We Live and Walk Among You

Chapter 1

As the sun burned brightly over the small Midwestern town of New Madrid, Missouri, the residents treated the early morning like any other day. Kids on summer break gathered in the playground to choose sides for kickball. The barber on Main Street swept the sidewalk in front of his shop as he spoke to his sleeping bloodhound. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted past the noses of a women’s group as they made their way to the daily prayer meeting. The scene of smoke dissipating into the atmosphere meant the ceramic tile plant operated at full capacity. Everything seemed to be going well on the first Friday in June. Or was it?

Just outside the two-stoplight part of town was the century-old abandoned Minefield Cavern. Sometime around 1850, this once-active silver mine had its fifteen minutes of fame during the California Gold Rush. There were a few known East Coast families who struck it rich, as the cliché goes, but they were also the same folks who exhausted the only two silver veins within the cavern. Because of the close proximity to the Mississippi River, they excavated the area as deep as the water table would allow.

But life had come back to the forgotten cave site over the last year. Fronting as a team of paleontologists on an assignment from the Smithsonian Institution, a new group took up temporary residence at the Nook Inn. They told the locals that two of their colleagues had found rare prehistoric remains after a recent visit to the cavern. No one questioned their somewhat-believable story, because all the permits and credentials seemed authentic and, more importantly, the team spent lots of money. The town officials, especially all the merchants, welcomed their presence.

They cleared about an acre of land around the area where the find was to have occurred. Making sure all the bases were covered, several members of the party were always visible to onlookers during daylight hours. As weather permitted, they lay in prone positions and meticulously dusted off soil and rock from unearthed bones. As dusk settled in every evening, four men of the archeological team always stood guard. The same routine occurred every day, and as the weeks passed, no one gave them a second glance. When the leader of the squad determined that their presence was accepted, phase two was to begin. It was time to bring in the device his fellow brothers and sisters of the Sons of Allah had been assembling at their camp in Nunavut, Canada, over the last three years.

As usual, the day’s business grinded away above ground, but deep within Minefield Cavern stood two anxious Middle Eastern scientists. They had rehearsed the same drill every day for weeks, but now argued as to what their next move should be. It has been two days and the Ruler has not answered my daily calls. You know what we are to do at precisely 9:00 a.m., Washington DC time if he has not replied after forty-eight hours. We must proceed. We have two minutes.

Let’s wait one more day.

No, Allah is with us. Put in your code, and I will follow. Now do it.

The junior of the two men needed both hands to steady himself in order to punch the correct keys. As they each entered their separate six-digit set of instructions, a sense of calm fell over them. The digital clock reflected the countdown.

The senior man said, We will soon be with Allah. As they knelt toward Mecca, the bomb exploded.

The deafening blast caused an enormous glowing dome to form. But what followed immediately would be scarred into everyone’s mind. The towering nuclear pillar grew into the atmosphere. As the recognizable mushroom cloud took on its ire and harrowing shape against the once beautiful blue background, there was something very different about its appearance. Something very different indeed.

As Derek Chase, Tony Lopez, and his wife, Meung Lopez, were escorted into the majestic room, seven high-ranking officials, including President Roland Jennings, stood and applauded. These CIA operatives were surprised and moved as they looked at the smiling faces standing in front of them.

Derek led this band of three who made up the Terrorist Elimination Unit. The TEU was instrumental in finding and ridding the world of the Ruler of the Sons of Allah, Omar Fahee. This diabolical, murderous mastermind had orchestrated the assassinations of the former president of the United States, the vice president, and Speaker of the House—all of which had taken place on Memorial Day, at the same time but at different locations. Fahee further took the lives of thousands of innocent people at three prominent US sites.

After receiving more accolades than he and his team had expected to receive, Derek’s cell phone rang with the identifiable ringtone of his fiancée, Cindy Johnson. He froze, as did the others.

That’s Cindy, and she knows I’m at a debriefing meeting and would not be calling me now. He pulled out his phone and placed it on speaker. Hi, what’s up?

Mr. Chase, we have your woman and want you to know we live and walk among you. With that, the line went dead. As the president was about to speak, his chief of staff rushed in unannounced and shouted, A nuclear explosion just occurred in Missouri.

Homeland Secretary Marjorie Washington jumped out of her seat and cried out …

The Midwest had been experiencing beautiful weather for the past few days, and a sense of composure slowly settled in across the country. Americans started to lift their heads up, but no one could ever forget the sad events that had shaken the world over the last week and a half. Gradually lives got back to normal, even though woeful history was made. Americans had been led by three presidents during the last ten days. That sequence started when their beloved President Whitcomb was assassinated.

With the top three US officials lost in the blink of an eye, the third individual in presidential succession in the United States was the president pro tempore of the Senate. That person was Senator Herman Sunderland of California, who was the oldest active member of the majority party. After the terrorist leader responsible had been eliminated, Sunderland resigned the presidency by admitting he was not qualified for the position. The general public bought the deduction, but it was not the whole truth. Sunderland, planted by the Sons of Allah, won an earlier senatorial election by default over the favored incumbent senator, who had died of an unexpected heart attack the night before the polls opened. After he was removed from office, Herman Sunderland seemed to have simply disappeared.

Government representatives, corporate executives, school chancellors, and many other figures of authority all encouraged the American people to show their continued resolve and move on. Of course, many grieving individuals were forever petrified by the horrific acts that had manifested only a few days earlier. It’s been said that time heals all wounds, and soon, most believed America was once again safe. That was until the earth started to move.

Just a few minutes before 8:00 a.m. Central time, maintenance crews were busy with their daily upkeep of the grounds which surrounded the ever-so-popular Gateway Arch in St. Louis, Missouri. It was early, but still a few tourists started to approach the structure. Perhaps some would later make their way to the top by way of the egg-shaped cages which carried eager patrons to the viewing section. Two seniors in particular were mesmerized by the silvery wonder. Both carried coffee but it was Gus, with a camera draped around his neck, who shouted out to Martha. Guess how big this thing is?

"Do you mean in height or its width?

I mean straight up.

Six hundred thirty feet tall.

How do you know?

Ask me how wide it is.

Okay smarty pants, what’s the answer?

The same: six hundred thirty feet wide.

So, how do you know this?

It’s on the sign behind you.

With that, Helen and Troy both yelled, Is that you Martha? These four lifelong friends had all traveled one hundred sixty-seven miles north from New Madrid, Missouri, and within seconds were wrapped in each other’s arms. Perhaps another twenty people who were waiting saw the signal to proceed down the ramp to enter the Arch. As the attendants pinned back the velour ropes, each welcomed the visitors with warm smiles. But something happened beneath everyone’s feet.

Two other small towns, Cairo, Illinois, and Fulton, Kentucky, felt rippled movements, particularly under the unpaved streets. Cairo was just forty-eight miles northeast of New Madrid, while one hundred one miles directly east was Fulton. Both towns were noted for their meatpacking plants and, as always, the fully staffed factories started operations promptly at 8:00 a.m. That was the case until the trembling ground was felt throughout the two whistle-stop communities.

Within seconds, hundreds of miles of Midwestern heartland opened up. Cavernous channels of gaping earth appeared instantly as the unforgiving wrath of Mother Nature swallowed everything in its path. The muddy Mississippi did not flow idly along. What wasn’t devoured or destroyed by the quake was submerged or washed away by the steady, torrential gush of brown water.

The words, I’m on it, were heard loud and clear by those in the Oval Office, but before Secretary Washington moved an inch, a stunned aide stood by the opened door, and her frozen stare caught the president’s attention.

Talk to us, Mallory, said the president.

Mr. President, an earthquake— Her voice cracked, but she instantly regained her self-control and delivered the dreadful news: A 5.9-magnitude earthquake has caused excessive damage in three Midwestern states. That’s not all; the Mississippi River is flooding many regions.

Instant muttering was heard within the ceremonious room as several in attendance stood, but it was Homeland Secretary Washington who again yelled above the crowd …

The events of the early-morning hours across the United States seemed pretty routine. As the Boston-to-Washington Northeast Corridor experienced its normal hustle and bustle, train cars from coast to coast bulged from its overcapacity allowance of commuters. In every state that was fortunate to have a rapid-transit system, there’s always one person at nearly every scheduled stop who gets pinned between the closing doors. The unofficial rule stated the next person in line was to push the aggressive one through. Out-of-town visitors, not accustomed to such a daily ritual of getting to and fro, have often viewed those unsafe maneuvers as barbaric. But to the millions of perturbed riders over the decades, it served as their daily morning fix of excitement.

New York City topped the chart with approximately seven and a half million daily subway passengers, while Detroit, at the low end, reported some six thousand everyday loyalists. Millions of people in other cities, such as Chicago, Boston, San Francisco, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Los Angeles, Miami, and Cleveland, have joined in this commotion.

Any reported use of the daily US transit system would be considered incomplete if it did not include the tens of millions of individuals who rode buses, ferries, and trolleys throughout the day. For the most part, everyday travelers have shared a common bond: We’re stuck in these moving cocoons, so let’s make the best of it. Many have read, slept, played cards, chatted, or stared in wonderment of what they have forgotten or what the day might bring.

For several thousand innocent commuters on that first Friday in June, their day likely started out as it did the day before. But did their means of transportation reach their final destinations?

New York City’s F train was temporarily stalled in the tunnel with the Fifty-third Street Station as its next scheduled stop. Nine o’clock a.m. was the expected time it was to reach the Midtown platform, which was about one minute away; Boston’s Elevated Red Line pulled into Park Street Station at 8:59 a.m., and it was right on time; Chicago’s New Hyde Express Number 2 bus, filled to capacity, just left Sixtieth Street at 7:59 a.m. Central time; Los Angeles’s Metro Blue Rail train closed its doors at Transit Mall Station at precisely 5:59 a.m. Pacific time. The list went on and on in all of the forty-eight contiguous states.

After the thoroughly trained and planted Sons of Allah martyrs learned that their Ruler, Omar Fahee, had been killed and his army captured, they prepared to execute nationwide devastation. The next morning, attractive and well-dressed Middle Eastern–looking young couples were aboard trains, buses, ferries, and trolleys. They asked nearby fellow commuters if they could borrow their cell phones to make important calls home to speak with their babysitters. The forgetful phony husbands claimed to have left their phones in the baby’s room while the bewildered impersonating wives held up their drained cellulars. The terrorists knew anxious-looking parents could not be turned down when a child was at stake.

At 9:00 a.m. Eastern time —6:00 a.m. Pacific time, forty-eight couples of the Sons of Allah called nine-one-one and placed the cell phones on speaker. Everyone around them heard the rote greeting: What is your emergency?

At that moment, the terrorists yelled in loud voices, You have taken him from us, and this is a tribute to our beloved Ruler of the Sons of Allah! A second later, ninety-six martyrs across the United States detonated bombs in their briefcases.

As she pushed back her chair, Secretary Washington yelled, but this time the words, I’m still on it, silenced the rest. If you thought a situation couldn’t get any worse, two FBI agents now appeared next to Mallory as she concluded. Many eyes were glazed, but not those of Derek and Tony.

What now? barked the president.

Both agents spoke at once, and then stopped. It was the senior of the two who stepped forward and sighed before talking. Mr. President, we are getting reports from practically every state that suicide bombers just blew themselves up on public transportation.

Before anyone uttered another word, Derek stormed out of the room. The president held up his hand as if to say, Let him go, but in a pleading, yet stern, tone he said, We need to meet in the war room.

There was silence in the Oval Office.

Chapter 2

Who are you? Where are you taking me? How do you know Derek? Cindy Johnson tried desperately to act calm as she and her captors sat parked alongside her house in suburban Chevy Chase, Maryland.

Having been forced to her car at gunpoint by a madman was not the only reason Cindy’s heart pounded through her chest. It was the threats he yelled that shook her to the core. If you say another word, as Allah is my witness, I will kill you and wait for your lover to return and kill him too. Now get in the car. Maria will sit next to you, and my gun will be pointing at the back of your neck.

Minutes before, she had been caught off guard when a very attractive Middle Eastern woman, along with a male companion, appeared instantly behind her. The beautiful, green-eyed woman offered a warm smile and said, Hi.

Before turning, Cindy flinched ever so slightly.

We did not mean to startle you. Her soft-spoken and friendly voice dismissed any element of alarm.

Cindy had just returned from dropping Derek off at CIA Headquarters after he surprised her with an early morning visit. She always looked happy, but today her thoughts had remained on the man she loved. He was home now, but for how long? Even before their engagement, she had lived with the terrifying thought of losing him. But making love to him twice before many would be leaving for work seemed to suppress the pain for at least a little while longer. CIA people never gave straight answers, but she knew his last mission involved the elimination of the highly publicized terrorist leader.

Cindy replied with a quick, Good morning. No, it’s all right. I was deep in thought. As the hunt for her house key continued, a few listing fliers for a house she was scheduled to show later in the day dropped to the ground.

The man introduced themselves as Bruce Patel and his wife, Maria. Unbeknown to Cindy, they were Meamar Verbin and his lover, Heather Ramish, both loyal followers of the Sons of Allah, who had spent the night in the house next door. The similar-looking colonial belonged to the former Secretary of Health and Human Services, Gregory Gupta. Once a member of the last two administrations’ cabinets, Gupta was arrested the day before for treason and conspiring with a terrorist organization.

The brief, pleasant exchange ended as soon as a gun appeared and was pointed at Cindy’s chest. After leading her to her car, Verbin asked in a commanding tone, What is Mohamed Aliatid’s real name?

Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about. What do want from me?

Do not let me shoot you here and throw you in the street. Now who is he?

We recognized him by his height, shape, and those piercing eyes, chimed Heather. Verbin looked at her as if to question why she chose the words those piercing eyes and lingered a little too long on them.

It was the scar on the left side of his face that could only belong to one man; and how could that man also have his left arm supported? shouted Verbin.

Cindy, now teary-eyed cried, I still don’t know what you mean. Believe me. Who are you?

Two days earlier, Verbin had arrived at a bloody scene and found all of Fahee’s bodyguards shot to death, except for four men he had assumed were still guarding the Ruler. One of the few left standing was the man he thought was Mohamed Aliatid. No sooner had he arrived than the Ruler ordered Verbin to follow through with his escape plan. It was determined that, if Fahee and his army were about to be overtaken, Verbin was to leave their Canadian complex. As he and Heather were secret lovers, he made sure she accompanied him to their safe house which was owned by Gupta.

Omar Fahee had staged the most heinous attack on American soil since September 11, 2001. While the rest of the great Washington minds attempted to figure out a means to end the bloodshed, the TEU was assigned to hunt down and eliminate the Ruler of the Sons of Allah. One of the three assassinated officials was the Speaker of the House, Kevin Preston—Derek’s half brother.

Everyone knew that, with his extraordinary Army Ranger skills combined with a revenge motive, Derek would not stop until the head of the snake was severed. With the help of two former high-ranking commanders of Hezbollah and al-Qaeda, Derek and Tony posed as their elite bodyguards and infiltrated the terrorists’ Canadian compound. Tony blended in well because of his Hispanic skin color, and his fluency in eight languages, including Arabic and Persian. Derek, on the other hand, needed a professional makeover and he seamlessly passed himself off as a Middle Eastern deaf-mute. When the plan was initially presented to Washington officials, they were dumbfounded and thought it was an outlandish idea. Regrettably, time was against them, and plan B was yet to be formulated. Their bizarre tactic was a total success.

It was during the onset of Derek and Tony’s attempted coup of Fahee’s regime that the first wave of gunfire broke. In one of many firefights, Derek was wounded in the upper left arm. Later, the image of him wrapped in a tourniquet became ingrained in Verbin’s mind.

Peeking out the window of their safe house, they had seen Derek twice in front of Cindy’s house, first when he arrived after his nearly two-week undertaking, and then again when he left a couple of hours later. Verbin and Heather both agreed the only difference was skin color. He was the man who once had gone by the name Mohamed Aliatid.

I will give you one more chance to tell me your man’s name. I see, by the size of the stone you are wearing on your finger, he must be more than just your man. My patience has run out. Say his name now or die. Better yet, give me your cell phone. I said … Before he got off another word, Cindy reached into her purse and handed him her phone. At that point, she was beside herself and sobbing out of control.

Heather sat in silence, but felt for the innocent woman. She slowly reached over and held Cindy’s hand.

Verbin scrolled through her saved numbers and noticed Derek’s name as the only male name in her favorites. Is it Derek Chase? And, you, let go of her hand.

Heather quickly obeyed and felt that the man she thought she loved was acting in the same manner as the Ruler did during his tirades.

Cindy didn’t answer right away, but when he pushed his pistol behind her ear, she screamed, Yes, it is! He is a good man. He hasn’t hurt anyone. What do want with him?

Now, if you talk, you will die, so remain silent, because you need to listen to this call. It was at that moment, Verbin pressed Derek’s saved number, which reached him while the TEU was being honored at the Oval Office. When the call went through, everyone in the room knew Cindy was now in the grip of terrorists.

As Derek rushed out of the stately room, Tony stood and broke the noiseless moment. If we thought he took the last two weeks personally, trust me: God help whoever is responsible for what just happened. Short of putting Derek behind bars, he will stop at nothing in finding Cindy’s attacker. Mr. President, I mean nothing. We lost several great men a couple of weeks ago, and Derek grieved in his own way over a man who was a father figure to him. If that wasn’t enough, now kidnapping the only woman he ever loved. Well ... Tony shook his head. We knew he would not rest until the monster who assassinated his brother was eliminated. Now I don’t know what to expect. Turning from the commander-in-chief and certain members of his administration, Tony’s bewildered look was felt by everyone in the room.

Meung grabbed her husband’s hand and quickly left the Oval Office with one thought—to catch up to their partner.

The Secret Service agents stood on high alert outside the historic room as the commotion mounted. Meung and Tony nearly ran into Derek, who came back as they passed through the mahogany doorframe. He went around them and called over to CIA Director Fritz Cummings, Let’s hope she contacts you.

All eyes were pinned on Cummings, as if to say, You want to clue us in?

She’s wearing an alert pendent with me as her contact. He held up his BlackBerry.

Derek turned around to join his team as they walked past the president’s chief of staff, Ron Soriano. He gave them a reassuring nod, which Meung returned in kind. Let’s go to my office; I have a feeling she’s going to be contacting Fritz any minute now.

How is that going to happen? came from his field ops partner and best friend.

Meung on the other hand seemed to know the answer. What have you two been keeping from me?

Tony, if I forgot to tell you, I’m sorry. But Derek gave Cindy a beautiful piece of jewelry. Did I say he gave her a beautiful piece of jewelry? Meung’s emphasis was on the he.

I get it. So let me guess, it has a tracking device in it somewhere.

"Yup. I got it before we went off searching for that little desert piece of shit. I asked Fritz if the lab boys could rig something up, because you know as well as I do the scum we go after many times have plenty of sleazy friends. I wanted to pay for the equipment and their services, but he said it is the least the government could do. He took care of it, but your lovely wife got her pretty nose bent out of shape because I didn’t ask her to install the GPS. I told her I didn’t want to bother her, but she insisted on checking it out when I got it back. She gave it the Meung seal of approval, but of course reminded me her device would have been better.

Should Cindy ever firmly press the stone on her pendent, Fritz will be alerted, and he will immediately forward her coordinates to the FBI director. Fritz even cleared this perk with the president.

Fritz Cummings had been assigned as the TEU’s handler after the assassinations. Although he reported to Director of National Intelligence Trevor Peterson, he was never included in the select group. They were the only individuals who knew of the TEU. That directive came from the White House in order to shield certain ranking officials from black-operative missions. Other senior personnel, such as FBI Director Gary Littleman, never questioned anything involving the CIA and vice versa. Such business practice was one of the reasons both directors became friends and ordered both agencies to share information.

Entering Derek’s office, Tony and Meung assured their friend and partner that Cindy would be okay. They were there for him, and he knew it. Seeing that they drew a sad little smile from Derek was all they could expect.

They made a great team, and it all started when Tony married Meung shortly before they graduated from the University of Pennsylvania. Her genius earned her a doctorate before many received their undergraduate degrees. Fortune 500 companies around the world had their eyes on her, and several made her lucrative offers. However, the Pentagon also offered her an employment proposal, which she gladly accepted. Meung was truly honored but some thought it was to be part of Tony’s world. At that time, he had just entered the Army Rangers, where he had met Derek.

Derek thought he would be an Army Ranger lifer, but was surprised that others in Washington had plans for him. His late brother and the former president of the United States, Clayton Whitcomb, asked him to head up a CIA black-operative unit. Because terrorist chatter grew everyday, the new team was needed to handle extremely sensitive situations that other effective branches could not. When the Terrorist Elimination Unit was formed, Tony was brought onboard to work in the field with Derek, while Meung became their IT wizard.

Derek, I must say you are acting calmer than I would have ever imagined, Meung agreed as she gave a little questionable-looking shrug. So what’s come over you?

Cindy is levelheaded and knows what to do if a situation like this comes up. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for now, but I’ll probably be jumping out of my skin if Fritz is not contacted soon.

Look, we know after watching it on television: our Ruler has been killed. Probably by the hand of your Derek Chase. They also said our army has been captured. After all those years of planning. He then pounded the back of Heather’s seat with his fist, which caused both women to jump. He and his three other friends infiltrated our camp and fooled us all. How could we have allowed that to happen? I cannot believe he tricked our Ruler, of all people. Did you know this? Did you know your Derek Chase impersonated a deaf-mute bodyguard from Iraq? Did you? Did you know this Mohamed Aliatid?

Cindy felt paralyzed as tears streamed down her face.

I said, did you know this? roared her abductor.

With that, she shook her head in a quick jerky motion.

You Americans think you have won, but it doesn’t matter now. We have you. She started to open her month, but froze when the words, Shut up, seemed to echo within her closed SUV.

Through her quivering lips, Cindy managed to repeat her questions, but this time the sounding sobs impaired her enunciation. Who are you? Where are you taking me? How do you know Derek?

I told you, your Derek is none other than Mohamed Aliatid.

You’re mad. Neither of us knows this Mohamed person. Now let me out of here.

I should shoot you for showing disrespect, but you are needed. Now drive to the closest major airport. I know one is Reagan, but I do not remember the name of the other. What is it?

Cindy knew she had to focus as best she could. Without hesitation, the word Dulles came out loud and clear. She traveled to both airports several times a year and knew Washington Dulles International Airport was farther away than Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. Driving in DC-area traffic felt like an eternity on certain days. If the cavalry was called in, the extra time it took to drive three additional miles could mean all the difference in the world.

As she stared in the rearview mirror, Cindy saw an evil man—a very evil man. His dead, soulless eyes were glued to her face as he watched her every move. Focus, focus, were the words she kept repeating to herself. Cindy knew she had only one objective: press the opal—but her chances were limited. I have one chance to do it. Come on, focus; but how? As they backed down the driveway and pulled away, her house became a blur in the distance. Tears again welled in those once-sparkling blue eyes, but no matter how hard she tried, they trickled down her cheeks.

Chapter 3

The war room was