Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (16 page)

Hazeroth didn’t
know what to think or what to do. He needed to get answers. He needed to find
something that could point his nation in the right direction. But he didn’t
know what he was looking for.

“Mr. Hazeroth,”
the agent interrupted, “do you think that we
could
be wiped off the
planet?”

Hazeroth snapped
back into the present. “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. But why have we not yet
been obliterated if it were possible?”

The agent
shrugged his shoulders and scribbled down some notes on a piece of paper. “Of
course you know,” he said in a hushed voice, “there is a first time for
everything.”

Monday, March 17
^th
– 2200 hours

Washington, D.C.

Parks pulled
into his personal parking space. “Hey Solomon,” he began, “I need you to go
into my office and meet all the guys. I’m heading over to the White House to
see the National Security Advisor.”

“Yeah, sure,”
Solomon accepted, flinging the truck’s door open.

Parks and
Solomon split ways. Solomon casually strolled over to the EEOB while Parks
briskly walked up to the White House. Jogging up to the guard, he offered his
badge. The Secret Service guard looked at the photo and back at Parks, as if
trying to match the face. The guard handed the badge over to another nearby Secret
Service agent who looked as wary as he had been.

“Major Keith
Parks?” the agent asked without taking his eyes off the badge.

“Yes sir, that’s
me.”

“New here?”

“Yes sir. Just
got here today.”

“You a Marine?”
the guard pressed.

“I am, sir.”

“Your ID
please.”

Parks handed it
to him and waited.

“Date of birth?”
the man questioned, checking to see if Parks was who he said he was.

Parks didn’t
have time for games, and he wasn’t about to get bullied by some hot-to-trot
agent that was trying to keep occupied so he could stay awake. “Look, if you
don’t believe that I’m who I say I am, just apply some common sense. What are
the chances of me swiping a White House badge and a military ID? And if you’ll
notice, I fit the ID’s description perfectly,” he assured. “I need to get in as
soon as I can because I’ve got an emergency meeting with the National Security
Advisor.”

Suddenly
convinced that everything was okay, the guards allowed him to go inside where several
bomb checks and other security precautions took place.

When all that
was finally done Parks realized that he didn’t know exactly where to go. He had
to find the Situation Room, but where was that located? How would he get there
from here? Reluctantly he asked one of the Secret Service agents standing
guard. “Um, excuse me, sir, but could I ask you to do me a big favor?” Parks asked
the short man.

“Yeah, what do
you need?”

“I need to go to
the Situation Room, but I don’t really know how to get there. Could you point
me in the right direction?”

The agent did
better than that; he actually walked with Parks to make sure he arrived. Parks
was memorizing the way when they suddenly arrived at their destination. He
thanked the agent, zipped up his coat, and prepared to go inside. He was
nervous, very nervous. He was so unprepared for this that he probably was going
to look like an idiot.

Drawing in a
long breath, he pushed open the door and walked in a few steps. He saw the President,
the Vice President, the National Security Advisor, the Directors of National
Intelligence, the Central Intelligence Agency, the FBI, and Secret Service, all
huddled around a large conference table. Parks stood at attention and waited.

“Oh,” the President
said, looking up and seeing him. “Come on over, Major.”

Parks stiffly
walked over to the group and took the seat on the President’s far right. Winnfield
nodded to the D/CIA who stood and slid a file of papers over to Parks, who was
sitting as straight as he had been standing.

“Naji Wa’il is this
man’s name,” Cummins explained. “He’s number five on the CIA’s terrorist
ranking list.”

Parks opened the
file and scanned the papers.

“That’s the file
we’ve got on him,” the Director continued. “It ain’t much but it’s all we
need.”

Parks swallowed
hard when he looked at the photo of the devil-like terrorist. He looked so
haunting and evil that it sent chills up his spine. He hoped no one had noticed
his reaction.

“He’s in South Carolina right now. An FBI agent spotted him when both of them were sitting in a
traffic jam side by side. He’s assumed armed and potentially dangerous, and
he’s headed this way.” Then Cummins cleared his throat and said, “If you’re
wondering why the agent didn’t do anything about him, it’s because we told him
not to. We’re saving him for you.”

Parks closed the
folder and handed it back to the now-seated D/CIA who took it and slid it over
to Travis.

“Mike, will you
get us the image?” Travis asked.

In the next
minute, the Director had a live video feed playing of Wa’il who was driving
through heavy traffic.

The video feed
was the result of an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV) – commonly referred to as a
drone – which was hovering somewhere in the space above South Carolina. The
video was then down-linked to a ROVER (Remotely Operated Video Enhanced
Receiver), via radio waves. The ROVER could bring the video into the Situation
Room where the footage could be watched in real time with absolutely no delay.

Parks was
captivated at how easily something that difficult could be accomplished in just
a matter of minutes.

“He’s in the Charleston area right now,” Cummins informed Parks. “He’s most likely going to still be in
his vehicle when you get to him.”

“Give him the
plan, Josh,” Anders instructed quietly.

Travis nodded to
the FBI Director who stood and walked over to the corner of the room. Suddenly
a map of some kind was projected on a screen on the wall and Watkins continued
with his job. “These are the states of South Carolina and North Carolina and
the area around them. Charleston is here,” he said, walking to the screen and
pointing to the city. “By the time your team gets to Wa’il he’ll be somewhere
near Fort Bragg in North Carolina. Our job is to get you to the fort in time to
intercept him. We have about four hours, maybe more depending on traffic.”

A more detailed
map of North Carolina was then projected and Watkins went on with his briefing.
“Here’s the road that Wa’il will be traveling on,” he informed Parks. “And your
team will intercept him about...” he trailed off and tried to find the right spot,
“here. He has to travel by that way if he’s going anywhere north of Fort Bragg, and so far, it looks like he is. Anyway, this road is far enough away from the
fort so he’ll feel comfortable, and it’s a sure bet he’ll come by you guys. Around
that interception point,” he began, pointing again to the spot, “there’s
nothing but meadows and forests so you’ll have a clean, clear shot.”

Parks didn’t say
or do anything. He just sat there, stiff as a board, and listened intently as
the Director proceeded with the explanation.

“Bragg is here,”
Watkins went on, pointing to the base on the screen. “We’ll fly you guys there.
After you land, you should be able to get to Wa’il’s road by vehicle and set up
everything with time to spare. He will drive right into your hands if you’re
careful.”

Parks finally
mustered up enough nerve to ask a question. “How will we know for sure which
vehicle is his, sir?”

“We’ll have this
UAV hone in on your position. When we see him come close, we’ll radio you and
specify which car it is.”

“So let me get
this straight, sir. We fly to Fort Bragg, get our equipment packed up, drive to
the highway, get in position, and wait for him to come by. When he comes close,
you’ll radio me and tell me which vehicle’s his, and we take him out.”

“Nothin’ to it,”
Winnfield spoke up. “Tom, will you explain the game plan?”

The NSA did not
stand up as the others had. He just adjusted in his chair and stared expressionlessly
at Parks’ face. “The best plan that can be used is as follows,” Smith started.
“Your team will be broken into three pieces; two wings of roadside snipers, and
the backup. You and Marler will be on the right side of the road acting as
snipers, and Solomon, Norse, and Corley will be on the left. Your jobs will be
to shoot Wa’il through the head as soon as he comes by. If you try but find you
can’t do that, then resort to blowing his tires. The main thing is, you cannot
let him escape. Lee and Samuels will be in the vehicle you drive in on. They
will be the backup if Wa’il escapes. Lee will be equipped with a Stinger
surface-to-surface missile launcher. When the time is right, he’ll fire a
missile and hopefully take Wa’il out. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Smith
then asked Cummins, “Lee’s the one who knows how to operate the Stinger
launcher, right?”

“He is indeed.”

“Anyway,” the
National Security Advisor continued, “we just need that terrorist taken out. We
don’t want you to search his body or car or anything, we just want him dead. We
don’t care how messy it gets, just take him out. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Parks
confirmed boldly, trying not to show his lack of confidence.

“After this meeting
adjourns, you’ll gather your team and bring them to the parking lot where
you’ll be met by your transportation van. You will then be taken to Andrews Air
Force Base where a C-17 will be waiting, loaded with all the necessary
equipment for this operation.” Smith paused, then ordered, “Please recite what
I have just told you.”

Parks did so,
and afterwards everyone in the room was quiet. The drone image of Wa’il was
still playing, and Parks’ stomach knotted as he thought of the coming hours.
He’d seen his share of terrorists throughout the years, and he knew enough to
know that no two terrorists were alike. One would operate one way and the other
another way. They were unpredictable. That was the part that was scary about
them. Their next move couldn’t be predicted. Parks knew that he always had to
be on his toes. He had to be ready for anything, and that was a tough job.
Especially when he was in command, and the results lay on his shoulders.

Parks could
remember in detail the night he’d led his company of Marines against that terror
training camp in Afghanistan. It had been a cold desert night, and the breeze
had cut through the Marines’ uniforms like a knife. Parks could remember
approaching the camp from a hill. He could remember how evil forces seemed to
be lurking in the valley where the camp was situated. He could not forget, no
matter how hard he tried, about the feeling he had as he crested the hill. M4
in front of him, he had peered above the desert sand and then it hit him. It
felt as if demons were camped down there. The wicked, haunting force had
petrified Parks to the very core of his being. The feeling had ripped his heart
in two pieces, and he had frozen to the sand. He could still relive how he had
literally slapped his face and told himself that the lives of these Marines
were in his hands, and that he had better get his act together if he wanted them
all to make it out of this alive. He had vowed to himself that if the devil
himself were down there, he’d still fight him. It wasn’t a humorous or
light-hearted statement. He hadn’t said it flippantly; he had really thought
the devil was in the midst of those people. He could feel the evil forces in
the camp. He could almost see and smell the wickedness, and taste the pungent
poison of those beings. He had not been able to think of them as humans. They
weren’t. They were animals. And even that was too good. They must have been
demon possessed.

Parks had
thought about calling for help. He had thought about asking a few artillery
pieces to come on that hill and blast the camp to smithereens. But he hadn’t.
He knew that his Commanding Officer, Colonel Johnson, had given him orders to
take the camp out. And he knew he and his company had to carry out that mission
alone.

That night was
burned into his memory forever. He could remember how in the heat of the battle
he had forgotten his fears. It was a strange thing, but he really had not been
afraid after he started the fight. He guessed he was too busy to be frightened.
But for whatever reason, he had been calm, and had clarity of thought, even
with the horrific sights that had been portrayed before his very eyes. Even
when he felt the bullet rip through him and saw his blood gush out and had to
endure the pain, he was still calm. It was a miracle more than it was anything
else. Had he not stayed calm, he might not have been here today.

Here he was
again, waiting to take out terrorists. He knew what he had to do, and he knew
how to do it. But actually completing his mission was a hard thing. The lives
of everyone on the team were in his hands, and he needed to play his next cards
wisely if he wanted everyone to live through this.

Monday, March 17
^th
– 2307 hours

The Situation Room

They were seven
minutes late, and Parks hated to be late more than anything. His years in the
Marine Corps had instilled that quality in him. Every hour was sharp and every
minute was exact in the Corps. No one was allowed to be late at any time for
any reason. But this was different. The President was running this show and if
he wanted to prolong things, he could.

The last-minute
plans were made, the fine details were hammered out, and Parks was ready to go.
He was supposed to have met with his team at 2300 on the nose, but the President
had extended the meeting for an extra seven minutes, adding to Parks’ mounting
stress.

The plan was
simple. The team would travel by vehicle to Andrews Air Force Base, and upon
their arrival they would load up into a C-17 transport plane and fly to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, home of the Army’s 82nd Airborne. From there they’d drive to
the intercepting point on the highway, set everything up, and get ready for
Wa’il to come by.

Parks also had
received his team’s name: The Viper Team Seven. The codenames of each member
were as follows. Parks: VIPER ALPHA; Solomon: VIPER BRAVO; Marler: VIPER CHARLIE;
Corley: VIPER DELTA; Norse: VIPER ECHO; Lee: VIPER FOXTROT; and Samuels: VIPER
GOLF.

The NSA had
given Parks a satellite phone with which he’d confirm Wa’il’s vehicle. Parks
was uncomfortable with the real time video of the whole operation being cast in
the Situation Room. It was hard enough doing operations without someone
watching his every move, but when the Directors of the top agencies of the U.S. were scrutinizing him, it got downright nerve-racking.

Parks stepped
out of the White House and instantly called Solomon. Parks told him to gather
the team in the parking lot and he’d meet them there. In the next minute, the
entire team emerged from the EEOB and headed toward him. This mission had
happened so suddenly and at just the wrong time. Parks hadn’t had time to train
even once with them and now they were being called into action. Things were
going too fast and there was no way to put the brakes on.

Solomon trotted
up to him and asked, “Are we goin’ somewhere?”

Parks solemnly
told him they were, but he didn’t tell him where. Not yet anyway. He’d brief
the team on the details when they were on their way to Andrews Air Force Base.
For now he just had to get everybody in the transport van and rolling down the
road.

A white military-style
van screeched out in front of Parks and came to an abrupt halt. The driver
rolled down his window and yelled for the team to jump in. Everyone immediately
did so. The driver, a slim man of medium height, dressed in an Army uniform, held
out his hand to Parks and introduced himself. “Corporal Ray Yahtzee, sir. At
your service.”

Parks shook
Yahtzee’s hand and buckled his seatbelt, then secretly rubbed in some
Germ-X
.
“Like the game?” he asked the corporal.

“Yes sir, like
the game,” Yahtzee said, smiling as he put the van into drive.

The corporal
spoke into a small radio as he pulled out of the parking lot. “GOLDEN TOWER, ICEBERG is in motion, I repeat, ICEBERG is in motion. The VIPER TEAM SEVEN is
inside. Do you copy? Over.”

A muffled voice
responded to the update. “ICEBERG, this is GOLDEN TOWER. We copy that. Keep us
posted, and be safe. Over and out.”

The short
conversation ended and Yahtzee informed everyone that the van’s codename was ICEBERG
and that the White House’s was GOLDEN TOWER. The codenames had been set up by
the National Security Advisor himself, and they were to be used at all times
while on the radio.

After a few
seconds of silence, Parks climbed into the row of seats behind him and began to
brief his team on the operation they would soon perform. Giving them an
in-depth rundown of the plan, he found that everyone appeared to be pleased
with it. Everyone also liked their chosen positions. Parks gave each member
their codename and told them that anything that happened to anyone would have
to be reported to him. He stressed that communication could make or break this
mission and that they needed to work this operation as a seven-part team.
Everyone had to do his part correctly, and at the right moment. One mistake
could ruin everything.

“KP, are both
your and my snipers going to fire at Wa’il at the same time?” Solomon
questioned.

Parks responded
without hesitation. “Yes. I will fire the first shot, and from there everyone
will open up and try and hit him or the tires or blow the engine or something.
We have to either take him out or immobilize his vehicle so the Stinger missiles
can take him.”

“What about
civilian traffic?”

“The National
Security Advisor’s going to place Highway Patrolmen along that road and have
them pull over all vehicles in front of and behind the terrorists,” Parks
explained. “They’ll make it look like usual ticketing procedures. There’s not
much traffic on the road so hopefully that won’t need to be done too many times.”

“It’ll be a
risk,” Solomon stated.

“I know, but it’s the best way to keep civilians out of this. After all,
keeping the citizens safe is what this is all about.”

*          *          *

Andrews Air
Force Base was dead ahead. They’d made good time, but still not good enough.
Time was ticking and with every tick, Wa’il moved closer to whatever target
might be in his sights.

“Here we are,”
Yahtzee informed the vehicle’s occupants as he pulled up to the gate. “Can I
have your ID card please, sir? And I need everyone’s driver’s licenses in the
back.”

All the licenses
and IDs were passed to the Air Force SP who was standing guard. He shuffled
through them a couple of times and said, “You must be the crew that I was told
to let through.”

The corporal
nodded.

“Well, your
names match the ones given to me. You’re good to go,” the SP declared, standing
at attention and saluting pitifully.

As they drove
into the Air Force base, Parks decided to break the quiet spell. “You see the
sharp salute that SP gave?” Parks asked sarcastically.

“Yes sir, I
did,” Yahtzee confirmed.

“You’ll never
see a Marine give a salute that looks like a folded lawn chair. I don’t know
who taught those guys how to salute, but whoever did must not have known how to
do it himself.”

“Are you saying airmen
don’t know how to salute?” the corporal wondered.

“Yeah, why?
You’re not in the Air Force, you’re a soldier.”

The man nodded.
“That’s true, sir. Five years active duty in the United States Army.”

Parks wasn’t
sure if he was supposed to be impressed or not so he just replied, “I pity you,
Corporal.”

Yahtzee looked confused.
“Why? Because I’ve got fifteen years left or because I’m in the Army?”

“Both. But more
so because you’re in the Army.”

“I resent that,
sir,” he exclaimed more in fun than in defense.

“So do I,” Parks
laughed.

Norse rolled his
eyes and exhaled noisily.
What kind of child’s play is Parks doing? And at a
time like this,
he thought.
Norse hoped that no one would be killed
as a result of their immature leader. But in the back of his mind he thought
that something bad was going to happen. If something did go wrong it would be
all Parks’ fault. And President Winnfield’s as well.

Norse’s wife
didn’t have a clue about this mission. Nor would she. He had just skipped out
of the house before she came back from late-night work and had left a note
saying that he had to run to the office and might be there for a while. She
knew what that meant. Usually he’d be at work all night and well into the next
day before he came home. He didn’t know why she put up with him doing that all
the time. The two rarely had any free time to themselves. They were constantly
running their separate ways and were always so busy. Maybe someday after they
retired they’d be able to spend some quality family time together.

The main things
Norse lived for were his wife, his country and himself; in that order. He
enjoyed it when he pleased his wife. It made him happy. It cheered his heart
and made him feel like he’d done something heroic. But he rarely pleased her like
he wanted to. It was difficult. She was so nice and gentle, and he was so much
different. He didn’t have a clue why she had married him. But opposites attract
they say, and Greg and Krystal Norse had to be the most opposite couple on
earth. Krystal was a church goer. He was not. She had too many friends. He had hardly
any. She was a submissive employee and wife. He was a strong-willed,
do-it-his-way kind of guy. The list went on and on. He would try to be more
like her, and he tried to do things that would make her be proud of him. But
for the most part he felt like a failure.

He missed her
already, and he wished he was home. Despite his lack of time spent with her, Krystal
was number one in his life, and he would die for her. He hated the thought of
dying and leaving her though. If her beliefs were right, she was going to
Heaven when she died and apparently, he was not. He didn’t want to believe that
her beliefs were correct however. He thought of them as comforts for the faint
of heart, but deep down inside, he was disturbed. He had tried many times to
convince himself that he didn’t need God, but he knew he did. He just wasn’t
ready to receive Him yet. He still wanted to do things his way. He wanted to
believe that he could still get to Heaven by his own good works. But even if that
was possible, he wouldn’t be nearly good enough to go. “It’s by grace,” Krystal
had told him many times. “Not by the works that we can do.” But still he was
not ready to completely believe that. Someday maybe, but not now. Time was
running out though. For all he knew, he might not make it out of this operation
alive. He figured his chances were especially slim with a green leader like
Parks.

The vehicle
suddenly stopped hard at a red light, jolting Norse back into the present.

“The C-17 is
right up ahead, sir,” the driver assured Parks, gesturing with his hand down
the road. “Just for your information, its codename is BIG BIRD.”

“How long?”
Parks pressed impatiently. “We’ve been on the road for too long already.”

“Naw, we’ve made
good time actually, sir. I’ve got to give GOLDEN TOWER a status update. Hold on
a minute.”

Yahtzee had one
hand holding the radio and the other on the wheel. “GOLDEN TOWER, this is ICEBERG. We are almost at BIG BIRD. Do you copy? Over.”

The light turned
green, and he accelerated to fifty. Then he spun a tight turn and bolted down a
neighborhood road.

“Why are we
taking this way?” Solomon questioned impatiently.

“Hang on a
minute, sir,” the corporal asked as he listened for a response on his radio.

It finally came.
“ICEBERG, this is GOLDEN TOWER. BIG BIRD is ready to go when you are. Give me a
time estimation. Over.”

“ETA is five
mikes. Over,” the driver replied.

“Roger that, ICEBERG.
BIG BIRD will be ready for the VIPER TEAM SEVEN. Over and out.”

Yahtzee set down
the radio and answered Solomon’s question. “This is a shortcut. It cuts off
about five minutes.”

“Really?”

“Yes sir. I
drive this road all the time. I know the shortcuts, longcuts, detours, and every
building and escape route there is.”

“Wow. You sound
pretty good.”

“I don’t know,
sir,” he responded honestly. “I just try to do my best.”

A few moments
passed in silence when ICEBERG turned another corner and raced toward the tarmac,
which was now visible. Yahtzee screeched the van to a stop in the parking lot and
said that this was the end of the trail. Parks’ feet hit the pavement and he
took in a deep breath, watching as his team piled out of the van. There was
only about five minutes remaining before they all would be airborne. He knew
that all the equipment was already loaded on the plane. That included all his
team members’ war bags, which they had made that day. Parks had given his to
his team’s logistics officer, Captain Bohn, just that morning, who obviously
must have given it to Yahtzee who drove it over here sometime during the day.

“Where do we go
now, KP?” Solomon questioned over the roar of a plane taking off.

Parks had been
informed by the NSA during the meeting he’d just been in that a technical sergeant
in the Air Force here at Andrews would meet the Viper Team Seven on the tarmac
and guide them to the C-17. But so far there was no sight of him. “We have to
wait for some tech sergeant to take us to the C-17,” Parks replied.

As Parks waited
for the man, he noticed that the airstrip and the parking lot were fully illuminated,
giving the night a bright look. But the truth of the matter was, clouds
blanketed the sky, and not a star could be spotted, which made the night very
dark. It would be hard to fly in this, especially if a storm came, but there
was no way around it.

Looking back,
Parks saw a uniformed airman running his way. Parks pivoted around and faced
the man who was now very close.

The middle-aged
man came up and asked, “Which one’s Major Keith Parks?”

“That’d be me,”
Parks said, straining to read the nametag on the man’s uniform.

The man saluted.

“Carry on,”
Parks ordered.

“I’m Technical
Sergeant Wilcox, sir, U.S. Air Force. I work for your logistics officer,
Captain Bohn. I head up the matters pertaining to the C-17. It’s an honor to
meet you,” he announced joyfully, stretching out his hand to Parks. The two
briefly shook hands, and then got down to business. “I’m to show you to BIG BIRD,
sir,” Wilcox informed him. “Everything’s loaded and ready. All that’s needed is
your team, and then it’ll be ready for takeoff.”