Sleeper Cell Super Boxset (64 page)

“Don’t be foolish,” she replied. Their feet moved along the sturdy planks of their quaint wooden dock over the gentle waves of the lake toward their modestly sized motorboat moored to a post. Rachael pulled up on the tarp, and Nick helped her pull it completely off. After tossing their packs in, Rachael climbed in first and tried to keep her balance as the boat shifted. Slightly wobbling, she turned to help Nick get in, but he simply climbed over her.

“Put one of those vests on,” she said.

There were three orange vests on the deck of the boat under the middle bench. They each grabbed one and slipped it on as Rachael went to the captain’s seat and started the engine. After a few turns of the key, the engine roared to life, sending foamy white bubbles to the top of the lake. The muffled rumbling made Nick’s heart jump. They hadn’t been on the boat in a while, and he was excited. Rachael, on the other hand, was apprehensive. It had been far too long since she had piloted the boat, and they hadn’t been to the cabin in a while either. Nick cast off and tossed the line back onto the dock.

“Good to go,” he said. 

After telling him to sit down, she shifted the engine into gear and accelerated. The boat coasted along the waves, bouncing up and down and increasing in speed. As they passed other homes along the lake, Rachael couldn’t believe they were actually leaving. She prayed for guidance and strength. Nick turned around and watched their back yard get smaller and smaller. A life he knew had been unexpectedly interrupted, and he didn’t fully understand why.

***

              The armored SWAT personnel transport carrier arrived behind the FBI building, barely noticed. Everyone within earshot was preoccupied by the massive explosion on the other side of the building. Craig rushed to the vehicle, waving to Hicks to follow, as helicopters hovered overhead. The militarized truck had two ironclad doors on each side and tiny bulletproof glass windows in the back. Its sheer size resembled the mine resistant vehicles from the wars in the Middle East, while its heavy-duty chassis and lightweight design allowed for fast movement in tight areas.

With lights flashing on top of its closed gunner hatch, Craig could see his reflection against the glossy black paint that covered the vehicle. If they were going to travel safely through D.C., he hoped the armored carrier would do the trick.

              Two police cars idled in front of the carrier—their personal escort. Craig feared another strike against the U.S. at any minute. He believed the Surkovs to be high-value commodities to the terrorists, if the explosion outside the FBI building was any indicator.

              An officer wearing a helmet visor, a bulletproof vest, and an M4 carbine rifle slung around his shoulder pushed open the heavy passenger door and hopped out of the armored truck. Craig immediately approached the officer as the truck’s engine idled like an eighteen-wheeler.

              “Special Agent Davis, FBI,” Craig said.

              “Sergeant Toomey,” the officer said. He was dressed in black from head to toe. They shook hands, and Craig explained the situation, not knowing what had already been disclosed. Even he didn’t know where the Surkovs were being taken. He asked Toomey.

              “Someplace safe,” Toomey said. “About ten miles from here. Homeland is pulling out all the stops.”

              “I see that,” Craig said, looking up at a blue-and-white police helicopter flying overhead.

              “Your team can load them in the back,” Sergeant Toomey said. He looked at his watch. “We got an ETA of 1200 hours.”

              “We’re staying with them. That’s part of the deal,” Craig said. He didn’t expect much resistance from an officer who only partly understood the situation.

              “Have you been cleared for transport?” Toomey asked.

              “The detainees are mine,” Craig responded. “Homeland can claim them all they want, but the FBI has as much jurisdiction over this case they do. We’re going with this transport.”

              Sergeant Toomey looked on as his handheld radio blared on with a multitude of conversations. He didn’t seem like a man who had the time or patience to barter. “Get your people in here, but do it fast. We have a time crunch here.”

              “Understood,” Craig said, taking a step back.

              Hicks approached with Malaka and Husein. She looked every bit as indifferent as Husein looked overwhelmed and afraid. Mendoza pushed Rasheed’s wheelchair closer to the vehicle with his partner, Agent Thomas, following. Donaldson scanned the perimeter with Agent Rivers by his side.

              Craig looked at Mendoza and Thomas. “We’ve got it from here, thanks for your help. I owe you one. Big time.”

              “Homeland isn’t going to like this,” Mendoza said. “If anything happens to Rasheed—“

              “I’ll take full responsibility,” Craig said.

              He shook hands with the agents and they went on their way, appearing relieved to be cut loose.  

Sergeant Toomey led Craig to the back of the truck, where he unlatched and opened the two hatchback doors. In the back were two benches, one on each side, and an iron cage divider near the front.

              “Let’s move,” Craig said.

              Hicks led Malaka and Husein up the steps into the back of the truck as Donaldson and Rivers lifted Rasheed inside. Once everyone was situated, Sergeant Toomey looked at Craig while resting one hand atop his slung rifle.

              “Tell them to hold on and stay down. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

              “We’ll manage,” Craig said, climbing in.

              Once they were inside, Toomey closed and bolted the doors shut. Craig crouched to keep his head from hitting the ceiling, realizing how cramped they really were. Sergeant Toomey then appeared at the passenger side, getting in. The unseen driver shifted the truck into gear as the police cars sounded their sirens and drove ahead. Everyone in the back bounced around once the truck moved forward. Craig sat on the bench next to Hicks, who was seated beside Malaka and Husein. On the other side sat Donaldson and Rivers, with Rasheed in between them still in his wheelchair, groaning intermittently.

              “We should really consider taking him back to the hospital,” Hicks said to Craig.

              The truck shook and vibrated as it careered out of the back parking lot and down the road. Craig gripped a pulley handle hanging from the ceiling.

              “He’ll be fine. We’re about ten minutes out.”

              “From where?” Hicks asked.

              “Some bunker across town. Homeland is going to try their best to push us away from this case once we get there, but we’re going to have to stand our ground.”

              “How exactly…are we going to do that?” Hicks asked. Craig could hardly hear him above the loudly reverberating engine.

              “What do they know?” Craig asked. “Nothing. What do we know? A whole hell of a lot more. If Homeland is in any way interested in getting information from the Surkovs, they’re going to have to go through us. End of story.”

              Craig’s confidence made an impression. Hicks had never dealt with an FBI agent so full of conviction at a time when things were so resolutely beyond his control. The passengers continued to rock back and forth as the carrier truck moved down the busy city streets  through D.C., following the police escorts, who slowly parted traffic with the incessant wailing of their sirens.

It was hard to see anything from where they sat in the rear of the vehicle. They took the nearest highway exit while Craig stood up, teetering and trying to look out the small, triple-layered Plexiglas windows to see where they were going.

              Sitting next to Husein, Malaka took her nephew’s hand in hers and gently squeezed. 

              Rasheed continued to groan as his head swayed from side to side. The wheelchair had been locked to prevent his rolling around on the aluminum, diamond-patterned flooring. Soon enough, everyone was quiet with tense anticipation.

The sound of a helicopter flying above them could be heard from above. Craig stood up and moved carefully to the front of the vehicle, stopping at a fence divider. The front windshield had five long protective bars across it, and he could see the two police escorts driving ahead, moving highway traffic to the side. Craig leaned toward Sergeant Toomey, sitting on the other side of the cage, in the passenger seat.

“I guess you don’t have to worry about anyone hitting this thing.”

Toomey nodded his head slightly. “You got that right.”

Craig tried to get a better look at the driver on the other side. All he saw was another officer dressed in the same gear as Toomey. “Greetings, officer. I’m Special Agent Davis.”

The driver looked back. He wore a helmet with a headset and mic inside it. “Nice to meet you, I’m Sergeant Phelps.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Craig said, shifting in between the two officers. “So can you tell me more about this underground bunker?”

Sergeant Toomey held his finger against his earpiece and listened, momentarily distracted. He then turned his head.

“What was that?”

“I was asking about this secret bunker.”

“Oh,” Toomey said. “It’s no secret. Just a secure place to hold your friends back there for the time being.”

Craig looked forward as the truck picked up steam and merged onto the highway. The police escorts flew ahead, sirens ablaze. Much of the road was cleared and blocked off in places, as if undergoing construction, only there were no construction vehicles around. The helicopter continued to follow them from overhead. Craig saw that they were driving onto I-95 south, toward Virginia. “Where are you taking us?” he asked, a little more forcibly.

“The Pentagon, Agent Davis. We’ve been instructed to escort the detainees to the Pentagon.”

              Craig tilted his head back, thinking to himself. What did the Pentagon want with the Surkovs? They zoomed past other cars on the highway, nearly reaching the carrier’s top speed of 110 miles per hour. The police escort ahead seemed to be going even faster.

“Ten minutes, you say?” Craig said. “Good luck.”

Toomey gave a thumbs-up as Craig released his grip on the cage divider and moved back to his seat next to Hicks, trying to maintain his balance along the way.

“What’d they say?” Hicks asked.

Once seated, Craig lifted a leg in the air, stretching it. He responded to Hicks in a quiet tone, trying to prevent any of the Surkovs from overhearing. “Taking a one-way trip to the Pentagon.”

“What?” Hicks said, gaining the attention of Donaldson and Rivers, seated across from them.

Malaka leaned forward from her seat to talk to Rasheed in Chechen. Drenched in sweat and nearly unconscious, her son didn’t look good.

“What is she saying?” Donaldson asked.

“I don’t know,” Rivers said. “Does it matter? Death to America. That’s all I hear.”

Donaldson laughed. “She’s a feisty one.”

Craig didn’t find it easy to sit still. He rose again from his seat and looked out the tiny window. The highway zoomed by—buildings, bridges, and monuments grew farther away. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been to the Pentagon. He suddenly recalled a period when he was training to join the FBI Intelligence Branch. He had spent two months at the Pentagon attending a preliminary course. It seemed like ages ago. Craig leaned forward and looked out the front windshield. The police escorts raced ahead, everything in place for a secure transport.

Then, without warning, something went terribly wrong.

A massive explosion struck the police vehicle on the left, sending it whirling into the air and tumbling down into the deep, grassy median dividing the highway.

“Holy shit!” Sergeant Toomey yelled.

Craig moved quickly to the front of the vehicle, clinging to the cage.       

In mere seconds, the first police car had been reduced to a cloud of dust and debris fading in the distance.

Hicks shot up from his seat, jumped up on the bench and cupped his hands to look out the window. “What the hell was that?”

Donaldson and Rivers looked perplexed, rising from their seats as well to see what had happened. It sounded like a bomb had gone off. Officer Phelps stayed focused on the road, only swerving a little. The voice coming over his headphones sounded frantic.
“Officer down! 11-80, we got an 11-80!”

No one knew for sure what had happened or what had caused the officer’s vehicle to fly off the road and spin into a violent rollover. Before anyone could ask any questions or make any sense of what had happened, a bright explosion hit the second police vehicle, sending it crashing into the highway’s guardrail. It gradually became clear what was happening. The explosions weren’t random; they were precise strikes from a hidden attacker.

“RPG!” Officer Phelps shouted.

Toomey jerked his head to the left as the flaming police car crashed and flipped over the side railing into a fiery ball. Phelps floored the gas, pushing the truck at maximum speed. Craig gripped the cage for balance, still in a state of disbelief. The agents in the back were glued to the small windows. Husein tried to get up, but Malaka pulled him back to his seat.

“No,” she said. “Stay down!”

The helicopter pilot’s frantic message echoed through the headsets of Phelps and Toomey.

“What he’s saying?” Craig demanded. “What does he see?” He held one hand against the pistol in his pocket. In his other pocket was his two-way radio.

“We’re under attack,” Toomey said, his tone deadly serious. “We have to get off the road.”

Several pickup trucks suddenly appeared from the right side of the road, emerging from trees and underbrush, hot on their trail. There were five trucks in all, with armed, masked men dressed completely in black. The two police vehicles burned in the distance as the realization swept Craig that they were under attack in broad daylight. 

“They’re here to get the Surkovs!” Craig shouted. “Do not stop!”

Phelps shifted the carrier into the far left lane on the three-lane highway and floored it on the eerily empty road. Two of the trucks pulled up next to them, on the right, as the others followed from behind.