Papal Justice (25 page)

The four bad guys were dead. SSgt Evans was surprised to see two black guys in the bunch. As an African-American himself, he often cringed at the sight of so many of his race flock to the extremes of Islam. These guys looked American, while the others looked European or something. He ordered one of his Marines to take pictures of the dead guys and email them to Alpha while he and the rest of the boys headed to the church.

Getting into the church was easy. Rather than kick in the door or use explosives, Evans pulled out a set of locksmith tools. His father was a locksmith and at a young age Scotty Evans was picking locks all over the neighborhood. It was a good trick when you were messing with people in the barracks as a PFC, but it came in damn handy when you were looking for high value targets in Fallujah.

It took him twenty-two seconds to do both locks. He always counted, a habit he’d picked up from his father. His point man went in first, Evans right behind. It was pitch black inside, so they switched on their rail mounted lights. They’d come in the back way, so there were offices that were all empty as they cleared them one by one. Next came the modest chapel, a simple affair with that late 1970s style of wood and hard angles.

Evans stopped, putting his fist in the air. The rest of the Marines froze. He tried to focus through the heavy breathing and then he heard the whimpering. It took him a couple seconds to figure out where it was coming from, but then he looked down underneath the pews to his left. His flashlight illuminated a pair of eyes, wide with terror.

SSgt Evans lowered his weapon, so only the edges of his light touched the child. Then he saw there was another. When he knelt down, he saw more. Relief flooded through him. He had two kids, about the same age as the ones he was looking at now. He felt his throat tighten.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re going to be okay.”

Chapter 34

Southern California Airspace

7:51pm, March 15
^th

Cal nodded. He’d watched the entire exchange via the Predator feed. He’d seen the first Marine go down and now knew that it was the big Texan, who they’d already pronounced dead. There were three more wounded, nothing fatal.

Now that they had taken two of the convoys down and half of all the children were safe, things seemed to be falling into place. After days of failure, this felt like how things should be. Find the target and destroy it. Kill the bad guys and save the innocent hostages.

Two down, two to go.

He wasn’t worried about the Delta guys. They did this kind of thing in their sleep. As long as Neil or the Predator sweeps could find it, he was pretty sure the soldiers would take care of business.

And as far as the complement of his Osprey went, there was no issue there either. He knew The Jefferson Group men personally, had taken down too many objects to count with most of them. He knew what they were thinking, and vice versa, without even trying.

The monks worked the same way and had quickly figured out their role within the team. Cal’s boys would do the heavy lifting and the monks were called in to pinch hit. They were cool with that, and so was Cal.

The only wild card, if you could even call him that, was Travis. His cousin was obviously getting his kicks out of being part of the crew again. Hell, he hadn’t lost that battle-hardened look since they’d met up in Mexico the day before. Travis was ready, and he knew most of Cal’s men. The only thing that worried Cal was that Travis used to be the head man, the alpha dog, before Cal took over and Travis moved to Washington to serve the president. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Travis, it was just that Cal wondered what Travis was thinking. It wasn’t that Cal couldn’t play second fiddle at times, but these were his men. Travis would never try to take over Cal’s role, but Cal didn’t want the former SEAL to feel like this might be his last chance at action and possibly do something a little too risky.

But as soon as the thought came, he brushed it away. Travis was a professional, a lethal operator who’d not only proved himself with the SEALs, but who’d also taken the warriors of Stokes Security International to a whole other level of readiness.

Cal caught Travis’s eyes and gave him a nod. For some reason in that moment, his mind fluttered back to when they were kids. Especially the time when they’d gone camping with their dads, and Travis convinced him to sneak off for the day. They’d found a cliff to jump off of into some freezing spring water and Cal had twisted his ankle in the process. Travis half carried him back to camp and got a royal ass-chewing from his dad. That’s how it had always been. Travis, the older cousin, coaxing little Cal to follow along.

Now the roles were reversed. Cal was in the lead and Travis didn’t want to be left behind. He nodded at Travis again and looked back at his computer screen as another alert flashed in bold.

+++

8:12pm

The Delta team ambushed the yellow bus just before it passed into Diamond Bar along the Pamona Freeway. Three members of the entourage ran ahead and stopped traffic using road flares they’d taken from the Blackhawk crew chief. That stopped traffic pretty quickly and not many drivers honked after seeing the three guys with guns, waving burning sticks.

Three hundred yards to the east, traffic ground to a halt. The yellow school bus was stuck.

Captain Bob Anderson watched from behind a tree as the driver of the bus conversed with his friends. The trick was to get in without hurting the kids. That meant speed above all else. Luckily, with more and more cars surrounding the bus, there was plenty of cover to get them in. He let time tick by. As a native of Long Beach, Anderson knew what happened when traffic just stopped: drivers got pissed and some of them would get out of their cars to see what was going on.

Sure enough, another six minutes later he saw the first passenger open her car door. Then the driver behind her opened his and stepped out, obviously asking the lady in front if she could see what the hell was going on.

Anderson waited until more impatient motorists changed tactics and then he signaled for his men to hit the pavement. Luckily, they were dressed in their most civilian attire. Even at close range, it would be hard to tell that they weren’t anything but curious travelers.

Sure enough, his entire team made it to various points near the bus. Anderson took the lead, his weapons hidden behind his back. He rapped on the bus door. The driver ignored him. He knocked again, this time yelling, “Hey, can you see what’s going on up there?” The driver shook his head and kept his gaze forward.

Anderson knocked again, this time harder. “Hey, I’m trying to get my wife to the hospital. You sure you can’t see what’s going on?”

This time the driver reached for the door handle, and a WOOSH sounded as the bus door opened.

“I can’t see anything, man,” the driver said, already starting to close the door. Anderson stepped in, one of his guys grabbed the door to hold it open and let in the others. The driver went down with Anderson’s first shot. The next two took two apiece. Numbers three and four at least got their weapons up, but Anderson took down the one on the left and the operator behind him took out the guy on the right with their silenced rounds.

Another day, another dollar
, Anderson thought, scanning the bus for more targets. All he found were the frightened faces of children.

+++

8:44pm

“That’s three of four,” Cal announced. Somehow they’d done it without civilian casualties. With as many targets as they had and the landscape they were operating in, that was a frickin’ miracle.

But, of course, they had the hardest one left. He’d purposely left that one for him and his men. The obvious reason was that the other three teams didn’t know about the Pope. They knew about the kids and about the terrorists, but only the guys on Cal’s Osprey knew about the highest profile hostage.

Again, everything was going according to their hasty plan. They’d gotten the intel from Ruiz via the dead El Moreno (the detail they’d dispatched to Brawley had confirmed the man’s death, along with eighteen of his people), and now they were taking the rogue buses out one by one. It was methodical, like knocking down dominoes one at a time.

That didn’t mean they’d come out smelling like roses. They already lost one Marine and there were more wounded, not to mention the trauma those poor kids were going through. Add to that they still didn’t know the jihadis’ true motives. It could all be for show, just to prove that they could get their hands on someone like the Pope and take him through a porous border into the U.S., but why? There had to be a reason. These clowns never did anything without a reason, whether it was to induce fear, subjugate a population, or just wreak havoc. All you had to do was look in the dictionary. The definition of terrorism was
the use of violence and intimidation in the pursuit of political aims
. That’s what people didn’t get. There was always a motive, and Cal never forgot that.

As he watched the computer screen and listened to the ongoing chatter over the waves, he wondered what those motives might be, and if they were in time to hold off the potential killing blow.

Chapter 35

St. John Vianney Catholic Church

Goodyear, Arizona

8:33pm, March 15
^th

Kathy Anday-Fallenius was just wrapping up her work when she heard the rectory’s doorbell ring. She was the last one there, thanks to the upcoming community bridge tournament. It was an annual affair and, as the resident bridge expert, Kathy always had a hand in it.

Her church was in a safe part of town, nothing like some of the neighborhoods she’d visited doing mission work in nearby Phoenix. Even so, she was always careful. Her husband had taught her that, God rest his soul.

The bell rang again as she hurried to see who was at the door. Probably some poor congregant looking for a late night visit with the priest. But Father Gerald had gone home, so that meant she’d have to either call him or somehow figure out a way to help. She hated turning away those in need.

She could see whoever was at the door go to press the doorbell again, but he checked his hand when he saw her. He waved and she waved back. She saw a white school bus in the parking lot behind him, but she couldn’t make out the name on the side.

Kathy unbolted the door and cracked it open.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I am sorry to disturb you at this hour, Ma’am, but we have half a bus full of kids the diocese got from the border.” The man spoke reverently and he had a slight accent. But accents were common in Arizona, where much of the population was Hispanic. He stood a respectable distance from her, his hands clasped in front of his body.

“And the diocese told you to bring the children here?” Kathy asked. She hadn’t heard anything about it. It wasn’t like Father Gerald to drop the ball on something so important.

“Yes. Here is a letter with instructions.” The man handed her a rolled parchment. “We also have supplies and money to get the children settled, at least until we can find them permanent homes.”

“Are they all orphans?”

The man nodded gravely. “Many parents will do anything to see that their children have a chance to live better lives than what the south can provide.”

Kathy understood. The church often played host to displaced families and even had a program dedicated to helping illegals get their citizenship. There were many in need, and Kathy knew you only had to look in order to find them.

“Let me call Father Gerald and make sure we can—”

“Please,” the man said. “The children are tired and hungry. Many need to use the bathroom. Can we bring them in now and you can call your priest as we unload everything?”

Kathy wanted to do the right thing. What could it hurt? Maybe the diocese hadn’t called Father Gerald. Maybe it was all one big mistake. Or maybe this was the miracle she’d been praying for. She was only in her early fifties and she’d never had children. Maybe God could bless her and one of those orphans on the bus.

“You’re right,” she said. “Bring them in. We can set them up in the choir room for now.”

The man smiled and ran back to the bus.

Kathy couldn’t help staring. She somehow kept the tears from falling as she watched the nineteen children file in. Their eyes were wide, like they’d been through the most horrific journey imaginable. She estimated that the youngest was probably three and the oldest was twelve or thirteen. No one made direct eye contact with her. Kathy could understand that too. She was a stranger and they were far from home.

They took turns using the various bathrooms in the church. While she supervised the children, the five men from the bus unloaded the supplies. There were boxes of used clothing (a blessing because Kathy knew the church didn’t have enough for nineteen children), blankets and sleeping mats. There were even a couple cases of bathroom soap. She was familiar with them because they were the same brand she sometimes replaced in the bathrooms. Kathy asked the man in charge about the soap and he only shrugged and said, “I think it was some kind of surplus. I’ll make sure my volunteers install them before we leave.”

She almost stopped them, but what could it hurt? Although the church did well financially, they were always looking for better ways to cut costs and keep down spending. Because she wrote most of the checks for the monthly bills, Kathy knew they were buying that same soap for anywhere between ten and twenty five dollars apiece. Having a couple extra cases would save them a few hundred dollars, and that was a good thing.

Once the children were settled, the supplies were stacked neatly in the hall, and the soap dispensers replenished (luckily she’d remembered to have them save the old ones and put them in the supply closet), the man with the accent said farewell.