Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (33 page)

*          *          *

Parks hated
being late and he hated being the bearer of bad news. But in this case, he was
both.

When he walked
into the completely empty gym – save for his team members – he locked the door
behind him, and rubbed in some
Germ-X
. He then came into the main
exercise room and spotted his team who were deeply engaged in exercises. Not
wanting to interrupt, he stayed on the sidelines until they were finished.

“I see by your
face expression that you aren’t too pleased,” Lee told Parks as he walked up to
the team.

“I’m not.
Believe me, gentlemen, I’m not,” Parks replied, trying to choose the best way
to start out.

“Why?”

“I’m sure that
went over like a fart in church,” Solomon pointed out about the briefing. “What
do you expect?”

“Like a what?”
Parks asked in wonder.

“A fart in
church,” Solomon repeated carelessly. “Yup, yup, like a fart in church.”

Parks looked
toward the ceiling in hopelessness and responded, “Well I think it went a
little better than that.”

“Take it or
leave it.”

“I’ll leave it,
thanks. Anyway, let’s get serious about things.”

“I was,” Solomon
said in his defense.

“Solomon,
please,” Parks corrected sharply. “I need your attention, just for a minute.
Now everyone listen to me. The National Security Advisor just chewed me out.
He’s really upset. I don’t need to tell you that he reports to the President
and that it’s likely the President will get just as upset when he’s briefed.
That’s not good for us, not good for anyone. And that isn’t all. The NSA was so
upset that he said if we gave him a negative report again, I’m fired.” Parks
felt his blood boil as he saw Norse’s face light up. “And you
all
are
fired as well,” he added.

“
What?
”
Norse yelled.

“Zip your trap,”
Parks commanded. “Listen, I understand mistakes happen, so does the President
and National Security Advisor, but the difference is that we can only make a
mistake once. If we make one twice, we’re done. Period. End of the story. It’s
finished. We’re all fired. If we fail on this job, our careers will always be
negatively affected. None of us wants that to happen. But listen; if we fail
again, that’s what’s going to happen. I need all of you to understand this with
me. We fail, we’re fired.”

“Maybe some of
us don’t like being roped in with a leader that leads us to failure,” Norse threw
out angrily. “Ever think of that, Marine?”

Parks rarely
lost his temper except for when he was dealing with an idiot. That was one of
the things he was good at, keeping his emotions in check. But there was a limit,
especially with an idiot like this that was openly challenging him in front of
the rest of the team. Parks wanted to punch Norse right in the face. He knew it
probably wouldn’t help, so he restrained himself.

“Listen to me,
Mr. Greg Norse,” Parks ordered in a mellow voice that even shocked himself. “I
am this team’s leader. If this team fails, I take the responsibility. I don’t
blame anyone else for what happens.”

“Oh and is that
your fancy way of saying it was my fault the terrorists escaped since I didn’t
find the escape tunnel? You know something Parks, you’re right, it was my
fault. And I did it on purpose. I hardly looked for any escape routes because I
wanted you to fall flat on your face.” Norse was now in Parks’ face, and Parks
could smell the sweat on the man’s FBI sweatshirt as he finally concluded, “And
it worked.”

Parks was
stunned. Had Norse really overlooked the tunnel on purpose? It couldn’t be.

“Tell me
something, Norse,” Parks demanded in a forced calm voice that defied his
emotions. “If I’m too incompetent to make an operation a success, why did you
need to do that?”

Norse’s eyes
burned with hatred; he looked as if he wanted to kill Parks, who simply stared
back, meeting the challenge.

“How long are
you going to keep us waiting on an answer?” Parks questioned. “That was an
idiotic move, Norse. I can’t believe you did that just to get back at me for
something I had no control of.”

“What are you
talking about?”

“Oh don’t even
try and pretend you don’t know what I’m saying. I’m talking about how jealous
you are over my position. I’m talking about how you’d do anything – something
that even affected you and your friends directly – just to get at me. Well,
you’ve accomplished your goal. I’m in trouble, but you’re also in hot water.”

“I’m just shaking
in my boots,” Norse countered sarcastically. “I’m so afraid of what ‘the
Marine’ is going to do to me.”

“I’m not the one
to be afraid of. The National Security Advisor is. He can kick you off this job
and I’m sure he could throw you out of the FBI.”

“And he would do
the same with my incompetent team leader,” Norse fired back. “If you’re
thinking anything other than that, you’d better guess again.”

“No, that’s what
I’m thinking all right. The incompetent leader will be in trouble, but so will
the incompetent follower. And another thing, I don’t believe you really think I
am incompetent. I think you’re just so jealous, you don’t want me to do
anything right, and you’d do anything to see that I don’t. Well for whatever
reason, the President picked me to be the team leader, so get over it.”

“
Think?
”
Norse asked. “You’re saying I
think
you’re incompetent? I know you are.
A Marine ain’t cut out for this kind of job.”

“Really? And who
is? A CIA agent? A skilled FBI agent like yourself who can’t even follow a simple
order? Who?”

“Face it Parks,
for FBI agents, this is their line of work. It’s not that way for Marines.”

“Oh so now it’s
not just me, it’s
every
Marine that’s incompetent? Yeah right. I wish
you’d just get over your two-year-old tantrum and act your age.”

Norse looked
like he was going to explode. Parks was almost sure the agent was going to punch
him. It seemed to be the inevitable.

“So you think
you’re better trained than I am, Parks?” Norse wondered. “You think just
because you’re a Marine you’re better than me?”

“Yeah I’d say
so,” Parks replied with pride. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to say but he
was desperate to find words that would cut to the bone. Apparently, those did
the job as Norse began to shake with anger.

“Stop!” Corley
yelled in the background. “Let me get some popcorn, this is gettin’ good.”

Parks ignored
the statement and looked at Norse’s fiery glare. He desperately tried to lower
his rising heart rate as he thought of what to say next.

“Norse, I–”

Parks never
finished. Norse swung a fast punch with his left fist for Parks’ face, and the
fight was on. Before the blow could make contact however, Parks stepped back
just far enough to where the fist could not reach him. Then when Norse’s arm
was at its full extent, he reached up and caught Norse’s wrist just below the
joint while simultaneously grasping his elbow area. Skillfully he pulled Norse’s
arm toward him while turning around and eventually he flipped his assailant
over his back, sending him crashing to the floor.

Solomon and the
rest of the team stepped a safe distance away from the two opponents and
watched intently.

Parks looked
down at the seemingly paralyzed Norse and debated his next move. He never had
time to react because Norse grabbed his legs and pulled them in such a way
causing Parks to slam down to the gym floor.

Knowing that the
position he was in was not good, Parks rolled several feet away from his
opponent and tried to stand. Before he could, Norse came running up and dove
straight at him. The man barreled into his chest and sent him to the floor once
again, knocking his very breath away.

Norse instantly
wrapped his right arm around Parks’ throat and began to choke him. However,
Parks tucked his chin, struggled to his feet, and jammed his left elbow into
Norse’s stomach. He then used momentum to flip Norse over his back once again,
breaking free from the choke.

More slowly and
painfully this time, Norse rose and swung a punch. Parks ducked it and
delivered a powerful blow with his right fist into the agent’s stomach. When
Norse keeled over, Parks swung his left arm high in the air and brought it down
hard on the back of the man’s head. Before the agent could fall, Parks grabbed
his shirt collar, straightened him up, and punched him right in the face,
sending him skidding across the floor.

Norse was out
cold.

“Throw me one of
those water bottles,” Parks asked Solomon as he tried to catch his breath.

Solomon tossed
one to Parks who then went over to Norse. He opened the lid and emptied the
water right on the unconscious man’s face. At first, Norse didn’t respond, but
after a second or two, he shook his head and began coughing.

Extending his
hand and helping Norse up, Parks shook his head but remained silent. He didn’t
know what to say. Everything that needed to be said had already been said, so
he turned from Norse and headed for the door.

“Get the guys
back to their offices,” he ordered Solomon as he passed by. “Make sure Norse is
all right.”

“Uh yeah,”
Solomon agreed. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine now.”

Then Parks left the area and went back to the EEOB.

*          *          *

“Can I come in?”
Solomon asked cautiously as he stuck his head into Parks’ office.

Parks looked up
from his computer. “Of course, Solomon. What can I do for you?”

Solomon entered
the room and closed the door. “I just want to start out by saying that you were
great, KP. Your words, your flips, your punches, everything.”

“Solomon,” Parks
said in dismissal.

“No, really. I
don’t think anyone could have handled it better. Greg needed to be spanked. He
needed to be shown who was boss.”

“I’m not so sure
blowing my top and fighting him did that.”

“You didn’t
start the fight. It was self defense on your part.” Solomon looked around the
room. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just kinda spit it out and
hope it lands right. Greg was the youngest of the three boys in his family, and
both his older brothers work in the counterterrorism division of the FBI. You
can imagine how un-special his career is to his folks. Well, Norse has always
wanted to make his family proud of him. His goal is to do something that will
mark his name in his family tree. When he was chosen for this job, he thought
he’d get that chance. In his mind, he thought that I was going to be the leader
and he was destined to be the deputy commander. You know what happened though.”

“Yeah, but why
is he so attached to you? I mean, the guy looks up to you like some superhero.”

Solomon shrugged
his shoulders. “That’s just the way he is. When he finds a friend, he sticks to
that friend no matter what. He’s really a good guy if you’re his friend. He’d
die for his friends as a matter of fact.”

“I’m not asking
him to die for me, I’m asking him to kill terrorists for me. Does he have to be
my friend to listen to me?”

“Beats me. But
that would seem to be a fair statement. He’s just
so
jealous of you; I
don’t think he would be your friend. But he’ll come around eventually, and I
think that little incident may help. When he does, you’ll be glad. He’ll save
your life someday.”

“If he ever does
come around, it won’t be because of anything I did. I’m stumped on what to do
with him.”

“Just don’t do
anything,” Solomon advised. “It’ll work out.”

“I hope so.”

Solomon stepped
toward the door and when he reached it, he stopped. Turning around he said with
his Jamaican smile, displaying his large white teeth, “I’d die for you, KP.
You’re my hero.”

Without saying
another word, he left the office.

Parks wasn’t
sure how to react to that statement. It was touching, that was for sure. It was
also inspiring and encouraging. He knew that a man like Solomon didn’t deserve
to have his job threatened because of some jerk like Norse. But then as Parks
thought, he remembered that everything ultimately relied on him. If they all
lost their jobs, it would be all his fault. No one else would be to blame but
him.

Monday, March 24
^th
– 1200 hours

Tehran, Iran

Alka vun Buvka
was on the brink of explosion. His head felt like it was a balloon that someone
kept filling with helium. He had been upset for the last few days – credited to
receiving the news about Siraj’s team – but all the while it had been nothing
like this. This was even worse.

Vun Buvka reread the email from his leader just to make sure he wasn’t
misreading anything.

Mr.
Rashid:

I would
like to make a very important business proposition to you. I am in need of a
manager for my business; a man that is well-trained, intellectual, and has a
good resume. It has been said by your boss – a personal friend of mine – that
you fit the qualifications perfectly.

Allow me
to give you a rundown of the job. I have eight employees that are already in my
office, but will not correctly do the work that I ask. I need someone to manage
them and help them reach their full potential. They are good employees, and I
want to keep them working for me. However, I need a skilled manager that would
lead them and help them accomplish their jobs.

If you
are interested, please know that my employees already have all the necessary
equipment for the job. All you have to do is bring your personal belongings. Also,
the wages are quite impressive; a million up front, and three million when the
job is done.

Please
contact me for further information.

With Best Regards,

Locus
Bradley

“Locus Bradley” had
definitely given explicit orders. Vun Buvka read between the lines and understood
that the terrorist attack still needed to be accomplished, and that there was
only one man that could be trusted for such a task. Vun Buvka knew that “one
man” was him. The letter had further stated that the team that was to be used
would comprise of the men that were already inside the U.S. Apparently, vun
Buvka was supposed to track them down, gather them, situate everything, and
then move out.

Vun Buvka
plopped down into a soft couch and remembered how for so long he had basked in the
fact that he was the second-ranked terrorist in the world. He figured that his
boss would no longer make him do actual operations but simply coordinate and
oversee them. Obviously he had been wrong, but it was infuriating to him that
his boss would even contemplate such a measure much less outright order him to
do so. It just wasn’t proper to send such a high ranking official to his death
like that. Besides, vun Buvka classified himself as a bomber, but not a suicide
bomber. He loved to kill Americans, but not at the price of his own life. But
then again, why had the email said that three million dollars would be paid
when the job was completed? How could a dead man be paid?

Needing answers to his questions, vun Buvka went back to his computer,
clicked the “reply” button and typed a response.

Mr.
Bradley:

Thank you
for your job offer. I am interested, but I do have a few questions. One, will the
transportation to your business for an interview be covered? Two, where will I
be working? Three, when will you want me there? And lastly, will this job put
my well
-
being in jeopardy?

I look
forward to hearing from you shortly.

Sincerely,

Hamah
Rashid

Vun Buvka
retired to his couch again, propped his feet on the coffee table, and reached
for his .44 Magnum pistol. It was the only friend he had in the world. It was
the only thing that would always stick with him, defend him, and kill for him.
It was a sad thing to admit to himself, but it was completely true.

Vun Buvka closed his eyes as he gripped the weapon.
Maybe, just maybe,
he thought to himself,
I will see Mr. Hamzah’s friend, Major Keith
Parks, and have the pleasure of killing him.

*          *          *

Mr.
Rashid:

I
appreciate your interest. To answer your questions, you will fly to Juarez, Mexico on my own personal jet, and from there, you will fly in on a smaller
aircraft. As for when, as soon as you think possible. There’s no real time
limit. Where you work is up to you, wherever suits you best; however, I
recommend it be close by my business. I’m not sure if your well-being will be threatened,
I suppose that it depends on the way you conduct business and your own
discretion.

From here
on out, you’re on your own, except if something should go wrong.

Thanks again,

Locus
Bradley

Vun Buvka exited
his email account and began pacing.

The message had been very clear, and no strings were left knotted. It
would definitely be dangerous, and before he left, he’d have to come up with a
surefire means of getting out of the U.S. when his job was done. That would be
a chore, but if someone could do it, vun Buvka would have to say that someone
would be him.

*          *          *

President
Winnfield looked at his National Security Advisor and began to shake his head
slowly. He was upset about the Viper Team Seven’s failure but a more important
issue was at hand. Eight terrorists were running loose somewhere inside the United States, all of them were armed, and chances were, all of them had a supply of C4. It
wasn’t a good situation. Not at all.

“And the FBI
can’t even find a clue as to where they are?” the President asked.

“Afraid not, Mr.
President. We don’t know what they’re up to. It’s my guess, however, that
they’re going to hide out somewhere until the coast is clearer.”

“Nice guess,
Tom, but the problem is it’s still just a guess. I need solid facts. Something
I can rely on. Anything.”

“I completely
understand, Mr. President, but there’s nothing we can do right now.”

“They couldn’t
vanish into thin air. They have to be somewhere,” Winnfield confirmed.

“Why don’t we
let the FBI Director figure that one out,” Smith suggested, trying to convince
the President everything was under control. “He’s doing all he can.”

“And how much
doing is that?”

The NSA smiled
and said, “Not much. Not much at all.”

“That’s what I
thought,” Winnfield shared. “But Tom, how much at risk are we of another
attack? Do you think these terrorists are heading to different targets or are
they saving up for one big attack? I guess either way we’ve got to find and
stop them.”

“True, Mr.
President. But as I said, I believe this bunch of terrorists is hiding out
until the storm blows over a bit. And there’s the catch, we can’t let it blow
over. We can’t let our guard down because if we do, we might have another
episode of 9/11 or 1/16. We have to look for them until we find them. We have
no choice.”

“Then where do
we start looking?”

Smith cleared
his throat. “As I stated, Mr. President, the FBI Director is doing everything
there is to do. He’s got it under control. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?”
the President argued. “How can you say that to me? How can you say that when
we’ve got radical Islamic terrorists in our nation that could kill thousands of
innocent citizens in a heartbeat? It’s my job to worry, Tom. And yours is to
see to this nation’s security.”

“Yes sir.”

The President
cast his eyes to the floor and tried to piece things together. The Paramount Hotel
bombing, the explosion of the
USS George Washington
, the Wal-Mart
bombing, the hijacking of
Air Force One
, the attempted bombing in Israel, and now this mess. What did it mean? Winnfield knew the attacks were all
intertwined, but how? The other question he had was who was responsible? His country
had recently fought and won the War on Terrorism, and now Iraq was blown off the scene, Iran’s Hamas was supposed to have been neutralized, so who did that leave?
Lebanon? A newer and better terrorist militant group from Iran? Who?

Winnfield let
out a long breath and looked up at the National Security Advisor. “Who did this,
Tom? Who? Why?”

Smith didn’t
answer.

“We need to
know,” the President reiterated. “I have to strike back, I have to avenge our
deceased citizens who were victims of the terrorist attacks. I have to. But
how
?
How when I don’t know who to strike back at?”

“Patience, Mr. President,” Smith responded in a fatherly tone of voice.
“Patience. It will unfold; we just have to let the enemy get bold enough and
they will make a mistake and expose their identity.”

*          *          *

As ordered by his
boss, vun Buvka was on his way to the airstrip where a Gulfstream V was waiting
for him. If all went well, he’d be in the air in just a few minutes.

The plane would
head for Juarez, and upon arrival, vun Buvka would fly a smaller aircraft to the
U.S./Mexican border. He would cross into U.S. airspace somewhere east of El Paso. Vun Buvka’s boss had said that there was limited air traffic control around the
southwest borders of America, and that if a plane was less than 500 feet, it
could come in easily because the radar would have a hard time picking it up.

During his
flight on the Gulfstream V, vun Buvka would contact the members of his team
still inside America and get the exact locations of each of them. He then would
gather them with their C4 and continue with the operation.

As for a target,
that was flexible, which helped things a lot because he could adjust for anything
and everything that might happen. Of course, he didn’t expect much trouble and
if any came, vun Buvka knew how to handle it: contact the boss. Vun Buvka knew
that the problem with Ghazi Siraj’s operation was that Siraj just didn’t have
the brains to make it work. The operation would have been a success if an
experienced leader would have been in charge. Now that a capable leader was
coming, things would work out, and perfectly too. Of that, vun Buvka had no
doubt.

He was almost
beginning to hope that the Viper Team Seven would be waiting for him. He was
starting to wish he could defeat them and show the U.S. that no American was
capable of killing the second-ranked terrorist on earth. It would take some of
the starch out of them, that was for sure. Yes, he knew that his boss had
ordered everyone not to engage the team and he had gone along with the notion,
until now. Things were very different. The Viper Team Seven had not taken out
the previous terror team, proving their lack of skill, and Siraj was not leading
the operation now, vun Buvka was. And in vun Buvka’s mind, that made all the
difference in the world.

The vehicle
stopped and Hamzah told him they had arrived at the airstrip. Vun Buvka nodded,
grabbed all his equipment, and got out.

“Tell you what,”
vun Buvka said to Hamzah, sticking his head through the still-open passenger
door, “if I see your friend, I’ll give him one for you.”

Hamzah looked up
and replied, “Don’t be so sure you can take him. You’d better watch yourself.”

“I most
certainly will. And don’t you worry about a thing, everything will go
perfectly.”

“Allah go with
you,” Hamzah wished for a farewell. “You’ll need him.”

Vun Buvka smiled and slammed the door. A few minutes later, the terrorist
was aboard the magnificent Gulfstream V, heading for Juarez at over 500 m.p.h.

*          *          *

Dog-tired and a
bit sore from the fight, Parks drove into his driveway and turned off his
truck. He grabbed all of his work things and headed inside, eager to eat
something and go to bed.

When he went
inside, he locked the door behind him, threw down his work stuff and went into
the kitchen to make something to eat.
Something simple,
he told himself
as he looked through the refrigerator.
Just something quick.

After some searching,
he finally found a few hot dogs that could work for a meal, and he pulled them
out. Parks thoroughly washed his hands, got out a pan and began frying a
couple. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

“Oh come on,” he
groaned. “I just walked through the door.”

The knock came
again and Parks decided to see who it was. He peered out the peephole and saw
two middle-aged ladies, dressed in formal clothes and carrying Bibles.

Oh no,
he
thought.
Just what I need.

Reluctantly he
unlocked his door and opened it. “Can I help you ladies?” he asked, hoping he
couldn’t.

“Um, yes sir,
we’re from Capital Independent Baptist Church just down the road, and we are
going around your neighborhood inviting people to come worship God with us.”

“How do you guys
worship God?” Parks wondered, trying to remember what he’d learned in Sunday
School when he was a very small kid.

“Well, by
singing praises to Him and listening to His Word being preached,” the lady
answered.

“Oh, of course.”

“Do you have a
church you go to, sir?” the lady questioned as she handed Parks a small
pamphlet.

“Ma’am, is this
some kind of program sheet or something?” he asked as he raised the pamphlet.

“No sir, that’s
an invitation to our church.”

“Oh sure. Now
what was that you just asked me, ma’am?”

“I asked if you
have a church you currently attend.”

Parks’ mind
raced a hundred miles an hour as he tried to think of a response. “I just moved
here,” he told her, “so no ma’am.”
Not like I would anyhow,
he added
silently.

“Well, you are
just the person we’re looking for then.”

“I am?” Parks
asked, wishing he wasn’t.

“Yes. The
meeting times are on the front there, should you decide to join us. And sir, do
you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Fire away
ma’am,” Parks allowed, hoping the lady would leave soon.