Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (22 page)

A moment passed
as the other agent thought. “All right, I guess you go ahead. Radio if you need
me. Understand?”

Monroe breathed deeply with satisfaction. “I hear. Stand by.”

Quickly he shut
off the vehicle’s interior lights, opened the door, and got out. His SUV was mostly
hidden behind a small sand dune so the illegals couldn’t see it. He had done
that on purpose. He could see them, but unless they had night-vision or a knowledge
of exactly where he was, they’d never spot him.

He pulled out
his 9mm semi-automatic pistol and checked to make sure it was loaded. It was.
He then hiked up his pants and tightened his hat. He was ready to roll.

The metallic
sound of people crossing a chain-link fence reached his ears and he froze.
Suddenly, he remembered he hadn’t brought his night-vision goggles along.
Oh
well,
he thought, determined not to let this chance get away.
Moon’s up.
I won’t need night vision anyway.

Tiptoeing up to
a bush, he knelt down and evaluated the situation. It wasn’t good. The illegals
were in a place where they could easily duck down and hide if he shot at them
and chances were he could lose them very easily if that happened.

Monroe low-crawled to a better, safer position and waited. He saw the shadowy figures,
silhouetted by the moonlight, walking straight for him. Two hundred yards and
closing fast. A couple of the men had something in their hands but Monroe couldn’t quite make out what they were. Guns maybe? He swallowed hard at the
thought. Was this going to be more than he bargained for?

One of the
illegals said something in a language he couldn’t make out. Monroe knew Spanish
and it didn’t sound like that. What language could it be and what could it
mean? He didn’t have a clue.

One hundred
fifty yards was all that separated them. They were fast movers, that was for
sure. The moon shone on the illegals that were now only one hundred yards away and
Monroe got a full glimpse of them. What he saw horrified him.

Not only were
those few men carrying pistols but
all
the men were. Shoved in belts or
pockets, the pistols were as unmistakable as the backpacks that some of them
also had on. Not only that, but as they moved in to a mere fifty yards away, he
also made out something on their faces – eyes actually. Something that looked
like goggles.

Night-vision,
he concluded. He recoiled and accidentally moved too much.

In the next
instant, one of the illegals pulled out his pistol and fired three shots which
barely missed Monroe’s head.

The fight was on
and he no longer had the advantage of weaponry or surprise. It was all going to
be over. He was going to die. There was no chance for him, the odds were too
great.

More
undecipherable language poured from their lips as they hit the sand and
disappeared.

Sweat beads
streamed down Monroe’s face and back, and his breathing rapidly reached the
point of hyperventilation. His hands began shaking uncontrollably and he could
not force them to aim the pistol and return fire.

The shooting
began again and intensified. Monroe was pinned down for what seemed like forever
but was really less than thirty seconds. In that time, he finally regained
control of his limbs and dove for cover behind a sand mound. He lay as flat as
a pancake behind it and when he finally felt safer he moved into a position to
where he could see his enemies. Then he started returning fire.

The firing
seemed to narrow down to about five guns now and Monroe guessed he’d hit the
other four. But how? In this darkness, and with the cover his enemies were
behind? It didn’t seem possible.

Monroe wished his fellow agent was here. He no longer wanted to handle this alone. All he
cared about right now was staying alive.

Then he
remembered his radio. Snatching it in his hands he opened his mouth to speak
but the words didn’t come out. Was he really too scared to speak? This couldn’t
be happening; not now. If he didn’t get help he was a goner.

Throwing down
the radio in frustration, he turned to the fight and began shooting. That’s
when he heard it – the mechanical sound of a bullet being slammed into the
barrel of a semi-auto pistol.

He wheeled
around, looking for the source of the sound. He didn’t have to look far.
Standing not a foot away was the dark outline of a man. In his hands, was a
pistol that was aimed straight at Monroe’s head.

Two more men
trotted up from Monroe’s left side as another came up from the right. Four men.
How could he take them all on even if he had the nerve?

The closest man
mumbled a rough statement that Monroe couldn’t understand and motioned with
wild arm signals for the others.

The other five
men ran up out of breath and met with the rest. Nine men. Now the odds had just
doubled. What could he do? He quickly decided that if he was going to die he
was at least going to take someone out with him.

He quickly aimed
his pistol at the nearest man, pulled the trigger, and blinked in anticipation
of the results. But nothing happened. He pulled again and again and all he kept
hearing was the clicking of an empty firearm.

The man with the
gun at his head yanked Monroe’s pistol from his hands and threw it into the
night. Then he shoved his pistol hard into the agent’s head and spoke more
undecipherable words to his men.

Monroe’s body was convulsing. He looked as though he had just emerged from a swimming pool
he was so soaked in sweat. Then his radio cracked to life and he heard the
familiar voice. “Hey, Monroe. Status check here. What’s goin’ on? I didn’t copy
your last report. Say again. I repeat, say again.”

Before he could
respond in any manner, the man aiming the gun at him swung at his head in an
attempt to hit him with the pistol. Monroe’s reflexes worked perfectly, and he
ducked the blow just in time to throw a punch at the illegal’s stomach. He felt
his fist make contact, and saw the man keel over and spin to the ground. Monroe leaped for the man’s gun, which had fallen out of his hands. In a flash, he grabbed
it and fired three rounds at the shadowy figures. Suddenly he felt a burning in
his chest. He looked down and in the moon’s light he could see the unmistakable
crimson color of blood. Then he fell in a heap in the sand.

Thursday, March 20
^th
– 0130 hours

The U.S./Mexican Border

The sound of a
revved-up engine driving over rough terrain could be heard across the moonlit
desert. Siraj’s second-in-command was hit in the thigh and was losing blood
fast but even still, the terrorists knew they had to leave the area quickly.

Siraj stood up
from where he had fallen and reached for his pistol that Monroe was still
clutching. It took a bit of a struggle but finally he loosened the agent’s grip
and repossessed his weapon. “
Let’s go. Now,
” he ordered to his team.

“What about the
kid?” one of them asked.

Siraj glanced at
the agent. He was covered in blood and sweat and looking in bad condition. Was
he dead? If not, should he kill him? He was, after all, the enemy. Even so, he
was still just a kid and how could he kill someone so young?

“Leave him,” he
declared while turning and beginning to walk off.

“What? Leave
him? No. He is an American; I will kill him.”

Siraj spun
around. “
I said leave him.
We will leave him. We have no time to spare.
He obviously has friends nearby; do you hear the vehicle coming toward us?
Besides, he’ll be dead in a minute.”

The terrorists
consented and one of them allowed himself to be used as a crutch for the
wounded one. They quickly began to run to distance themselves from the oncoming
vehicle but it was of little use.

Siraj looked
back and saw the headlights of the Border Patrol SUV coming fast and straight
for them. The lights shone on the terrorists, and in the next second, Siraj
could see a man poking his head out of the window. He was yelling something
that couldn’t be heard over the engine’s noise and Siraj was not about to wait to
see what he would do next. Whipping out his pistol, he fired two shots into the
agent’s windshield, shattering it. The pursuer didn’t stop though. He was
driving with his head out the window and now Siraj could see he had a pistol in
his hand.

“
Run, go,
”
Siraj yelled to his team who were faithfully staying with him.

The terrorists
ran like mice. They scattered and riddled the approaching vehicle with bullets
as they fled.

The SUV stopped
and its driver opened the door and rolled onto the ground. Siraj watched as the
man fired a few hasty shots into the night. He then saw the driver turn to his
bleeding and dying fellow agent. He felt for a pulse, then picked up the
younger man, carried him to his vehicle, and laid him in the backseat.

Siraj stayed and
watched, and he could almost see the look of indecision on the older agent’s
face as he debated whether to pursue or to take his partner to obtain medical help.
The fool was standing in perfect range of Siraj’s fire and was broadly
presenting himself as a target. The terrorist fired a round at the agent causing
him to dive into his vehicle, turn it around, and speed off into the night.

Spinning around,
Siraj ran at top speed to catch up with his team who were now gathered on the far
side of a large sand mound.

“Hurry, we must
go,” he began as he slid up to his men. “The agent has left but there are
undoubtedly more coming.” He switched gears as a thought popped into his racing
mind. “I’ve not been thinking. I’ve been so desperate to get away I haven’t
even remembered why Mr. vun Buvka sent us this route. Remember how he said
there was a safe house in Santa Teresa, on…Santa Teresita Drive?”

“Yeah, I think you
mentioned that to us,” the wounded man said. “But so what, we can make it to El Paso.”

“No. There’s not
enough time. The safe house is closer than our El Paso source’s house. We can
make it there quicker and hole up until it’s safe enough to move. Vun Buvka
planned it that way just in case we ran into trouble.”

“But the Border Patrol
agents are gone. There isn’t anyone else, is there?”

“There are
more.”

Everybody looked
at their leader and then into the night, expecting some other inbound SUV.

“Not by land
this time,” he continued, “but by–”

The distant roar
of a Patrol chopper sliced the air, and everyone looked up to see it scanning
the desert with its massive searchlight.

“As I said.
Come, we must get to Santa Teresita where we can hide.”

“But how?” the
wounded man moaned, evidently in immense pain. “The house is miles away and
that chopper has a searchlight and he’s on to us.”

“That doesn’t
mean he’ll find us. I have a plan,” Siraj confirmed. “
But hurry.
”

The team stood
up and escaped at maximum speed. They weren’t sure that where Siraj was taking
them was the right place to go, but they were following. He was their only
chance for survival.

After about an hour
of running and walking, sometimes dragging their wounded companion, the terrorists
topped a thickly-sanded hill and looked down. Lights could be seen in the
distance. Lights from a neighborhood. It was a pleasant sight to behold.

“Santa Teresita,”
Siraj explained quietly. “Thanks be to Allah we found her.”

The chopper was
getting closer and Siraj looked back just as it shone its spotlight right on
them.

“You down
there,” a voice boomed from over a speaker inside the chopper. “Stop, disarm
yourselves, and lay on your bellies. I repeat, stop now and disarm yourselves.”

The broadcasted voice
was in Spanish and neither Siraj nor anyone on his team could understand it.
But they could guess the message.

Siraj eyed the neighborhood below them and then looked up at the chopper.
The safe house was close, but was it close enough? And did he really want to
lead this chopper right to it?

*          *          *

The Border
Patrol command center of the El Paso sector was in a state of confusion. It was
barely 0200 but everyone had been called in. Everyone of importance that is.

Chief Patrol
Agent for the El Paso sector, Arnold Rule, was in disbelief. He had just
received word that one of his agents from the Santa Teresa station had been
severely wounded by nine illegal aliens from Mexico and was being taken to a
local hospital to be treated for a serious gunshot wound. The wounded agent’s
partner on duty rescued him and explained the incident to the Santa Teresa
Border Patrol station. The instant the agent-in-charge heard what happened, he
sent up a chopper to survey the situation and find the illegals.

Things were not
going well. The chopper pilot – who had been ordered to make all contact to
this sector headquarters – had radioed in about thirty minutes ago saying that
he was searching for the illegals and had not come up with anything. It was
frustrating. Nine thugs just shot one of Rule’s agents in the chest, then ran
off into the night, and his own chopper pilot couldn’t find them. What was
wrong? Was there more than what met the eye?

“Sir,” a female
agent said in an attempt to get his attention.

“What is it?”
Rule asked, swiveling around in his chair and facing her.

“We have an
update from the chopper. It’s not good.”

Rule shot up from his chair and snatched the paper that the agent had
been holding. He read it quickly.

Found
illegals. Likely heading for the Santa Teresita cul-de-sac. Ordered them to
stop and disarm themselves but was not heeded. They are running. Pursuing.
Request ground units in the cul-de-sac.

“Who received
this trash?” Rule demanded to know.

“Uh, Agent Tee
at the operations’ communication center. This is about five minutes old.”

Rule crumpled
the paper, threw it on the floor, and pulled at his short, receding hair as he
began to pace.

“How many of
them are armed?” he questioned, not bothering to stop his pacing.

The agent shook
her head. “The chopper didn’t say. Neither did the onsite agent who performed
the rescue.”

Rule sighed,
stopped pacing, and looked her directly in the eye. “Well I guess I’d better
make contact with our chopper and get some solid information.”

“Sir, really–”

“Look, I’m not saying
you guys aren’t doin’ your job. I’m saying it’s my job to do some things that
you don’t. Now tell Tee I’ll be in there in a second.” The agent didn’t move. “
Get
to it,
” he ordered loudly.

Rule watched as
she left the room. Could there really be something that he wasn’t seeing?
Something that the entire El Paso Border Patrol sector headquarters wasn’t
seeing? Who were these men? Were they illegals or something more dangerous…like
terrorists?

Rule closed his
eyes for a second and tried to process all that was going on. It wasn’t an easy
task to be the leader of the entire sector at a time like this. All the weight
was resting on him and he was responsible for everything that happened, right
or wrong.

Breathing deeply,
he went to the ops center where Tee and a handful of other guys were yelling
into radios.

“Tee,” Rule said,
getting the man to turn abruptly in his chair, “you got contact with the
chopper?”

“Um, yes sir. I
mean, I’ve been trying to. Would you like to speak to the pilot?”

“Of course I
would. Why do you think I’m here?” Rule snapped.

He grabbed the
small radio that Tee was holding out for him and ran his hand down the cord so
he could have some slack to walk with it. “Chopper, this is Chief Patrol Agent Arnold
Rule, do you copy?”

Static was the
only response he received.

“Chopper, this
is Arnold Rule at the El Paso sector HQ, do you copy?”

Something came
over the radio that was incomprehensible.

“Chopper, did
not copy that. Say again, I repeat, say again.”

“I...go...Rule...running...Teresita,”
came the muffled and broken response.

“What on earth?”
Rule wondered throwing down the radio. “I go Rule running Teresita? What is
that supposed to mean.”

“I think he’s
trying to tell you the illegals are running for Santa Teresita,” Tee explained.

“Oh yeah, the
report said something like that. Santa Teresita?” Rule tried to match a place
with the name. “Is that the little country neighborhood in Santa Teresa?”

Tee nodded.

“All right. What
do we have that’s nearby?” Rule asked.

“By me.”

“We would have
to contact the Santa Teresa station to be sure,” the female agent informed him while
reentering the room. “I believe they usually have about two vehicles close by
though.”

“Okay, contact
Santa Teresa; tell them to get them in there. Last time I was at Santa Teresita
a dirt road ran behind the neighborhood along an irrigation ditch I think. Doesn’t
it?”

The lady confirmed
the statement.

“Have them put
the SUVs there. Tell them to shoot to kill. They are authorized to use any
force necessary to take these guys out if they see them. Oh, and put another
chopper in the air above them. Understand?”

“I do, sir.”

“Then repeat it
back to me.”

The agent did so
effortlessly and then walked to the other side of the room and radioed the station.

“Let’s get
connection with that chopper,” Rule commanded, turning back to Tee who was
doodling on a piece of paper.

“Chopper, this
is Arnold Rule at the El Paso sector. Do you copy?” he asked on another radio
that Tee had handed to him.

“I do, Mr. Rule,”
the reply finally came. “The illegals appear to be running to the neighborhood
of Santa Teresita. Do you want me to pursue?”

Rule sighed with
relief since he had finally gotten through. “It sounded like you were from the
last message you sent.”

“I have been.”

“Okay, can you
give me a good enough reason why
not
to continue pursuing them?” Rule
questioned in disgust.

“No sir.”

“All right then
keep after them. If you see them, I want to know about it. We need to take
these guys out but you need to find them first. Got that?”

The radio was
silent for a second before the reply came. “Yes, I’ve got it. It isn’t gonna be
easy though.”

Rule closed his
eyes again. “Why not?”

“Because there’s
a whole patch of underbrush and salt cedars around here and they went in them.
I can’t see a thing much less find them it’s so thick.”

“
Then keep
them pinned down in there or something,
” he ordered. “Use any force
necessary.”

“Roger that.”

“One more thing,
Chopper.”

“Go ahead, sir.”

Rule paused and
then took in a deep breath. “Do you...is there...do you think these guys are
more than illegals? I mean, is there a possibility they’re...terrorists?”

“They definitely
are,” the chopper suddenly confirmed. “They are way too heavily armed and way
too dangerous to be ordinaries. A couple of those guys have some high-fluting
backpacks on as well. Their fervor is shocking. They are...”

“Too good for
you to deal with?”

“Mr. Rule,
listen. I’ve dealt with illegals all my life. I’ve been with the Patrol for
twenty-two years. I’ve busted hundreds of illegal crossers. I’ve seen and done
some things with my job that even you haven’t. And I think you need to listen
to me.”

“You’re crossing
the line there, Chopper,” Rule warned.

“I know, but I
need to say this anyway. These guys are more than regular illegals. Even you
know it or you wouldn’t have asked me if they were terrorists. Well in my
opinion they are, and they are extremely dangerous.”

“And?”

“And I am
requesting ground support. All of it you can get. The only way we’re gonna get
at them is to go in after them. That’s going to take quite a bit of manpower.”

“Back up a bit.
You say they’re so dangerous. Why? What have they done to prove they’re so
dangerous?”

The radio went
silent for a long while.