Terror Rising: Book 0 – The Insurgence (7 page)

The conversation seemed
headed toward a conspiracy theory, and Angela wanted to clear
things up. “
Everyone
wants to stop ISIS. It’s absurd to suggest
otherwise.”

Martinez hit the table, rattling his coffee
mug. Angela froze and went silent.

“Who do you think is arming them? How do you
think they’re getting here?”

She looked back at him in disbelief. “I
don’t know, but to suggest that Chief Drake—”

“Not him. Others in higher positions. This
all goes back to that major clusterfuck in Syria and our
involvement there. It’s all connected.”

“No, sir.” Frustrated, Angela rose from the
booth just as the waitress brought her coffee and set it down. The
woman stopped and glanced at them strangely, then turned and walked
away.

“Please sit down,” Martinez said. “I don’t
mean to be so cryptic. I’ll tell you everything that I can.”

Angela slowly lowered herself back into the
booth against the vinyl. “Go on…”

“The government, through Homeland Security
and Immigration Services, releases an annual report on the number
of people living in the United States illegally. There is a
separate report that also details the number of terrorist suspects
that the FBI is tracking.”

He paused and took a
breath, looking around. He stared directly at Angela. “They haven’t
released either report in
two
years
. Think about that. FOI requests from
the media have been tied up in litigation. Why are certain agencies
so reluctant to release the numbers?”

Angela shrugged. “You got me.”

Martinez leaned in closer with his voice
barely above a whisper. “Because the numbers are devastating. And
they won’t see the light of day until big changes come from the
inside.”

Angela took a careful sip of her hot coffee
and then put it down, stirring it with a spoon. “Maybe the FBI is
keeping it under wraps so they don’t interfere with surveillance
efforts.” She held her hands out. “Ever think about that?”

Martinez nodded and rubbed his chin. She
didn’t like seeing him in such a wired state. He was normally
someone she could rely on to have it all together. “Whatever it is,
I’m going to find out. I’ve got a couple of leads, and it’s time to
ruffle some feathers.”

“We’re Border Patrol agents, sir,” Angela
said, wary of his outlandish theories. “We have a very specific
job. If you know something about terror cells, it’s my professional
opinion that you should bring it to the FBI and let them do their
job.”

Martinez slid his hands
off the table and backed against his seat with a disappointed
expression. He then spoke slowly and carefully. “Our families,
Angela. Our children. Our parents. Even our friends on the force.
All of that is at stake right now. These guys go after soft
targets. Shopping malls, concerts, airports, you name it.
We
are the target,
Angela. Don’t forget that.”

Angela had no argument, but she still
believed he was being extreme. “We just need to keep our eyes open.
Do our jobs the best that we can.”

“It’s not good enough,”
Martinez said, launching up from his seat. The table shook, and it
looked like
he
was now the one leaving. Angela was confused.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he
said with his hands flat on the tabletop. “That’s what it’s going
to take.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked,
looking up at him.

“Whatever you can to keep your family safe.
We’re at war, even if no one wants to believe it.” He dug into his
pocket and tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Thanks for
coming. We’ll be in touch.”

He walked away before she could say anything
else, and went out the door without turning back. Angela sat for a
moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Sausage and eggs sizzled in
the kitchen, the inviting smell drifting past her booth. The
waitress came back, surprised to see Angela alone.

“That all I can get you, hon?” she
asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Angela said, staring
ahead. The waitress left a check on the table and went away with a
smile. From outside the window, Angela could see Martinez’s Jeep
drive away. With everything he had said, she still didn’t
understand what he wanted her to do or why he had summoned her to
the diner in the middle of the night.

Perhaps he just needed someone to talk to.
He was a man on a mission, and there was little she could have said
to convince him otherwise. She got up and walked out with more on
her mind than she had counted for.

Angela arrived at the station the next
morning bright and early. The fleet of black SUVs was still in the
parking lot, but Martinez’s Jeep was nowhere to be seen. She
thought nothing of it, considering that he sometimes came in a
little after she did. He might even have taken the day off, which
she would have understood. Doug had implored her to do the same,
but she needed to be there. She didn’t want to miss a single beat
of the investigation.

She could feel the tension the moment she
walked in through the double doors. Two different agents were
beginning their day shift at the front desk, looking grim.

She walked through the lobby to the hall
where all the chatter from the evening prior had resumed for a new
day. Every cubicle and office was swarming with Border Patrol, FBI,
Homeland Security, and some men in suits, whose affiliation she
didn’t know. At the end of the hall, she could see into Chief
Drake’s office. He was standing in front of his desk in full
uniform with what looked like FBI agents around him.

Does he ever sleep?
she thought to herself.

A coffeepot hissed in the breakroom as she
walked by, and she saw Captain Reynolds sitting at a small table,
pulling her red hair into a ponytail.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Angela said, poking
in.

Reynolds looked up with a nod and slight
smile. “Morning, Agent Gannon. I hope you’re ready for this.”

Angela’s boots clicked along the white tile
floor as she went straight to the coffee machine. She grabbed a
Styrofoam cup from a stack and poured herself a cup while turning
to Reynolds. “Did they find Rex yet?”

Reynolds ran her hands down her face with a
sigh. “Yes. Thank God. He actually came back for me. Can you
believe that?”

“Smart dog,” Angela said, taking a sip.

“He sure is.”

Angela walked to the table but didn’t sit.
There was no one else in the room, and she thought there was no
better time to clear the air. “Is everything okay? I mean, how are
you holding up?”

Reynolds’s blue eyes moved up, then back
down to the floor. “As good as you are, I imagine. They’re putting
out some info today on his memorial service and where donations can
be made.”

The question was on Angela’s mind. She
didn’t want to ask, but she had to know. “Did they… recover Agent
Dawson’s body from the fire?”

“What was left of it, yes,” Reynolds
replied. Her eyes were averted, and her elbow propped on the table
holding her coffee cup, as if she had forgotten about it.

“It’s terrible. I couldn’t sleep last
night,” Angela said.

Reynolds put her coffee cup down and stood
abruptly as her chair scraped against the tile floor. “You and me
both, Agent Gannon.” She paused. “You and me both.”

She picked up her cup and walked out of the
breakroom with her coffee, leaving Angela standing there. The
thought of Dawson’s charred body was the last thing she wanted on
her mind. Why couldn’t he have just gotten out of the truck like
everyone else? Why did he have to search around some more? Then it
hit her: how close they all had come to dying that day, and they
would have died if they’d been standing in the wrong place at the
wrong time. Never again, she thought, would she not wait for
backup.

Angela sighed and looked outside the
breakroom as agents rushed by. She hadn’t heard the news yet,
didn’t know what they were saying—part of her didn’t even want to
know. She wanted to remain focused, and the best way to do that was
to try to pursue the station wagon. It was their only link, their
only chance at getting to the truth. She dug into her pocket and
pulled out her cell phone. No calls from Martinez yet, and it was
already ten after eight.

She felt lost without him, not even sure how
to start the day. Facing the chief first thing in the morning
wasn’t the most tantalizing idea. She left the breakroom with only
one destination in mind. It was time to check in with the
chief.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, knocking on
the side of his door.

Drake’s worn face shot up, but his body
remained slouched over his desk. The four FBI agents in the room
were slow to turn and acknowledge her.

“Agent Gannon. Good that you’re here,” Drake
said, straightening up. “Come in and close the door.”

Angela walked in and slowly shut the door.
All eyes were on her as Drake took a moment to introduce her to his
guests, all wearing white, button-down long-sleeved shirts, ties,
and slacks. He stood up and held an arm out toward the first FBI
agent.

“This is Special Agent MacLauchlan.”

A tall man with moussed black hair and a
thin beard nodded.

“Supervisory Special Agent Sutherland.”

A short blond-haired man with a square jaw
and clean face waved.

“Agent Lynch.”

A bulky man with wavy gray hair, pointy
nose, and glasses nodded.

“And Special Agent Hopper.”

A man with a crew cut, goatee, and wild eyes
smiled and nodded.

Angela introduced herself, feeling a bit
overwhelmed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you gentlemen,” she
said.

Glancing at the
television, she could see that the news coverage hadn’t stopped.
The aerial view of the truck explosion had transitioned to
daylight. In the darkness, the vividness of the scene had been
lost, but in the bright daylight, everything was clear: the
widespread destruction, the mound of smoldering ash where the truck
used to be. The news banner read,
No
Answer from Feds on Terror Bombing
. It was
enough for everyone to know that things were serious.

“Please, have a seat,” Chief Drake said
warmly.

She smiled the best she could and sat in one
of the chairs in the front of his desk, prepared to be
questioned.

Drake looked among the FBI agents, each one
giving him knowing glances. Angela knew little about the ongoing
discussion they’d been having, but had a good guess. Drake rose,
moved to the front of his desk, facing Angela, and sat on the front
of it, legs swaying in the air, arms tucked at his sides, and
looked directly at Angela.

“The media are expecting a response to all
of this today, and from what we’ve gathered so far, this appears to
be an isolated incident.”

Angela disagreed, but she kept such
reservations to herself.

“When was the last time you heard from
Captain Martinez?” he asked, as the FBI agents studied her.

“Last night,” she answered. “He called me
very concerned about everything that had happened.”

Drake rose his head and studied her closely
through the thick lens of his glasses. “I don’t doubt it. Seems
he’s gone rogue on a fact-finding mission of his own.”

“Sir?” Angela said, feigning confusion.

“We have to get a handle on this thing,
Agent Gannon. I think you can appreciate that. But what bothers me
is when one of my agents, a damn fine agent, I might add, goes off
the radar.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Angela
said.

Drake hopped off his desk and began pacing
his office, hands at his side. “We received a call from Captain
Martinez’s wife, Gloria, about an hour ago. She’s worried sick.
Apparently, he hasn’t been home all night. His Jeep is gone. He
didn’t leave a note. And all attempts by his wife to contact him
have failed.”

Angela felt an intense worry building in her
gut. She didn’t like where the conversation was going. Now more
than ever, she needed Martinez at her side, not off on some rogue
fact-finding mission.

“I don’t know what to say, sir. He expressed
grief about Dawson and said that he had to do some investigating of
his own.”

Her comments piqued the interest of the FBI
agents, and she immediately regretted saying so much.

“We need to find him,”
Drake said. “Do your best to get in touch with him.
That’s
your mission for
the day, Agent Gannon.”

Angela remained still in the chair with her
hands folded over her legs. “Yes, sir. I can do that.”

“Great.” He went to his desk and grabbed one
of the many files sitting in a stack. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I
have to address the media in an hour.”

Angela stood to leave when a knock came at
the door.

“Come in,” Drake shouted, gazing at the door
and looking annoyed.

The door opened, and a tall, thin woman
walked in. She had straight brown hair down to her shoulders and a
tanned face that contrasted attractively with red lipstick and
bright, bluish-green eyes. She wore a dark blue blazer, a white
silk shirt, and black slacks. An FBI badge dangled from her neck on
a lanyard. The other agents in the room seemed to stand more
upright as she entered, obviously trying to put on a good face.

“Ah, Ms. Thaxton. A pleasure to see you,”
Chief Drake said with a smile.

The woman nodded back and then looked at
Angela, pointing. “This is Captain Martinez’s partner?”

“Yes,” Drake answered, turning to Angela.
“Agent Gannon, I’d like you to meet, Jennifer Thaxton, an assistant
director with the FBI.”

Angela shook Thaxton’s hand with a friendly
nod as the assistant director carefully studied her. “Pleased to
meet you, Agent Gannon. I’ve been waiting to speak with you.”