Every Second

75

Coyote Mountains, New York

Undergrowth and branches tore at the four men as they moved double time through the forest.

The recurrent roar of helicopters told them with each pass that the search was intensifying, but Jerricko insisted that he had the operation under control.

He’d accepted that they’d made mistakes, that they’d failed to make the execution video. But it didn’t matter now. Lori Fulton and her family of enemy combatants were as good as dead.

Jerricko’s team had prevailed. They’d recovered the laptop. They had a quarter million dollars in cash. Their martyr videos were secure, along with the names of soldiers who’d join them on their path to glory. All they needed now was to meet up with the bomb maker and drive to their destiny.

As they descended a steep slope through dense growth, Jerricko dreamed of paradise.

Soon I’ll see you again and together we’ll bask in the brilliant light of God. Don’t worry, Malcolm. We’ll succeed. Our mother will be so proud. Our glorious leaders will capitalize on our triumphant act. The world will bear witness to our victory over the murdering nonbelievers-over immorality and filth.

The death squad continued traveling at great speed, as if by instinct. Jerricko glimpsed at each member moving with determination and conviction.

Each one yearns to breathe their last breath for the glory of God.

Vic held up his hand, halting the group as he consulted his compass and calculations again, keeping his voice soft.

“We’re on track, within a hundred yards, maybe less.”

They moved over terrain that rose and dipped. They crossed a small stream to a tangle of brush and then they saw pavement through the branches reaching to a narrow highway where they caught a reflection of light on a windshield, a fender, a hood-the markings of the New York State Police. The patrol unit had pulled completely off the road and was parked amid a lush canopy of branches, concealing it from any passing traffic.

But there was none.

Jerricko took stock of the others before signaling to proceed. They tightened their hold on their rifles. Moving in silence, they surrounded the vehicle, weapons drawn and fingers on the triggers.

Jerricko crouched and advanced from the rear to the driver’s door.

The lone occupant was behind the wheel. The window was down. Jerricko stood, pressed his gun to the trooper’s neck.

Slowly the trooper raised his hands.

Jerricko asked: “What are the wedding gifts? The wrong answer means death.”

“Clocks.”

“What is your name?”

“I’m Ghorbani.”

Relief washed over Jerricko and the others as they lowered their weapons.

Ghorbani got out of the SUV, exchanged hugs and greetings with the team. Like the others, Percy was impressed with the car and uniform.

“They look real, where’d you get this stuff?”

“A company in Brooklyn supplies props for TV and movie production. I convinced them I was a producer and made the purchases several months ago when we began planning the operation.”

“And the gun?”

“The Glock’s real.” Ghorbani tapped his holster. “Now, we have no time to lose.” He opened the rear door, lifted a canvas to reveal four backpacks. “Each device is ready. They can only be detonated by pulling this-hard.” He showed the six-inch cord with plastic handle on the shoulder strap. “Dropping it won’t set it off. The components guarantee a high kill rate.”

The men studied the backpacks.

“Do you have what I need?” Ghorbani asked.

Jerricko pulled the laptop from his backpack and handed it to Ghorbani. He motioned toward his team and each of them brought forward a sports bag and placed them in the back of the SUV. Jerricko unzipped one of the bags, showing Ghorbani the bricks of bundled cash.

“The laptop has our videos and information on new believers we’ve recruited. The bags contain two hundred and fifty thousand in cash to fund operations,” Jerricko said.

“Good. You’ve done well.”

“We didn’t produce the execution videos,” Jerricko said. “As desirable as they were, we’ll still succeed without them.”

“Agreed,” Ghorbani replied. “Quickly, bury your rifles and use these.” Ghorbani moved the canvas, uncovering more Glock pistols with several magazines. “To be less conspicuous.”

“Why do we need to be inconspicuous?” Cutty asked. “Aren’t you driving us to Manhattan? We should keep our guns.”

“We face obstacles,” Ghorbani said. “There’s a lot of heat and checkpoints.”

“But you’ll get us through in this,” Jerricko said. “This is our backup plan.”

“I’ve already been challenged.” Ghorbani shook his head. “I’m telling you, it’s not good. They’re circulating your pictures, my picture. I saw it at the last checkpoint.”

“They already know who we are?” Jerricko asked.

“They’re moving faster than we expected,” Ghorbani said. “We’ll have to think of another way to get you to New York, but for now, bury your weapons.”

Using deadwood, they stabbed and scraped the soft soil. After they buried their weapons and took up the handguns, they got into the SUV. Jerricko took the laptop, sat in the front and they started down the road.

“This is the wrong way.” Vic consulted his GPS. “Go south.”

“There’s a very active roadblock at the Birch Creek Road junction,” Ghorbani said. “I think the sniffer dog picked up something on this SUV, possibly the explosives. We can’t risk going back that way. I threw them off the first time, but I have a strong sense that they’re watching for this vehicle.”

“Why?”

“I had an exchange with a trooper there and I think he suspects something was up. We have to take Red Hawk Way before they seal it at the extreme end.”

“How far do we have to go to get out?”

“Another ten or twelve miles will bring us to the state route. Then we should be out and clear. We’ll take a longer way to New York City, but we’ll get there, brothers.”

Jerricko exhaled deeply, moving closer to the windshield to look up as a helicopter passed overhead.

“We’ll do whatever you have to do to get out.”

The five men had gone about five or six miles when they came to a short stretch of road with a large Adirondack cabin clinging to the roadside. The rooftop sign identified it as Jenny’s Mountain Gas & Diner.

It had a two-pump gas island out front. A few lonely cars and pickup trucks dotted the parking lot.

“No cops,” Cutty said when they passed. “That’s good.”

During the next few miles, clicking sounds filled the interior as some of the team checked their handguns. Jerricko was using an earpiece to watch their martyrdom videos, his heart bursting with pride.

We’ll give our lives for the glory of God. We’ll bring swift justice against the nonbelievers.

As they rounded a sharp, narrow bend, Ghorbani slowed reflexively upon spotting an oncoming tour bus. Air brakes hissed and the grind of diesel growled as the bus whizzed by in the opposite direction. The SUV shuddered in the wake.

“Not much room on these roads.”

Other than the bus and a few cars, they hadn’t encountered much traffic, and, with the exception of the faint sounds of aircraft, there was little activity. The team grew optimistic that it was the fringe of the search.

“We should be hitting the state route intersection any minute now, then we’ll be clear for sure.”

Ghorbani suddenly came to a full stop.

Emergency lights pulsated several hundred yards in the distance, where Red Hawk Way met the state road. Several police vehicles were moving into position and blocking the intersection.

“Dammit,” Ghorbani said.

“Is that for us?” Jerricko asked.

“Could be, or it could be they’re expanding the search boundaries.”

“Can’t we just drive through? If they stop you, say we’re with you and you’re taking us to another checkpoint.”

Ghorbani shook his head. “Too risky, given what happened at the last checkpoint.”

“Well, we can’t sit here!”

Eyeing his rearview mirror, Ghorbani backed up slowly until the SUV dropped out of sight behind a rise. Then he wheeled around hard, accelerating in the opposite direction. Eyeballing his mirrors, he dragged the back of his hand over his mouth.

“I’ve got an idea that will get us out.”