by J B Black
When he saw Faisal take the knife out, his immediate thought was that Faisal was going to slit Hassan’s throat and let him bleed out over the sink at the wet bar.
He was relieved that Faisal only cut off the tip of Hassan’s little finger.
Jake keyed the microphone on his tactical comm set and gave the order, “Go now. Go. Go.”
FBIS agents with battering rams, who had been waiting near the back door and the front door, broke the doors down. Then, fifteen heavily armed FBIS agents dressed in tactical gear and wearing body armor ran into the house and converged on the three men in the study.
The first agent through the door to the study yelled, “Get your hands up and don’t move.”
Moments later, Jake entered the study followed by Reb and found the three terrorists—Hassan, Faisal, and Mohammed—sitting very still in their chairs with their arms raised above their heads. Each terrorist had an FBIS agent standing in front of their chair pointing a submachinegun at them.
Jake said, “Any of you armed with anything other than a pocket knife?”
All three terrorists shook their heads.
“Okay,” Jake said, “you can put your hands down, but do it real slow.”
The three agents stepped back, but kept their guns pointed at the three terrorists as they lowered their arms. Hassan put his right elbow on the arm of the chair and held his right hand upright trying to keep his finger from bleeding.
Reb leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and watched the proceedings.
Faisal looked at Jake and asked, “Are you in charge?”
“Yeah, I’m in charge.”
“I’d like to show you my identification documents,” Faisal said. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to reach inside my jacket to get them.”
“Sure, go ahead, but don’t make any sudden moves.”
Very gingerly, Faisal pulled the left side of his suit jacket open with his left hand and then he reached into the inside pocket with his right hand and withdrew his wallet. He opened it and withdrew a laminated identification card.
Faisal extended the card to Jake.
Jake took the card and looked it over. Jake turned to look at Reb and said, “Well damn, this card says that this person has been duly notified to the Department of State and under international law enjoys immunity from criminal jurisdiction. It goes on to say that the bearer of the card shall not be liable to any form of arrest or detention, but may be given a notice of violation.
Jake looked back at Faisal and could see that he was smiling at him.
Jake turned around to Reb and said, “This card says that the bearer shall be treated with due respect and all appropriate steps shall be taken to prevent any attack on the bearer’s person, freedom, or dignity.”
Reb stood up straight from the wall, put his hands on his hips, squinted at Jake, and said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I shit you not,” Jake said. “This is one of those get out of jail free diplomatic immunity cards.”
Jake turned back to the three terrorists, looked at Hassan and Mohammed, and asked, “Both of you guys got one of these cards?”
Both of the terrorists smiled and nodded their heads.
Faisal stood up and held out his hand toward Jake for his card, smiled, and said, “I take it we are free to go?”
It was Jake’s turn to smile. “The only place you guys are going is the basement of a safe house we use for conducting interrogations.”
“This is an outrage,” Faisal bellowed.
Jake walked over to the leader of the FBIS tactical team and told him to make Faisal and Mohammed ready for transport. The team leader went out of the room for a moment and then came back in with two more FBIS agents, who were carrying old fashioned prisoner transport restraint systems. The two agents fastened heavy leather belts around Faisal and Mohammed’s waists. The leather belts were equipped with a steel D-ring through which ran a steel chain with steel handcuffs on one end and steel legcuffs at the other end. After the agents finished putting the handcuffs and the legcuffs on the two terrorists, they placed black hoods over their heads. The agents then escorted the two terrorists out of the study.
With Faisal and Mohammed gone, Jake turned his attention to Hassan. “Alright, Hassan, listen up. I want the names of the other six jihadis from the mosque in Pensacola who are involved in your little plot to attack the air show at Pensacola Beach.”
“I will tell you nothing,” Hassan replied.
“If you think getting the tip of your pinky finger cut off was painful, you’re in for a hell of a rude awakening, bub.”
Hassan’s face turned ashen, but he said nothing more.
Jake turned to the FBIS tactical team leader and said, “Get him out of here and let’s wrap this up.”
After Hassan had been led from the room in handcuffs, Reb went over to where Jake was standing and asked, “You planning on waterboarding our friend, Hassan?”
Jake smiled and said, “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
“Well, it’s been fun, but I think it’s time for me to head back down to Seaside Beach. You still going to let me hitch a ride back home on that fancy jet of yours.”
“Yeah, but before you head back, the General asked if you would mind coming by his office tonight to say hello? After you’ve seen him, I’ll drive you back out to the airport.”
“Yeah, sounds fine to me.”
* * *
Jake knocked on the open door to General Davidson’s office and he and Reb walked in. Jake said, “Hey General, look who the cat drug in.”
General Davidson got up and came around his desk and stuck his hand out to shake Reb’s.
“Damn, it’s good to see you again, Reb. I appreciate you coming by to see me before you head back down to the Gulf Coast.”
“It’s good to see you, too, General.”
General Davidson went back behind his desk and sat down. He opened a drawer, brought out a bottle and three glasses, and poured a generous quantity in each glass while Reb and Jake took their seats in the two chairs in front of the General’s desk. The General placed a glass in front of each man and waited for them to pick up their glasses before raising his own and saying, “To the United States of America and the preservation of all of the good things it stands for.”
After the three men drained their glasses, General Davidson looked at Reb and said, “Reb, I guess you’re wondering what ulterior motive I had for asking you to stop by before you fly out of this cesspool of political intrigue they call our nation’s capitol.”
Reb, who had always considered the General to be a straight shooter, said, “Probably something about there’s a job here for you, son, if you ever get bored staring at beach bunny’s asses down there in God’s country.”
“That’s what I like about you, Reb—nothing slow about you. You’re right. You’ve got an open invite to join the team, anytime. Jake and I have discussed it and you can pretty much name your terms. I’d love a full time commitment from you, but part time or temporary assignments will work. You would operate as a private contractor, if that would suit you.”
“I noticed that the diplomatic immunity didn’t apply for the terrorists tonight,” Reb said.
“That’s right, Reb,” General Davidson said. “The FBIS operates on an entirely different level from any of the other intelligence gathering and law enforcement agencies in this country. If you are a terrorist—and that includes narco-terrorist—intent on harming our great country, there are no limits to what the FBIS can and will do to stop you. It is that simple.
“Now, I know you want to get on back home and I won’t keep you. Just keep in mind what I’ve told you and, if you should become available, just let Jake know.”
“Thanks General. I’ll do that.”
CHAPTER 52
Rusty Gordon’s Residence
Seaside Tower Condominium Complex
Seaside Beach, Alabama
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
&nbs
p; 10:20 p.m. Central Time
Reb, Rusty Gordon, Billy Morris, and David Foster were sitting around the dining room table in Rusty’s condo playing poker. Honey was lounging in an easy chair watching the action. They were all waiting for Jake to call Reb with an update on the situation with Hassan, the other two terrorists captured along with him in Washington, and the jihadis at the mosque in Pensacola who were involved in the plot to attack the upcoming Pensacola Beach Air Show.
Earlier in the day, Rusty’s doctor at the hospital had gotten tired of hearing Rusty’s bitching and decided that Rusty was sufficiently recovered from his gunshot wound to be released from the hospital. Reb and Pam picked him up at the hospital and, on the way home, Rusty had called Billy Morris and David Foster to let them know that the Tuesday night poker game was good to go.
Billy had just finished telling them about a report of a charter boat Captain heading out to the oil rigs seeing what he thought looked an awful lot like a small submarine following behind a fifty foot or so size sportfisherman heading back toward Alabama Point. The sighting had taken place early in the morning when the charter boat Captain had been headed out to the oil rigs. He only got a glimpse of whatever it was he thought he saw by moonlight. Billy told the others that it wouldn’t surprise him at all if the drug cartels were using small submersibles to smuggle drugs into the area.
Rusty got up from the table, grabbed the cane the hospital had given him and started down the hall toward the bathroom. “Got to use the facilities, boys, you can either deal me out this hand or wait till I get back.”
“Might as well just wait till he gets back,” Dave suggested.
Honey grabbed the remote control to the TV and turned it on. Rusty had last been watching a 24-hour news channel and the TV came on with a male news anchor on the left side of the screen and on the right side of the screen there was video of something burning in the night. A BREAKING NEWS ticker tape announcement kept scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
Honey turned the volume up and everyone in the room heard the anchor say, “Once again, this amazing video of this developing story just in off the coast of Louisiana was submitted by a fisherman who was fishing with some friends near this oil rig called the Deepwater Horizon you can see burning here when it exploded and caught fire. The fisherman took this video on his phone and sent it in just a few minutes ago.
“As you can see, it appears that the oil rig is completely engulfed in flames and the flames are shooting hundreds of feet in the air and the water surrounding the oil rig appears to be on fire as well.
“It is our understanding that the oil rig is some 50 miles southeast of the eastern tip of the Louisiana coast and was drilling for oil in water that is approximately 5,000 feet deep at that location. The oil rig is manned by a crew of more than 100. At this time we have no information regarding casualties or survivors.”
“That sure as hell doesn’t sound good,” Reb said.
“You’re damn right it’s not good,” Rusty said, having delayed his trip to the bathroom to hear the news report. “That oil rig they’re talking about ain’t that far from here, maybe a little over a hundred miles or so away. And I’m no expert on oil drilling rigs, but that sure as hell looks like what they call a blowout and I’m thinking that’s oil that’s causing that much fire. I sure hope their blowout preventer is working, because, if it ain’t, trying to cap a well in 5,000 feet of water ain’t going to be easy.
“I hate to be a doomsayer everybody, but if that well is spewing oil in the Gulf, this shitty economy we’ve been trying to deal with, could get a lot worse around here when no tourists show up because the beaches are covered in oil.”
Having said that, Rusty resumed hobbling down the hallway toward the bathroom.
When Rusty returned to the table, Honey turned the TV off and Billy began dealing the cards for a game of Texas hold ’em.
Reb’s phone started ringing and, when he took his phone out, he saw that it was Jake calling.
“Hey, Jake, how’s it going buddy?”
“Pretty good, Reb,” Jake replied. “I just thought you might want an update on what’s transpired since you left Washington.”
“Thanks, I sure would,” Reb said. “Do you mind if I put you on speaker so that the other people here, most of whom were involved in that snafu, can listen in?”
“No problem,” Jake said.
Reb activated the speaker on his phone, set the phone down in the center of the table, and said, “Fire away, Jake.”
“Okay, I just wanted to let you know that, after we got Hassan and his two buddies to the safe house, it took less time to break Hassan than it took us to break that Megan woman.
“Hassan told us about his secret database and his secret website on the darknet where he kept all kinds of information about his network of mosques, imams, and jihadis.
“We got the details on what they planned to do at the airshow in Pensacola this summer. Those bastards were going to take ice chests—full of explosives and ball bearings—to the beach where folks would be on hand to watch the airshow and, when the Blue Angels did their flyby, two of the terrorists would hold the ice chest up between them as high as they could lift it, about chest high or so, and the third member of their team would detonate the damn thing while they held it up. Based on our estimates of the blast radius on one of those things, three of them would have killed hundreds and wounded thousands.”
“Why did they decide to pick an airshow in Pensacola?” Reb asked.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Jake said, “but that Faisal guy we captured there with Hassan, Hassan told us that he’s the money man behind what Hassan was doing and this Faisal told Hassan some story about his nephew who supposedly graduated from the Naval Academy as some kind of foreign exchange student and then washed out of the Navy pilot training program when he was stationed in Pensacola. Anyway, the planned attack on the Pensacola airshow was supposed to be some kind of retaliation for the humiliation his nephew suffered because he couldn’t cut it as a Naval aviator or some such shit.”
“Wow, that’s pretty fucked up,” Reb said.
“No shit,” Jake said.
“Anyway, we had teams pre-positioned in Pensacola,” Jake continued, “and as soon as we had the names and home addresses for the members of the other two jihadi teams that were involved in the plan to attack the airshow, our teams went in and captured all six of the jihadis. The last one was captured about twenty minutes ago. All six of them should be on their way to their new home at Gitmo by now.”
“What about Hassan’s houseguests, Faisal and Mohammed?” Reb asked.
Jake cleared his throat. “We put Faisal and Mohammed in a holding cell that had video and audio surveillance, hoping that the two of them might let their guard down and maybe discuss something that would be of strategic benefit to us. Unfortunately, what happened was that they must have had some kind of suicide pact in case they were ever captured. Anyway, Mohammed twisted Faisal’s head completely around and snapped his neck, killing him instantly. And after he killed Faisal, Mohammed removed the mattress from the top bunk of the steel bunk bed that was in the room and then he slammed his throat down on the edge of the bed frame hard enough that he crushed his windpipe in the process. By the time the guards got to them, they were both dead.”
“What about the other mosques in Hassan’s network?” Reb asked.
“We’re in the process of picking up all of the Imams in his network and, once we do, they will all be accompanying Hassan down to Gitmo where they will be locked away indefinitely,” Jake replied.
“What happened to Megan?” Honey asked.
“Miss Megan is in Gitmo, too,” Jake said. “Anyway, thanks in large part to you guys, there’s one less group of radical Islamic terrorists we have to worry about wreaking havoc here in the states.”
“Thanks for the update, Jake,” Reb said and hung up.
The four men finished playing the hand of Texas hold ’em Billy
had dealt before Jake’s call. When Dave raked in the pot, Honey got up from her easy chair, stretched, yawned, and said, “Reb, darling, I’m ready to go to bed. You coming?”
“Deal me out boys,” Reb said and followed Honey down the hallway.
When they entered Reb’s condo, Reb said, “It’s a little early for you to go to sleep isn’t it?”
“I’m not sleepy, silly,” Honey said as she and Reb headed to the bedroom.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I sure hope that you enjoyed reading Reb’s Revenge, the first book in the Reb Rogers series. Thanks for reading. Before you go, I have a big request to make. If you enjoyed reading Reb’s Revenge, would you please take just a moment and write a quick review so that other readers will consider giving the Reb Rogers series a shot?
By the way, if you would like to be notified when the next book in the series (Reb’s Rampage is the current working title) will be available, please go to the next page where you can sign up for the mailing list and get a free short story about Reb and Jake’s big adventure with the Iranian Mata Hari that was referenced in Chapter 6.
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