Trident's First Gleaming: A Special Operations Group Thriller (22 page)

_______

H
annah sat in the driver’s seat and was starting the ignition when Chris’s cell phone rang.

“It’s me,” Young said.

“What’s up?” Chris asked.

“Little Kale is meeting with members of a terrorist cell at a mall—Tysons One.”

Chris swiveled the phone away from his face. “Hannah, how far away is Tysons One from here?”

Hannah put the vehicle into drive. “About fifteen minutes.”

“What time is Little Kale’s meeting?” Chris asked into the phone.

“I don’t know. We’re still trying to decipher the messages. I’ll call you back.”

Hannah drove onto Arlington Boulevard and headed west before exiting to Virginia State Route 7 and following it to the Tysons Corner Center turnoff. The tangle of roads, cars, and concrete made for an unsightly jungle. Enormous concrete pillars, holding up a metrorail, ran through the middle of it, adding to the ugliness. “Tysons Corner Center is the real name of the mall,” Hannah said. “It was built before the Tysons Galleria across the street, so people call the original Tysons One and the newer Galleria, Tysons Two.” She pulled into the parking lot to her left and parked in the first available spot.

“At least there’s parking,” Chris said.

They scanned the area before placing their rifles in the backseat under a blanket. They wouldn’t be able to walk around incognito carrying them. Chris felt the outline of his pistol on his right hip, hidden under his shirt. He visualized lifting his shirt and grasping the pistol handle. They stepped out of the SUV and entered the mall through Nordstrom.

Hannah led Chris to the northwest corner of the department store and into the main part of the mall. The vanilla-colored tile floors and spacious three stories illuminated by white light and reflections of gold gave the interior a rich appearance. A significant number of women wore
hijabs
—head scarves. For a moment, the presence of so many Muslims made him nervous, but he realized it was normal for the area. He had no beef with Muslims. Nikkia had been a Muslim, and she’d been a better Christian than him.

“We can blend in with the other customers at the food court and have a decent view of the mall,” she said. “If I were planning a meeting in the mall, I’d have it in the food court.”

Chris nodded in agreement, and he followed her to the food court, where most of the restaurants had only just opened. It was still fairly quiet.

“We better get something to eat,” he said.

“Right now?” she asked.

“I don’t actually want to eat, but it’ll help our cover.”

“Five Guys is pretty popular,” she said with a shrug.

They ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and sodas and then found an open table with a good view. Chris’s phone vibrated as he sat down. “Hello?”

“Me, again,” Young said.

“Yes.”

“The meeting is at the food court.”

His guts dropped inside him, and he glanced around.

“Little Kale’s contact will be wearing a red shirt for identification,” Young added.

“Do you have a time for the meeting?” Chris whispered. “Is this a man or woman? Caucasian or Arab?”

“That’s all I got. I’ll call you if we find out more.” Young hung up.

Chris relayed the information to Hannah quietly, forcing himself to keep a smile on his face so it looked like was just talking with a friend, but she couldn’t hide the look in her eyes. It was exactly how Chris felt.

He scanned the food court for their target. A man with dark skin, a beard, and a red shirt sat alone eating kabobs. “I wish I knew what Little Kale looked like.” Chris said.

“You don’t know what he looks like?”

“He wore a hood when he kidnapped me.”

A large man approached the area near the man in the red shirt. He looked about Little Kale’s size, but he passed Red Shirt’s table without handing off anything or speaking to him. Then the large man left the food court.

He searched the area again. A Caucasian woman in a ruby-red blouse stood alone for a few minutes and looked around as if she were waiting for someone. Then she ordered a soda and sat down. As she sipped on her drink, no one joined her.

Two muscular, tattooed Caucasian men loitered at the edge of the food court but didn’t buy any food. Although they looked like ex-cons, neither of them wore a red shirt, and no one met with them.

Over at the McDonald’s counter, Chris noticed a man wearing a burgundy Washington Redskins jersey placing his order.
Is the contact wearing red-red or burgundy-red?
The man paid in cash and then stood off to the side and waited for his food. He didn’t seem to be one of their targets, but a professional would be able to blend in easily, too. His Redskins jersey stuck out in Chris’s mind. On the phone, Young had mentioned
Washington
and
Dallas.

Chris used his cell phone to access the NFL website. He clicked on the Washington Redskins and examined their game schedule. He jerked his head up to Hannah’s face. “Today, the Washington Redskins are playing the Dallas Cowboys at 4:25 p.m.”

Her eyes widened, and she stopped sipping from her straw.

“Where’s the Redskins’ stadium?” Chris asked.

“FedExField. In Maryland.”

“How many people does that stadium hold?”

“Eighty-five thousand,” she whispered, her face paling. “But … but how are they going to sneak enough explosives into the stadium?”

“I don’t know. The meeting here probably has something to do with it.” Chris dialed Young and recapped their theory then resumed watching the man in the jersey…

“Could that be Little Kale?” Hannah asked, her voice barely audible. “In front of Macy’s, coming this way.”

A big guy and three goons swaggered through the mall like they owned it. They certainly had the attitude for Little Kale and his ghosts. The eldest ghost touched his side like he wasn’t used to carrying his pistol concealed.
Or itching to pull the trigger.

Chris glanced back at Redskins, who had received his meal and was taking it to the opposite end of the dining area. But Little Kale didn’t head in his direction. Instead, one of the two tattooed Caucasians made direct eye contact with the woman in the ruby shirt.

“If we find Little Kale, should we take him down here?” Hannah asked.

“We could. Or we could catch him in the parking lot and roll him up there—limit the collateral damage.”

The big Arab sat with Ruby while his thugs stood ten meters away. Eldest Ghost touched his side again. The Arab grunted between words with the woman. Then he grunted again.

“That grunt,” Chris said. “I’ve met a lot people, but I’ve never heard a grunt like that.”

“Are you sure?”

“It has to be Little Kale.”

A group of customers got up from one of the tables next to Little Kale and Ruby. Little Kale’s thugs noticed and moved in to take the table. On the way, Eldest Ghost bumped into a young Arab woman who wore designer jeans and a fashionable scarf and robe. “That was rude,” she said in Arabic.

Eldest Ghost stopped in his tracks and turned to her. “What?”

“You just bumped into me and didn’t say anything. That’s rude.”

“You should watch where you are walking.”

“You bumped into me,” she said in English.

Some heads turned to watch their argument.

“Look at how you are dressed,” he continued in Arabic. “Your wrists, ankles, and hair are showing, and that fabric is too thin. It shows too much of your body shape. Its style is too Western. That is not hijab!”

His two comrades tried to discourage him from arguing, but they were younger than him, and he wouldn’t listen.

She put her hands on her hips. “I love Allah, and I’ll show it how I please. In the Koran, there’s no dress requirement for full body cover like you say. You should study the Koran, you old fool!”

He cocked his hand back to strike her, but an Arab male in jeans and a tight black T-shirt, stepped in. He pushed Eldest Ghost, knocking him on his ass. “You don’t touch her!” he shouted in English.

A pair of women cheered for the guy in jeans.
If they really understood what situation they were in, they’d be heading for the nearest exit.
When Eldest Ghost stood and reached down to his hip, Chris only had a split second to react: defend the couple or maintain his cover. Chris drew his pistol, so did Eldest Ghost, and the cheering women screamed.

Chris’s line of fire to him was clear, and the closest bystanders were a couple sitting at a nearby table. Chris crouched and shuffle-stepped to the side to create more separation between his line of fire and the couple at the table behind. Eldest Ghost spotted Chris and shifted his aim from the boyfriend to Chris’s direction, but Chris brought his pistol to bear on Eldest Ghost before he brought his weapon to bear on him. Chris’s trigger finger started to squeeze before the tango appeared in Chris’s sights, and when Eldest Ghost appeared in his sights, he squeezed the rest of the way.
Bang!
The shot cracked Eldest Ghost’s arm, pieces of bone flying like a frag grenade into his body.
Bang!
The second 9 mm slug seemed to catch Eldest Ghost directly in the lung. He went down, and he didn’t stand again.

The food court broke into a full-scale panic. People froze, screamed, dove under tables, and ran for exits.

One of Eldest Ghost’s comrades drew his pistol, but before he could aim at Chris, Hannah gunned him down. The remaining tango was a cool customer—he backed away from the table with his hands in the air. Meanwhile, Little Kale and Ruby stood up and walked away. The cool tango gained momentum, trying to catch up with Little Kale. The two tattoos left their position and sped toward Ruby.

Chris and Hannah followed. Little Kale glanced back at them and then picked up speed. Chris and Hannah did, too.

Little Kale must’ve been on to them because he and his entourage busted through the middle of the mall, knocking people out of the way. The tangos reached the opposite end of the mall before ducking out of sight in the Bloomingdale’s department store.

Chris rushed into the department store. Passing a display of overpriced handbags, he continued past racks of fine clothing and ventured deeper into the store, but he saw no sign of the terrorists. Then he spotted Ruby and her two tattooed men nearing the exit. He crouched, using the racks of clothes for concealment, and stalked her. Chris glanced back to check on Hannah, but she wasn’t there.

_______

H
annah spotted Little Kale’s upper body near the escalator on the second floor of Bloomingdale’s. Instinctively, she dropped low and stepped onto the escalator. She figured that, at any moment, Chris would turn around and spot her, but he continued farther into the department store, focused on something ahead.

Turn around, damn it. Little Kale is getting away.

She wanted to call to him, but that would alert Little Kale. The escalator maintained its ascent, and Chris maintained his forward course until he was no longer in view.

She stepped off on the second floor, concealed her pistol in her hip holster under her blouse and followed Little Kale through several departments of Bloomingdale’s. Little Kale exited Bloomingdale’s, and she followed him in the direction of Macy’s.

He’s probably going back to his vehicle.

His underling slowly turned around, and Hannah hid in a shop to her left. An eager Verizon salesman greeted her. Although locking herself into a long, expensive contract wasn’t a high priority for her at the moment, speaking to the salesman helped her blend with the other shoppers. He was in his early twenties, and the sparkle in his eye suggested he might be interested in more than phone sales. She smiled at him and popped out of the store as fast as she’d popped in. Staying close to the shops, she rushed toward Little Kale and Underling, closing the gap between them and her.

Underling glanced over his shoulder, catching Hannah between shops. There was no place for her to hide, so she did the next best thing—she went for her pistol. In hand-to-hand combat, she was confident she could give both of them instant colonoscopies, but ten meters away and with
pistolas
, all she had was optimism. “Police!” she shouted with authority. Rather than move back to the nearest store and use it for cover, she moved forward aggressively, hoping to use the next shop.

Underling grabbed at his hip, but Hannah didn’t wait to see if he was going for a pack of throat lozenges. She jerked the trigger, pulling her pistol down and to the left. Even so, her first shot struck Underling in the gut, wiping the cool look right off his face. Her second round punched him in the chest, and he toppled forward, crashing head-first to the floor.

She looked around for Little Kale, but he’d vanished, probably into one of the stores. In the time it took to draw a sidearm, he reappeared, barrel blazing. The sudden attack from him surprised her, but she side-stepped left and entered a Häagen-Dazs store, escaping his blistering assault. A pool of melted ice cream covered the floor, and people huddled under tables and behind the counter. Another shopper called out in fear. All eyes in the store locked on Hannah and her pistol. “It’s okay. I’m one of the good gals,” she said.

Outside, people scattered in opposite directions; one woman was bleeding. A lull in Little Kale’s barrage gave Hannah a chance to return the love. She went prone and leaned out of the shop, searching for a clean shot. She found it and returned fire, but Little Kale exposed little of his body other than his head and shooting arm. Her first shot grazed his arm, but the other missed.

Little Kale’s muzzle flashed again, and her whole world went black.

_______

R
uby’s tattooed duo spotted Chris following them, pulled out their guns, and pointed them sideways at him, gangster style. He already had his pistol out and dropped the first Tattoo. The other continued to fire rapidly, making a lot of noise and hitting nothing but some clothes and a mannequin. Chris laid him out next to his homey.

Ruby ducked out of sight, so Chris had to peek around the corner to see her. She groped on the ground for one of her men’s pistols. “Freeze!” Chris yelled, but it made no difference. Ruby picked up one of the pistols. Chris fired at her but missed and hit the tattooed body lying in front of her. Tattoo cried out in pain. The woman sent her first bullet Chris’s way, and it grazed the side of his head. He tapped one between her eyes before she got off a second shot. All three of them lay motionless.

A pudgy clerk lay on the ground nearby, shaking. She stared at him like he was an alien that had just beamed down from a UFO. The woman gestured, pointing to her ear and then the floor next to Chris. At first, he didn’t understand, but after searching the area where she pointed, he noticed his prosthetic ear on the floor. Ruby’s shot must’ve knocked it off. He picked it up and examined it. Other than a little dirt, it seemed fine. He brushed it off before putting it back on his head. The magnet in his ear affixed firmly to the metal plate in his head. The clerk stared as if he were beaming back up to his UFO.

A commotion above the commotion arose in the mall behind him. He was so absorbed in his own gunfight that he’d totally lost track of everything else.

Hannah
.

He rushed out of Bloomingdale’s and into the main area of the mall. He followed the noise, trying to locate the source. It was coming from the second floor rather than the first. Hannah was probably in the thick of it with Little Kale and Cool Tango.

Please be okay.

He could backtrack into Bloomingdale’s and take the escalator up, losing time and distance. Or he could race ahead to Macy’s and block any chance of Little Kale’s escape—catching the terrorist between Hannah’s gun and his.

What goes up must come down.

He tore through the mall. Frightened people crammed into shops, many on their cell phones, giving him a clear path. When he reached the food court, he hung a left and kept running until he got to Macy’s. Frightened shoppers gawked at him. Frantically, he scanned the area for an escalator until he spotted it. He found it, also noting an elevator and three exits to the parking lot.

It was also possible Little Kale wouldn’t exit Macy’s at all.
If I were Little Kale, I’d exit one of the other shops in case someone like me was waiting to spring an ambush.

Chris holstered his pistol and exited the mall with a mob of shoppers pushing each other, desperate to get away. Cars almost collided as they hurried out of the parking lot. Though sirens squalled in the distance, the police and other emergency responders hadn’t appeared yet. He ran to the middle of the parking lot, stood behind a parked truck, and turned around to observe the mall exits and his surroundings. No one suspicious left the mall.

But someone approached from the parking lot to the northwest—Little Kale—fifty meters away. Chris kept a low profile, but a shiny black Mercedes pulled out from the parking lot where he stood and rolled in Little Kale’s direction. It may have been a coincidence, but if it wasn’t, he was already too late to catch up. He sprinted through the parking lot to reach Little Kale before he rendezvoused with the vehicle, but Little Kale spotted Chris and walked faster. Then he broke from a hurry into a run.

Chris pumped his thighs harder and harder, sucking in quick shots of oxygen. Someone opened a door in Chris’s path, and he just barely dodged the obstacle. Twenty-five meters away from Chris, Little Kale neared the Mercedes. Chris drew his pistol and fired. A miss. Little Kale jumped in the back-seat of the Mercedes, and it sped away.

Chris couldn’t outrun it, of course, and the situation seemed impossible, but he didn’t lose sight of the mission, pumping his legs madly. When a truck pulled out, the Mercedes bumped into it. Little Kale’s driver tried to push the truck out of the way, but no luck. The driver shifted into reverse, speeding backward in Chris’s direction. Chris planted his feet, aimed through the back at the driver, and squeezed. Once. Twice. As the vehicle passed within a few meters of Chris, he fired one round at the driver through the passenger side, but the vehicle kept going. Tracking, Chris shot repeatedly through the front windshield at the driver, but it still didn’t slow—and it didn’t turn. It kept running in reverse, off the parking lot, across a grassy island and into the crowded intersection of International Drive and Chain Bridge Road. A semi truck hit its brakes with a hydraulic groan and rubber squeal, ramming into the passenger side of the car, knocking it into the opposite lane. A small car swerved to avoid it, but the next car behind clipped the spinning tail, finally bringing Little Kale’s vehicle to a stop.

Chris’s lungs seared as he ran toward the accident. Cars in both lanes of Chain Bridge Road came to a squealing halt as drivers pounded on their horns. When the light on International Drive turned green, the intersection was so jammed up cars couldn’t proceed. Chris ran so hard that he puked. He spit the funk out of his mouth and ran onward until he reached the intersection.

Much of the passenger side of Little Kale’s car was crushed. Chris grabbed the door behind the driver and pulled it, metal screeching, partway open, but it became stuck. He gave it some muscle, and the opening extended farther. The stink of gasoline burned his nostrils, and the floor was wet. The car dashboard and seat sandwiched the driver like a piece of sagging lunchmeat. In the back seat, Little Kale’s arm hung like it was dislocated; his legs were bent at impossible angles, one of them pinned under the seat in front of him. One side of his face was puffy and bloody. His eyes were dazed, and he breathed in shallow, rapid grunts.

Chris ignored the danger and crawled in and sat next to him.

“So,” Little Kale said slowly in Arabic, as if he were fighting off a deep sleep, “you must be … the one.”

Chris spoke in Arabic, too. “The one?”

“The one … I keep hearing about.”

“From who?” Chris asked.

“Are you afraid? Of death?” Little Kale’s voice was strained, as if each word sapped more energy out of him.

“Not too afraid,” Chris said. “Not physical death.”

“What other death is there?”

“You’ve been drinking it your whole adult life, Little Kale.”

“There’s nothing
little
about me.”

“You used to be big, but now you’re small.”

Little Kale’s face flushed red. “I don’t know who you are. But you’re a dead man.”

Chris reached for Little Kale’s pocket to search it. Little Kale tried to stop him, but Chris took hold of his hand and twisted it around until his wrist snapped with a horrible crack. Little Kale squawked like a wounded bird. Chris pulled a plasticuff from his pocket and secured Little Kale’s broken wrist to the dead driver’s. With another plasticuff, he tied the driver’s opposite hand to the misshapen steering wheel. Then he emptied Little Kale’s pockets: cell phone, wallet, and keys. Little Kale tried to pull his leg out from under the seat in front of him, but it was locked tight and he cried in pain. He attempted to pull his hands loose from Chris’s cuffs, but Chris punched him into submission.

Little Kale regained consciousness. “Who are you?”

“Do you remember Nikkia?” Chris asked. “The elementary school
bint
you kidnapped and let die? I’m her friend.”

Little Kale cocked his head, puzzled. “Her friend?”

“I want to know where Professor Mordet is,” Chris said.

Little Kale’s lips quivered before he spoke. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Chris leaned in closer. “You’re afraid of him.”

“He says you’re his equal.”

“Then you should be afraid of me,” Chris said.

Little Kale’s lips didn’t stop trembling.

Chris showed him the lighter with his name written on it:
Kalil
.

Little Kale grunted. “Where’d you get that?”

“I was the American diplomat’s son you kidnapped.”

“I need a doctor,” Little Kale said.

“You need someone to clean up this fuel leak.”

“This is America. I have rights,” Little Kale said, his voice raising in pitch.

Chris held up the lighter. “I carry this as a survival tool. And a reminder.”

“I have rights.”

“You have the right to tell me where Professor Mordet is,” Chris growled. “If you do, I’ll let you live. That’s more rights than you ever gave Nikkia.”

“If I tell you, he’ll eat me alive!”

“Do you want to be burned alive now or eaten alive later?”

Little Kale jerked on his bound hand but couldn’t free himself. “You can’t do this!”

Chris became aware of the heat burning through the windshield. The fumes in the car might combust at any moment, taking both Chris and Little Kale up in smoke. He twirled the lighter in his hand.

“You’re insane!” Little Kale shouted. “Help me! Somebody help me!”

Chris flicked the lighter and the flame rose. “I want to make you suffer for what you did to Nikkia. I detest you. I want to do more than kill you; I want to murder you.” Chris was beside himself, as cruelty, hate and murder coursed through him—the three things Reverend Luther had prayed wouldn’t fill Chris’s heart, even in battle. Chris felt helpless, trapped by his own rage.

“I can’t tell you!” Little Kale shouted.

“Help me to help you! I’m on the edge here! Give me something to work with. Anything!” Chris wanted to step out of the vehicle, toss the lit lighter on the floor, and slam the door.

“I hope Professor Mordet eats you! Slowly!”

Chris looked at Little Kale then at his lighter.

God help me. Please.

He took a deep breath. In a moment of clarity, he took control of his body, closed the lighter lid, and put the lighter in his pocket. Chris was back inside his body, but his senses were overwhelmed, becoming too anesthetized to notice anything around him. He didn’t remember crawling out of the vehicle, but he was suddenly outside of it. He pushed hard on the crumpled door, and metal screeched against metal until it closed. Then he walked away.

“There’s someone inside that car!” a woman wrapped in makeup, jewels, and designer clothes yelled from a small group of onlookers.

“His leg is pinned under the car seat in front of him,” Chris said. “First responders are going to have to cut him out.”

Another lady gawked and pointed in the direction of Little Kale’s car.

Chris stopped and turned around.

The interior of the vehicle was on fire. Little Kale screamed, but his shouts were stifled inside the car. Soon, windows cracked under the intense heat. There was no saving Little Kale now, and Chris was too numb to feel anything except relief that Little Kale’s fate was no longer in his hands. And that Little Kale would never terrorize anyone ever again.

He took out Little Kale’s phone, switched it on, logged on to Young’s website, and the phone took on a life of its own. Young was on it now.

Chris headed back to the mall and sped up to a jog. Then a run. He searched for Hannah on the second floor, but all he found were bloodstains surrounded by police tape and law enforcement officers outside a Häagen-Dazs shop. He posed as Hannah’s brother and asked the police officers what had happened to her. They said one woman was killed and the other had a concussion. Their description of the woman with a concussion seemed to match Hannah. He used his own phone to call Young and asked if he had any information on her whereabouts.

“I don’t know where she is. But from what you’re saying, it sounds like Hannah is the woman with the concussion,” Young said.

Exhausted, Chris sat down on a bench. “If you find out more details, let me know.”

“Will do. You might be interested to know that there’s one anonymous phone number in Little Kale’s directory that he calls often. The number doesn’t appear in the other tangos’ directories.

Chris closed his eyes for a moment. “Mordet.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Do you have a location for him?” Chris asked.

“Too many. Could you use Little Kale’s phone to give him a call? That might help me pinpoint him.”

“Sure.”

Young gave it to him.

“Okay.” Chris ended the call, put his phone away, took out Little Kale’s cell, and called the anonymous number. It rang. And rang.

“What’s wrong?” Mordet answered.

“Little Kale won’t be joining you,” Chris said.

There was a pause. Mordet spoke in a relaxed voice. “Little Kale was an idiot. But I am intelligent enough to make up for his weakness.”

“You’re not going to blow up the Redskins-Cowboys game.”

Professor Mordet was quiet for a moment. “Oh, but I am, I surely am, and herein lies the paradox: I am the Teumessian fox that can never be caught. And you are Laelaps, the dog that catches everything.”

“We may both turn into stone, but you’re not killing those eighty-five thousand people,” Chris said.

“I will. And someone special to you will die, and you and I will shine in the sky for billions of years like Canis Minor and Canis Major.”

“What do you mean someone special?” Chris asked.

“Search your soul, and you will know who.”

“You’re bluffing. You’re just trying to distract me.”

“Now if you will be so kind as to excuse me, I have some work to do.”

The line went dead.

“Damn!” Chris shouted.

People nearby turned and looked at him.

His personal phone rang. The caller ID showed Young’s name.

“I still can’t pinpoint him,” Young said with disappointment when Chris picked up.

“How long will it take?”

“I don’t know how many hours.”

“We don’t have many hours,” Chris said.

“I know. I’ll do what I can,” Young said before hanging up.

Chris sat there on the bench, hollowness growing inside him. He looked at his watch. Kickoff was a little over four hours away. The most likely place for Mordet to be was in the vicinity of the Redskins’ stadium, but without any solid leads, he’d be chasing phantoms. And even if he knew where Mordet was, he still didn’t know if Hannah was all right. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill out.