Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (40 page)

“And yours,
sir?” the waiter asked vun Buvka, tapping his pen on the man’s shoulder.

“I’ll take what
he got,” vun Buvka told him, nudging the terrorist on his left. He hadn’t come
here to eat, he had come here on business, and he still had a job to do.

“All right then
gentlemen, that’ll be out in a few minutes,” the waiter stated.

Vun Buvka approved and then looked around the restaurant. There was
beginning to be quite a few people around, but only one was on his mind now:
the one behind him.

*          *          *

Parks saw Solomon
come out of the kitchen area with two large platters balanced on his hands.
He’s
having way too much fun,
Parks thought.

“Here we are,
gentlemen,” Solomon said as he placed the platters on a nearby table. “Let’s
see...Oh, Bob, could you come here?”

“Bob,” known to
Solomon as Norse, came over and helped Solomon distribute the food. Parks
wondered how Norse knew Solomon was calling for him, but then he saw the nametag
on Norse’s apron. It said, “Bob.”

“Enjoy your
meal,” Solomon added, giving a wide smile.

Parks stirred
the Dr. Pepper that he had ordered and tore up the paper straw packaging that
had been lying on the table. He was not going to drink any of it because he
didn’t know who poured the drink and from where the straw had come. Then Solomon
walked up to him, notebook in hand.

“May I take your
order?” the CIA agent/temporary waiter asked.

Parks shot a
quick look at the terrorists. They were busy eating with their eyes cast at
their food. Parks handed a piece of paper to Solomon. “Here’s my order,” he
informed him, intending the pun. Solomon had purposely delayed taking his order
for that exact reason.

Without a
further word, the waiter left the table and went into the kitchen.

Parks watched the terrorists eat their food with Solomon’s “special
ingredient” thrown in for good measure. He knew it would be an interesting meal
for the terrorists – their last.

*          *          *

Ghazi Siraj felt
his stomach contract and then expand and then repeat the process. What was
happening? Was there something wrong with the food?

His face broke
into a sweat but he wasn’t hot, he was cold. Then sweat began to pour from his
back and neck. There
was
something wrong, but what? Was it just nerves
from what he knew he had to do? Siraj was nervous but he was certain that wasn’t
the cause of this sudden reaction.

During the long
trip to Virginia, he had felt like he had the guts to pull off this operation.
Maybe it was because he had found out that vun Buvka was scared too, or
possibly because he was just getting fed up with life. For whatever reason
though, Siraj had been confident in himself. But suddenly things were
different. He was sure he
couldn’t
accomplish this mission. As soon as
he and the other terrorists had come into the restaurant a sense of fear had
overtaken him. He had almost turned and run but miraculously he hadn’t.

He had managed
to stay with vun Buvka for this long but he couldn’t take it any longer. He
could feel the C4 strapped around his waist, under his shirt, and he knew the
ignition switch was sitting in the pocket of his pants. It made him petrified
just to think that what was strapped to him would be what would take his life
in just a few minutes.

Maybe it
won’t
, Siraj thought to himself.
Perhaps I’ll die from fear or be killed
if I try to escape. Then again, I might be able to make an escape and still
live.

Siraj was
beginning to shake now and he could feel his tongue swelling in his mouth. He
turned to the terrorist on his right and saw that he was in the same condition.
Siraj’s eyes scanned every man at the table and saw that they all were sweating
and shaking. All of them that is, except vun Buvka, who had not taken a bite
out of his meal.

Then Siraj knew he had been poisoned.

*          *          *

Vun Buvka looked
around the restaurant once again. There were almost twice as many people inside
now than there were when he’d first come. That was one of the reasons why he
had decided to stay and have a meal, so the building could fill up. The other
reason was to give his boss time to call him and give the signal.

He looked to
Siraj and then noticed how every one of his fellow terrorists looked ill.
“What’s wrong?” vun Buvka asked the man on his left.

“I don’t know,”
the terrorist replied in a hoarse voice.

Vun Buvka wasn’t
sure what to do. He hadn’t received the go signal from his boss yet but how
long should he wait? He’d tried to call him several times along the trip but no
one had answered. Should he continue with the attack anyway? What would that
mean for him when he tried to escape? Would he then be able to contact his boss
so he could get to safety? Even considering that, he knew if the attack was
going to be made here, now was the time.

Vun Buvka swallowed
hard before continuing in a whisper. “All right, for the glory of Allah, carry
out the operation.”

Then vun Buvka slid out of his seat and headed for the door, reaching for
his pistol.

*          *          *

Parks saw
Solomon come out of the kitchen, juggling a few bundles of silverware. Then Parks
caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The terrorists were on the move.
Vun Buvka was heading for the door followed by another terrorist, about a half
dozen others were taking up positions all around the restaurant, and one was
still sitting at the table.

Parks knew if he
was going to move it had to be now. He figured that the attack wouldn’t start
until vun Buvka was safely out of the restaurant, but that meant he had only a
few seconds. Of course Marler was guarding the door so Parks wasn’t concerned
about losing vun Buvka, but he was wondering if his team could kill the suicide
bombers before they attacked.

At what seemed
to be the speed of light, Parks drew his pistol and leaped up. He took aim at
the terrorist still at the table and fired off a round. Without waiting to see
if he had killed the terrorist he yelled, “Go, go, go!”

People started
to scream and run for cover.

Parks briefly
saw Solomon throw down the silverware, pull out his sidearm and fire three
rounds at the terrorists standing near the northwest corner. Then he dove down
to the ground and searched for another target.

Next to Parks, Norse
overturned a table so he could have some sort of protection, and he also opened
fire. Parks saw a terrorist drop as a result of Norse’s Smith and Wesson’s
precise shooting, and then quickly the agent squeezed off a follow-up shot just
to be sure.

The remaining terrorists
scrambled for cover and returned the fire. Parks saw one of them in a corner
that had been evacuated flick the switch for his C4 to explode.

And so it did.

Wednesday, March 26
^th
– 1915 hours

Centreville, Virginia

The massive
explosion tore a wide hole in the southwest corner of the restaurant. It sent
glass, wood, and other rubbish flying through the air. Surprisingly though, the
rest of the building did not collapse. The explosion had merely knocked a large
hole in the wall.

Without missing
a beat, Parks stood up from where he had been blown down, fanned off three
shots toward a terrorist in the northeast corner, pivoted right, and fanned two
more rounds toward the man next to the entrance.

Smoke began filling
the restaurant, people were screaming in fear as bullets streaked in all
directions. Then suddenly Parks dashed for the door, hoping vun Buvka was there.
He hadn’t seen any sign of Marler and was beginning to wonder if the terrorist
had escaped.

Parks burst
through the doors and tried to find the terrorist. Then he saw vun Buvka directly
ahead, sprinting for his vehicle.

“Stop!” Parks
shouted to him. “Stop or I’ll kill you!”

Vun Buvka
wheeled around and fired four shots toward his enemy. From nowhere a man leaped
on Parks from behind, protecting him from the bullets. Both men pounded on the
ground. Then the man rolled off of Parks and began firing at the fleeing
terrorist. That’s when Parks recognized that it was Marler.

Solomon also
burst outside, gun blazing. He too jumped down, trying to shield himself from
the terrorist’s bullets.

Vun Buvka was
doing a good job of hiding though. He had dozens of vehicles with which to
guard himself, and he was taking advantage of the cover. He was slowly working
his way to the Suburban, and he didn’t want to think about what he would need
to do from there.

Parks couldn’t
see where vun Buvka was, he was only guessing, but he did know where he was
trying to go. He scrambled from where he had been lying and ran for the nearest
vehicle. It was going to be a foot race, and if Parks could reach the Suburban
before the terrorist did then he could probably capture vun Buvka. If not, then
it was very likely that the terrorist would escape. So Parks began sprinting
toward the Suburban.

Several rounds
were fired only a few feet away from Parks. Both Parks and vun Buvka were close
to the Suburban but if either wanted to get to it they’d have to cross a few
empty spaces with no cover. Parks decided that his position was good enough and
that he could keep vun Buvka away from the vehicle easily.

Solomon, Marler,
and Norse, also began closing in on the terrorist, and Parks was almost sure
that victory was near. But he couldn’t make that guarantee. Not yet anyway.
There was still work to be done.

He knelt down
and could see vun Buvka’s feet underneath the vehicle to his front right.
Without hesitation Parks tried to fire off a shot at the terrorist’s feet but
when his hammer hit the firing pin it resulted only in a clicking sound. He fished
in his pocket for six more bullets, ejected the spent rounds, and reloaded the
cylinder. Then he carefully aligned his sights and squeezed off a shot.
Unfortunately he missed, and vun Buvka wasn’t waiting around to give him a
follow-up shot. The terrorist made a dash for his vehicle and Parks jumped to
his feet. From the hip, he fanned two shots which went in front of the fleeing
man, but then bullets from the three other guns started flying too.

Vun Buvka stopped,
half-turned to Parks, and shot a couple bullets which sliced into the vehicle
blockade’s side. That was all the target Parks needed. He cocked the Colt’s
hammer, extended his arm slightly, and squeezed the trigger. He never heard the
bullet or felt the pistol jump back in his hand; he was too captivated with anticipation.
Sure enough, Vun Buvka spun around and crumpled to his knees, screaming in
pain. His hand flew to his right shoulder and Parks watched as blood began to
pour from the wound.

Hesitantly and
fearfully, Parks took a step toward the terrorist, his gun at the ready. He
wasn’t sure what to expect, or what to do.

Solomon and the
two others jogged up to Parks and looked to him for instructions.

“Drop your gun,
raise your hands, and lie flat on your stomach,” Parks ordered to vun Buvka.
“Don’t try anything or we’ll turn you into Swiss cheese.”

When the
terrorist didn’t move Parks really wondered what to do. “I said, drop your gun,
raise your hands, and lie flat on your stomach,” he repeated with more
authority in his voice.

Again, vun Buvka
didn’t respond, and Parks began debating his options.

“Maybe we should
try Farsi or Arabic,” Solomon suggested.

“Oh, well I know
he speaks English. But you can try it,” Parks allowed.

Solomon started
speaking Arabic fluently and Parks was amazed at his ability. Still, the
terrorist didn’t listen to the commands.

A sudden wave of
boldness mingled with hate compelled Parks to walk up to the wounded man.

“Maybe you don’t
hear so good or maybe you just don’t listen,” he snapped. “Well I’m letting you
know that if you want to play around I’ll blow your head off.”

Vun Buvka raised
his head and looked directly into Parks’ eyes. Parks was suddenly chilled to
the bone as he felt the terrorist’s eyes pierce through him. Needing to react
quickly, Parks snatched vun Buvka’s gun and threw it aside.

“Maybe now
you’ll be a little more reasonable,” Parks said, slamming his pistol’s barrel
against the terrorist’s head. “
Now get on your face you filthy, murdering, terrorist.
”

This time vun
Buvka consented and after a quick check, Parks found that he wasn’t carrying
any explosives on him.

A police patrol
car’s siren could be heard in the distance and Parks ordered Solomon, Marler,
and Norse to stay with the terrorist as he went inside.

As he entered
the restaurant he saw Lee, Corley, and Samuels checking pulses on the fallen
bodies of the terrorists.

“They all dead?”
Parks asked them.

Corley nodded
his head. “Yup, all but this one. None of the civilians in here were hurt; they
all ran out through the fire exits.”

Parks stared
down at the wounded and unconscious terrorist. Instantly he recognized the face
and matched it to the photo that Kano had showed him at Langley during the
intel briefing. Then he put two and two together.

“That terrorist
is the same one that skipped the Mexican border with his team,” Parks declared.
“He’s identical to the photo that Nancy Kano showed me.”

Lee shrugged. “I
figured that they were the same guys. I wonder where they did go after we lost
them in El Paso. Anyway we have them now.”

“It was a good
deal,” Parks conceded. “Come on, let’s go outside. I’ve got a nice reward lying
on the parking lot with a hole in his shoulder. Oh, Jim, you stay here and keep
an eye out until the police relieve you.”

“Sure thing. You
got Alka vun Buvka?” Corley wondered.

“We did,” Parks answered
as he moved to the door. “And alive too.”

The trio stepped
out of the restaurant and met up with the rest of the team. At the same time,
three police cars screeched up and five policemen emerged from them, their
hands on their guns.

“You mind
showing your badge?” Parks whispered to Solomon. “I’m not sure my ID would
convince him.”

Solomon didn’t
have time to answer. The lead police officer walked up and cleared his throat.
“What on earth is going on here? Who’s responsible for this?”

Solomon dug in
his pocket and flashed his badge in the policeman’s face. “As far as you’re
concerned, we were never here.”

The officer
swallowed hard at the sight of the CIA badge. “Do you have authorization for
this?”

“You’ll find
several others inside, all but one’s dead,” Parks told him, completely ignoring
the question. “Have a good night, sir.”

Two of the
policemen went inside to look around and moments later Corley came out.

At that moment,
a black, unmarked van drove up and four armed men got out. One of them walked
up to Parks and dug in his pocket. “U.S. Marshals, sir,” he explained, showing
his badge. “We’ve come to get the terrorists.”

“Carry on,”
Parks responded authoritatively.

The marshals
grabbed vun Buvka and shoved him in the van, then went inside the restaurant to
gather the others.

“Let’s get out
of here,” Parks commanded. When he looked at Norse, he saw an unexpected sight.
His head was bleeding, but it didn’t appear to be the result of a gunshot
wound. “Hey, Greg, what happened to your head?”

“The explosion
threw some shrapnel at me. I got hit I guess,” he replied. “It’s fine, don’t
worry.”

“All right then,
let’s head for home.” Parks reached in his pocket for his keys and told
everyone to load up. It had been a wild night and all he wanted to do was get
home, get in bed, and go to sleep.

Mission
accomplished,
he thought to himself as he pulled out onto the
highway.

The terror team had come close to accomplishing their mission, but not
quite.

*          *          *

Parks swung open
the National Security Advisor’s office door, stepped in, and stood at
attention. It was 0600, and it was a beautiful Thursday morning. Parks was
checking in with the NSA to go over the previous night’s operation, and receive
any orders that his boss might have. This time, Parks was actually looking
forward to reporting to Smith.

The National
Security Advisor’s head shot up and a humungous smile formed on his face when
he saw who was at the doorway. “Major Parks, you are...” he tried to find the right
words. “A Marine. Huh, that’s all I can say, son.”

Parks suppressed
a smile and stayed silent.

“Congratulations,
Major. I saw the whole thing. Good work.” The NSA rose from his seat, walked
over to Parks, and shook his hand. “Well, shall we have a seat, Keith? I’m sure
you’re very tired. When did your team get in last night?”

Parks followed
Smith to the couches as he answered. “We got in about 2130, sir. It wasn’t the
hour we got in that was tiring; it was the fact that we only got a couple hours
of sleep during the last few nights. But surprisingly everyone on the team is
feeling well this morning, sir.”

“Glad to hear
it. But before we get into anything else, tell me
everything
.”

Parks hadn’t
expected the utter excitement of his boss. The National Security Advisor was
about to explode with excitement – which was fine with Parks. After all,
excitement was better than anger.

Parks went into
the fine details of the entire operation, and every now and then the National
Security Advisor would whistle with amazement.

When Parks finished
his briefing the NSA began to speak. “We were getting worried there for a while
when the terrorists kept on dodging your team. Finally the President decided
that every man was going to stay in the Situation Room until the matter was
settled. We did it too.”

“Yes sir, that’s
nice. Do you have any orders for my team, sir?”

Smith downed a
breath mint and pondered the question. “Let me tell you this, when we get Alka
vun Buvka to squeal on some of the info he knows, we’ll be needing you. I can
assure you of that. We’re setting up a special interrogation team as we speak.
Believe me, he’ll talk, sooner or later. And it’s all thanks to you, Major.”

Parks wasn’t
sure it was
all
thanks to him but he kept his mouth shut and heard Smith
out.

“Take it easy
for the rest of the day,” the NSA continued. “Hang around the office, look at
intel reports, and give your team my personal thanks.”

“I will sir.”

The National
Security Advisor leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “We may have the key
to it all, Keith. The next few days will tell us a lot. But I feel like this is
just the beginning of a major nightmare. But now at least we’ll know where the
nightmare’s coming from – again thanks to you.”

“I don’t know
about that, sir. I could never have done it without my team. They deserve equal
or greater credit.”

“Yes, but
remember what you told me when we spoke after the last operation? You said that
you are the commander of the team and with whatever happens during work, you’re
responsible for it. Good or bad.”

Parks didn’t
hide his pleased look. “I guess I did say something like that, didn’t I sir?”

Smith ate
another breath mint and ran his hand through his short hair. “Is there anything
else I can do for you?”

“No sir, that’s
all.”

“All right, thanks for stopping by. And again, good work.”

*          *          *

Parks came out
of the National Security Advisor’s office and headed down the hall toward the double
doors.

“Hey Keith,” a
voice called from behind him. “Wait up.”

Parks pivoted
around hard and saw Cummins jog up to him. “How are you today, sir?” Parks
asked.

“Oh fine, fine.
I stayed at work late last night but hey, it was worth it. Great job man, way
to go.”

Cummins extended
his hand to Parks and the two shook hands. Parks fought off the urge to
thoroughly
Germ-X
his hands right then and there.

“I tell you
what, Keith, you may have missed your calling,” the D/CIA went on. “The CIA
needs some good counterterrorism agents like you. Any plans after retirement?”

Parks laughed.
“I’ve got ten years left, sir, and I haven’t even made plans for a year down
the road. But I appreciate your offer.”

“Yeah any time.
You sure did great last night though. Oh, it looks like Ghazi Siraj will live
too.”

“Ghazi Siraj?”

“Yeah, he’s the
guy who the PMI managed to capture a picture of. He was leading the terror team
until vun Buvka came in.”