American Terrorist (The Rayna Tan Action Thrillers Book 1) (29 page)

“Good morning, Mr. Brooks. I am the supervisor at the 911 call center and I just heard the exchange between you and one of my staff. That was unacceptable behavior on her part and I do apologize for her rudeness. I will help you. What kind of van is it and what is the license number?”

“1993 Ford box truck. It’s a fourteen footer. White. Kinda beat up. License Number 7ZZR917.”

“You mentioned you think your stepson stole your vehicle. What is his name?”

“Alex Fraser.”

“Do you have any pictures of him?”

“I already know what he looks like. Why do I need pics of his sorry ass?”

“Not for you,” said the operator calmly. “For me.”

“There’s millions of pictures of him on Fartbook. Listen, you better find him because he’s been into all kinds of crazy shit. He’s been hanging with homos and took off with one. He’s probably banging him now.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brooks. I will see what I can do.”

“Oh, one more thing. If he’s not with the homo, maybe he’s with his girlfriend. He’s kinda two way, if you know what I mean.”

“I think so. What is his girlfriend’s name?”

“The little skank’s name is Fanny Hill.”

“Any special features about the van?”

“What the hell you talking about? I already told you. A van’s a van.”

“I mean is there a name on the side or big dents or cracked windows that make it stand out?”

“Nothing. You better get to work on it right away. If you don’t get it back, I’m gonna sue for... for defamation of character.”

“Oh, please don’t do that,” said Patty. “We’ll bring over the van as soon as we can. And, if your son contacts you, can you please have him call me at 445.667.9820.”

“As long as I don’t got to pay for no long distance call.”
 

CLICK.

“What the hell is Fartbook?” asked Julio.

“Something an old geezer like you wouldn’t know,” said Patty as she began typing. “It’s a social media platform for degenerates, displaced people, those that think Facebook is too corporate.” She stopped typing. “Check this out.” It was Alex’s Fartbook page. Lots of angry posts and pictures of brutalized naked girls.
 

The last post was very simple. No pictures but simply, “Goodbye, assholes. You are gonna get yours.”
 

“Put an APB out on the truck with the license number. Let’s tap into gas stations’ surveillance cameras, credit cards. Rayna, go find out about Freddy’s girlfriend. See if she’s with him. If not, stay with her and see if he calls.”

Chapter 40
 

“That asshole is not my boyfriend. He shot me in the tit!” yelled Fanny as Rayna stood at the front door of her home in the San Francisco suburb. “It’s a good thing I got a boob job. Otherwise, I’d be dead. And he killed Sal.”

A fifteen-year-old with breast implants? Crazy? And the damned things prevented her from being killed? Even crazier.
“Do you know where Alex is?” asked Rayna.

“I hope he’s in Hell. And if he’s not there, if I see him again, I’m gonna shoot him in the nuts.” Fanny tried to slam the door but Rayna stuck her foot in, blocking it from closing.

“You love him still, don’t you?”

“Are you crazy? Didn’t I tell you, he shot me in the boob?”

“I know but I saw your Fartbook page. There are pictures of the two of you all over it.”

Fanny began to quiver, then she began sobbing. “I know he didn’t mean to hurt me. It was Freddy’s idea. Alex would never do that to me.”

“Who’s Freddy?”

“I don’t know his last name. He worked at the Speedi-Mart, too. Why do you want to get ahold of Alex?”

“Because he’s planning to kill himself and a lot more people, too. And I want to stop him before he does.”

“He’s not like that. Alex would never hurt anybody.”

Rayna took out an iPad and showed her bits of Alex’s Fartbook page. “I’m sorry, Fanny. He is.”

Fanny began wailing. “He’s not answering my calls, my texts... nothing. I don’t know how to get ahold of him.”

“I’ll stay here with you. Maybe he’ll call and I can talk to him then.”

Fanny sniffled. “Okay.”

***

The old Cirrus plane landed on the grassy field. A bit bumpy, but what the hell? When the door popped open, a man with a Stetson took it off and put it back on after greeting the couple.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am and you, too, sir,” said the country gentleman. “Kenny told me you wanted a vehicle, too?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Fatima.

“Well, you got a choice. You can either have my pick-up or my wife’s little Japanese honey. Personally, I’d take my truck. Those Japanese vehicles? Hate those things. Never forgave them for Pearl Harbor, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” nodded Ahmed. He quickly whipped a pistol out of his pocket and fired two shots, one into the middle of Hartley’s forehead, the other through the pilot’s.

The deadly pair quickly grabbed their luggage from the plane and changed. In ten minutes, they were no longer a power business couple but a couple of rabid baseball fans. Ahmed donned a Felix Hernandez jersey with a huge number 34, and Fatima had on a Ken Griffey Jr. Number 24. Both wore hats with their hair all tucked in and, with the oversized sunglasses, determining their sexes became a challenge.

They opened the other suitcase and pulled out a cell phone, leaving the explosives intact.

“Let’s play ball,” said Fatima as they climbed into the little Japanese honey.

***

A loud whirring sound shook the house, followed by a knock on the front door.

“You expecting anybody?” asked Fanny.

“How could I? Nobody knows I’m here,” said Rayna.

“Well, there’s a huge black guy here,” said Fanny, peeking into the eyehole. “And a helicopter on our front lawn.”

“Really?” Rayna moved to the door, looked, then snorted. She opened the door and exclaimed, “What the hell are you doing here, Chuck?”

The big man picked her up, whirled her around, and then put her down gently. “Rumor has it you’re after some badasses and could do with some help.”

“Either that or we can stare at each other while we twiddle our thumbs. I’m waiting for a call.”

Chuck shook his head. “I’ll wait in the chopper.”

***

There were no hits anywhere for Scotty’s van on the roads and highways that led to the baseball stadiums in California. A bunch matched the truck’s description but when the police followed up, did not have the right license number.

Julio was definitely worried. It was 10:00 am and still no answer as to what the target was.

And the natives were getting restless. He’d already had every major league baseball team in California sweep their stadiums several times. No one had found anything and the stadium staff were getting testy. July 4th was one of the biggest moneymakers of the season.

Entertainment had been booked, the high-end boxes were sold out, every seat in every stadium was sold, not to mention that this year had been one of the tightest pennant races in history with the three California teams in the National League West all within half a game of each other. Baseball fever was at a high.

Julio and Barry called the operations managers of the stadiums, general managers of the teams and finally, the commissioner of baseball, pleading with them to cancel the games.

The answer in each case: Are you kidding?

***

At precisely 10 a.m., Casey turned on his burner cell phone to discover a text message.
Take Exit 163 and go to Safeco.

Casey smiled and announced, “Target is Safeco. Batter up!”

Cheers filled the van before Alex had a bittersweet thought.
It’s over in three hours.
He fought the urge but there was one call he just had to make. “I need to take a crap. Real bad.”

“We’re just a few miles away. Can’t it wait?” asked Casey.

“Not if you don’t want my shit all over the cab.”

“Aah, I’ll get gas,” grumbled Casey as he took the next exit. “Be quick.”

While Casey filled the tank and Freddy slept, Alex hit the washroom. A hundred and twenty dollars of regular gas later, Casey paid the clerk with cash and went to use the john himself. As he approached the door, he gasped in horror as he heard Alex talking.

“Yeah, Fanny. You bitch broad. So I guess you’re not going to be getting any for a while. Not with that big bullet hole decorating your plastic tits.”

“Asshole,” shrieked Fanny. “I’m gonna get you good.”

“You gotta find me first,” taunted Alex. “And you ain’t never gonna do that because I’m hopping into the sack with seventy-two virgins. That is after I blow up Safeco Field in Seattle.”

Casey went ballistic as he dashed into the washroom. “What the hell are you doing?” He snatched the cell and pulled it back behind his head. Just before he smashed it against the urinal, the boys heard Fanny yell something but they couldn’t make out the words.

It was a good thing, too. Even after all he had done to her, Fanny still cared for Alex and had shouted, “Get away, Alex. Someone’s coming after you. I love you.”

The line went dead.
 

Casey and Alex ran to the truck and hopped in.
 

“You screwed up,” snapped Casey.

“I was just saying hi to an old girlfriend,” apologized Alex.

“She wasn’t no girlfriend,” sneered Freddy. “Just some tramp who let you feel her up if you gave her a joint and a drink.”

“Until I started working for Sal. I’m glad I killed the bastard.”

Idiots.
Casey punched number after number into his cell phones, the last half dozen numbers he had for Fatima or Ahmed. None of them connected.
I can’t let them see me sweat.
“Hey, no worries. Just no more outside communication. We got work to do.”

“I was only on for a few seconds. Nobody will ever know,” said Alex as Casey exited the gas station.

***

Rayna and Chuck were already in the air. There was no time to deal with Fanny’s outburst, not that it mattered. It was now a race against time.

“Julio, the target is Safeco. Get everybody out of the stadium. Send SWAT. Send the bomb squad,” yelled Rayna.

***

Julio couldn’t convince anyone of the imminent danger. In this biz, everyone talked to everybody. The Safeco and Mariners’ brass had been in touch with all the top baseball people from California. They told them of the hoops Julio had made them jump through and said Julio was a time-wasting nutcase who probably was trying to sabotage Major League Baseball with a fabricated threat.

***

Casey freaked. He couldn’t get in touch with Fatima or Ahmed and the truck was crawling on the highway. That was because fans started showing up early, wanting to have a tailgate party before the game. That created a huge traffic backlog on the I5 freeway, even a dozen miles away.

***

At Safeco Field, just outside of downtown Seattle, there were more than fifty thousand fans waiting to see the game. Thousands lined up to get into the park but that was for the plebeians, the Joe Blow without drug money or terrorist funding.
 

Not Fatima and Ahmed. For this pair of baseball aficionados who had purchased their own private suite, they got whisked to the front, bypassing not only the crowds but also the security guards who frisked the regular fans getting into the game. That was good because they might not have liked what they saw in their knapsacks.

***

The traffic delays gave Rayna and Chuck a chance. Their chopper’s normal maximum speed was two hundred miles an hour. However, it was a clear day and the pilot was willing to push it. Even still, traveling the eight hundred miles between San Francisco and Seattle would take more than three hours.

***

Fatima and Ahmed went directly to their suite. When they got there, a concerned concierge was standing by the entrance.

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Garcia. We just received notice the bus for the Rotary Club you invited for today’s game broke down and the members will be unable to attend.”

“Oh. Will we be able to get some kind of refund?” asked Fatima.

“No, I’m sorry.” She handed Fatima her card. “Please call me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

After the concierge left, Ahmed locked the door. There never was a Rotary Club invited. Fatima knew it would look suspicious if there were only two in the suite so she’d booked the suite to include the fictitious group.

Three ice chests sat beside the food table. Ahmed opened one. It was full of ice. He reached to the bottom and fished out a bottle of sparkling water. He then opened the second chest and again reached toward the bottom and retrieved a can of soda.

He smiled at Fatima as he opened the third box, reaching in. This time, when he pulled his hand out of the ice, he was holding a grenade wrapped in a Ziploc bag.

There were twenty of them.

***

Call this number 206.206.1234
was the latest text to be received.

Casey punched in the number.

“Hello, Casey,” answered Ahmed.

“Hi, Ahmed. I didn’t recognize the number.”

“No, it’s the direct landline into our private box. Sorry I couldn’t talk more earlier, but I needed to make sure I was on a secure line. How far out are you?”

“I’m a block away, but it’s taking forever to get through. The traffic is a killer.”

“Don’t go to the main parking lot. Cut to the front and go to the service entrance.”

“What if they don’t let me in?” Casey asked.

“I’m not expecting them to.”

There was a pause as Casey digested this. Then the light went on. If they weren’t allowed in through the service entrance—and Ahmed did not expect the guards to let them through—they were to detonate at the entrance.

“I understand.”

“Thank you, Casey. Your reward will be instantaneous.”

CLICK.

Casey looked at Alex and Freddy. “Are you ready?”

The two boys nodded.

“We will all be immortalized,” Casey said grandly.

Casey cut out of the line-up to the parking lot and looked for the street to the service entrance. All the refreshments, souvenirs and memorabilia were already in the stadium so this service road was pretty quiet. He heard a growing din and looked in the air—there was a chopper directly above him. Standing at the small door was a huge black guy shouldering an RPG and a Chinese woman with a gun pointed right at them.