by J B Black
“Why don’t you come over here?” Megan suggested. “I’m sure that we can find something to do that will help take the edge off while we wait.”
CHAPTER 30
Parking Garage-Level 3
Seaside Tower Condominium Complex
Seaside Beach, Alabama
Saturday, April 17, 2010
8:45 p.m. Central Time
After getting the drop on the three jihadis in the minivan, Reb, Honey, and Billy relieved them of their weapons and phones. They handcuffed their hands and feet with plastic zip tie handcuffs furnished by Billy. Then, they bound their lower legs together by wrapping several lengths of duct tape around them and they wrapped several lengths of duct tape around their upper torso pinning their arms to their chests so they couldn’t move their arms around. Then they forced them to sit on the hard concrete floor of the garage with their backs up against the side of their minivan.
When they finished securing the prisoners, Reb looked at Billy and said, “What’s this all about?”
“Well, I had just gotten home and hadn’t even gotten out of my uniform when I got a call from Rusty,” Billy said. “It seems he tried calling you, but you must’ve had your phone turned off because it kept rolling over to your voicemail.”
Reb blushed and said, “Yeah, I … unh—”
“He tried to take a picture of a fish I caught with his phone while he was trying to land it,” Honey interrupted, “and the fish knocked the phone out of his hand. Reb’s phone is somewhere on the bottom of the Gulf right now.”
Billy laughed.
“Well, like I was saying,” Billy continued, “Rusty told me he tried calling you a couple of times and ended up leaving you a message. But not wanting to take any chances that you wouldn’t get his message in time, he called me and told me about a couple of Arab looking fellows who had disturbed his peace and quiet by banging on your door loud enough that he couldn’t hear his favorite TV show. He said they called him an infidel, said they’d be back, and they were carrying concealed weapons.
“Sounded a little hinky to me. So, I decided to check it out. I grabbed my riot gun and took the middle stairway down to the garage. I spotted this minivan parked right across from your parking spot with these fellows in it. It was obvious they were watching your parking spot waiting for you to return. So, I snuck up behind them, and waited with them for you to show up. When you showed up, I was able to sneak right up to the side of the minivan and that’s when I heard them saying something about capturing you or killing you. That was all I needed to know that these were bad guys.”
Reb folded his arms and looked down at the three jihadis and said, “OK, boys. What’s this all about?”
Omar glared up at Reb, defiantly, and said, “We are the sword of Allah and our mission is to cut off the head of the infidel who murdered our brothers in Lashwan, Afghanistan.
Tariq quickly turned to his brother jihadist and said, “Shut up, you fool.”
“What the hell do you know about what happened in Lashwan, Afghanistan?” Reb growled. “Who sent you?”
“We will tell you nothing, infidel dog,” Tariq said, adamantly.
“Suit yourself, Ahab,” Reb said.
Reb turned to Billy and said, “I need to find out what’s behind this. You got any ideas?”
“If I arrest them, they’ll lawyer up and the Feds will get involved and, with this Soetoro administration, they’ll probably be released on bail and then disappear,” Billy said.
“These sons of bitches were going to cut my head off,” Reb said. “They would have raped Honey and then killed her, too. Add to that, they know something about a mission I was on in Afghanistan that was highly classified.”
“All western women are whores,” Mohamed said. “They should be raped as the Koran commands.”
Honey’s eyes shot daggers at Mohamed and the knuckles of her right hand holding her pistol turned white. It took every ounce of self-control she had to keep from shooting the asshole in the crotch.
“As I was saying,” Billy continued, “taking these assholes into custody isn’t our best option. You won’t get the information you need and I sure don’t need the red tape associated with arresting these terrorist wannabes.”
“I demand a lawyer,” Tariq said. “We’re American citizens and we know our rights.”
Reb turned toward the terrorist and said, “You were going to cut off my infidel head and you were going to rape my girlfriend and then kill her, too. The only law you care about is your sharia law. You just hide behind our laws when it serves your interests. As far as I’m concerned, you ain’t got no rights.”
Omar started rocking back and forth where he sat and began chanting, “Allah akbar, Allah akbar.” Over and over again. Then Tariq and Mohamed joined in and all three terrorists were chanting “Allah akbar, Allah akbar.”
Honey said, “I’ve had enough of that Allah akbaring shit.”
She reached into the bag she had brought with her from Reb’s SUV and handed Reb a roll of duct tape.
“This ought to shut them up.” Honey said.
“So, what should we do about our terrorist buddies?” Reb asked, as he used the duct tape to gag the terrorist’s by winding the tape through their open mouths and around their heads several times so they couldn’t do anything more than grunt.
“I’ve got an idea and they aren’t going to like it one little bit,” Honey said.
CHAPTER 31
Parking Garage-Level 3
Seaside Tower Condominium Complex
Seaside Beach, Alabama
Saturday, April 17, 2010
9:00 p.m. Central Time
After whispering her idea in Reb’s ear, Honey left the garage and went up to Rusty’s condo. When Billy asked Reb what Honey had said to him, Reb whispered to him that they were going to take the three jihadis out in the Gulf and scare the shit out of them.
While they waited for Honey to return, Reb and Billy finished gagging the terrorists, loaded them into the back of Billy’s Suburban, and covered them with a tarp. When Honey came back down to the garage a few minutes later, she had Rusty with her.
Billy and Reb got into Billy’s Suburban and Honey and Rusty got into the jihadis’ minivan with Rusty riding shotgun. The two vehicles pulled out of the garage, drove across Perdido Beach Boulevard, and pulled into the entrance road to Rusty’s Marina.
They drove to the Marina’s main building where Rusty kept his office and parked in front. Rusty and Reb got out and went inside. A few minutes later, they came back out, each carrying two white five-gallon plastic buckets with lids on them. Hand written on the side of the buckets was the word LARD in large block letters. Reb and Rusty placed the four buckets in the rear of the terrorist’s minivan.
Rusty kept several large capacity two-wheel dock carts out in front of the building that were available for the use of the marina’s customers to load and unload gear from their boats. Reb grabbed one and put it in the back of the jihadis’ minivan along with the LARD buckets.
After Reb and Rusty got back in the vehicles, they drove to the east dock area and parked in the loading area near D dock where Reb kept the Revenge berthed in slip D7. Other than their two vehicles, the loading area near the docks was empty.
Reb got the dock cart out of the back of the minivan and he and Billy tossed two of the jihadis into it.
While Honey and Rusty watched over the third terrorist, Reb and Billy quickly pushed the dock cart loaded with the two terrorists down the dock to where Reb’s boat was moored and lifted first one and then the other of the two jihadis out of the cart and threw them into the cockpit area of the Revenge. Reb and Billy then jumped on board and carried the two jihadis down below into the cabin area.
When Reb and Billy returned with the cart, they removed the four buckets labeled LARD from the jihadis’ minivan and loaded the buckets into the dock cart. Then they lifted the third terrorist out of the back of the Suburban and placed him on top of the buckets. Whi
le Reb and Billy were taking the third terrorist and the LARD buckets to the boat, Honey and Rusty moved the Suburban and the minivan to the Marina’s parking lot where they parked and locked them.
By the time Honey and Rusty walked from the parking lot back to Slip D7, Reb had returned the dock cart to its place at the Marina office and come back to the Revenge. He was sitting at the helm of the Revenge going over the checklist that he always performed before taking the thirty-five foot sportfisherman out into the Gulf. The twin 350 horsepower outboard engines were gently rumbling as they idled and after Honey and Rusty came aboard, Billy cast off the lines and jumped aboard, too.
It was a little early for any of the charter boats that made Rusty’s Marina their home base to be loading up for the early morning trip out into the Gulf. So, they had the waterway around the marina to themselves.
There was plenty of moonlight to navigate by and Reb slowly maneuvered the Revenge out toward the deeper water of Cotton Bayou. Once he was beyond the No Wake signs, Reb increased the throttles as he took the boat out past Gilchrist Island, under the bridge at Alabama Point, and then through Perdido Pass heading out into the Gulf of Mexico.
The night sky was clear, the radar showed little traffic for miles out in front of them, and, even though the temperature was in the low 70s, with the boat running at a little more than fifty miles an hour, everyone in the boat was very comfortable—except for the three jihadis down in the cabin area.
Honey was sitting next to Reb as he steered the boat out into the Gulf toward deeper water and the oil rigs. Billy and Rusty were sitting in the two aft seats.
Honey leaned in close to Reb so he could hear her without having to shout and said, “Good thing we fueled up when we came in earlier.”
Reb winked at her and said, “I was a Boy Scout. It’s always best to be prepared.”
Honey said, “Where are we headed?”
Reb pointed to a spot designated with an “X” on the GPS display screen and said, “We’ll try this rig first.”
Forty-five minutes later, as they neared the rig Reb had pointed out to Honey earlier, they saw that there were a couple of boats there already.
Honey said, “What now?”
Reb pointed to another “X” on the GPS display screen that was about fifteen minutes further out and said, “We’ll try that one next.”
Billy and Rusty hadn’t spoken since they’d left the marina.
Billy leaned close to Rusty and yelled over the roar of the two big outboards, “It’s been bothering me ever since we left. What the hell do you plan to do with those buckets of lard?”
“That ain’t lard,” Rusty said, flashing a wicked looking grin. “That’s chum.”
CHAPTER 32
Megan Gallagher’s Residence
Washington, D.C.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
10:05 p.m. Eastern Time
Hassan rolled off of Megan and sat up in the bed next to her. Both of them were covered in a sheen of perspiration and still breathing heavily from their sexual exertions. Megan sat up, lit a cigarette, and exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.
After glancing at the alarm clock on her bedside table, Megan announced, “It’s five after ten. Shouldn’t you have heard something by now?”
Hassan looked at his Rolex and saw that it had indeed been about half an hour since he’d last heard from Abdul.
As usual, sex with Megan had completely dominated his attention and he’d lost all track of time.
Hassan picked up his burner phone from the nightstand and called Abdul.
“Allah is Great,” Abdul Aswad answered right away.
“Allah is Merciful,” Hassan replied.
“What news do you have for me?” Hassan asked.
“Nothing, my friend,” Abdul said. “I was hoping it might be them calling instead of you.”
“Have you tried to contact them?” Hassan asked.
“Yes, several times,” Abdul said. “Each time I call, their phones go to voice mail.”
“In that case, I’m afraid we must admit that in all likelihood they have failed,” Hassan said.
“You are probably correct,” Abdul said, “but I remain hopeful. They were the best-trained team of the three and it was three against one. It is possible that they killed him and yet he managed to kill or mortally wound all three of them and that is why we have not heard anything from them.”
“Perhaps you are right, Imam,” Hassan said. “But I think it best that we assume the worst case scenario—which is that the team failed completely—don’t you think?”
“Yes, of course, you are right,” Abdul said.
“I think I may have a solution to this problem,” Hassan said. “Stand by and I’ll call you back shortly.”
CHAPTER 33
Parking Garage-Level 3
Seaside Tower Condominium Complex
Seaside Beach, Alabama
Saturday, April 17, 2010
9:10 p.m. Central Time
Jake Gant pulled the car that had been waiting for him at Jack Edwards Airport into one of the two empty parking spaces assigned to Reb’s condo unit and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
He’d already made a couple of turns around this section of the parking garage and hadn’t seen anything suspicious. Ever since the Air Force maintenance chief had come back to give him the bad news that it was going to take longer to change out the jet engine than he had originally thought, Jake had been sweating about whether he would make it to Seaside Beach before the jihadis would. Right now, it looked like he’d made it in time.
Jake grabbed his go-bag and garment bag from the back seat of the car and rode the west elevator up to the twelfth floor. When he got to unit 1203, Reb’s condo, he rang the doorbell, waited, and rang it again. Hoping it was safe to enter without catching Reb and Honey in the middle of fooling around, Jake unlocked the door using the key Reb had mailed to him a few months back along with an open invitation to come visit anytime.
Jake stuck his head inside the doorway and yelled, “Hey, Reb. It’s Jake Gant. Don’t shoot, buddy.”
Hearing nothing but silence, Jake went inside and closed the door behind him. He walked down the hallway and went into the first room he came to—a spare bedroom—and dropped his go-bag and his garment bag on the bed.
Jake then did a quick room-to-room walk-through of the rest of the condo to make absolutely sure that no one else was in the condo.
The walk-through ended up in the kitchen where Jake took his phone out and, for the second time since landing, tried Reb’s number. Once again, he got Reb’s voicemail.
“Reb, if you get this, it’s Jake. I’m now at your condo. Call me when you get this, buddy.”
Jake opened the refrigerator and got out a pitcher of what he knew would be sweet ice tea, poured himself a glass, and went back to the living room. He sat down in one of the overstuffed easy chairs, took a swig of tea, set the glass down on the side table, steepled his hands and collected his thoughts.
Jake checked his watch and saw that it was 9:20 p.m. local time. The earliest that the jihadis from Pensacola would show up would be around nine-fifty—thirty minutes from now—if General Davidson’s estimate was accurate. Assuming that the jihadis were bright enough to check to see if Reb’s vehicle was in his reserved parking spot, they’d see Jake’s unmarked government vehicle parked there and think that Reb was home and they would either wait for Reb to come out to his vehicle and try to take him there—which wasn’t very likely—or they would come on upstairs to Reb’s condo and ring Reb’s doorbell and try to take him when he opened the door. That’s what I would do if I was in their shoes, Jake thought to himself.
If Reb didn’t show up between now and then, Jake would be the one answering the door when the jihadis came knocking.
Jake finished his tea, then got up from the easy chair and went back to the bedroom where he had dropped his go-bag earlier. He opened the bag and took out his MP5 submachinegun and the suppr
essor for it.
One of the reasons Jake liked this particular suppressor was that all he had to do to mount it was slide it over the three lugs just back of the end of the barrel, give it a slight twist, and it was secured. The other reason that he liked it was how quiet it made the submachinegun when it was fired with the ammunition that Jake used. Jake reached inside the bag and pulled out a 30-round magazine loaded with subsonic 9mm 147 grain jacketed hollow point rounds and inserted it into the magazine well of the submachinegun. He closed the bolt and made sure the fire selection switch was on safe. He pulled the retractable stock out, walked back to the living room and retook his seat in the easy chair.
Jake sat in the easy chair a minute or so before deciding he’d better use the bathroom before the jihadis showed up. The submachinegun had a sling and Jake put the sling over his head so that it was on his left shoulder and the MP5 hung under his right arm.
After voiding his bladder, Jake came back into the living room where he settled down in the overstuffed easy chair again to wait for someone—Reb or the jihadis—to show up.
CHAPTER 34
Megan Gallagher’s Residence
Washington, D.C.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
10:15 p.m. Eastern Time
Hassan ended the phone conversation with Abdul Aswad and turned his attention to Megan, who was now sitting up in the bed with her arms folded under her breasts staring at him—with an annoyed expression—waiting for an explanation.
“They failed,” Hassan told her. “My friend doesn’t want to admit it, but he hasn’t heard from them and he can’t get in touch with them.”
“What will you do now?” Megan asked.
“What I should have done to begin with,” Hassan said.
Hassan selected one of the contacts on his personal phone and placed the call.
After five rings, Hassan heard, “Hello?”
“Randall, this is Hassan Younis with the Institute for Palestinian American Relations.”
