FATAL eMPULSE (46 page)

He pulled out his remaining C4 charges, set them to blow in a few minutes and then ran for the exit. Once outside, he headed toward Max and the others. They had encountered a spattering of gunfire, but they quickly cleared out the threat, using the vehicles the Syrian Army left behind as cover.

Gerrit reached Max’s position and yelled out, “Take cover.” They just swung around to the side of the truck opposite the plane when the explosives ignited, engulfing the aircraft in a massive ball of fire.

Two UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters loomed into view and several gunships hovered above, looking for prey. Gerrit threw out a flare to mark their position and waited for the pilots to land. The gunships spread out and searched for any enemy fire as Gerrit and the others clambered aboard. In minutes they took off.

One of the helicopter crew members tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, are you Gerrit O’Rourke?”

He nodded, and the crewman handed him a radio. “Colonel Jack Thompson needs to contact you immediately.”

Taking the phone, he put it to his ear and covered his other ear to drown out the noise. “Sir, Gerrit here.”

“Glad you and the others are safe. I’m going to make this quick. We sent part of our aircraft toward the farmhouse. Your people on the ground are taking incoming.”

Gerrit bit his lip, waiting. “Can you get me in touch with the lead pilot?”

One of the crewmen handed him a headset. Before putting it on, Gerrit asked, “How far away are we from the other choppers?”

“Just a minute or two,” the pilot responded.

“Start in that direction and let’s hook up with the others.”

The pilot nodded.

Putting the headset on, he reached the lead pilot heading for the farmhouse. “We will be there in just a minute. Let them know we will be coming in right on their tail.”

The chopper banked toward the farmhouse ten miles away. He hoped they’d get there in time. After all this, to lose Alena and Shakeela seemed wickedly twisted. He quickly passed on the information to Max and the pilots.

The others grabbed their weapons to make sure they could move out as soon as the chopper touched down. Gerrit knew it was useless to check to see if their markers were still on the screen. Everything for miles around the airport went dark—including the farmhouse and his laptop. Everything—toast.

The platoon leader tapped Gerrit on the shoulder. “Sir, Colonel Thompson already sent us the layout. We have a game plan once we touch down. You want to follow us in?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Marine. Let’s make sure we come in from the side farthest from the road and get into the trees as fast as possible. We’ll need cover from above.”

“Roger that.”

Gerrit reached out and grasped his shoulder. “Thank your men for me, will you?”

“You bet, sir. See you on the ground.”

Gerrit nodded and the platoon leader returned to his men.

Ahead, he saw the roof of the farmhouse pushing above the orchard. From this distance, it was hard to see where the threat might be, although he saw several military transports parked just off the main roadway. They must have disembarked from there and walked in through the orchard.

If the soldiers made it to the farmhouse, the women could not survive. Just too many guns.

Max leaned over. “Let’s have the choppers land beyond the orchard, away from the road and the enemy military transports.”

Gerrit nodded. “Agreed. I’m going to tell the pilots to have the gunships work that area from the farmhouse out to the military transports. Everything in that area dies. Make sure your men don’t go beyond the farmhouse. Okay?”

Nodding, Max slid over and briefed the others while Gerrit went forward and made his request to the pilots. They would be arriving in just a minute. The chopper broke off to the right and began to circle, coming in low and fast to the landing site they selected. As they sped toward that location, the gunships banked away and came in one after another, hammering the orchards, the truck, and the courtyard.

We’re coming to get you. Just hold out.

Alena saw several of the attackers rise from the ground and start forward. An explosion a few moments ago seemed to puzzle the gunmen as an Israeli jet screamed overhead. Using her binoculars, she saw the team leader trying to talk into his portable. The guy seemed to be slapping the radio before trying to transmit again. He shook his head and threw the radio to the ground.

That made her smile. Gerrit’s plan must have worked. Now, if they could just last until the cavalry arrived. The team leader motioned for his men to group up and began walking toward the farmhouse.
Here they come.

She raised her rifle, aiming for the leader, when she heard what sounded like a belching sound in the distance. A second later she realized what she was hearing. The ground kicked up dirt as hundreds of bullets tore through the air, sweeping over the advancing soldiers like a deadly wave. Men collapsed, some screaming, some just lying motionless on the ground. Right behind that came another gunship, riddling the transport vehicles and the orchard with hot metal.

No one survived.

Then she heard her name being called through a back window.

Gerrit?

She ran outside and around to the back of the house. Gerrit took her in his arms, hugging her so tightly it cut off her wind. She did not care. She hugged back as if her life depended upon it.

They survived.

March 25
Lake Tahoe, California

G
errit watched the car pull into the driveway. Bones, still not letting Gerrit out of his sight, gave a quick bark to let him know they had visitors. Willy came into the room, followed by Alena. Shakeela remained upstairs resting after her stay in the hospital. The prognosis was good. All she needed was rest and quiet.

The car rolled to a stop and Frank Collord and Jack Thompson climbed out. He went outside and greeted the men as they came down the path toward the house. “I thought Beck would be with you.”

Frank grimaced. “He still has that wire up on the Muslim Brother’s UIB group in Washington. He sent his apologies.”

Gerrit motioned them toward the lake. They skirted the cabin and headed toward the water’s edge.

Frank was the first to break the silence. “Beck is still trying to track down that leak. He knows it’s someone close to President Chambers, but he can’t seem to pin it down yet. Needless to say, the president is going crazy until they can find out who it is.”

Gerrit nodded. “Maybe we’ll never know.”

“Hey, on another matter,” Frank said, “the president wanted me to thank you for that idea of using the HMPs—the e-bomb over the Damascus airport. Took out their ability to respond, neutralized our stolen jamming equipment in case you guys couldn’t blow it up, and did all that without any civilian casualties. I guess the really ironic thing was that we used the same jamming devices against them when our jets and helicopters crossed the Syrian border. It was 2008 déjà vu. Once again, we were able to stop the enemy in their tracks. Like poking them in the eye with a stick. Made their electronic systems go belly up.”

Picking up a pebble, Gerrit pitched it across the water, watching it skip. “Frank, I knew the Navy had been experimenting with those bombs. Thought it would be a good time to see if they really worked in combat.”

Frank picked up a twig and broke it in two. “Russia still has their hands on our jamming technology, and we can only assume they have duplicated a working prototype, but for now…”

Gerrit knew for the moment another crisis had been averted. “I still don’t understand why Hassan and the Russians would give Raed and the Muslim Brotherhood a, inoperative system. What if they’d found out?”

Jack looked at Gerrit. “I’m sure Hassan hoped they wouldn’t find out until they violated Israeli airspace. The Israelis would attack and destroy the evidence, the world would think Syria’s president authorized the attack, and Israel would retaliate with a strike on Syrian soil. The attack would either lead to Assad’s demise, the Brotherhood would finally gain power, or a power struggle among Assad’s surviving government would create a power base friendly with Iran. That would leave the Iranians—with their Russian cohorts—with enough leverage to position themselves closer to the seat of power in Syria. Bottom line, Hassan wanted to make Israel and her allies focus on targets closer to home. He wanted to buy the Iranians more time to get their nuclear weapons program to a stage where Israel could no longer do anything about it.”

“Does this mean that Israel will renew their efforts to destroy Iran’s nuclear plans?” Gerrit asked. “They are going forward, aren’t they?”

Frank shrugged. “That’ll be between the president and the prime minister, Gerrit. Only time will tell.”

Gerrit glanced at the lake again, watching Bones working his way along the water’s edge. “And what about Raed? What will become of him?”

“He was able to show Assad’s people that he worked to prevent whatever Hassan and the others tried to pull off, saying he had to appear to be a traitor. It just might work. I bet he comes out of this with a medal from Assad.”

“Won’t they wonder why he was working with a group of Israelis and Americans?”

Jack crouched down near the lakeshore, his shoes a few inches above the high waterline. “His story is that once he figured out what was happening, he presented himself as a mercenary traitor to gain Israeli’s trust and support. Like I said, they may give him a medal.”

“And he will continue to work with Mossad?”

“For now,” Frank said. “Unless the truth comes out as to whose team he really bats for.”

Gerrit tugged on his ear. “And what about Hassan and his Muslim Brotherhood buddy, Mohamed Abul Fotouh? What’s happening with them?”

“Hassan is in a tough spot,” Frank said. “Raed will let Assad’s people know that Hassan was playing them. And by now, Fotouh will know that Hassan lied to him, thanks to a little bird that Marc Perlman’s people planted in Fotouh’ s organization. That and Raed sending word indirectly to Fotouh about Hassan’s role and that the MB better pack their bags and set up in someone else’s country.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Gerrit said. “Look at the Arab Spring, look at Egypt, Libya, and other parts of the Middle East. The Muslim Brotherhood will never give up. They’ll climb into bed with anyone who they can use to gain power—Hamas, Hezbollah, and any number of other terrorist organization and rogue countries.”

“Not to mention lobbyists and self-interest groups right here in our own country.” Jack seemed pensive. “I hope Beck comes up with something we can use to attack that group here.”

Alena called out from the back patio. “They’ve arrived.”

Gerrit motioned toward the house. “For the moment, let’s just enjoy our victory.”

The men turned and walked toward the house where Alena and the others had gathered. Shakeela gingerly came down the stairs. Willy stood to one side of the group, nervously shifting weight from one foot to the other.

As they entered, Gerrit saw a familiar figure coming through the front door. Beck Malloy. The FBI agent stood to one side, holding the door open.

“Hey, Beck. I thought you were back east.” Gerrit walked toward him just as he saw another man backing into the house with FBI written all over him and struggling with a wheelchair.

The FBI agent got it into the house and whirled it around so Gerrit could see the occupant.

Joe!

Gerrit rushed forward, knelt down, and hugged his uncle. “Man, you gave me a scare.”

Laughing, Joe returned the hug. “I was sick as a dog and thought it might be time I’d moved on to greener pastures. The good Lord must have decided I’m still needed here.”

Alena came over, tears in her eyes. “Welcome home, Joe.” She took his hand and kissed it.

Willy, still impatiently shifting his weight, broke in. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Mr. J. I thought you were a—”

Sensing Willy’s discomfort, Joe reached out both arms. “Come here, Willy.” Joe circled his arms around Willy. Gerrit saw the younger man’s shoulder shake as emotion overcame him.

It was good they all got home—alive.

Sitting by the lake, Gerrit looked out at a full moon shooting beams of silvery light across darkened waters. Bones stretched out next to him, breathing heavy in his sleep. Above, a clear sky sparkled with tiny pricks of galactic light, each heavenly body joining together to create another light show for mankind. Some of the stars seemed so close he could touch them.

Gerrit had dragged a patio chair to the water’s edge to be alone. Everyone seemed to have gone to bed, but he couldn’t sleep. His mind would not shut down and let him get some rest.

He heard a squeak and turned around to see Joe wheeling himself toward Gerrit. Leaping up, Gerrit moved toward his uncle. “Here, Joe, let me give you a hand.”

“I’ve got it, Gerrit. Right now, this is my only form of exercise.”

Gerrit sat back down and waited for Joe to get closer. “It is so good to see you back here.” He waited until Joe came to a stop near his chair. “Devon’s people got to your luggage in Miami and left that envelope with a full dose of TTX inside. If you had reached inside that envelope and gotten a full dose, we would never be sitting here chatting tonight.”

Joe nodded. “I thank the Lord every day. Now, I have one more thing to add to my list.”

“The idiot who sprinkled the powder in your luggage left just enough to alert us that something was wrong. That’s when your symptoms started appearing, when the powder in minute quantities kicked in.”

“Tell me about it,” Joe said. “Almost done in by a blowfish. I thought I was having a stroke—trouble breathing, weak pulse, paralysis, trouble speaking. A real mess.”

“Those hazmat guys got you help just in time.”

Nodding, Joe folded his hands in his lap and looked out over the lake. “What a beautiful sight. It is great to be alive.”

Gerrit nodded. Lapsing into silence, they watched the water lapping on the shore. He listening to a winged predator calling out from the darkness above, and somewhere nearby he heard a fish break the surface.