Between Destiny and Duty: A Chuck McCain Novel- Book Two

by David Spell

  Scotty and Jimmy had immediately started for the van after hearing that Bamya was in custody. They would pick up Gabby and begin their long drive to their next destination. A few minutes later, however, they all heard Chloe speaking with someone else and knew that things had taken a turn for the worse. The sounds of the vicious struggle soon came over their earpieces.

  “Team Lead to Team Three, get up there!”

  The backup team was halfway to their vehicle on the third level of the parking deck.

  “Do we take the van or go on foot?” Jones asked his partner.

  “You go on foot,” Smith said. “With your speed you’ll be there in a minute. I’ll grab the van and park in front. Let’s hope those DHS credentials do the trick!”

  By the time Jimmy sprinted down the two levels of the parking deck and got to the entrance of the high rise, Chloe had canceled the backup team. Scotty picked his partner up and they were on their way to get Gabby at the safe house.

  High above the New York skyline, McCain and Fleming had the door of the Sikorsky open before it touched down on the helipad, their suppressed H&K MP5s up and ready as they jumped to the pavement. A prone, handcuffed figure lay near the edge of the platform. As Wilkerson climbed the steps and approached her teammates, she looked like she had been in a war.

  Her left eye was swollen, her cheek and ear bloody. Her shirt had been torn open and she held the ripped garment closed. Andy took off his windbreaker and helped the young woman pull it on as they guided her towards the helicopter.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?” McCain asked, pointing at the visible injuries.

  “No, just what you see,” she answered, forcing a smile.

  “You’re gonna be OK,” Chuck told her. “We’ll get you checked out as soon as we can.”

  “It’s probably not as bad as it looks,” Chloe grimaced, pain shooting through her face. “That’s Abdallah,” she said, pointing at the figure on the helipad. “He should be out for a while. Then the bodyguard showed up and surprised me. He’s over at the elevator.”

  The two men helped their wounded partner inside the helicopter. They then grabbed Bamya and tossed him roughly inside, Chloe keeping an eye on the terrorist. Chuck took the lead as he and Andy moved down the steps to the elevator, not sure what they were going to find. A thick man with short, dark hair lay face down, blocking the entrance of the elevator open.

  As Fleming covered him, McCain knelt down feeling for a pulse on his neck. Chuck glanced at his partner and shook his head. The two warriors let their sub-guns hang from their slings, grabbed the dead man under the arms and dragged him across the roof, up the stairs, and onto the aircraft. After one more quick check of the area to make sure they were leaving nothing behind, Joey powered up the engines and they were airborne.

  Andy made sure Bamya’s handcuffs were secure, zip-tied his feet, and put a black hood over his head. Chuck sat in front of Chloe, pulling on a set of headphones. He flipped the switch to talk on the intercom.

  “Major, can you fly us a few miles out over the ocean? We need to drop off a friend.”

  “No problem,” Anderson answered.

  Fleming moved into the seat next to Wilkerson to check her injuries. The former MARSOC commando pulled on rubber gloves and probed the gash under Chloe’s eye and determined that it would need a few stitches. In the meantime, he had her hold a gauze bandage against it to control the bleeding. Her left ear was also going to need some work. Nassar had ripped the ear lobe open when he had snatched out the earring.

  As her friend tended to her wounds, Wilkerson told the two men what had happened and how she had killed the bodyguard. Joey’s Sikorsky was normally used for commercial charters and the cabin had been modified to cut down on the noise present in most helicopters. They were able to talk without having to yell at each other.

  “I owe you, Chuck. I used everything you taught me. Whenever this mission is over, I think I need to get more focused on my martial arts training.”

  Chloe was right, Andy surmised. Her injuries weren’t as bad as they looked.

  “Did Abdallah try and rape you?’ Fleming asked, pointing at her torn blouse.

  “No, that was from fighting Nassar. After tearing my ear up, he was grabbing at anything he could before he went to sleep.”

  While Andy disinfected and bandaged her wounds, Chuck went through Nassar’s pockets retrieving his wallet, cell phone, and CZ model 75 9mm pistol.

  “We’re ten miles out over the Atlantic,” Anderson’s voice came over McCain’s headset. “There were lot of fishing boats closer in. The radar is showing a clear surface for five miles. I’ll go into a hover while you do your thing.”

  The helicopter began to slow and Chuck and Andy slid the door open. They carefully grabbed the dead man by his belt and heaved him out into the darkness. The pistol was tossed out behind him and they resecured the door. The bodyguard’s wallet and phone would be given to the CIA team at the safehouse for them to dissect.

  After Anderson got the helicopter heading back towards upper state New York, Fleming checked the prisoner. He was still unconscious, the tranquilizer working as intended. Andy found Abdallah’s wallet, keys, and two cell phones. Hopefully, those would contain important intelligence. The Marine wasn’t sure what type of interrogation methods this Agency team was going to use, but couldn’t imagine that it would be a pleasant experience for the terrorist.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NEWCOMB, NEW YORK, WEDNESDAY, 2335 HOURS

  Joey made another perfect landing. This time, however, instead of touching down on top of a skyscraper in one of largest cities in the world, he landed in a large field, miles from civilization. Several strobe lights came on as the helicopter approached the coordinates that Kevin had provided his friend. The location was north of Harris Lake in a remote section of the Santanoni Preserve.

  Four people, all armed, waited just outside the circle of light until the aircraft had been shut down. A slim woman with short graying hair, a small-framed black man and two muscular, bearded, ex-special forces looking types were waiting when Chuck opened the door.

  “Who’s McCain?” the woman asked curtly, her hand on a holstered pistol.

  “That’s me,” the big man said.

  “Can I see your Department of Homeland Security ID?”

  Smart, Chuck thought, handing his packet of fake credentials over. Kevin had told his interrogation team what type of ID the contractors would be using so they could verify his identity.

  “Thank you,” she said, handing Chuck his ID back. “Where’s the prisoner?”

  McCain pointed to the figure lying on the floor of the helicopter. The two bearded guys reached in and pulled Abdallah out, dragging him away into the darkness.

  “One of my team members was injured during the op,” McCain said, stepping out of the Sikorsky. “Do you have a doctor or nurse on site? One of my other guys is a paramedic but he won’t be here for a few hours.”

  The small man spoke up. “I’m Dr. Benson. Where is he?”

  “I’m a she,” Chloe smiled, stepping down to the ground.

  “I’m sorry, my bad,” the physician said.

  “All good, Doc.”

  The doctor shone a flashlight on the young woman, noting her wounds.

  “You’re mobile so I’ll check you out when we get inside.”

  The short-haired woman was obviously in charge so Joey approached her. “Ma’am, is it safe to leave my bird here?”

  “It is. This is a secure area and there’s no one around for at least ten miles.” Looking back at Chuck, she asked, “What are your instructions?”

  “Get some sleep and check in with you in the morning to see if you got any actionable intelligence from this clown that the boss wants us to handle.”

  Sounds good,” the woman nodded. “If everyone will follow me, I’ll lead us back to the compound. This used to be a summer camp but now all five hundred acres belong to the Agency. You’ll will be staying in one of the
guest houses,” she told the newcomers. “Everything you might need is there. There are tables and chairs on the deck if you want to go outside.

  “Please do not come to the lodge. That’s where our guest will be staying and you all need to maintain plausible deniability. I also wouldn’t recommend going exploring. We’ve got a security team that patrols the perimeter and I wouldn’t want you to spook them.”

  A ten-minute walk down a well-worn trail brought them to two identical looking bunkhouses.

  “You’ll be staying in the one on the left. There are enough rooms for everyone to have their own. Some of my people use the building on the right. I know you can’t see it in the dark, but the lodge is a hundred yards that way,” she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. “When the rest of your team arrives, someone will meet them at the main road and guide them in.”

  Scotty, Jimmy, and Gabby arrived at 0250 hours. By this time, Dr. Benson had gently treated Chloe’s wounds, stitching up her ear, and using butterfly bandages on the cut under her eye.

  “It’ll leave less of a scar that way,” he had told her. “Keep ice on the swelling, take these extra strength Tylenol and I’ll check you again in the morning.”

  McCain, Fleming, Anderson, and Wilkerson were still too wired to sleep, siting in the common area of the bunkhouse, enjoying the cold beer that they had found in the well-stocked refrigerator. Chloe had answered all their questions about what had transpired with Bamya and Nasser, leaving the men amazed and shaking their heads. The sound of the front door and Smith’s booming voice let them know their friends had arrived.

  After the three newcomers grabbed a beer, Wilkerson had to repeat her story for them, holding an icepack against her face to keep the swelling down.

  “You’re a badass, girl!” Gabby exclaimed.

  Chloe managed a smile, fatigue setting in as she yawned. “Were you able to block the security cameras at Abdallah’s building?”

  “Easy,” the computer hacker waved dismissively. “I just pulled a few segments of nothing video from their system and had it playing on a loop for when you were there. I also cleaned out Abdallah’s and Nassar’s banks accounts. He doesn’t know it but Mr. PLO Jihad Boss made a nice contribution to the American Jewish World Charity and we’ll all get a bonus added to what Colonel Clark is paying us for this job. I hated the idea of seeing that money just sitting there forever in the bank.”

  “I hope I never end up on the wrong side of either of you ladies,” Joey commented, as he stood and stretched. “Chloe takes down a terrorist and kills the bodyguard with her bare hands. Gabby can hack into people’s accounts and take all their money. You girls are dangerous! I think it’s time for me to crash and burn.”

  “Bro!” Jimmy shook his head, also climbing to his feet. “Crash and burn is not something that a pilot should be joking about!”

  BEST WESTERN HOTEL, NORTH OF PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, 1010 HOURS

  Aaron Richardson awoke to the sound of Ashley’s snoring and his own stomach growling. They had stayed up until three in the morning watching television, drinking, and making love. He had called her the previous Friday, letting her know that he had some downtime, asking if she wanted to spend the week together. To his surprise, she had enthusiastically agreed.

  She had met him outside of Trenton and they had bounced from hotel to hotel every two days. Having the young woman with him made things so much easier. Aaron didn’t know how much his face had been plastered on the news so he had just given her the cash to go inside and register for their room.

  True to his word, Ishmael had paid him for the training he’d conducted in Trenton and had given him another thousand dollars to cover his hotel and food for the week. Ashley had been less than enthusiastic when Aaron had told her that they had to take their meals in the room, the fugitive wanting to avoid any possibility of running into the police or a concerned citizen who might recognize him.

  “Why can’t we go out, John?” the young woman asked, still not knowing his real name.

  “I gotta keep a low profile, that’s all,” he answered. “But, to make it up to you, you can order from any restaurant you want and bring it back to the hotel.”

  Since they couldn’t go and do anything because of Aaron’s paranoia, their evenings had been spent eating different take-out choices and watching whatever movies Ashley wanted to see in their room. It had been a fun week, but Richards was ready to get back to work. The mystery man had called the previous day, giving him instructions for where to meet on Friday morning.

  I wonder where these rag heads are going to attack? he wondered. If they’re true to form, it’ll probably be somewhere inside the City of Brotherly Love. There are plenty of good targets to choose from, he realized, with no brotherly love to be shown for the victims.

  NEWCOMB, NEW YORK, THURSDAY, 1035 HOURS

  The woman who had met them the previous night showed up at their bunkhouse to find Chuck and Andy sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and trying to wake up. She still had not provided them with her name. McCain guessed she was in her late forties. There were bags under her eyes and she yawned as she walked through the door.

  “You got any more of that?” she asked, nodding at Scotty and Jimmy as they also stumbled into the kitchen, the smell of caffeine in the air.

  “Help yourself,” McCain said.

  “How’s Sandra?” their host asked, as she poured the black liquid into a white mug.

  “Sandra who?” Fleming responded, not giving any information to someone he didn’t know.

  “Sandra Dunning,” she answered with a smile. “I worked for her as a field agent right after I joined the Agency. We lost touch when she went to the Analysis Directorate and then operations. I know things are better left unsaid, but I heard that some former Agency employees decided to go to Mexico and deal with the people who put her in that wheelchair. I also heard that you all work together now.”

  “Rumors! All rumors!” Smith laughed, taking a sip from his own mug and motioning at the other men around the table. “Does this group of gentle souls look like they could even contemplate such violence?”

  The woman smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s amazing how fast rumors get started.”

  “Sandra’s doing fine,” Chuck said. “She’s a tough lady and has adjusted well.”

  “Glad to hear it. Well, let me change the subject. Our guest has shared quite a bit of useful information with us.”

  “That was quick,” Jimmy commented. “I thought all them “Death to Israel” and “Death to America” types were hard to crack.”

  “Not him,” she shook her head. “Our interrogators are really good and he was spilling his guts within two hours. We’ve already forwarded what he gave us back to Langley so they can cross check and verify it. I spoke to Director Clark a little while ago. He’d like you to bring Bamya’s cell phones to HQ. We have a tech guy here but he said that one of the phones has a very sophisticated encryption software that needs to get to science and technology. The director also wants to discuss the intel we got with you. I can’t disclose anything else but it sounds like we’re all going to be very busy, very soon.”

  An hour later, the woman and Dr. Benson led the team to the Sikorsky. Joey was already there, finishing up his preflight inspection. As the doctor pulled Chloe aside to check her wounds, the team loaded their bags into the aircraft.

  “I’m sure the director will emphasize the need for secrecy,” the CIA woman said, “but if word of this place ever became public, a lot of good people would go to prison and a lot of bad people would never get caught. The fact that Director Clark even sent you here is a testimony to how much he trusts all of you and how important your target was.”

  “We understand,” Chuck answered, shaking her hand. “Remember, the only reason that we all aren’t still working for the Agency is the fact that the former director was a scumbag and ran us off.”

  “He was that. I was lucky enough to escape the purge. Good luck to
you all.”

  “All right, guys, let’s get going,” McCain ordered, noticing Dr. Benson typing something into his cell phone.

  He and Chloe were standing at the rear of the helicopter, chatting quietly. Wilkerson gave the doctor a sweet smile and turned to get on the aircraft. She saw Chuck watching her and hurried through the door.

  “We ready, Major?” McCain asked Anderson.

  “Yes, sir, we are. We’re going to have to stop for fuel. Do you have an Agency credit card?”

  “No, but Kevin gave me some cash in case we ran into an emergency.”

  As the big man climbed aboard, Chloe looked away, not making eye contact. As everyone was getting settled in, he spoke quietly to her.

  “Did the good doctor manage to get your phone number?”

  “He just wanted to check on me later to make sure everything was healing OK and that no infection sets in,” she replied, keeping her voice low.

  “I’m sure he did,” Chuck grinned.

  Chloe gave him an embarrassed smile and shrugged as Joey fired up the engines.

  FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C., THURSDAY, 1250 HOURS

  Special Agent Jerome Louis stopped to use the toilet before his meeting with Counter-Terrorism Director Valerie Morris. He looked at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. His light brown skin was the result of his very black dad and his very white mom. Those lines under his eyes, though, hadn’t been there a year earlier.

  After drying his hands, he ran one along his cheek, enjoying the smooth skin. Jerome had been so ready to shave that beard off. It would take a few weeks to grow his hair back out. The new suit looked good, too, he thought. After being undercover for so long, Louis had wanted to feel normal again, purchasing a sharp navy-blue suit, a powder blue shirt, and a charcoal gray tie.