Alone No More (18 page)

As best as Kevin could tell from the disorganized briefing, Africa had shit the bed. Africa always had a shitty bed in Kevin’s opinion, so how far could they fall overnight anyway? Pretty far apparently. Multiple nations and regions on the Dark Continent were hot spots for terrorism, or instability. Somalia, The Democratic Republic of Congo, Sudan, Uganda and Rwanda had all been red flagged as trouble spots just this month in his meetings. It had even been a good month.

Sometime shortly after midnight in Somalia there had been a skirmish over something, which wasn’t news by any means to Kevin. At about the same time there was a substantial engagement in the Congo, something about a few buses being robbed by rebels on a highway. Pretty standard fare for that part of the world Kevin thought. Also in Sudan, somewhere in the suburbs of Khartoum overnight, there had been an enormous loss of life connected to a cholera outbreak. The report guessed at perhaps 50 or more deaths in the Sudan. In the two engagements in the Congo and Somalia there were a large, unknown number of casualties. Again Kevin thought, not news.

The strange noteworthy aspect was the sudden reports of violence in the three different regions following the attacks, especially following the deaths in Sudan. Almost as if the populace itself had risen up in a fury, and taken their vengeance on their attackers, and released their mourning in fury. The odd bit is that the surge of violence occurred in all three places, more or less simultaneously. A very conspicuous coincidence Kevin thought.

Aid worker reports, embassy spies, and local media all reported that these attacks were vicious affairs, carried out in almost mindless fury. Almost as if the perpetrators were sick with some form of rabies. Just mindless violence. Kevin looked at the printouts of pictures taken in the area, and even though they were taken a few hours ago in the dark, you could see the complete loss of reason on the faces of the people. They were soaked in blood, and seemed vacant. The black and white pictures reminded him of that old horror movie Night of the Living Dead. Well, if Night of the Living Dead took place in the heart of Africa and had the cast of Friday he thought.

There were no reports of similar violence here in Israel yet, but as a precaution anyways, the Israeli national airline El Al, had already shut down flights in coming from Africa. Gotta hand it to those Israeli people Kevin smirked. They do not fuck around.

*****

The ride to the housing development in Jerusalem was about an hour long. They sped past several security checkpoints with their Israeli police escort, but certain chokepoints of traffic slowed them down. Kevin sat in the backseat of the glossy black armored Suburban next to Senator Henke. The ex soldier’s HK416C carbine was cradled low in his lap with the barrel pointed toward the window. Kevin and his team paid close attention to their surroundings as they closed in on the ribbon cutting ceremony. Despite it being only eight in the morning, it was already almost 90 degrees outside. The Mediterranean sun was beating down with force.

“Kevin why the hell would all these people want to build more houses here? Don’t they realize it’s hot as hell here?” Henke wiped his brow of the sweat beaded on there as he took a break from rehearsing his speech. Even the truck’s air conditioning was struggling against the sun.

“Sir why do so many people move to Vegas? It’s hot as hell there and most people lose all their money to boot.” Kevin’s disdain for the heat showed through, causing his Boston accent to slip out.

“Ah! Gotcha!” Henke slapped the veteran on the thigh next to his weapon. “That hit a nerve didn’t it?” Henke took a sip from a bottle of water.

“Sir I hate the heat. Spent far too many years of my life sweating in places people shouldn't live, let alone fight in.” Kevin kept his eyes on the road as he corralled in his native Southie accent. His mind drifted back to some memories of hot places. Baghdad in the summer was his last stop on memory lane. 120 degrees more often than not. The heat reminded him of his old Army buddy Adrian. Now there was a hardcore motherfucker like him. He still wished Adrian had taken the offer to join the WPG team. He changed the subject before he got distracted any more than he already was. “Why are you even here sir, if you don’t mind my asking?

Henke swirled the water in his bottle as he stared out the window at the ancient city passing by. “The Ambassador had to be at some meeting today, and I’ve got a few years in the diplomatic core. Plus I speak fluent Hebrew and Arabic.” Henke shrugged. “You read that briefing that came through earlier this morning?” Henke took another sip, fixing his thinning hair in his reflection in the tinted windows.

“Yeah. Very odd.” Kevin leaned forward and looked out the windshield in between Kyle, his team member driving, and Anna, the Senator’s platinum blonde aide in the front seat. He hated moving around like this, he felt nervous, and exposed.

“Think we’re in any trouble?” Henke asked seriously. He was picking up on Kevin’s body language.

“Sir we’re headed into the heart of the millennia old conflict between Muslims, Christians, and Jews. What could possibly cause us trouble in a place like that?” Kevin said dryly.

“Not funny Mr. Whitten. Not funny at all.” The Senator brushed the lint off his pants as he sighed.

“Wasn’t a joke sir. I hate this part of the world. Too many people with their hands in the cookie jar for my liking around here. Fact is many of them have one hand reaching for a cookie, and the other holding an AK. Now if you’re asking me if the stuff from the morning emergency briefing will cause us trouble today? I’m going with no on that.” Kevin sat back in his seat and adjusted the throat mic that connected him to the rest of the team. In his earpiece he could hear the drivers quietly calling out traffic movement to each other, organizing the small convoy to avoid slowdowns and cars acting suspiciously. These were good operators he thought to himself.

“That’s reassuring Kevin. Hopefully we won’t be there for more than half an hour or so.” The Senator slid his glasses back on and lifted his speech to read it again.

“Sir with all due respect, I’ve been through a few of your half hours, and they’re rarely ever actually a half an hour long.” Kevin laughed. The Senator gave him a dirty look over the rim of his glasses and returned to reading his speech. The rest of the drive the only talking that happened was in the operator’s earpieces.

*****

360 degree protection was the WPG rule for Senator Henke in Jerusalem. Kevin instructed his security personnel to form a loose triangle around him every time he moved, and when he was stationary, Kevin was no more than 3 feet away. When the Senator finally took the steps up to the outdoor stage for the ribbon cutting ceremony, the WPG people were in position. One each at the corners of the stage with Kevin sitting mixed in with the local officials sitting behind the podium. His counter assault team was spread out at the edges of the crowd, ready to return heavy fire should something go wrong. The microphone podium was reinforced as requested, and Henke was trained to drop down and take cover behind it should he be attacked. Now if a bomb went off… Well everyone was fucked and it didn’t matter. Kevin could only hope the Israeli bomb dogs had done their job. Besides, he didn’t have a limitless reservoir of worry to waste on things out of his control.

The WPG drivers kept the big black Suburbans ready to go in the dirt parking lot behind the stage. The men stood just a few feet apart from their driver’s doors with their eyes peeled for anything approaching them. It was a good system for what the government was willing to pay, and Kevin was satisfied. If anything did come at them, he and his team could handle it. The heat made everyone uncomfortable, but it was the fact of life here. Kevin did his best to tune out the different speeches, especially when they shifted to Hebrew and Arabic, but when the speaker finally called out the Senator’s name, Kevin’s guts dropped an inch as his adrenaline spiked. Showtime.

As was his typical MO, Henke greeted the people in Hebrew, then in Arabic, and then started his speech in English. You had to give it to him, he was good at the languages here. Kevin watched him go through his motions, reciting the speech perfectly he’d rehearsed in the car on the way. He could speak. No doubt about that.

Kevin’s eyes wandered to the crowd of a few hundred gathered at the industrial site they were at. This whole shindig was about a new housing project that was supposed to represent a union between the different cultures of Jerusalem. This was to be a building where Jews, Christians and Muslims would share their lives in order to blend together, hopefully creating a unity that had thus far been like water in the desert here. Fictional.

Kevin looked at the faces of all the people, every single one of them as he scanned the crowd. Far in the back, on the other side of the chain link fence circling the site he could see protestors. Most of them were Palestinians that were opposed to the idea of yet another Israeli building project in Jerusalem. Those were his real worries. Everyone at the speech and ribbon cutting inside the fence was searched by the police, and vetted mostly. However, one of the protestors with just a few rocks could make for a bad day.

Far off in the distance, less than a kilometer away, a deafening boom came rolling. A blast wave tossed paper and debris down the street behind the protestors. Car alarms began screaming in all directions. Kevin stood to his feet with no hesitation and walked to the side of his ward, pushing his way past the local officials. Henke stopped talking for a few seconds as the crowd turned to face in the direction of the explosion. In those few seconds a column of pitch black smoke rose from behind a building down the street, and the wail of ambulance and police sirens could be heard starting. Half of the police assigned to the speech took off running towards the explosion. Henke swallowed and started his speech again, right where he left off. His voice trembled a little, but he soldiered on defiantly.

Kevin didn’t like this one bit. As soon as the Senator finished his speech they were history. The ribbon could be cut in his absence. The white capped leader reached up and keyed his throat mic, communicating with his people, “Eyes open, that first blast might’ve been a distraction. Drivers get your vehicles ready to roll. We’re out in three.”

Kevin reached behind himself to his back right hip and slowly swung his carbine more to his side so he could shoulder it fast if needed. He had his Glock holstered on his thigh, but he wanted the firepower of the fully automatic weapon should things come to it. He rested his thumb on the safety switch, ready to go at the drop of a hat.

Henke’s speech continued on for a few more tense minutes. The crowd had largely been distracted by all the sirens from the rescue and police vehicles whizzing by in the narrow Jerusalem streets on the other side of the chain link fence. Kevin took it as a good sign that the protestors had shut up and were turned, facing down the street out of his field of vision at the site of the explosion. Judging from where the smoke was rising, and the proximity of the ambulance sirens, Kevin guessed the blast was right on the street that they were on, just a block away perhaps.

Henke finished his rallying call for unity and peace then thanked the crowd. Kevin could see he was a little shaken by the explosion in the distance, and he moved to his side and pressed him immediately, “Sir we are moving.” Kevin’s voice was forceful, authoritative. Henke moved immediately and without protest, allowing Kevin to usher him off the side of the stage and into a waiting semi circle of WPG security personnel. These were the Team B men, the core of the protective detail. Team A was still spread out, more heavily armed and able to counter assault should violence erupt from the crowd.

Whitten addressed his team via the throat mic again, “To the cars, back to the Embassy. Roll out the back entrance if we can, heading away from the explosion.” As he finished, gunfire erupted from 40 feet away, behind the stage on the dirt lot, right in the direction where they were headed. 

The two youngest men on team B were Corey and Nate, both ex Marines. Their job was to shield the Ambassador, and that’s what they did. Without hesitation the two men dove on top of him, forming a human shield. In unison they rolled into different firing positions, one kneeling covering the Senator, the other laying across the Senator’s body. 

John F. drew his Glock and took aim at the back corner of the stage, where the shooters would come from. Kevin fully shouldered the HK416C and flicked the safety to semi-auto. He tabbed the mic once more, “Team A respond, weapons hot and clear the vehicles. Make a hole for us.” He moved up beside the older operator John and took up position near the stage.

As he dropped to a knee he heard return fire. Clear and distinct the sound of Glock handgun fire rapped out in two round bursts. Pap-pap. Pap-pap. Pap-pap. The return fire was precise and controlled. It was his drivers returning fire, protecting the vehicles, their lifeline for escape. As the crowd ran screaming he could hear radio traffic in his ear. His Team A was making their way to the back of the ceremony, pushing through the panicked crowd, assaulting into the gunfire fearlessly.

Within seconds he heard the high pitched cracks that belonged to his people’s carbines. Just like the pistol fire two shots at a time. Snap snap. Snap snap. He could hear the gunfire echoing in the open space where the new apartment building was going to be built. Kevin turned and looked down at the Senator, covering his head with his hands, pale white and scared shitless. He made eye contact with his two youngest men and they looked good. Sharp, scared of course, but they were on point. 

 Kevin lived for this.

“Sir, all clear. Shooters were police firing into the crowd.” Clearly over the mic he heard his Brit team A leader, Alan call out.

Kevin responded with the throat microphone on, “Let’s move. Get out of the box immediately.” He motioned to the younger operators and they got the Senator to his feet. He was so out of it they had to hold him up with their arms and walk him forward. John and Kevin began to head around the back end of the stage guns up and searching as wounding, bleeding civilians stumbled past them. They screamed and begged for help in a mixture of languages Kevin could only barely understand.