Howard and the newly retired Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and ex-Marine Corp General Charles (Chip) Clarett, track down the terrorists responsible for the attacks on America and the deaths of the General’s grand children, only to discover with the newly elected administration’s inexplicable choice to call the attacks gang related and refusing to go after the real terrorists, the real threat to America is in Washington.
As Howard and Clarett seek out and kill terrorists, they discover that terrorism worldwide is controlled by a sinister group called the, Brotherhood of the Sword. It is made up of the rich and powerful elite of the Middle East and Islamic fundamentalist clergy that are convinced they can bring about a worldwide Kalafah under the Shiite sect of the religion if only they can bring down the west starting with America and Israeli.
The true depth of their involvement in American politics is revealed, when the hunt for terrorists through banking records suggest that the new President and his staff have been paid off, allowing the Islamic terrorists to dictate American foreign and domestic policies and to gradually take over more and more positions of power through corruption.
Howard and Clarett having discovered the connection skirt American laws to trap and impeach the new President, avoiding his true desire of becoming the first American dictator and stop a third world war.
Reprisal! The Eagle Rise! By Chris Keys
Excerpt one
Holiday shifts were the absolute best and John couldn’t wait for the last supervisor to leave for the holiday. Once that happened, he’d catch quick forty winks and then watch football, till his eyes fell out. His wife complained every year that all he did during the holidays was watch football. So last year, he had reminded her that he also slept on the couch and ate leftover turkey sandwiches. That had started a whole new argument that lasted, until after the Superbowl. This year, he had a plan and it was pure genius.
He’d volunteered to work a twenty-four hour shift, rather then spend this Thanksgivings holiday, getting ragged on. He’d get to watch the football games, have the left over turkey sandwiches, all while avoiding his wife’s stupid brothers and sisters. As far as he could tell, their holiday tradition was to come over and help their sister, rag on him.
John’s wife family consisted of a bunch of bible thumpers, who didn’t like football. They thought it was a stupid game, with too much violence. How they grew up in Texas and thought that, he’d never know, but they would rather watch a movie or sit around and talk about their church doings, than watch a game.
Now John didn’t mind church doings, but those were conversations best left for when there wasn’t a football game to watch. A man had to have priorities after all, John mused as he adjusted the security monitors. If he set them at the right angles, he could watch them without having to turn his head too far from the television or move too much in his reclining office chair.
Branker’s, the security company John worked for, was a great company. They expected you to watch the security cameras and keep an eye on the place. But they also provided, satellite TV, coffee, and a refrigerator full of cold cuts with all the fixin’s, two kinds of bread and a dozen or so types of canned pop, fruit juice and if he got lucky, a few cans of Lone Star beer, buried in the back. The supervisors all knew about the beer but they didn’t say a word, as long as, you didn’t drink, too much or get caught by the refinery guys. Of course, you had to have all the paperwork done right and on time. It was a piece of cake.
“John, you take care now, you’ve got my number if there are any problems.” Will Davis stated as he stepped into the open doorway to the security room, on his way out the door for the holiday. “And don’t forget to drive the perimeter now and then. Those damn kids have been cutting the fence again and stealing gas from tank twelve, ok!”
“Yeah sure, I’ll keep an eye out for them. How many guys are working in the plant over the holiday?” John asked.
“There’s only a crew of three techs and a new trainee. I think the trainee is from Qatar or somewhere. Rumor has it he’s part of the merger that everyone is talking about. Their shift ends at eight this morning and then, you’re completely alone until tomorrow at six am. The company gave the whole production staff the holiday off. They must be trying to raise the price of gas or something by reducing production.” Will stated with a crooked grin on his face. “Don’t try teaching the new kid about beer, ok? Where he’s from, they cut off your head if you have a beer and that’s exactly what the company will do to you, if you, try to give him one! Got it?” Will asked bluntly, knowing that John liked beer a lot and thought everyone else, should like it too.
“What? Do I look stupid or something?” John replied.
“No, I just know how you are about beer and football. Don’t think you fooled me by volunteering to work a triple. I know, you’re just trying to escape that wife of yours and her family.” Will replied with a smirk on his face.
“Hey, I just wanted to let the other guys enjoy a holiday, after all, they have kids and all, plus you forced me to work, remember? I lost the drawing and got stuck again.” John said with a knowing look on his face. “Don’t slip up and mention it at the Christmas party, ok.”
“Sure, whatever you say. Your pain is our gain. Have a happy Thanksgiving.” Will chirped as he pulled the door closed behind him and walked away.
“Free, free at last!” John quipped loudly as he settled into his chair, flipped on the TV and started surfing, even before the picture was clear. He then propped his feet up on the edge of the desk, as he set the sleep timer on the TV. Then, with a fluid crank of his neck, from the far left to almost straight ahead, John quickly scanned all of the security monitors one last time, ensuring they were aligned perfectly for his viewing pleasure.
After a quick glance at the clock, 5:00 am, he flipped the switch to kill the dozens of buzzers and bells of the security system, opting instead for flashing lights. He then punched the electronic gate locks to his left, locking down the plant, so no one could enter or leave. He then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for what he hoped, would be a couple of hours of decent sleep, before the games began!
*********
Moving with deliberate slowness, a dark blue, three year old, Toyota Camry, crept down the alleyway in the industrial park that bordered the refinery’s western edge. The car had four men crammed inside, each one dressed in a black combat jumpsuit, a black ski mask and dark gray latex gloves.
The car stopped about a hundred feet from the spot they had chosen to enter the refinery. The man seated behind the driver climbed out and moved quickly to the back corner of the car as the driver popped the trunk. No light shown as the lid opened, since the man had broken the light earlier while preparing for this moment.
Pulling a glow stick from his pocket, he cracked it, shook it and then dropped it in the trunk, illuminating it with a dull green glow. He drew a .22 caliber-target rifle from the trunk that had a sound suppressor attached along with a 20x night scope with tinted lens. The tint, would allow him to look right at light sources without hurting his eyes.
It only took a moment to close the trunk lid, brace himself so he could aim and fire, which he did five times. The man’s aim was true, taking out the three halogen security lights spaced forty yards apart, thirty feet in the air, along the fence line and the two security cameras mounted on poles, some twenty yards behind the fence and forty feet in the air.
As soon as the last lights winked out, the other three men exited the car and retrieved their weapons along with a large duffle bag from the car’s trunk. They left the car running, just in case they needed a quick escape. Together they walked along the buildings shadow, towards the spot in the fence line, where they had chosen to cut thru. Under a waning quarter moon and dressed in their black combat jump suits, the men were almost invisible in the now unlit alleyway.
Each man carried a nine millimeter Uzi machine pistol and a small mag-lite flashlight. The flashlight had a hood that forced the beam to point downward, protecting against stray beams drawing attention as they walked down the alley. As they crossed the open space between the buildings of the industrial complex and the refinery fence, each man sweeping his field of vision as they moved, all was clear.
The first man out of the car was already knelt down by the fence, making a visual sweep of the area inside the fence, when another man, knelt next to him and began cutting the fence wires with bolt cutters, he had pulled from the duffle bag. They had chosen this spot, because it was the same spot they had paid a local gang to cut thru several times, in the last three months. Once the wires were clipped, they pulled it open further, spreading the opening in the fence until it was big enough to allow them to step through easily.
They moved quickly to the large gasoline storage tank closest to them, it held over twenty thousand gallons of gasoline. Immediately, they began searching for the small relief valve, which was similar to a hose bib on a residential house. The bib allowed the refinery workers to access the tank for test samples from the bottom of the tank, without having to starting the large pumps required to stir the tank and pump the gasoline out of the top of it.
It took only a few seconds to find it and almost as quickly, they filled eight collapsible, five-gallon plastic containers, which they had pulled from the duffle bag. Then, after filling the containers, each man reached into the bag and pulled five small packages from the duffle bag which they slipped into their pockets. Then they walked off, in different directions into the refinery, leaving the duffle bag by the test valve. They left the valve open, purposely flooding the nearby area with gasoline.
In the security office, John was leaning back in his office recliner with his feet propped up on the console in front of him, trying to sleep. With his eyes closed, he didn’t see the blinking red lights in front of him. If he had, he would have been alerted to the break in, that had just happened. If he had, he might have saved his own life. If only he hadn’t been so intent, on saving his energy for game time.
*****
“Yousef, have you finished the calculations for the formula?” Grant Ortiz, the night supervisor, with a PHD in chemical engineering and twenty years experience under his belt, inquired as he walked up to Yousef’s work station.
Yousef, a late twenties something student from Qatar, was a stereotypical Muslim male. He had a brown complexion, a full black beard, black moustache, bushy black eye brows and thick black hair. The fact that he carried a few extra pounds clarified for Ortiz, he had never really had to work for a living or had to worry about where his next meal was coming from. Ortiz, who stood six foot six and weighed over three hundred pounds, clearly intimidated five foot eight inch, bespectacled, Yousef. As evident by the nervous shifting he did as Ortiz approached.
Ortiz had been an oil field worker for fifteen years before he became a chemical engineer. At thirty-five, he could see the future wasn’t working on the rigs but at the refinery. The refinery had better hours, a lot less stress, less heavy labor and a far better paycheck and pension. So he went back to school and got the degree he needed, to make the switch.
The story about Yousef was his father was a close relative of some Sheik or something in Qatar, who was somehow connected to the rumored merger. If it happened, Yousef was to be a manager of some sort. Ortiz did his best to hide his contempt for the rich young Arab, but at times, his patience just plain ran out.
“I do not think I fully understand the process. I cannot seem to get the formula to work.” Yousef replied in Arabic accented English, as he glanced over his shoulder towards Ortiz but was really looking past him, to the clock on the wall behind him. He needed to stall a few more minutes.
“Don’t understand?” Ortiz’s anger flashed and his voice volume rose. “Didn’t that fancy English school, teach you anything about formulas? Aren’t you supposed to be a chemical engineer? Shit boy, my ten year old son can write that formula, test it and add octane in his sleep!” Ortiz shouted before he got control of himself and offered to help Yousef yet again. “I’m going to show it to you one more time. Shit at this rate, you’ll be qualified at the end of your tour here to clean toilets and that’s about it. Now pay attention, damn it!” Ortiz roared, his frustration getting the better of him again.
Yousef did his best impression of someone who was interested, but his mind was racing, counting down to the time to when he was to act. He wondered if the others had been able to accomplish their tasks or if he was going to have to perform the secondary plan on his own.
Yousef’s two coworkers in the lab were grad students, from Pakistan. Just then, they entered the lab and began snickering, seeing Ortiz hunched over Yousef’s work station yet again. Yousef was clearly acting as if he had made yet, another mistake.
“What the hell are you A-holes looking at?” Ortiz roared as he noticed the other two young men.
“Oh nothing, we just can’t help but wonder how a Cambridge education can leave a person so lacking in skills. Perhaps it is because one must attend classes, not merely have a parent pay for them.” The taller of the two snickered, as they stepped back out the door leaving the lab. Ortiz glanced at Yousef, who was looking down, apparently avoiding the confrontation.
“Boy, don’t you have anything to say to that?” Ortiz asked as he looked at Yousef, who was looking down and mumbling something to himself. “Yousef!” Ortiz raised his voice several decibels to get his attention.
“Well, I…” Yousef stammered as he looked up and then quickly looked away.
“They are eating your lunch, buddy. You’ve got to stand up for yourself in this life! Now pay attention! Look here, now you add…..” Ortiz continued speaking but Yousef didn’t hear a word. He glanced at the clock again and saw it was finally time to act. Quickly he reached around to his lower back with his right hand, which was away from Ortiz, and retrieved a small, semi-auto 9 mil hand gun, which he had tucked in his belt under his lab coat. He brought it up quickly, pressed the small barrel against Ortiz’s temple and fired. The big man never even realized what happened.
“I think I will stand up for myself now!” Stated Yousef, completely dropping his mild mannered facade, as he pushed his chair back from the body of Ortiz, which was slumped over the desk, letting it lay where it fell.
The small report from the gun caught the two grad students off guard as they walked down the hall. Neither had recognized the muffled sound as that of a gun shot, but they had stopped and tried to hear if there were more sounds. They were only a few dozen steps down the hall when
Yousef exited the lab and turned towards them. Yousef started quickly walking forward, his eyes never leaving his targets.
“Did you hear something?” The taller of the two grad students asked as they started to step towards Yousef.
“Hey, what’s that on your lab coat?” The shorter grad student asked out of curiosity.
Yousef didn’t answer, not having comprehended the question, as he continued to move quickly forward towards the two young men his focus was so intense. The two men stopped and stood rooted in place, clearly perplexed by Yousef’s lack of response and his hurried approach.
When Yousef had closed to within ten feet, he raised the gun and fired twice rapidly. He hit both men in the chest and they collapsed to the floor. Large red spots began growing on the chest of their lab coats as he stepped past them. Yousef didn’t bother to look down at the two men, he knew they were dead or soon would be, so he continued down the hall to the elevator. It was then, standing in front of the silver mirrored finished doors of the elevator, he noticed the blood spattered on the left shoulder of his lab coat and he finally comprehended the last question the small Pakistani had asked.
He rode the elevator to the ground floor. Exiting the elevator, he walked briskly towards the main entrance and the security room. As he reached the edge of the door, he stopped. Slipped the gun into the pocket of his lab coat, he gathered his composure. After a moment, he stepped in front of the door and banged solidly on it.
“Help me!” He yelled as he slammed his hand on the door again and again.
“What the hell!” John scowled as he was startled from his sleep and bounced out of his chair trying to get his bearings. He first looked at the monitors and saw that two of them were black. “Shit!” He exclaimed. Then he noticed the flashing lights. “Shit!” he exclaimed again.
Yousef continued to bang on the door. “Help! We need help!” Yousef called out, not giving John time to think.
John lurched as quickly as he could around the desk towards the door, on his still stiff legs, catching his foot in some wires under the edge of the desk and nearly tripping. He gave his foot a strong yank and at the last moment, the wires gave way allowing him to stumble forward. He then pulled the door open and basically screamed at Yousef. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I was getting a sample for Dr. Ortiz, when these guys jumped me and started hitting me!” Exclaimed Yousef, as he pointed towards the blood on his lab coat. “Come on, I think we will catch them if we hurry, they are stealing gasoline!” Yousef then turned and headed down the hall, not giving John a chance to question him further.
John strode into the hallway after Yousef, failing to push the panic button, which set off the alarm at the local police substation. “Where were you when they jumped you?” he called out as they started running down the hallway towards the refinery access door, Yousef leading the way.
“I was over by tank number twelve. There were probably three or four of them,” Yousef replied over his shoulder.
“I’d better call for backup,” John stated, as he clicked his radio buttoned on his shirt pocket. “Shit it doesn’t seem to be working.’ John then realized that the cord he had tripped on was the connection for the radio, which dangled loosely under the console. He slowed down, came to a stop as they exited the building entering into the refinery yard. “Hey, where are you hurt?” John asked, as it registered in his sleepy brain that he hadn’t noticed, if Yousef actually had any facial injuries.
“Oh, it was over there.” Yousef started to move towards the maze of piping running off towards the tanks.
John took a few more halting steps as the door closed behind him and then stopped again. “No, I mean where are you bleeding from?” John asked as he reached half heartedly for his side arm.
Yousef stopped, quickly whirled around and pointed his gun right at John’s forehead.
“What the….” John’s voice trailed off as he froze unsure what to do.
“Move, towards tank twelve,” Yousef commanded.
“I don’t under….” John’s voice stuck in his throat.
“Shut up or I’ll kill you right here!” Yousef growled viciously as he prodded John forward by wiggling the gun the direction he wanted him to go.
From the shadows emerged the four men dressed in dark clothing and ski masks, each carrying an Uzi machine pistol. They formed a semi-circle around John, and Yousef fell in behind him, prodding him forward with the muzzle of his gun towards tank number twelve.
“Who are you guys?” John asked sheepishly.
“Shut up, move!” Yousef prodded him, poking him with the muzzle of the gun in the ribs.
Hey, I didn’t see anything! Take all the gas you want. I won’t tell anyone anything! Just don’t kill me!” John begged as he was shoved forward roughly again. “Look, I’ve got a family. They really need me. I’m the only one that works! Come on, talk to me! Don’t kill me!” John continued to beg as he stumbled over the graveled walkway in the dark.
“Stop!” Yousef commanded and John stopped. He quickly looked around and saw that he was standing in several inches gasoline. He turned and saw it was escaping from the test valve, on tank twelve several yards away. A large black duffle bag was lying next to the valve saturated in gasoline.
“Take out your service revolver!” Yousef commanded as the other four men stepped back towards the pathway that led to the truck staging area and loading platform, where they hesitated for only a moment, watching the drama unfolding before them.
“Guys, this is real dangerous! This stuff could blow up half of Houston! Here, take my gun.” John stated as he began pulling the gun from his holster. “I don’t care, but I gotta let someone know so that the gas can be cleaned up before there’s a problem.” John rattled on as he held out his hand holding the gun out by the trigger guard. “Hey, you know, I’ve never even fired this thing, not even at a range.”
“That’s too bad. You might have been a hero if you had. And by the way, there already is a problem.” Yousef said as he fired twice. Both bullets struck John in the stomach dropping him to the ground. As he fell, John let go of his gun and clutched his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. Upon hitting the ground, gasoline splashed in all directions, his nose filled with its stench. He wondered who these guys were and why had they shot him. The last thought that crossed his mind was, he hoped Dallas won the game.
