The Rampage of Ryan O'Hara (22 page)

Markowitz agreed and added, “It’s hardly a secret that the communists and the Islamofascists have been in bed together for decades already. The Russians, the Chinese, and even the North Koreans have been supplying technical and scientific assistance to our adversaries in the region and are believed to be heavily involved in Iran’s nuclear program. And we all know, contrary to the protestations of those involved, it is not being developed for peaceful purposes.

“If allowed to continue, this conspiracy has the potential to choke off our access to Middle East oil as well as usher in a second Holocaust aimed at the people of Israel. That, gentlemen, is why it is imperative that we eliminate all those, both here and abroad, who are working toward harming us and destroying our only real friend in the Middle East.” Markowitz paused. “Are there any questions before I continue?”

“Yes, I have a question,” replied an agent who was seated at the far end of the table. “I notice that I’ve been assigned a target in the Dearborn, Michigan, area. So far you’ve been speaking about the MRC and former sixties and seventies radicals and explaining how they, with backing from rich subversives such as Vidor Orosz, are working with foreign enemy agents to destroy Israel and undermine our interests in the Middle East.”

“That’s right, Amos,” Markowitz confirmed. “So what’s your question?”

Amos Voytko, a former Green Beret and 18 Fox Intelligence sergeant, was fluent in several languages, including Farsi and Arabic. That was the reason he’d been assigned to the AO with the highest concentration of Muslims in the lower forty-eight.

“How does my target figure in with the rest of these characters? You mentioned at the beginning that we are targeting not only MRC members but also members of the Messengers of Medina. I’m assuming that my target is a member of the latter organization,” Voytko said.

Markowitz replied, “You’re getting ahead of me, Amos. But since you asked, yes, your target, Rashid Youseff, is one of the chief movers and shakers of the Messengers of Medina. He is a man of great wealth and influence who masquerades as a legitimate businessman. As president of the United Bank of Saladin, he has the necessary cover to oversee and administer millions of dollars that the radical Muslim organization has raised and continues to raise in furtherance of its Islamic world revolution.”

“So, just like the MRC and its members, Youseff and the Messengers of Medina use legitimate institutions to hide their subversive activities,” noted Voytko.

“Yes,” Markowitz confirmed. “Not only is he the president of a bank that has as its main function the financing of those intent on undermining the interests of the United States and Israel, he’s also recognized as a civil rights leader who champions and heralds the cause of fellow Muslims, who he and his associates claim are the victims of widespread discrimination. His clout is
such that he and the vociferous Messengers of Medina are able to keep a muzzle on the majority of local, state, and federal politicians, who are afraid to challenge the unsubstantiated claims of their organization because they fear being labeled as bigots. As usual, our gutless and less-than-useless politicians hide in their ivory towers like cornered rats, too chicken-shit to do the jobs they were elected to do, and allow a hoard of dung-wallowing subhumans from the Dark Ages to take over our institutions and adversely influence the culture, values, and politics of our country.”

Markowitz paused for a moment. “Okay, rather than jump from target to target and organization to organization, I’d like all of you to retire from the room for a while. Find a quiet place in the living room, on the porch, or under a tree somewhere and study the packets that have been prepared for you. Become familiar with your subjects and we’ll continue our discussion after lunch. Over the next few days, we’ll fine-tune our plan so that we’ll all be on the same page as to the synchronization of time, the familiarization of codes, the distribution of untraceable cell phones, and the methods that will be employed by the various teams.

“There are ten of you here. You’ve all worked together in the past, so teamwork and coordination shouldn’t be a problem. You men and the seven other people on each of your teams will be carrying out your respective tasks in various cities and rural areas of the country. Those locations are in Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Illinois, Oregon, Washington, California, and Florida. Before we leave, we will have rehearsed the timing, coordination, and
communicative teamwork necessary to carry out the already stated goal of our mission.

“When all targets have been successfully dispatched, you will return here. Prior to your debriefing, an anonymous communiqué will be sent to the major news organizations. The media will be given the reason the mission was undertaken and advised that more operations of this nature will be forthcoming and will continue until we are satisfied that the Islamofascist/communist threat no longer exists and that all principals have been terminated.”

Markowitz took a deep breath. “That concludes our morning session, gentlemen. I’ll see you all back here at 1400 hours.” Before exiting the room, he motioned to Wohler and stated, “Come with me, Larry. I want to familiarize you with the command center you’ll be working in with me.”

Wohler followed Markowitz to the large room in the basement of the house where a large array of electronic equipment, radios, telephones, and computers were set up. He asked, “Are you and I going to be handling all this stuff by ourselves?”

“Oh, hell no, Larry. I’ve got a special fifteen-man team coming in tomorrow for that,” Markowitz explained. “They’re a bunch of rear-echelon computer and communications experts who, although not trained or experienced in the dirty hands-on part of these operations are nevertheless invaluable for plotting and coordinating movements. They’ll be analogous to air traffic controllers in relation to pilots, so to speak. Their primary purpose will be to keep the operators on the right course. They will also assist us in relaying times
and locations to the ten teams so that the operators can commence their attacks at the same time.

“Their skills will enable us to keep visuals up on the screens and allow us to make adjustments based on real-time information. In addition, we’ll be able to monitor the areas around the objectives for the purpose of warning the teams should any non-operatives approach while the operation is in progress.”

Wohler looked puzzled. “How are we going to be able to watch them from here in real time? What…?

“Look, Larry, you don’t need to know the details. Let’s just say that we’ve drawn on resources from NASA and other agencies whose members have the means and technical skills to assist us and who share our same concerns. I’d prefer we just leave it at that, if it’s all the same to you,” Markowitz replied.

“That’s fine. Forget I asked. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Good. Thanks, Larry.”

The one rule that Markowitz always observed was that unless an operative had a need to know the details of another operative’s job, it was wise to keep the information confidential. This lessened the possibility of a mission being compromised due to the unnecessary sharing of information between too many people.

R
yan arrived in Chesapeake Beach, Maryland, late in the afternoon and went directly to the hotel he’d chosen. One look at the attractive white buildings that graced the shore of Chesapeake Bay left no doubt in his mind that he’d picked the perfect place to kick back and plan his visit to the home of Jonas Judd.

After checking in and retiring to his room, he mixed a drink, went out on the balcony, and collapsed into a lounge chair. The mild breeze blowing in from the estuary—where the waters of the Atlantic, Rappahannock, and Potomac merge as one—was soothing and contrasted with the hot, muggy weather he’d left behind in Washington, DC.

Tracking Jonas Judd through the streets and neighborhoods of the nation’s capital and around the Beltway had been monotonous and tiring, and Ryan was thankful to be in a place where he could sleep and dine in a setting totally different from the cheap dumps and junk-food restaurants he’d endured over the past few days.

While in Washington, Ryan had painstakingly plotted Judd’s daily itinerary, learning that he arrived at his office promptly at eight-thirty each morning, worked until 11:45 a.m., and then knocked off for lunch. After lunch, Judd stopped in at local foundations, financial institutions, and other government offices.

Ryan noted with interest that Judd made at least one trip each day to the local office of the Messengers of Medina and usually, time permitting, to the Department of Education. He knew that the Messengers of Medina was purported to be a Muslim civil-rights organization because its members were frequently on the nightly news and talk-radio shows ranting about racial profiling and discrimination. But he also suspected that it was probably much more than that. And the fact that Judd was hanging around its offices only reinforced his suspicion that the Messengers of Medina was probably involved in subversive activities.

Judd was obviously up to something more than just working as an advisor to the president, but just what it was, Ryan didn’t know. And it didn’t really matter to him because soon Judd would no longer be visiting the office of the Messengers of Medina—or any other office, for that matter. He would be a permanent resident of the local boneyard.

Judd’s visits to the Department of Education were somewhat puzzling but Ryan couldn’t quite put his finger on why. After all, he was working as a White House financial advisor and was instrumental in crafting the president’s fiscal policies. What that had to do with the Department of Education was anyone’s guess. Considering the backgrounds of his late friends Bill and Brenda Delgadillo, it could be that Judd was conspiring with leftist ideologues to inculcate the minds of decision makers within that department with Marxist ideas in order to convince them to inundate the academic curricula of the nation with socialist theory.

Ryan was about to begin the final task in his journey of retribution and pondered his itinerary for the next day. Running a preliminary plan through his mind, he decided to get up early and conduct surveillance on Judd’s house to make sure he left for work.

When he was certain that his prey wasn’t returning, he’d enter the house and familiarize himself with the floor plan so that he’d be able to move around in the dark when it was time to come calling in middle of the night. Once satisfied that he knew the layout, he’d look for firearms and render them unserviceable so that they couldn’t be used against him in the unlikely event he was discovered on the premises.

Ryan finished his drink and decided to grab a bite to eat at one of the hotel’s restaurants. He took the elevator down and walked across the patio to enter what looked like the most moderately priced of the three eating establishments on the premises. After being seated, he decided on the seafood platter listed in the menu as the restaurant’s most popular entrée.

Lingering over the dinner of deep-fried cod, mini crab cakes, clam strips, fried oysters, and shrimp, Ryan ordered a second Budweiser and watched as the last of the charter fishing boats came in and tied up at the dock. “Damn,” he thought, “this sure beats the hell out of the swill I’ve been putting into my gut for the past few days.”

He finished up, paid his bill, and exchanged final pleasantries with the pretty waitress who’d been his server, leaving her a generously inflated tip just because he liked her smile.

When he returned to his room, he decided to try calling Carol. He was once again disappointed to hear her answering machine instructing him to leave a message.

“Hey, beautiful, aren’t you ever home?” he began, but was pleasantly surprised when he heard the sweet sound of Carol’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hi, darlin’. I’ve been screening my calls. Too many telemarketers and survey takers bothering me at all hours of the day and night. Plus there’s a pest at work who keeps trying to get me to go out with him. Where are you? I miss you and was disappointed that I was out the last time you called,” she exclaimed all in one breath, as if she were afraid the call would end before she was able to speak.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Should be back at Fort Campbell in a few more days,” Ryan assured her.

“What’ve you been doing, love? And where have you been? I feel a little insecure when I don’t know where you’re at or what you’re doing. Makes me think maybe you’re on some secret mission or maybe you’ve found another girl or something.” Carol laughed.

“You know you don’t have to worry about me finding another gal, sweetheart. You’re my everything. If you don’t know that by now, then… Well, you just never will.” Ryan wondered what his lady would think if she knew that the secret mission part of her jest was closer to the truth than she could ever imagine.

“So where have you been?” Carol asked again.

“Oh, I went to some places I’ve been to before and a few I haven’t.”

“Where?”

“First I drove up to the Grand Tetons and through Yellowstone. After that I dropped in on the Little Big Horn battlefield in Montana and then drove on to Abilene, Kansas, where I visited President Eisenhower’s boyhood home, museum, and burial site. A lot of World War II history and artifacts there,” Ryan lied, careful not to mention any of the places he’d actually been.

“So where are you now?” Carol asked.

“I’m in York, Pennsylvania. I’m going down to Gettysburg to visit the battlefield tomorrow,” Ryan answered, continuing his deception.

“You and your battlefields. It seems that all you think about is war, war, and more war,” Carol scolded, half kidding but serious enough that Ryan knew she wasn’t as enthusiastic about his interest in the nation’s conflicts as he was. She suddenly changed the subject. “You know, I have something to tell you before I forget. It’s about your ex-wife.”

“You mean Ciara?”

“Do you have another one besides her?” Carol asked, pretending she didn’t know that his inquiry wasn’t anything more than a figurative expression.