Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (15 page)

“Are you ready, KP?”
Solomon asked. He was wearing a light-blue, turtleneck sweater, with
Dickey’s
blue jeans, and a black leather jacket. A pocketful of change
jingled rhythmically when he walked, but Parks could barely even hear it over
the loud music.

“Yup. What
vehicle do you want to take?”

“Yours is fine.
Do you want me to drive? I know of a good bowling alley not too far from here.”

“Yeah, that’d be
great,” Parks conceded.

Solomon ran and
pulled his Camaro up the driveway further to get out of the truck’s way. He
shut off the loud engine and finally silenced the deafening reggae tunes. He then
climbed into the truck’s driver’s seat and received the keys from Parks. The
diesel engine fired up and Solomon backed out onto the road.

“Do you like
music?” Solomon wondered.

Parks grimaced.
“Well, I’m not a big fan of reggae.”

Solomon nodded
understandingly. “Hang around me long enough and you will be.”

“I really don’t
think so,” Parks replied. “That’s just not me.”

Monday, March 17
^th
– 2030 hours

Washington D.C.

“Debit or credit?”
the man behind the counter asked.

“Credit,” Parks
confirmed.

The man rang up
the total and asked for shoe sizes. Parks didn’t need any borrowed shoes, but
Solomon did.

“You’ll be on
lane nine. Do either of you need bumpers?” the man genuinely wondered.

Parks and
Solomon laughed and shook their heads, then went down to number nine.

“I really
appreciate you bowling with me,” Parks told Solomon. “None of my Marine Corps
buddies ever did.”

“How come?”

“Well, I’m a...”
Parks switched gears. “I score kind of high sometimes, and they were just sore
losers I guess.”

“That’s a bad
reason not to play with you. How high do you score?”

Parks waited a
second before he answered. “My highest score was 250,” he said shyly.

Solomon whistled
in amazement. “I sure am gonna look bad next to you.” He pulled on his shoes
and reached for a bowling ball. “
Come on, I’m ready to bowl.
”

Parks tied his personalized
shoes and set up for the game. Both of them peeled off their jackets and cell
phones and tossed them on the nearby seats.

“You first,”
Parks instructed, shaking his arm out so he could get all the blood flowing in
it.

Solomon pushed
up his sweater’s sleeves and stepped up to the lane. Skillfully, he made the
ball roll in perfect alignment with the center pin. The ball and pins made
contact and all but two fell.

“Not bad for
ball one,” Solomon convinced himself. “I can still get ’em with the spare.”

“Yup,” Parks agreed,
rolling his ball around in his hands.

Solomon rolled a
not-so-perfect ball the next time, and both pins were left standing. Parks
wanted to coach him on what he was doing wrong, but he didn’t want to sound
like a know-it-all. Besides, Solomon wasn’t doing badly at all.

Parks drew a
long breath and stepped up to the lane, cradling his custom fourteen-pound
bowling ball. Lining up on the center, he rolled the ball at impressive speed.
It snaked to the right and Solomon gasped, thinking it would go in the gutter.
But it didn’t. At the last second it swung to the middle, struck the center pin,
and flung all of them down, making a loud crashing sound ring throughout the
alley.

“Whoa man,” Solomon
exclaimed, “you are one good bowler.”

Parks shrugged
his shoulders. “It was an all right roll. Good job to you.”

Solomon grabbed his ball and proceeded with the game, trying to imitate
what he’d just seen Parks do.

*          *          *

“There! Did you
see that?” Solomon exclaimed, pointing to the fallen pins.

“A perfect
strike,” Parks congratulated as he applauded the beaming player.

A broad smile
spread across Solomon’s face. He had never had a game better than 75 points,
and now, counting this strike, he was at 82.

“Okay, let’s see
it,” he told Parks, taking a seat in the row of chairs.

One more ball
was left for Parks. He was poised to smash his record of 250. He was now at
249, and he figured he could get a 259. It had been a good game, and it was
about to get better. Taking in yet another long, slow breath, he balanced the
ball and readied himself for what he had to do. He took this seriously. This
last turn could mean a broken record or a smashed record. Parks preferred the
latter, but he was sure at the very least he could get a 251 which would make
his bowling record a point higher.

Solomon watched
intently, not taking his eyes off the center pin even for a second. He was
fascinated with Parks’ expertise in bowling. He was not just a good player, he
was pro quality. He hoped Parks would teach him a few tips so he could
eventually score higher than 82 points.

Parks lined up.
Just as he was drawing back to throw, his cell phone went off. Pivoting around,
he almost dropped the heavy ball on his foot. He quickly recovered and placed
the ball in the holder. He walked over to the chair where his phone was lying, and
he found he didn’t recognize the number. He cautiously answered. “Major Parks.”

“Major Keith
Parks?” the voice on the other end questioned.

“Speaking.”

“Go secure.”

After the crypto
synched up and the tone for clear communication started, the man began
speaking. “This is the senior watch officer of the CIA Ops Center in Langley, Virginia. We have a lead on a terrorist. He’s in the U.S. as we speak. Report to the National Security Advisor in the Situation Room immediately.”

The person hung
up the phone.

Parks was
surprised at how calm and cool the voice had been. It was not in the least bit panicked
or nervous.

Parks snapped
his phone shut and wheeled around to face Solomon. “We’ve got to get in the
office – now.”

Solomon didn’t
think twice. He yanked off his bowling shoes, pulled on his own, then put on
his jacket and pocketed his cell phone. Parks did the same, except as he
followed Solomon out of the alley, he looked back at the scoreboard – 249
points and still ten more possible. It could have been a record for sure.
Shaking his head, he watched Solomon toss the bowling shoes back at the
attendant and walk out the door. Parks followed, being careful not to drop his
bowling ball.

“Come on, KP,”
Solomon urged as he waited at the truck.

Parks jogged up
and fished in his pocket for the keys. He found them and opened the doors.
While putting his ball and shoes in the back, he realized Solomon was in the
passenger’s side. “What? Ain’t you drivin’?” he asked in dismay.

“No, you know
how to get back. Now hurry.”

Reluctantly,
Parks jumped in the driver’s seat and started the truck. Tearing out of the
parking lot, he grabbed his phone and dialed Marler’s number first. The phone
rang a couple of times and then he picked up. “Marler. Go,” he answered.

“This is Major Parks.
We need you in the office, right now. Meet in mine, and hurry up,” Parks
ordered, not betraying the nervousness he felt. He was in no way prepared for
something like this. Why did this have to happen now of all times?

“What’s going
on?” Marler wondered.

“Tell you later.
See you in a few,” Parks replied quickly.

The duo called the other team members simultaneously, one calling one
person and the other someone else. Parks wasn’t sure how big a threat this
terrorist was, but he wasn’t taking anything for granted. He had his orders to
gather his team quickly, and he was going to do just that.

*          *          *

Aziza was
restless. He had gone to bed early to try and catch some desperately needed
sleep, but it was of no use. He couldn’t sleep even for a minute. The stress
and chaos of the day had frazzled him, and though he was ready to end this
disastrous day of decisions and frustration, his body wouldn’t let him.

The prime
minister of Israel wasn’t a large man, but his vision for the State of Israel
was bigger than any of his predecessors. Even when he was a kid, he’d dreamed
of making Israel a superpower that the world would respect and fear. When he took
the office of prime minister he had not promised peace by treaties and
agreements, but by the only real, lasting way there was: international respect.
Aziza was not a war-hungry man, but he was willing to go to war if it meant
peace and respect for his country. His wife had disagreed on many occasions,
saying that he would never see peace by winning wars, but he did not agree. Neither
did many officials in his cabinet. War was an inevitable evil if one wanted
peace. War would end eventually, and peace would emerge from its ashes, but
first, one had to wage a war that would earn the necessary respect and fear
from other nations. Right now Israel desperately needed both. She was on her
way to respect – Israel was now the strongest power in the Middle East – and likewise
fear was spreading through the surrounding countries that she would forever
dominate the Middle East. This was very appeasing to Aziza. The part that was
not was the inevitable loss of life that war would promise.

Aziza was ready
for peace. He was war-tired and exhausted. But he had to fight on. Never before
in recent history had his nation been so close to peace. Never had they been
the leading power in the Middle East. This chance might never return, and Aziza
needed to take advantage of it. Peace was near, he could feel it. War was
closer though, and this time he’d have to fight even harder for the peace that
was sure to come afterward. He would fight to the last if need be. He’d fight
for peace if it meant the deaths of a hundred thousand. He had to. He had no
other choice. The war that was inevitable would be the truth teller, and Aziza
had no intention of backing down to anyone for any reason.

Aziza believed
that the Jews were God’s chosen people. He was a rare Jewish Christian that
believed Jesus already came down to earth to save the Jews and the Gentiles. He
also believed that God would help him and his country win respect from other
countries and ultimately gain peace. Why would He not help His people? In a
time like this the only help for Israel was God. This land was sacred to all
Jews. God had given them this land and no one at any time would ever take it
away from the Jewish people. As for the Golan Heights, Aziza would rather die
than see an inch of it go to the Lebanese. This was God’s land. These were
God’s people. How could he ever give up any of God’s land to a heathen nation?
How could he ever unite Israel with a Muslim’s state? Whoever thought he could
was crazy. Peace could only come by war-won respect, not by giving up holy land
and uniting nations.

The Americans were a great example. Did they ever give up their land just
to stay at peace with their enemies? Did they ever unite with Mexico just to make sure that war wouldn’t come? No. They never did. They never would. The U.S. was respected and feared, revered and honored, because they fought and won their wars.
They stood up against their enemies and beat them down. Yes, many people would
love to see America destroyed, but rarely was anyone brave enough to try and do
that. Israel needed to make it to the place where the U.S. was. They needed what the Americans had. They had to get it, and they
would
get it. By
the Messiah’s help and with the leading of His hand they would. Of that, Aziza
was certain.

*          *          *

“What did the
Americans do after they were attacked?” Hazeroth asked his most trusted
advisor.

“Nothing yet.
They are still looking for who did it. But they have pledged that when they
find out who is responsible they will retaliate with all they have,” the Mossad
agent replied.

“Are they assuming
a fly-by-night terror group is responsible, or a nation?” Hazeroth wondered.
“What if it’s a nation that’s responsible?”

“Are you
implying that Lebanon is the culprit of those attacks on the U.S.? There is proof that that is not the case.”

“No, I am not saying
that Lebanon is responsible,” he corrected. “But you are wrong; there is no
proof that they are innocent. However, I for one am suggesting that Iran is guilty.” Hazeroth coughed loudly. “If the Iranians really are behind the attack on
our
nation, will the U.S. declare war on them?”

The advisor
pondered that. “I don’t think so. Not unless we were in need of some serious
help. But if they have proof that Iran was guilty for the attacks on
them
,
I would say there’d be almost nothing that could stop them.”

“What more proof
do they need? They know Hamas was involved in the attacks. So in turn, that
means Iran.”

“Yes, but wait a
minute. You really think Iran would rebound so soon after the one-two the U.S. just gave them? Their government was destroyed. How could they rebuild one good enough
to take on the U.S. so soon after the War on Terrorism?”

“I get your
point.”

“President Winnfield
is preparing something. I feel it,” the agent assured. “There is no evidence to
prove that, but I feel it is true.”

“Who do you
think Winnfield will strike?” Hazeroth wondered.

“He will strike the
right someone. Maybe Lebanon or possibly Iran. He is just waiting to make sure
he finds the right target.”

“Do you think
he’s waiting for another U.S. attack so he can pinpoint the source?”

The agent
nodded. “My guess is he’ll try and capture a terrorist that comes into the U.S. or find some kind of information about him that would give the CIA a clue as to who’s
behind this. He thinks the Iranians are the culprits but he will not strike
them without further confirmation. But he will strike. He will when he confirms
his target.”

“Winnfield is a
man of war,” Hazeroth said bluntly. “He wants to strike out at someone, but he
will wait to strike the right someone. We are now in the same situation as he
is. We need to retaliate but we don’t know whom to retaliate against. I just
pray our prime minister makes the same decision the American President has. We
need to wait to fight until we find out who did this. We cannot just assume the
Lebanese are the ones and go in there and fight them. We must be sure they are
to blame. We need some kind of proof. I think we should just wait it out until
we find some more information.”

“Agreed,” the
agent voiced. “But can you convince Prime Minister Aziza to wait? He is ready
to fight. He is ready to tell the world that no one messes with Israel without paying a price. I guess the big question is, will he wait for a confirmed
target?”

Hazeroth didn’t
say anything. He knew that if the prime minister did not wait Israel could be destroyed, either by the Iranians distracting Israel toward Lebanon or by the entire Middle East. But then again, could anyone destroy Israel? Numerous countries had attempted to obliterate them but none had succeeded. It
seemed as if the Jewish people were indestructible. It was strange. It was not
that they had been a superpower that no one could take out; it was something almost
supernatural. Almost as if God had His hand on them and would not let anyone
harm them. Sure, there were hard times. Ever since the Bible days the Jews had
been at war or in captivity. But they always bounced back after those hard
times. What was it? Hazeroth was not a religious man. He believed there was a
God but he didn’t have a personal relationship with Him. But maybe he should.
If God was the reason Israel had stayed around so long, maybe he should make
time for Him. Maybe God had the answer for this problem, as He had with all the
others.