Exiled Omnibus (38 page)

***

Once the announcement was made that Jones had walked off the set, Gallo knew that it was over. There would be no treaty. The United States would not honor the land that rightfully belonged to Mexico.

Just as the American news anchors were beginning their analysis of the debate, Gallo turned it off. The room was silent. He turned to his advisors, all waiting for the order to be given. But Gallo said nothing. He simply walked over to the ancient map he kept in his office.

It was old. Almost two centuries old. The paper the map was printed on was fragile. The print was worn, and the border lines were barely visible. Gallo reached up and grabbed the map’s frame, taking it down from the wall. He turned around, looking down at the map.

“You know that during the Mexican-American war in the middle of the 1800s, a famous Mexican general by the name of Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was living in Cuba, exiled from the very nation he loved. During the war, he convinced the American president to let him negotiate a peace with the Mexican government that would end the war on favorable terms for the Americans. But once General Santa Anna was in his own country, he rallied his men and engaged in a full attack against the Americans. Despite the move, we still lost the war.”

Colonel Herrera stepped forward, separating himself from Gallo’s other advisors. “General, all of our men and resources are in place. What is your order?”

Gallo could see his reflection in the clean glass surface the map was encased in. Gallo lifted the frame high above his head and smashed it on the floor. The glass shattered, exposing the map. Gallo reached down and picked up the old parchment and clutched it in a fist.

“This is our land! It belongs to us! Bring us back our glory!”

***

The Rocky Mountain range in Cheyenne, Colorado, remained quiet and majestic on the surface, but deep within its belly was a hurricane of coordinated countermeasures.

Lieutenant Colonel Mink was at the helm, guiding the resources to their destinations to engage the Mexican threat. The tiny blips and beeps on each of the screens in the command room represented the lives of tens of thousands of American soldiers.

The noise level of the room never reached above more than a dull roar. Lieutenant Colonel Mink maintained order in the face of chaos. But he knew what was happening on the ground. Bullets pierced flesh. Explosions rocked the earth. The screams of men couldn’t be heard from their command post, but Mink knew they were there.

The Mexican strike was quick. Gallo’s forces were hoping to catch them off guard, but they were ready. The only advantage the Mexican army had was the ground they had managed to gain in Arizona and New Mexico from their previous push.

“Sir,” one of the officers said, grabbing Mink’s attention. “We have a lot of movement in the Pacific.”

“What do we have?” Mink asked, looking at his officer’s screen.

“Multiple enemy warships have entered the area. I count twelve heading north.”

“Alert Captain Ford. What’s the status of the
USS Carl Vinson
?”

“They’re still caught up in the Alaskan fisheries, sir. The president didn’t pull it in time.”

***

The cheers in the flight hangar of the
USS Ronald Reagan
were deafening. There wasn’t a single sailor sitting down. Everyone knew what it meant. The water shortages would end, the states exiled would be reinstated, and the economy would recover. That debate was the start of a chain reaction that would ripple through the rest of the country like an antidote to a poison.

But the cheers were quelled by the carrier’s sirens. Every sailor in the hangar scrambled to her or his station in an organized chaos that could only occur through the discipline of control and habit.

Captain Howard stormed up to the flight deck, and the boom of F-18s echoed through the air. Once on the flight deck, Howard could see the approaching Mexican fleet in the distance. Once on the command deck, Howard had a full view of the battle around him.

Explosions rocked the evening sky as jets were pinned against one another in dogfights. Puffs of smoke burst from the cannons of the warships. The horizon resembled a deadlier version of fireworks on the Fourth of July.

“Master Chief, what’s our status?” Howard asked.

“Sixty bogeys in our airspace, sir. Four of the Mexican warships are attempting to flank us from the west.”

“Alert Captain Ford.”

“Yes, sir.”

The ignition of the jet engines rotating through their preflight had overtaken the carrier’s wailing sirens. Each boom from the flight deck signaling another takeoff was single beat of a war drum. And Howard could feel every vibration of war ripple through his chest.

“Missiles incoming, Captain. Deploying countermeasures,” Pint said.

The sophisticated defense system of the carrier had the ability to deflect a barrage of direct attacks. The system calculated velocity, trajectory, and Coriolis effect from the earth’s curvature, all within seconds. The results were sixteen RIM-7 Sea Sparrow missiles launched from the
USS Ronald Reagan
, intercepting the attacking Mexican missiles.

Each missile collided with its target seamlessly and decorated the sky with the ramifications of war. High above the explosions, dogfights between the Mexican and American fighters rocked the atmosphere. The swarm of jets resembled hornets, angered by the violent disturbance of their home.

“Countermeasures effective,” Pint said.

The massive show of force from the Mexican military was Gallo throwing everything he had at them, and Howard knew it. Gallo thought he could overwhelm them. He might have stood a chance if Ford hadn’t shown up, but not now. The Mexican general had just sentenced his men to a death sentence.

“Sir, we have enemy submarines on radar!” Pint yelled.

“Order the
USS Albuquerque
to engage. Change course to east.”

“Yes, sir.”

Howard knew that exposing the
USS Albuquerque
so early in the battle might have posed a strategic threat, but Gallo had been the first to show his cards. And Howard couldn’t afford to lose the
USS Ronald Reagan
.

“
USS Albuquerque
, engage enemy submarine, heading Alpha, Foxtrot, Niner, Seven,” Pint ordered.

The radar detecting the enemy sub continued to track its location. Any torpedoes fired would trigger the defense systems, but the
USS Albuquerque
was much better equipped to handle such an offensive.

“Enemy sub twenty five hundred yards due south, Captain,” Pint said.

The
USS Albuquerque
inched closer to the enemy sub. The two shapes on the display screen were on a collision course, with the
USS Albuquerque
having the edge. There wasn’t a faster attack sub in the Pacific Fleet.

The shift of the massive aircraft carrier began its own change of heading. The
USS Ronald Reagan
was big, but Howard wasn’t going to let it be a sitting duck.

“Torpedoes launched!” Pint said.

Before Howard could respond, the
USS Albuquerque
did it for him. Two foreign objects were on trajectory right for the carrier. The
USS Albuquerque
’s own torpedoes sped along the radar to intercept. The entire bridge drew in a breath as the two elongated dots grew closer until they disappeared on radar, which failed to exemplify the explosion of contact underneath the ocean’s surface less than fifty yards from the carrier’s hull.

“We have good effect,” Pint said, wiping the sweat off his forehead as the enemy sub faded from radar.

***

Terry ordered everyone out of the basement and gathered them in the living room. Emily and Gabby huddled behind Brooke and Amy, while Terry and John sat on Brooke’s left and Eric on Amy’s right. The barrel of Terry’s pistol aimed right at them.

“Where’s your husband?” Terry asked, pointing the gun at Amy.

“I-I don’t know. He’s on business.”

“Business where?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“My pocket.”

“Reach for it. Slowly.”

Each of Terry’s hands gripped pistols, one his own and the other the revolver Brooke had kicked to him when John was held hostage. “Call him. Tell him to come home. That his daughter is sick.”

“P-please, you don’t have t-to d-do this. If you want money, we can p-pay you,” Amy replied.

“I’m already getting paid,” Terry answered.

Tears were flowing from Amy’s face. She wiped her nose and scrolled through her phone, looking for Daniel’s number. Eric kept close. His face was stone. The playful face Brooke had grown accustomed to was gone.

“Drop the thousand-yard stare,” Terry said.

“I’m surprised you can count that high,” Eric answered.

“Funny,” Terry replied. “Military, right? Tall, clean shaven, cocky… Air Force?”

Eric remained silent.

“Figures. How’s the shoulder?” Terry motioned with the barrel of his pistol, smiling and admiring his handiwork. Terry stepped forward until he was hovering right above Eric. He pressed the end of the barrel on the wound. Eric started shaking but didn’t break eye contact.

“You know that friend of yours acted tough in the beginning, too, but in the end he cracked like a little bitch,” Terry said.

Eric sprang from his seat, but Terry brought the side of his pistol across Eric’s face quickly, knocking him down. Eric groaned, rocking back and forth on his back on the couch. Terry brought the pistol down on Eric again, this time striking the other side of his face. The crack of metal against bone made each of them jump. Terry brought his arm up again for another blow.

“Stop!” Brooke said.

Before Brooke could take another step forward, the barrel of Terry’s pistol was aimed at her, with his finger on the trigger.

“Now’s not the time to get fresh, sweetheart,” Terry said.

Brooke slowly lowered herself back to the floor. Eric, still disoriented, pushed himself up on his elbow. Blood from his wounds dripped against the carpet and seat cushions. Bits of jagged flesh dangled from his cheek. The cut was at least two inches long.

Terry turned the pistol back on Amy, who jumped at the sudden movement. “Dial. Now.”

Amy pressed the phone to her ear like a kid trying to cover her ears to protect herself from the situation around her. Everyone else was quiet. Brooke could hear the faint ringing from the phone. After three rings, a muffled voice picked up.

“Daniel?” Amy asked, her voice shaking. “Daniel, you need to come home... Gabby’s sick and the doctors don’t know what’s wrong… No, they won’t let me see her. Daniel, it’s bad. Please, com— Okay. We’re at Charlotte General.” Amy set the phone down, her hand still trembling. “He’s on his way.”

“Good. Now, this is what’s going to happen next. You and your daughter are going to take a little trip with me to the hospital, where we’re going to wait for him,” Terry said.

“Please! I don’t even know what this is about! What do you want?” Amy pleaded.

“Your husband pissed off the wrong people,” Terry answered.

Bounty hunter
. Brooke should have known. Guns for hire had become a booming business over the past few years. Corporations wanting to protect resources and assets would hire certain unfavorable individuals to ensure their continued survival. The targets could be anyone: workers, politicians… illegals. But what haunted Brooke was worrying whether she had brought this on Daniel. Did he try and ask for favors to allow Brooke and her children to stay here permanently? Did he have to break the law to make it happen?

“What are you going to do to him?” Brooke asked.

“You need to be worrying about yourself, sweetheart,” Terry answered. “Now, everyone, up!”

John helped Eric limp to the basement. Brooke kept Emily in her arms, and Gabby walked sheepishly behind Amy. All the while, Terry kept both pistols aimed at their heads in case anyone decided to get brave.

Once downstairs, Terry instructed Amy to zip-tie their hands behind their backs, even Emily’s, then did the same to their feet. While Amy was busying tying them up, Brooke was scanning the shelves in the basement, looking for anything she could use to free herself once Terry was gone. All she could see were blankets, old storage bins, and two medium-sized cardboard boxes labeled “mason jars.”

Terry checked the restraints to make sure they were secure. “All right, so here’s the deal. If anyone isn’t here when I get back, I kill these two,” pointing at Gabby and Amy, who were quivering and clinging to each other. “So if you try and escape, you’ll have their blood on your hands.” Terry locked them inside, casting Brooke, Eric, and John into total darkness.

“John, are you okay?” Brooke asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” John answered.

“Eric?” Brooke asked.

Brooke heard a moan, then a soft, “yes.” The zip ties around her wrists and ankles were tight. She could feel the blood struggling to circulate and the swelling it caused. She had no idea how far away the hospital was, but she knew that it had to be at least a five-hour flight from Canada to Charlotte. Brooke was just glad Amy had been smart enough not to tell the bounty hunter where Daniel was. It at least bought them some time.

“John, can you scoot over to where my back is?” Brooke asked.

“I’ll try.”

“Just keep following my voice.”

Brooke’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness. She could see the shapes of shelves and boxes forming. She felt John’s hand grab her arm.

“Perfect, now, keep your wrists up,” Brooke said. She wiggled her fingers until she could feel the zip tie around John’s wrist. She ran her fingertips over the edge until she found the tiny covering that concealed the zip tie’s locking bar. She picked at it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Mom, what are you doing?” John asked.

“I’m trying,” Brooke said, continuing to pick at the locking bar, “to get us,” she could hear the tick of her fingernail getting close, “out of here.”

The muscles in Brooke’s back tightened, and she could feel her hands going numb. She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d have the feeling in her fingertips to do this. Her frustration grew with each small “click” and “tick” she heard from her laborious efforts.

Finally, after a few more minutes of trying, she heard the distinct slide of the zip tie loosening, giving John enough room to wiggle his hands free.

“I’m out!” John said.

“That’s great! Now, get your feet free and then undo my hands,” Brooke said.

Brooke coached John through it. It took him a little longer than it had taken Brooke, even with both of his hands free, but eventually John managed to undo the zip ties on his feet. Once he was done, he untied Brooke, who then quickly freed Emily and Eric.

With John helping Eric, Brooke rushed up the staircase, but when her hand landed on the doorknob, it was locked. The door buckled a bit when she shoulder-checked it. She hit it again, repeatedly trying to break the door down, but she just didn’t have enough weight behind her.

“John! Come up here,” Brooke shouted. Her son joined her at the top of the staircase. “We hit it on three. One, two, three!” Brooke and John sent their collective weight into the door. A noticeable crack formed along the edges. “Again. One, two, three!” They swung their shoulders into the door and tumbled into the hallway outside.

Brooke immediately rushed to the front of the house and checked the driveway. Amy’s car was gone. Brooke walked in circles, trying to determine her next move. Whoever had hired the hit on Daniel would most likely have political pull that stretched into the authorities, so the police were out.

“John!” Brooke said.

He came into the living room, propping Eric up under his shoulder with Emily in tow. Eric collapsed onto the couch, holding his face and exhausted from the effort of climbing the stairs.

“Let me see your phone,” Brooke said.

John tossed her his mobile, and she connected to the Internet. Charlotte General was twelve miles north. With Amy’s car gone, the only other mode of transportation was the cruiser parked in the garage, which still wasn’t presentable for the road.

“Kevin,” Brooke whispered. “John, which house did you and Kevin go too?”

“Next door.”

Brooke headed for the front door, but before she reached the handle, John pulled her back.

“Mom, wait.”

“What?”

“Their parents aren’t home. It’s a party. Don’t be mad when you go over there, okay?”

“John, teenage drinking is the least of my worries right now.”

Brooke dashed across the lawn. The faint thump of bass grew louder the closer she moved to the neighbor’s house. Down the street, she could see the collection of cars that the kids tried hiding to avoid suspicion. The front door was open, and Brooke walked right inside.

The music was so loud that Brooke could feel her body vibrate. The house was wall-to-wall high school kids. Most of the hands she saw were holding either red cups or someone of the opposite sex. Because of the music, no one had heard her entrance, and it took a few minutes before people realized there was an adult in the house. It wasn’t long afterward that kids started bolting for the exit, assuming that it was the parent of whoever lived here.

Brooke scanned the faces of the kids inside, trying to locate her nephew. Finally, she found Kevin in the back talking to a girl, one of the red cups in his hand. It was the girl he was talking to that saw Brooke first. Kevin chucked the drink in his hand as Brooke walked up to him.

“Please, Aunt Brooke, don’t tell my mom.”

“I need your phone, Kevin.”

“What?”

“Quickly!”

Kevin fumbled in his jeans pocket, then handed Brooke his cell. She scrolled through the phone vigorously. She could see Kevin try to sneak off out of the corner of her eye, but she snatched him up as she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Aunt Brooke, please don’t call my mom. She’s going to kill me.”

“Hush!”

The phone rang four times before Daniel finally picked up.

“Kevin, what’s wrong? Did you guys hear something from the doctors?” Daniel asked, his voice frantic.

“Daniel, it’s Brooke. The call Amy made was a setup. Some bounty hunter has them and is using both her and Gabby as bait.”

While Daniel remained silent on the phone, she watched Kevin’s guilt-ridden face morph into one of concern. “Aunt Brooke, what’s going on?”

“What about Kevin? Is he all right? Where are they?” Daniel asked.

“He’s fine. He’s with me. They’re on their way to Charlotte General now. I didn’t think the police could help in this situation, but I was hoping you knew of someone that might,” Brooke answered.

“Yes, I do. I’m on my way to the airport now. Are they in Amy’s car?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen, you guys need to leave the house. It’s not safe there anymore. I have some cash stored in my nightstand upstairs. It’s upwards of one thousand dollars. Take it and get a hotel room. Stay there until you here from me. I’ll call Kevin’s phone.”