End Days Super Boxset (14 page)

“Idiot,” Robinson said. Craig scribbled on his pad.

Malaka spoke again as her eyes grew fiery. Robinson translated.

“You have exposed yourself. You think I want to be here? In the belly of the Great Satan? How could you do this? How could you allow yourself to get caught? How could you let them murder your brother?”

Malaka’s words flew from her mouth like rapid-fire. Her angry tone was unlike anything they had heard from her before.

Rasheed raised his head and moaned something, his voice drifting.

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Shit,” Craig said. “We’re losing him.”

Malaka spoke again. Her anger appeared to have subsided.

Robison continued translating. “There’s still hope for us. The Islamic State has only just begun the caliphate. I asked for the man who killed your brother. They sent him here. And soon he shall be dead, as will they all.”

Rasheed spoke in a surprised tone.

“What are you talking about?” Robinson said, translating.

Malaka’s Chechen poured from her mouth again. She shook her handcuffed arms.

“They shouldn’t have brought you here. But it does not matter. You and I, Rasheed. We will be martyred. It’s almost better that they’re transporting Husein. There is a very large truck on its way, and Allah willing, it will blow this building into dust.”

Rasheed’s head dipped down again as he moaned in protest. He was losing consciousness fast.

Robinson continued, “It’s time to be strong, my son. I do love you very much. Now we can be at peace.”

The observing agents all looked at each other as an unmistakable panic spread through the room. They were hanging onto the translator’s every word. Craig frantically scribbled, trying to take notes and keep up with her.

Malaka continued, “You did your part. After we reach martyrdom, the Islamic State will strike again. Another blow to the beast. By the third strike, they will all fall from the earth. We will look down from heaven—you, me and your brother—and we will laugh.”

Calderon looked at Craig. “Are you getting this?”

At that very moment a huge blast shook the building. Donaldson and Rivers hit the ground. Craig fell against the wall. Dust and plaster particles of drywall dropped from the ceiling. The lights flickered. Calderon stumbled back with eyes wide. A low rumbling followed the blast as one of the panels fell from the ceiling above.

Craig stood back on his feet as his stunned colleagues tried to grasp what was going on. “We have to get out of here, now!” he shouted.

In Malaka’s room, her eyes were closed. She was in deep prayer. Husein screamed for help. No one knew for certain if the tremors reverberating throughout the building were a prelude to something more and their own demise.

After a startling tremor swept throughout the building, Craig and company reorganized. Dust continued to fall from the ceiling panels above. Several ear-piercing smoke alarms rang throughout the building. It wasn’t clear what had happened or what damage had been done to the building, but no one underestimated the seriousness of the situation.

“We need to evacuate!” Craig shouted, grabbing Robinson’s arm and moving quickly out of the room, crouching low. He called on the others to follow. Dazed and shaken, they wasted no time clearing out. The monitors in the room had both gone out. The lights in the hallway flickered.

Craig led the group out into the hall and told everyone to stay close. They stood together, hunched over and staying low to the ground. Other personnel on the floor ran right past them, looking for the nearest exit.

“What are you doing, Davis? We need to get out of here,” Calderon said, moving to the front of the line.

“Not without the Surkov crew,” Craig answered. “I’ll need some help, but the rest of you should leave.”

“I’ll help,” Hicks said.

The two transport guards agreed to stay as well. They were, after all, responsible for Rasheed.

Calderon nodded with Walker at his side. “Okay. Get them out of here, but hurry!”

Calderon and the others moved down the hall and around the corner toward the upstairs exit. The smoke alarms continued to screech as emergency lights flashed from the ceiling. Craig felt around his waist, realizing that he didn’t have a gun. His instincts told him to be ready for anything—from a masked shooter to a pack of militants. He looked to the transport guards.

“Agents Thomas and Mendoza. Stand guard while Agent Hicks and I get the detainees.”

They nodded and watched both sides of the hallway with their pistols drawn. Craig and Hicks separated.

Hicks opened Husein’s door and moved in, keys in hand.

“What is happening?” Husein asked.

“We’re evacuating the building,” Hicks said, unlocking the handcuffs.

Craig kicked Malaka’s door open and stormed into the room. She could barely hide her disappointment that it was him.

“Time to go, Mrs. Surkov,” he said.

After they made it through the smoke and into the lobby, they saw that all the front windows had been blown out. Shattered glass was everywhere. Craig could see blood, lots of it, as well as dismembered body parts—many of them charred.

Thick smoke consumed the area outside the entrance to the building. A fire alarm was sounding through the entire building, loud and disorienting. The closer they got to the exit, the more Craig could see of the carnage outside. Vehicles were on fire. Paramedics and firefighters swarmed the area. Concrete chunks lay about the plaza. Broken glass was everywhere. The stench of black smoke filled the air. The extent of the destruction had all the makings of a car bomb.

Craig pushed Rasheed’s wheelchair over the chunks of rock and glass in the lobby through the double doors, as Hicks pulled both Malaka and Husein by their handcuffs. The outside of the building looked like ground zero. A massive crater was carved into the ground less than twenty feet away from where they stood. The blast had torn through the front entrance, demolished the sidewalk, and uprooted several light poles and trees that had been planted alongside the normally busy street.

Firefighters were on the scene, spraying the front of the building with high-pressure hoses, five inches in diameter. The thick smoke in the air made it difficult to breathe. Craig pushed Rasheed off to Agent Mendoza and signaled the group to follow him to the other side of the building, where he believed it might be safer.

Husein looked around in confusion as Hicks yanked him along. Malaka remained silent, expressing only grunts and scowls whenever Hicks pulled on her wrist. She, too, seemed overwhelmed by all the destruction outside the building. Craig reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He approached Hicks, trying to talk over all the sirens. “We have to set up immediate transportation of the Surkov clan.”

Hicks nodded in agreement. “Donaldson and Rivers were working on that already.”

“This was a synchronized attack that has everything to do with our suspects.” Craig glared at Malaka and squinted his eyes. “She knew this was coming.”

Malaka overheard and seemed to have resisted the urge to smile. They reached the corner of the south side of the building, where crowds of FBI personnel had gathered to escape the smoke. Walker was pacing the outside square, phone in hand, with Walker and the others all on their own phones. Craig walked over to them covered in a light tint of ash and dust.

“Glad you all made it,” Walker said, his face still stricken with shock.

“What in the hell happened out here?” Craig asked.

Walker lowered his phone and looked past them to where thick, black smoke trailed endlessly. He shook his head. “Vehicle explosion. Big one. The size of the blast site alone suggests a thousand pounds, maybe more.”

Stunned, Craig ran his hand though his dusty hair. “My God…”

“What kind of vehicle?” Hicks asked.

“A large truck of some sort. Moments before the explosion, witnesses saw a U-HAUL speeding down the sidewalk. Damn near took out the entire block.”

“What kept it from hitting the building?” Craig asked.

“A tight security perimeter, that’s what. All government facilities have been on high alert since the port attacks.”

“Good thing, too,” Hicks said.

Walker continued. “Police fired at the vehicle, but couldn’t stop the truck in time.”

“How many did we lose?” Hicks asked.

Walker looked down. “Reports say twenty-three so far. Maybe more.”

Crag looked back at the Surkovs, standing ten feet away, and burned with rage. He then swung his head back to Walker. “They need to have these areas cordoned off like military checkpoints. Trucks. High-powered weaponry, .50-caliber machine guns, not police officers and barricades. Those men were sitting ducks.”

“Agreed,” Hicks said.

“Agent Davis!” Donaldson said, running up with one hand clutching his cell phone.

Craig looked away from Walker. “Yes?”

“The transport is on its way. Armored carrier is five minutes out.”

“Good, I’m going,” Craig said.

“You’re what?” Walker asked.

“Agent Hicks and I will accompany the detainees.” Craig signaled Hicks over. “If he’s okay with that.”

Donaldson cut in. “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Rivers said, walking up.

Uncertainty washed across Walker’s face. “I’m not sure about all this. We should check with Calderon first.”

Craig nearly rolled his eyes, when suddenly Calderon popped up.

“Ask me about what?”

“Agent Davis wants to accompany the Surkovs on the transport.”

Calderon immediately shook his head, but as he opened his mouth, Craig cut in.

“Sir, I know what you’re going to say, but you can’t expect me to just hand them over to Homeland Security like this. I had to put up with it after the sleeper cell raid, the Surkov brothers, and now this? No. Not happening again.”

Calderon sighed. “All I was going to say is that you better be damn careful out there. And I want them delivered to Homeland Security without issue. You hear me?”

“Yes sir,” Craig said, sucking in his pride.

“Good,” Calderon said. He then turned away and joined another huddled team of FBI officials.

Craig looked at Walker. “I’m going to need a weapon.”

Walker nodded, pulled out his 9mm pistol, and handed it to Craig. “I want this back.”

“You got it,” Craig said, taking the pistol. “Thank you.”

Its weight felt comforting in his hand. Craig then looked to his team, patiently waiting off to the side. “Let’s keep our eyes open, gentlemen. We have some suspects to transport.”

***

Rachael walked into Nick’s room to find him playing videogames with his headset on. She didn’t know if he was aware of anything yet, and almost wished that she could enter his world of escape, now flashing brightly on the television screen, never to come back.

“We need to talk.”

He sat on his bed with his eyes locked on the TV screen in deep concentration.

“Nick!” she called out again.

He turned to her with a confused look on his face and took his headset off.

“What is it?”

“We have to get ready to go.”

“What are you talking about? Go where? What’s wrong?”

“We’re going to the cabin,” she said.

Nick’s blue eyes widened. He couldn’t believe his ears. “Now?”

After hurrying Nick to get ready and explaining everything the best she could, Rachael led the way to the dock with a backpack over her shoulders and a son in tow. The sky above was overcast and gray, a perfect match for her mood. She only hoped it wouldn’t rain. Nick was in the dark about a lot of things, but she had explained enough to him that their sudden trip made sense: there was a terror warning nearby. Craig had urged them to take the boat to the cabin. He would meet up with them later.

“Why can’t I drive the boat?” he asked, trailing behind her wearing his own backpack over a blue jacket. He shifted the cap covering his dirty-blond hair and waited for his mom to answer.

“Don’t be foolish,” she replied. Their feet moved along the sturdy planks of their quaint wooden dock over the gentle waves of the lake toward their modestly sized motorboat moored to a post. Rachael pulled up on the tarp, and Nick helped her pull it completely off. After tossing their packs in, Rachael climbed in first and tried to keep her balance as the boat shifted. Slightly wobbling, she turned to help Nick get in, but he simply climbed over her.

“Put one of those vests on,” she said.

There were three orange vests on the deck of the boat under the middle bench. They each grabbed one and slipped it on as Rachael went to the captain’s seat and started the engine. After a few turns of the key, the engine roared to life, sending foamy white bubbles to the top of the lake. The muffled rumbling made Nick’s heart jump. They hadn’t been on the boat in a while, and he was excited. Rachael, on the other hand, was apprehensive. It had been far too long since she had piloted the boat, and they hadn’t been to the cabin in a while either. Nick cast off and tossed the line back onto the dock.

“Good to go,” he said.

After telling him to sit down, she shifted the engine into gear and accelerated. The boat coasted along the waves, bouncing up and down and increasing in speed. As they passed other homes along the lake, Rachael couldn’t believe they were actually leaving. She prayed for guidance and strength. Nick turned around and watched their back yard get smaller and smaller. A life he knew had been unexpectedly interrupted, and he didn’t fully understand why.

***

The armored SWAT personnel transport carrier arrived behind the FBI building, barely noticed. Everyone within earshot was preoccupied by the massive explosion on the other side of the building. Craig rushed to the vehicle, waving to Hicks to follow, as helicopters hovered overhead. The militarized truck had two ironclad doors on each side and tiny bulletproof glass windows in the back. Its sheer size resembled the mine resistant vehicles from the wars in the Middle East, while its heavy-duty chassis and lightweight design allowed for fast movement in tight areas.

With lights flashing on top of its closed gunner hatch, Craig could see his reflection against the glossy black paint that covered the vehicle. If they were going to travel safely through D.C., he hoped the armored carrier would do the trick.

Two police cars idled in front of the carrier—their personal escort. Craig feared another strike against the U.S. at any minute. He believed the Surkovs to be high-value commodities to the terrorists, if the explosion outside the FBI building was any indicator.

An officer wearing a helmet visor, a bulletproof vest, and an M4 carbine rifle slung around his shoulder pushed open the heavy passenger door and hopped out of the armored truck. Craig immediately approached the officer as the truck’s engine idled like an eighteen-wheeler.

“Special Agent Davis, FBI,” Craig said.

“Sergeant Toomey,” the officer said. He was dressed in black from head to toe. They shook hands, and Craig explained the situation, not knowing what had already been disclosed. Even he didn’t know where the Surkovs were being taken. He asked Toomey.

“Someplace safe,” Toomey said. “About ten miles from here. Homeland is pulling out all the stops.”

“I see that,” Craig said, looking up at a blue-and-white police helicopter flying overhead.

“Your team can load them in the back,” Sergeant Toomey said. He looked at his watch. “We got an ETA of 1200 hours.”

“We’re staying with them. That’s part of the deal,” Craig said. He didn’t expect much resistance from an officer who only partly understood the situation.

“Have you been cleared for transport?” Toomey asked.

“The detainees are mine,” Craig responded. “Homeland can claim them all they want, but the FBI has as much jurisdiction over this case they do. We’re going with this transport.”