Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (19 page)

“Let me finish,”
Hamzah begged. “You have not heard the very important part. The leader is a
Marine.”

“A what?”

“A United States
Marine,” he clarified. “Major Keith Parks. A young man with a lot of
experience.”

“Keith Parks.”
Vun Buvka mulled the name around in his head. “Where is this Viper Team Seven?”

Hamzah was
pleased that he had finally caught his friend’s full attention. “They are in Washington D.C. The team just stood up and is getting organized.”

“Who told you
this?”

“The boss. He is
completely sure of this information, and he believes this Parks will pose a
threat to our regime.”

“We can chew up any
American counterterrorism team and spit them out,” vun Buvka said. “Did not
9/11 and 1/16 teach the world that? The Americans can make a team and try to
stop us. They will not be able to. We will carry out our operation right under
their noses, and they won’t know what hit them until it’s over.”

“You are not
listening,” Hamzah accused. “We have been ordered not to engage in any action
with this team. We are to skirt around them, not fight them. That order came
straight from the boss. Do you wish to think otherwise?”

Vun Buvka put
his feet up on the coffee table and smiled sinisterly. “Of course not. The boss
always knows best.”

“If I were you,
and thanks be to Allah I’m not, I would give an order to the Afghanistan team telling them in no uncertain terms, not to engage the Viper Team Seven. No matter
what.”

“I appreciate
your advice, Mr. Hamzah,” vun Buvka lied. “But if the Viper Team Seven wishes
to destroy us, we will be forced to crush them in return.”

“That would be a
hard job,” Hamzah said, putting the paper he was reading from into a shredder.
“You have never met a Marine, presumably, or you would have more fear for this
team.”

Vun Buvka’s eyes
burned with anger. He fought to keep his voice calm and his hands steady. “I
suppose that a man like you has met one then.”

Hamzah stood motionless.
“My older brother did. He never lived to tell me about it though.”

“What happened?”

The Palestinian
looked around and answered. “I know this only because it hit international news
a while after it happened.” He cast his eyes to the floor. “My brother was in a
terror training camp in Afghanistan one night during the War on Terror when
some Marines stormed it. I think it was a company or so but I can’t remember.
All I know is that my brother was killed. I don’t know exactly how, but I do
know the name of the man who led that company of Marines. He was shot in the
shoulder, I believe. Anyway, when he got back to the United States, the
Commandant of the Marine Corps awarded him the Medal of Honor and the Purple
Heart.”

“So the Marine
leader got a bunch of medals for taking out the camp?” vun Buvka questioned.

“Yes indeed.”

“Who was it?”

Hamzah stalled
for a second and then looked vun Buvka directly in the eye. “His name...was
Captain Keith Parks.”

Tuesday, March 18
^th
– 1300 hours

The Oval Office

“Dad, how are
you?” Renee Winnfield asked her father.

Winnfield had
not been able to call his daughter earlier due to the emergency NSC meeting
concerning the rising hostilities in the Middle East. The meeting proved to be
fruitless and a waste of time, and it had left everyone with even more questions
than answers.

“I’m not too
bad,” the President replied honestly, cheering up at the sound of her sweet
voice. “How’s my little girl?”

“I’m good. And
why do I have the honor of taking a call from the President of the United States?”

Winnfield
laughed. “Talk to me as your dad, Renee, not the President.”

“Okay, I’ll try
my best.”

“So, how is
everything in the land of terrorism?”

The phone was
quiet for a minute as she tried to understand what her dad was saying.

“I say that because
New York is where the most recent attacks and the Trade Center attacks were
performed,” Winnfield clarified. “It seems like it’s a magnet for terrorists.”

“Oh, now I get
it,” Renee said. “But that’s not a very comfortable thought. You make me want
to move.”

“Actually,
that’s kind of the reason I called.”

“What, for me to
move or to get uncomfortable?”

“Well, I’d like
for you to come down and visit us,” Winnfield stated. “Your mom and I both miss
you terribly.”

Again, the
conversation went dead for a second.

“Um, yeah,” Renee
suddenly decided. “I could come visit sometime. I’d like that a lot.”

The President
didn’t bother to hide his delight. “Good. Renee, that’s wonderful. When could
you get time off?”

“Well, I could
have my second-in-command take over the business for a few days sometime in
April I think.”

Winnfield’s
heart sank. “April? Why April?”

“Because for the
rest of the month we’re doing a massive advertising campaign and I need to
oversee it. But don’t worry, March is half over. April is right around the
corner,” she assured.

“I know. Your
mom is just getting impatient.”

“Mom is or you
are?”

The President
cleared his throat loudly. “We both are.”

Another silence
came before Renee boldly asked, “Is Israel going to war with Lebanon?”

The question
threw Winnfield for a loop. “That’s classified information, Renee, I can’t
say,” he admitted. “What is the media saying though?”

“Some people say
they are, others say they’ve got some other nation in their sights. Nobody knows
what to believe.”

Neither do we
, Winnfield thought.
It’s not so much the attacks
that scare me; it’s the uncertainty of who’s behind this
.

*          *          *

Parks swung open
his office door. His arms were loaded with office paraphernalia including
miniature American and Marine flags,
Germ-X
, Marine posters, and other
little items. He felt like he had to put up, at the very least, a few posters
just to keep the Marine Corps spirit. So that’s what he’d do.

He threw the items
on the couch and quickly sorted through them.

After a few
minutes, everything was up and in place. Rubbing in a generous amount of hand
cleaner, Parks walked again to his computer and checked his email. There were
only twenty-five messages and they were from the senior watch officer of the
task force at Langley.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he opened the first one and began reading.
Instantly he became captivated.

*          *          *

“Tell me,
Hamzah,” vun Buvka asked, “if Parks killed your brother, why do you not want my
team in Afghanistan to kill him?”

The Palestinian
sat on the edge of the desk and quietly responded. “First of all, the boss
ordered you not to engage Parks’ team. Second, I pride myself on not letting my
hate or desire to kill blind me from seeing the truth. And the truth is, Parks and
his team are superior to our team from the sounds of things.”

“So should the
opportunity present itself, and if the boss authorizes you, would you attempt
to kill Parks?” vun Buvka pressed, desperately grabbing for information.

“I can’t answer
you yet. I doubt that my skill exceeds his, but if I ever saw him face-to-face,
my hatred for him might uncharacteristically push me into it. On the other
hand, I might play things smart and leave well enough alone.”

“It sounds to
me,” the Iranian said while scratching the side of his head, “that your desire
for revenge does not override your fear for that Marine. Am I right?”

Hamzah glared at
his partner. “The fact is, Mr. vun Buvka, my brother is dead. I want revenge,
but I also want to stay alive. I’m not sure that I would be willing to risk my
life for the revenge of a dead man. Vengeance would be delightful. But what good
is it if I die for it?”

“True. But then
again, I still get the feeling you are afraid of him and that fear is standing
in the way of what you may really want to do.”

“I am afraid,”
Hamzah replied truthfully. “But when has fear stopped me when I set my mind to
do something?”

Vun Buvka shook
his head slowly in confusion. “You are afraid, but you would overcome your fear
if you were certain you wanted to get revenge on Parks. You are not letting
your hatred for him push you into doing something you’re not sure you want to
do. Have I got that right?”

Hamzah nodded.
“But if I ever see him I might become ‘sure’ that I want revenge.”

Vun Buvka suppressed a smile.
This could be useful information,
he
thought.
It just might come in handy should I ever need to end this Viper
Team Seven.

*          *          *

Ghazi Siraj
zipped his carry-on bag and prepared himself for what he had to do. His team of
terrorists had received orders to carry out their operation at last. They were now
converging on an airport in Afghanistan in different vehicles from different
directions. The plan was that they would fly on the same plane heading for Mexico City, Mexico, without ever talking or having any affiliation with each other. Upon arrival
at their destination, they would rent two vehicles and drive close to the U.S. port of entry in Santa Teresa, New Mexico. Instead of crossing into America by vehicle though,
they would dump the cars and cross over on foot at some remote, unguarded
location to the east of the port. It was too risky to try and get passports for
ten men without showing their real identity, so they had to do it this way.

As far as Siraj
knew, there would be no Border Patrol personnel at some locations east of the port,
and that was where he would make his move. They would cross the border and walk
to a sleeper agent’s house in El Paso where they would pick up the C4 that the
sleeper had been smuggling in through Mexico for the last couple of months. The
same man would give them a vehicle, and then they would drive to San Antonio. The actual target had not been determined as of yet, but when they arrived,
they would find a lively spot and explode it.

Siraj’s cell
phone rang and he checked the ID. It was a restricted number. He looked over at
his driver and then back at the phone. He answered hesitantly.

“Is this Ghazi
Siraj?” the caller asked before Siraj could even say hello.

“Mr. vun Buvka,”
he said, recognizing the voice. “Do you not think it is dangerous for you to
call me? And to say real names? What are you doing?”

“Easy now, the
call is totally secure,” vun Buvka assured him. “I have a message for you to
tell your team when you meet in Mexico.”

“And what is
that?” Siraj questioned, feeling more comfortable.

“It appears as
though President Winnfield has constructed a new counterterrorism team called the
Viper Team Seven. It consists of three agents from the FBI and three from the
CIA. And, a major in the United States Marine Corps is the leader.”

“A what?”

“A Marine.
Surely you’ve heard of them.”

“Of course, I
just didn’t expect – they aren’t supposed to operate in the U.S.”

“Your job is not
to expect,” vun Buvka corrected sharply. “That’s mine.”

“Go on,” Siraj
encouraged, eager to change the subject from his correction.

“Well, as I was
saying, the boss wishes that under no circumstance you engage this new team. He
feels it is dangerous and he orders you not to play with them even if they want
trouble.”

“Are we supposed
to run if they try to fight us?”

“Yes. You’ll
have to accomplish your mission while on the run if need be. You might have to
pick a different target city but you are not to engage this new team. Do you
understand me?”

Siraj was not
about to argue. He had been told not to do something and whether he agreed with
it or not, he had to obey. “I understand,” he complied. “I will pass on your
message to the team.”

Before anything else could be said, the phone went dead.

*          *          *

Regretfully, the
President ended the call with his daughter. It was getting late and he needed
to take care of some things. “I’m sorry, Renee, but I have to go now. There are
a few things I have to see to,” he told her.

“Oh that’s fine.
I have to get back to work myself. I guess I’ll talk to you later then.”

“Yes, that’d be
great. Love you.”

“I love you too,
Dad.”

The President
hung up the phone and sighed. A picture of Renee that was sitting on his desk caught
his eye. Picking it up, his heart sank even more at the sight of his only
child. Suddenly, he put the photo down, walked to a bookshelf, and pulled down
another picture of when she was only two. He still remembered the day it was
taken. It was as if it had happened only yesterday. How time could fly so
quickly was a wonder to him. He wished he could put the brakes on it sometimes.

There was a knock
at the door of the Oval Office. “Come in,” Winnfield allowed, setting down the
picture and turning to the door.

It was Smith. “Mr.
President, am I disturbing anything?” he asked in dismay.

“No, no, come
right in.” The President exhaled noisily and leaned against the wall. “What can
I do for you, Tom?”

The National
Security Advisor shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’s about that meeting we
just left. It was fruitless wasn’t it?” Winnfield nodded in agreement. “Well, I
have a bad feeling. Now Mr. President, this is just a feeling, but feelings
usually have a reason for coming about, so that’s why I’m telling you this.” The
President motioned with his hand for him to continue. “I fear we are going to
be attacked. I think that this Israeli trouble is merely a diversion of sorts.”

“A diversion?
Like the one before
Air Force One
was hijacked?”

“I think so, Mr.
President. It seems that the terrorists we’re dealing with here strike just at
the moment we should be prepared and aren’t,” the NSA continued. “What I’m saying
is, these guys attack in cycles. They attack in one place, they get our
attention there, and then they strike in a vulnerable spot. Are you getting
what I’m saying, Mr. President?”

Winnfield shook
his head. “Kind of, but not really. I mean, I’m grasping what you’re saying
about that terror strike a couple months ago, how they diverted our attention
and all. I don’t really know if you’re implying that the terrorists are going
to perform an attack on U.S. soil or in Israel. Which is it?”

“Either could happen,
or both. I don’t know. All I’m sure of is that my senses are screaming at me that
there’s going to be another attack.”

“I know either
could happen, but which are you saying is more likely?” the President demanded.

“I’m guessing we’re
going to be the target.”

“Okay, now I really
don’t get it. If the terrorists wanted to strike us, they wouldn’t blow cover
in this Israeli attack, they’d try and surprise
us
. They know that if
they attacked Israel we wouldn’t be slacking off; we’d be increasing our guard.
Now I know the last time I said that I was wrong, and the whole terror plot
unfolded, so maybe I had better shut up. But I don’t think that they believe
the diversion deal would work again. What do you think?”

“Given what’s
happened, I’d say they’re going to try and pull off the same drill. They want
us to think that they wouldn’t do the same thing as on 1/16. They want us to
relax and that’s when they’ll hit us. Just like last time.”

Silence followed
before Winnfield said anything more. “You have anything to back up this feeling
of yours, Tom? Do you have anything in writing or some kind of evidence? You’re
not making much sense. If you don’t have any proof, what do you want me to do?”

Smith had
expected a reaction like that and he was prepared. “I have nothing to back up my
feeling,” he admitted. “But I would have the Viper Team Seven on speed dial if
I were you, Mr. President. I’d have them close by and ready, just in case
something does unravel.”