Sleeper Cell Super Boxset (76 page)

"It's okay, I'm FBI. Please just stay in your house, sir."

The man immediately turned to the door, ran inside, and slammed it shut.

"Do you think he believed you?" Husein asked.

"Doesn’t matter,” Craig answered. "Either way, let's get off the road."

He moved along the side of the house they had stopped in front of, and set off on a path that led into the woods. Husein followed, not sure where the front yard of the house they were passing ended or began. He watched the windows, draped closed, cautiously as they passed by. There was no telling who was going to run out of the house, frightened and trigger happy.

Craig seemed less on edge. He kept his eyes forward and moved swiftly to the back of the house. Leaves and small twigs crackled under their shoes. The sun flashed between trees as they passed. No longer did they have the cover of night. The warm air was full of tiny gnats, nearly invisible, and impossible to avoid. They walked on just as the sound of helicopters grew louder, reverberating throughout the air.

Husein crouched down, avoiding thin, sticky branches as the path between fences and trees became narrower. They finally reached the end, where there was a cross-street. Craig knelt as a car passed. He signaled Husein to take a knee as well.

"You see that," he said whispering and pointing to the other side of the road. There was another opening into the forest ahead. "We're going to cross the street after the coast is clear. My house is the third one down. Just follow my lead."

Husein nodded and then swatted at his face to keep the gnats away. Craig leaned forward and peeked out of the bushes. No vehicles were coming from either direction. But he could feel the presence of ISIS somewhere… watching.

"All right," Craig said, rising. 

He then scurried off across the road, his rifle low to the ground, as Husein followed behind. They made it to the other side of the road, passing a speed-limit sign sticking out of the grass. Craig moved up a small hill and into more brush behind another line of houses.

They passed alongside a high wooden fence, painted with a light-blue gloss. The next house had no fence, exposing them if they ran by. Craig looked into their backyard, past the gazebo to the porch deck where two empty chairs sat. His neighbors, Scott and Marie Russell, were nowhere to be seen.

His heart thumped. The enemy was on his turf now, or so he suspected, and he was going to make sure that they didn't have a chance of tracking down the cabin. They ran by just as his neighbor, Scott, opened his patio door, letting out his golden retriever.

Craig stopped at his fence, breathing heavily and staring ahead, worried. Husein halted and noticed Craig’s troubled expression.

"What’s wrong?”

"Nothing. I think my neighbor saw me. No big deal."

He turned around to look and stood up, high on his toes, to peek over the top of his fence. Nothing looked out of the ordinary—some lawn chairs, a patio deck, a tool shed, and a barbecue grill. He looked farther ahead, through the kitchen windows. Inside, the house looked undisturbed. The time was right. He looked at Husein while cupping his hands.

"Here. Hop up. I'm going to lift you over the fence and hand you my rifle."

With one hand against the fence, Husein put his foot in Craig's hand and was hoisted up, about half way. His legs dangled on Craig's side and he was given one last push over. Craig heard a thump.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he heard Husein say from the other side.

He passed his rifle over the fence. After Husein grabbed it, Craig hopped up and pulled himself over with a heavy grunt. He hit the grass on the other side in thud. Husein was patiently waiting with rifle in hand.

“Follow me,” Craig said.

They moved behind his nearby tool shed and watched the house.

Husein handed him the rifle. "So this is your place?" he asked.

"Sure is," Craig answered.

“It’s nice."

"Thanks."

Craig scanned the back windows. The blinds were down in his bedroom, but he could see through two windows in the kitchen. There was no movement and no signs of forced entry at the back door on the patio.

"Hey, Craig!" he heard his neighbor call out from the other side of the fence. "You back there?"

Husein looked up at Craig in a panic. Craig held a finger to his lips not saying a word.

Scott continued to call out, getting closer to the fence and peeking through. Craig felt both anger and fear. They remained perfectly still as the calls for Craig continued.

"Marie and I are just scared to death over this terrorism thing. We don't know what to do."

At this point, it seemed as if Scott was just talking to himself. Craig's eyes remained on his house, searching for the moment where they could try to move inside. They kept a spare key in a potted plant near the door. Not the best idea, but he was glad for it now.

Scott, having given up, stopped talking and called out to his dog to come back inside. Once his voice drifted away, Craig breathed easier.

"You wait here," he said to Husein. Before the boy could respond, Craig moved, low to the ground, from one bush to the other, until reaching the back patio.

He looked through the blurry glass pane at the door and saw only vacant rooms—nothing trashed or broken. Things were looking more encouraging by the moment. He went to the potted English Ivy plant and dug through the soil, finding the key much to his relief.

The door creaked as he slowly pushed it shut. The house was quiet. The air conditioner was off, and nearly every appliance was unplugged, aside from the refrigerator. Rachael was good about those kinds of things. Craig searched each room as if conducting a raid, half expecting to find an armed militant waiting for him, but each room was clear.

The long blue curtains in the front living room had been drawn closed. Craig moved to the closest window, pulled the curtain slightly in the middle and peeked through. No one was around. Then he saw something.

There was an old four-door Nissan Sentra across the street just sitting there with heavy tint on the windows. The car looked suspiciously out of place. And he could see the figure of a man at the wheel—despite the tint on driver’s side window. Craig immediately backed away. He couldn't believe it. He peeked out again just to be sure. His instincts told him it was a stakeout.

Craig hurried to the back door and called for Husein who then came rushing inside. Craig shut and locked the back door.

"I think they're outside watching us," he said.

Husein bolted and tried to flee back outside. Craig grabbed him and held him back.

"Wait a minute! They don't know we're here. Don't worry.”

Husein looked up, his eyes pleading. "Yes, but what if they grow suspicious? What if they get tired of waiting outside and decide to come in here?"

"That's what I brought this for," Craig said, holding up the rifle. "Now pull yourself together. We know they're out there, and they don't know we're in here.
We
have the advantage. Now just help me gather some things, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

In a few minutes’ time, Craig and Husein had gathered and packed his ammunition boxes along with some other supplies—clothes, medical kits, cash, and their passports. They set the backpacks on the living room couch while Craig tried to think of anything else.  

There was a picture of him and his family on a bookcase that caught his eye, filling him with longing. In the midst of his emotions surfacing, a shadow moved past the curtains outside, startling him. Craig rushed over, parted the curtains slightly, and looked outside. His neighbor, Scott, was walking to the front door. Craig couldn't believe it. Husein stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

“Get down!” Craig whispered.

              Husein knelt down behind the couch just as the doorbell rang.

"Craig!" Scott said from outside. "It's me, Scott. Come on. I just wanna make sure you're okay." He didn't look like he had any intention of going anywhere.

Craig seized at the curtains in a panic. To answer the door would mean instant exposure. The best thing to do was to wait. The doorbell continued.

Husein rose slightly, looking out. "Who is it?"

"It's just my neighbor. The nosy one from next door," he whispered. "Go hide in Nick's room, until he goes away."

Husein ran off. Craig looked back out through the curtains. Scott had indeed gained the attention of the men in the car. All four doors opened revealing five men dressed in black sweat shirts, baggy trousers, and balaclavas—similar to the uniforms Craig had seen ISIS wearing before.

Scott, however, remained oblivious. "Craig? Craig, you in there?" he asked, knocking on the door as if to demonstrate his unwillingness to go.

Go away, you idiot
, Craig thought to himself.

From outside, Scott continued. "I know that was you who I saw pass by out back. Where have you guys been? Come on, Craig. You gotta help. You're FBI. Marie and I have no clue what to do. Half the people on this block ran off. We're not safe here."

Craig steadied his rifle, prepared to defend his home and their lives. With a few more knocks, it appeared that Scott finally got the hint. But it was too late. The militants rushed the house, pistols in hand. Craig watched as they ran through the yard, startling his neighbor.

"Holy shit," Scott said, trying to run away. Two militants slammed him against the front door and pointed a gun at his head. Craig could hear the rumbling at the door, as they spread out to other windows, looking inside. One man was right outside the window where Craig stood. His angry eyes, set beneath thick brows, peered in through the window.

"I don't know anything! I don't know!" Scott shouted out as they shook him. He gagged on a pistol they shoved into his mouth. Craig didn’t like the idea of leaving Scott in the hands of these ruthless men.

There was one man at his living room window, two at the door, and two at the other front windows near the foyer. Craig moved quickly from one window to the next, trying to find his best field of fire. The militants were looking in, hands cupped to the glass. One then grew impatient and smashed the foyer window out with the handle end of his pistol.

Craig rolled over and aimed up as the man stuck his head in. One blast of the AK took half the man's head clean off. His body fell back and into the bushes. Commotion and movement followed from outside. The militants shouted to each other in Arabic. One man, crouching at the living room window, began shooting inside as shards of glass exploded.

Craig jumped up and glanced through the curtains. They were dragging Scott away in a chokehold just as one of the men charged at the front door. Craig aimed at the door and fired, taking the kicker down before he could even reach the welcome mat. Angered, the remaining three militants returned fire and shot through the windows, shattering them to pieces. 

Amid the gunfire, Craig dove to the floor, flat on his stomach. He covered his head as shards of glass flew on top of him.

The shooting ceased. Without hesitation, Craig crawled to the nearest open window and fired. He moved to another window and fired again. At the window on the other end, he saw a leg coming in over the sill. One of the men was trying to get in. Craig crawled over to the window as bullets flew overhead. The man was almost inside when Craig raised the AK and blasted the man’s torso open, sending him back outside in a bloody heap.

“Three down, two to go,” Craig said under his breath.

He paused once, and heard Scott crying out. One of the militants began shouting in English.

"We shoot him! We shoot your friend! You come out now!"

Craig looked out the window to the bushes just beyond. Two militants were ducked behind Scott, using him as cover. 

The man holding the pistol continued, "More are on their way! We will spare your friend if you surrender."

Craig wasn't an expert marksman, but he did well enough most of the time at the range. He tried to keep the rifle as still as possible and lined up the front sight in the center of the first militant’s head.

"No deal," Craig said. He pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked back. The militant’s brains blasted out of the back of his head. His pistol fell to the ground. Scott threw himself to the grass exposing the last remaining militant who knelt to the ground to retrieve the pistol. Craig aimed and fired, hitting him in the chest. The man collapsed, screaming in pain and clutching his chest.

Dead silence followed. Craig's ears rang. His head throbbed. He hadn't considered the damage to his house yet. He looked outside for anyone else, but saw only Scott, trembling and lying headfirst in the grass.

Craig went to the bullet-ridden door and opened it. He carefully walked outside, past the bodies and stood at Scott’s feet, rifle in hand.

His neighbor looked up with tears in his eyes and squinting. "What the hell was that all about? Who the hell were those guys?"

Craig was blunt. "You put my life in danger, Scott. My only advice to you is to take Marie and get out of town. If they're right and there are more coming, I don't think you want to be around."

"I don't understand what's going on. You've got to help us!" he pleaded.

"Find somewhere to go. Someplace safe. That’s all I can tell you."

Scott rose to his knees, dumbfounded and growing angry. "Oh yeah? And where the hell do you suggest we go? Why don't you tell me what the
fuck
is going on?" Spittle flew from his mouth. Craig continued to walk away, back into the house. He called out for Husein, crunching on glass with each step. Husein emerged alert and focused. He didn't want to ask Craig what had happened. He was just glad to see him alive. They gathered their things and left the house, just the way they came in, without looking back.

Temporary Sanctuary

The van remained parked where they had left it. Having twisted his ankle, Craig limped as Husein led the way. Each carried backpacks and bags of supplies, the extra weight a noticeable difference from their first trip. Residents looked out of their windows, frightened, as they went past. Police sirens sounded in the distance. All the earlier gunfire did not go unnoticed.