by David Spell
Wilkerson passed around a copy of the blueprints for the house. While not the computer expert that her friend was, Chloe had been an intelligence officer in the Army before becoming an analyst with the CIA. It was only later that then ops director, Sandra Dunning, had brought her over to the para-military side of the Agency.
“It’s an interesting floor plan,” Wilkerson said, “but it makes sense sitting that close to the river. When you go in the front door, there are stairs leading up to the main level and stairs leading down to a family room, a bedroom with a half bath, and a storage room. Upstairs are two more bedrooms on the left side of the hallway. They share a bathroom. The master is on the right and has its own bathroom, with the kitchen and dining area on the backside of the house. The deck is accessed from the dining room.”
“Good work, Chloe,” Chuck said. “That’s exactly what we needed.”
Soon, the two vehicles were on the road. After studying the satellite maps and the blueprints, they had sketched out a rough plan of action. Ricardo Gonzalez met them at a rest area on I-70. He parked next to the Black Jeep Grand Cherokee and the white Chrysler Pacifica at the far end of the parking lot, out of sight of the security cameras.
“Hey, Gonz, thanks for meeting us. You can put it in here,” Chuck greeted him, opening the back of the Cherokee.
“I’m not touching it. You get two of your guys to make the transfer,” Ricardo answered, taking a step backwards.
“Hey, Scotty, Andy, give me a hand with this,” McCain ordered, retrieving a large cardboard box from the trunk of Gonzalez’s car.
Smith assisted his friend as they very carefully maneuvered the box into the back of the Jeep. Fleming also retrieved a smaller container, gently opening it and peering inside. Satisfied, he closed the lid and placed the box with the other one in the SUV next to three large duffel bags of equipment.
Chuck and Ricardo shook hands.
“Good luck,” Gonzalez said.
“Thanks, buddy. Tell Kevin that we’ll be in touch tomorrow if things go according to plan.”
CHESAPEAKE DRIVE, EDGEMERE, MARYLAND, THURSDAY, 1630
Chesapeake Drive contained modest-sized homes that sat on the river. Most of these had a private dock where their boats could be tethered. Many of these residences were vacation homes, only occupied on the weekends or during the summer months. The safehouse sat at the very end of the street. The owner had also purchased the lot to the right of his residence for extra privacy. Across the road was a thick wooded area and to the left of the home was a ten-foot wide creek that fed into the river. On the other side of the creek was another housing development.
Musa and Lawrence sat on the deck at the rear of the two-story home, Khan enjoying a cup of tea, while Evans held a mug of coffee. The lay leader had picked Musa up from the motel at 10:30 that morning and they had driven out of the city to the borrowed house. Lawrence had brought enough groceries to last his friend a week.
After they had eaten, Khan had rested for a couple of hours, already feeling stronger. Looking across the water to the opposite bank a mile away, Musa felt more at peace than any time he could remember. This was a beautiful safehouse in a secure location.
They had spent the last two hours discussing the possibility of an attack in Baltimore. Khan had lost all the weapons and explosives and would need to be resupplied. He would reach out to Mohammad Yusuf and Saman Shirazi, the remaining leaders of the Brotherhood, to see if they could help. How to make contact was the issue. The only way that he could account for his capture by the Americans was that somehow, they had hacked into his computer or the smartphone provided by the Chinese operative.
Musa explained to his friend that they would need money to fund the cell and someone to provide weapons if the Pakistani could not reach any of his contacts.
“The dude that owns this house is rich and will probably help us out with some cash. He’s a true believer and told me that he believes Allah has blessed him so that he can fund important projects.”
Khan nodded thoughtfully.
“It sounds like you have gotten us off to a good start. Now, we just need a few more recruits and we can start planning seriously. If I can stay here, I’ll make this my base of operations, at least for a little while. I’m a wanted man and the less I’m out in public the better.
“I trust you,” Musa continued, “but I don’t think I’m ready to meet your three soldiers yet. Let’s wait a few weeks until I’m stronger. After others know that I’m here, I’ll need to find another place to stay.”
“I’m telling you, these boys are the real deal. You can trust them not to talk.”
Musa locked eyes with the other man.
“I’ve been betrayed more than once by people I trusted. I believe that Allah has brought you and I back together, but I’m willing to move slowly to make sure we have the right people and the right plan.”
“Okay. That makes sense. I’m gonna cut out now. I have to work tomorrow, but I’ll be back on Saturday before prayer.”
“Is there a computer that I can use in the house?”
“There’s not, but I’ll bring you one when I come back on Saturday.”
When Evans left, the terrorist locked the door and spent a few minutes peering out the windows on the front of the house. There didn’t appear to be anyone home in the next house over, almost a hundred yards away. Lawrence had told him that many of these were weekend or holiday homes. That was fine with Musa. The fewer people around, the better. With the street ending just past the residence, there would be no through traffic. While not completely satisfied with the security of his hideout, it wasn’t bad and Khan felt that he was as safe as he could be.
EDGEMERE, MARYLAND, THURSDAY, 1510 HOURS
As Chuck and the team had pored over the maps, they had all grudgingly admitted that the target location was going to be difficult to approach with only one way in and out. If they had more time, they would have considered coming in from the river. Thankfully, the maps did provide them with a possible solution.
Less than half a mile away, a new subdivision had been cut, but no homes had been built yet on Shaws Road. This would be the perfect place to stage after it got dark. During daylight hours, they parked at a nearby shopping center. Both vehicles had dark windows, preventing anyone from peering inside. Gabby maintained her vigil in front of her computer screens in the rear of the Pacifica, the steady pulsing dot indicating that their target had not left the residence.
One of the questions that they did not have the answer for was whether or not Khan was alone in the house. McCain and his team had no desire to hurt anyone other than their target. As a former Ranger sniper, Smith was the logical choice to insert and watch the residence. At 1515 hours, Andy deposited the ghillie-suited sniper onto a deserted section of Willow Avenue, a mile from Chesapeake Drive.
“Good luck, buddy,” Fleming said, approaching the drop off point. “You sure you don’t need a spotter?”
“I think in this terrain, I’m better off by myself. I just wish I had a better weapon than this damn MP5. If we’d have had M4s during the shootout with this piece of shit back in that parking lot, we wouldn’t even be having this discussion. Those 9mm rounds just didn’t do enough damage to kill him.”
“I know. Kevin provided the weapons and his feeling was that in urban areas the 9mm rounds are much less likely to over penetrate. Plus, a suppressed MP5 is much quieter than a suppressed M4. We sure don’t need any nosy neighbors calling the police on us. Don’t do anything stupid and call us if you need us. Otherwise, we’ll see you later tonight.”
With that, Scotty was out of the Cherokee, ducking into the woods to begin his insertion. An hour later, after crouching, crawling, and sliding on his stomach, the sniper was in place across from the target location. He was muddy, wet, and had numerous bug bites. This was his environment, though and he blended in perfectly, nestled under a fallen pine tree, twenty feet from the road, inside the wooded area, his hide providing a clear vi
ew of the front of Khan’s safe house.
An older model burgundy Mazda Protege was parked in the driveway. At 1710 hours, a black male exited the front door, glancing over his shoulder and saying something as he walked down the steps. A face appeared in the window on the door, as Smith heard the sound of a deadbolt engaging. The male got into the Mazda and left the location.
In other settings, Scotty might have attempted to snap photos but as a sniper, the name of the game was to observe, gather information, and not be seen. The face in the window moved away but Scotty saw the drapes moving in the other three windows on the front of the house as the occupant checked to see if anyone was observing them. The sniper radioed in his report and then settled in to wait for his friends to join him. As the afternoon turned into evening, there were no more visitors and no sounds coming from Khan’s lair.
After dark, Chuck sent Jimmy and Chloe to drive through the new construction area. The sight of a couple in the new subdivision wouldn’t attract any attention; just two lovers looking for a place to park. After the all clear at 2020 hours, Hollywood drove the Pacifica into the deserted new development, meeting up with the Cherokee. The rentals could not be seen from the main road, hidden behind a copse of trees in the very rear of the new subdivision. The Back River was less than a hundred feet away, visible through the trees as the light of a quarter moon reflected off of it.
“If you can grab a nap, do it,” McCain whispered to everyone as they stretched their legs. “We’ll do an equipment check at 0215 and start moving by 0230.”
Estrada had been strangely quiet the entire day. As the others settled into one of the vehicles to rest, the former LAPD officer moved away from the group, staring up at the twinkling stars, the sounds of the night amplified against the nearby river.
“You OK, Hollywood?” Chuck asked softly, slipping up next to his friend.
The Mexican-American took a minute before answering, pausing to collect his thoughts.
“Yeah. I want this guy so bad, Chuck, but I keep having this nagging feeling that he’s going to get away again.”
“I know the feeling. He’s one slippery bastard, but unless he’s cut that GPS tracker out of his shoulder, he’s in that house and we’re going to deal with him.”
Rafael took a deep breath. “I hope you’re right. Of course, as soon as we put this bastard down, another one will pop up.”
“And we’ll put them down, too,” Chuck answered. “I’m gonna try and get a nap. See you in a few hours.”
By 0145 hours, everyone was out of the SUV and the van, moving around to get the circulation flowing or stepping off into the shadows to relieve themselves. Each warrior went through their own ritual of checking weapons and equipment for the battle ahead. As he normally did before a mission, McCain took a few minutes to pray. He stood on the bank of the Back River asking God to protect his team and to give them success.
The irony that he was asking for success in killing another human being wasn’t lost on him. The fact that the person they were going after was responsible for the murders and wounding of over two hundred innocent people gave the big man the sense that this was truly a battle between good and evil. After several minutes, he knew that it was time to get moving and strolled back to where the others were putting on their equipment.
Chuck pulled his body armor over his long-sleeve black t-shirt, cinching down the velcro straps, feeling to make sure that his magazine pouches, first-aid kit, and knife were securely attached. He slung the suppressed submachine gun over his chest, his holstered Glock 9mm snug on his left hip. After each warrior was ready to go, they donned black balaclavas before pulling on ballistic helmets with night vision goggles attached.
They activated the goggles and took turns checking each other to make sure that their equipment was silent, along with looking for anything that might reflect light, alerting their target that he was about to receive a visit. After that, each team member verified that their radios were working properly. Once satisfied that everyone was equipped and ready to go, the team circled up and Chuck reminded them of the plan.
“We’ll take the Cherokee. Chloe, you’re security here for Gabby and are our lifeline. Absolute worse-case scenario, you’re our evac away from the house. I called Joey a little while ago and he’s sitting in his bird at that airstrip across the river. There’s plenty of room for him to land here if one of us gets hurt and needs to be airlifted out.”
“You call, and we’ll come running,” Wilkerson replied.
Andy and Jimmy had removed fuses from both of the rentals, disabling both the interior and the brake lights. The fuses could easily be replaced before turning them back in to the rental agency. Fleming got behind the wheel and McCain took the passenger seat. Jones and Estrada slipped into the backseat for the short journey.
It was a five-minute drive out of the new development and around to where Chesapeake Avenue turned off of Willow Lane. The target location sat at the end of the short street a hundred and fifty yards away. Andy guided the Jeep off of the road into an empty lot on the corner. A dark house stood across from them, a single car in the driveway.
“The keys will be on the left front tire,” the MARSOC operator whispered to his companions as they quietly exited the vehicle, moving quickly into the brush to their left.
“Alpha One to Alpha Three, we’re in the woods if you’ll guide us in,” Chuck radioed Scotty.
A single click let them know that he had received the transmission. They would follow the trees down until they had joined their teammate. After moving slowly for ten minutes, Fleming raised his fist, signaling his companions to halt. He motioned for them to go to the ground as he slowly moved forward around several large trees.
Scotty gave a half-second flash with a red filter covered flashlight and Andy slid up next to his friend.
“Alpha Two to Alpha One,” Fleming whispered, “I found him. Keep moving this way another twenty yards.”
Soon, the five warriors lay prone in a circle, their heads close together.
“No activity,” Scotty said softly, “since that guy left earlier. The lights in the house went off before midnight. I think he’s in that bedroom on the right side of the house. That streetlight is going to cause us problems, though.”
McCain realized that they had a new challenge. The streetlight hung in front of the residence, illuminating the dead-end street and the front yard of Syed Ahmad’s riverfront home-away-from-home. They continued to observe, staying well back in the shadow of the trees, turning their NVGs off as they stared across at the target location. The front door was tantalizingly close, only forty yards away. A dog began barking on the other side of the creek, not close enough to have picked up their scent, but letting them know that they weren’t the only ones awake.
The original plan had not taken into account the possibility of the streetlight. Instead of being able to use the darkness to make their approach, they were going to have to get wet.
“Andy, can you go check out that creek and see if we can approach that way?” Chuck asked, quietly. “The maps looked like there was an embankment that should shield us from view from the house.”
The former Marine nodded and crawled towards the sound of running water. If they had read the satellite imagery correctly, the creek was only two hundred feet beyond were they waited, senses alert to any sign that their target might be have been spooked.
Fifteen minutes later, Fleming’s voice came over their earpieces.
“Alpha Two to Alpha One. Good to go. Keep moving to your left. The trees provide concealment when you get to the creek. I crawled up until I’m just fifty feet from the left side of the house. I’ll standby here.”
“Alpha One clear. We’re on our way.”
McCain led his teammates through the woods and down the embankment to the flowing water. What Fleming had not told them was that there were several places where they had to crawl through shallow sections of the creek. By the time they reached their teammate, every
one was soaked. It didn’t matter, though, as each man was intently focused on locating the most wanted terrorist in the world.
The left side of the house was bathed in shadows, the streetlight on the opposite corner. After studying the scene, the team ducked down below the embankment.
“I think we keep to the original plan,” Chuck whispered, looking at each of his friends. “My squad will be exposed at the front door, but I would still prefer to do it this way than sending everyone in through the rear. Andy, what do you think?”
“You’re right,” Fleming nodded. “It’s not great, but we don’t even know what kind of door is on the back of the house. Probably a sliding glass door to lead out onto that deck but we’re just guessing. The front looks like a standard wooden door. If I can’t pick it, it shouldn’t be too much trouble to kick in. I’d suggest we crawl over to the house and then split up from there.”
“Sounds good,” McCain whispered. “Let me check in with Gabby and then we’ll do it. Alpha One to Alpha Seven, any change on our target?”
“Alpha Seven to Alpha One, negative. He’s still there.”
“Alpha One clear, we’re getting ready to execute,” he answered, looking around at his team. “From here on out, no more talking. Hand signals only except for an emergency or until I give the order to breach. Good luck, guys.”
With that, the big man slid over the top of the embankment on his belly, slowly crawling over the fifty feet of open space. Ten minutes later, the five men stood next to the quiet home, out of sight of the windows. Chuck gave the signal and Estrada and Jones moved towards the rear. Fleming and Smith accompanied him to the front, the three men deactivating their NVGs as they stepped into the light.
