” He ended the call, a flush of relief relaxing his caffeine charged mind.
“Was that my papi?” JJ asked.
“Yeah. He’s on his way.” Bruce pulled into a parking lot, filled with cars surrounding The Hoosier Café.
Bruce parked and went in with JJ, who skimmed the room. He seemed tired of this game, but it was about to end.
“You like pancakes, JJ?”
“Yeah,” enthusiasm in his reply.
They sat in a booth, ordered pancakes, bacon, sausage, ham for good measure and orange juice. Bruce excused himself, said he needed to use the restroom. He did, but then he paid the tab and left. Ten minutes later, he phoned Joaquin. It went to voicemail.
So he texted, “I’m hoping your mom is safe???”
The reply came soon after, “Yes. I’m on the other line with her now. She’s shook up but okay.”
Bruce called Rogers again, three times consecutively to get him to pick up.
“Everything alright?” Rogers asked.
“Yeah. Just thought you’d want to know. That cop killer I was tracking is going to be in Chandler if you want to get him.”
“Really? How do you know that?”
“He’ll be coming for his boy. I’ll text you the address.”
Rogers must’ve thought him nuts. He basically admitted to kidnapping. But Bruce knew that the PD would send someone by to get Junior.
Bruce dialed Junior. “Thank you for delivering my gals.”
“Where’s my boy?”
“He’s close. Corner of Arizona Avenue and Warner, Hoosier Café.” Bruce hung up and chucked the phone out the window.
Jared entered the hospital room, wearing his mask as directed by the nursing staff. Anthrax had spread, mortality toppling a thousand, but the fear of Anthrax had spread quicker. Travel bans sent airline stock to the pennies. The effects would undoubtedly trigger a
nother recession, maybe a depression.
“Hey man,” he said upon seeing his friend Spencer, laid up, playing Scrabble on his iPad.
Spencer put it aside. “Great. Did you bring me some burgers?”
Jared shook his head, smiling beneath the mask. “Nah. They won’t let me do something like that.”
“I know. I only crave crappy food when I’m in the hospital. I’m starving here.”
Jared chuckled and pulled a sack from under his suit coat. “Here.”
“Oh man, Mickey D’s. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Take it easy. And if you get caught with that, I don’t know anything, got it?”
Spencer tore into a Big Mac.
“How much longer you got?”
Spencer shrugged and swallowed. “Don’t know. They want to keep me at least another two days for observation.”
“Cause you have anthrax?”
“No. But just in case. They’re working on a treatment based on what they pulled from one of the terrorist’s pockets. They think that somehow Askari got this company to create a mutated strand of Anthrax, or something like that. And he also developed an antidote.”
“You found the antidote?”
“Looks like it.”
Jared nodded. He’d heard the briefing that morning.
“Any word on Askari?” Spencer asked.
Jared shook his head. “Nope. He disappeared. And I can’t get any straight answers about Guzman either.”
“What about Junior?”
“In the wind,” Jared said. The term sounded so official. So FBI. He pictured Emma laughing at him.
“Joaquin is down the hall. You saved his life, you know.”
Jared shrugged. He hadn’t really done anything. “Yeah, I just saw him. His mom...”
“His mom!” Spencer’s face turned pale. He swung his legs off the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“I forgot about Joaquin’s mom. We lost track of her.”
Jared’s face relaxed. “Settle down. She’s fine. I was saying that Joaquin was just talking with his mom. The cartel nabbed her but then they just dropped her off at the police station.”
Spencer relaxed though he pushed his half eaten burger aside. “I dropped the ball there. You sure she’s okay?”
