A little tease from our new installment to our
Black Eagle Force series,
Sacred Mountain.
CHAPTER ONE
SOUTHERN NEW MEXICO
Morning sun was breaking over the Alamo Hueco Mountains to the east and casting deep blue shadows on the foot hills as the convoy of vehicles made their way south through the ruggedly beautiful desert land of southern New Mexico. Two state motorcycle police led the procession down a lightly traveled two lane road, followed by two black SUVs, an armored black Lincoln limousine, two more SUVs and bringing up the rear, two more motorcycle police. Overhead, an olive drab Army AH-64 Longbow Apache Attack helicopter fitted for combat, kept pace with the convoy. The group of government vehicles and escorts were heading south on New Mexico State Highway 81 for a rendezvous with Border Patrol officials on the border with Mexico. Antelope Wells lay between the Animas Mountains and the Alamo Hueco Mountains in the boot heel of New Mexico.
This barren desert landscape was well known as a major entry point for illegal aliens and drug smugglers. Part of the Gadsden Purchase, also called the Treaty of La Mesilla, the area was acquired by the United States in 1853 from Mexico and still had a predominately Mexican population as does much of southern New Mexico, Arizona and Texas.
Inside the limo, Mickey Williams, a muscular Secret Service agent in a dark nondescript suit, spoke to an attractive, stately woman with flashing antique gold eyes. Her gray flecked auburn hair was shoulder length and she wore a smartly tailored dark blue pin stripe pant suit. President Annette Henry Thompson was the first female president of the United States. Not only was she the first woman to become president, she was the first person of American Indian descent to hold the highest office in the country. Her maternal grandmother was a full blood Mescalero Apache. She had been widowed shortly before her inauguration two years earlier when her husband suffered a massive heart attack.
"Madame President, I still don't think this is a good idea for you to be taking a personal tour of the border area."
"Nonsense, Mickey. You've got sixteen of your crack Secret Service team, New Mexico State Police escorts and an Apache gunship overhead."
"I think I have to agree with Mickey, Madame President. Even with all this protection, this is outlaw country. With over 1,900 miles of border with Mexico, we just don't have the manpower to adequately cover the area," said the Director of Homeland Security, Barbara Hoffner, a stocky, middle aged masculine featured woman with short cropped brown hair.
"Well, I think that's why we're here, isn't it, Barbara? To see if we can come up with a solution to the problem."
"But why do you personally have to be here, Madame President?" asked Mickey.
"You should know by now, Mickey, that I'm a hands-on President, unlike my predecessors. If they had gotten their butts out of that office with their feet on the ground more, we might not be looking at this situation now. Besides, my ancestors roamed this part of our country. Speaking of which, I've got to call my baby brother at the Mescalero Reservation. He'll have my hide if he finds out I was in the area and didn't call."
"He's the President of the Tribal Council, isn't he?" asked Hoffner.
"Yes, we both grew up on the reservation, I went off to college at Southwest Texas State and he went to New Mexico Highlands University. He couldn't stand to leave our people. That's one reason they elected him as President of the Council."
"Being a leader must run in the family," stated Mickey.
"One has to do what one has to do, Mickey."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Call 505-888-5956 extension 2 on the secure sat phone for me, will you Mickey? It's Mark's private number."
"Yes, ma'am."
Mickey removed the phone from the cradle in the console and punched in the number. The secure encryption tones took almost five seconds. Mark picked up on the second ring.
"Mark Henry, that you Sis?"
Mickey handed the phone to the President.
"Hey baby brother, nice weather we're having here in the Land of Enchantment, isn't it?"
"You come all the way out here and all I get is a stinkin' phone call? That's almost as bad as the T-shirt you brought me from Moscow. Thanks a lot."
"I know, I know… I'll make it up to you. I wish things were different sometimes. I miss you… What've you been up to?"
"Miss you too, Sis. I know it's tough being the leader of the free world and all. As for me, been busy with the tribal council. Still working on the definitive novel about our people's migration from southern Chihuahua—need to make another field trip down there to that area where great grandfather said Pancho Villa's hideout was."
"Pancho Villa? I thought you were talking about the Tsebekinéndé, our clan of the Mescalero?"
"I'm still convinced that Villa was descended from the Chichimeca, the parent group of the Tsebekinéndé, the Rock People, in the southern Sierra Madres.
"Right, good luck with that. Listen, gotta run, call you back after we have our meeting. I love you."
"Love you, too. Don't give Mickey too hard a time. You know how spoiled you are. Tell him I said hello."
"Yeah, yeah. All hat, no cattle. Later bye."
She handed the unit back to Mickey.
"Mark says hey…What's our ETA to Antelope Wells?"
Mickey looked at his watch and said, "We are due there in twenty…"
The President's limo was suddenly rocked by multiple explosions both in front and behind.
"Mickey, what…"
"IED's! Get down!" yelled Mickey as he keyed his radio. "Lilac under attack, repeat, Lilac under attack!"
Outside, the Apache quickly gained altitude to get into an offensive posture in response to the radio alert.
"Jesus H. Christ! Six IED's, both sides of the road! Took out all the support vehicles bracketing Lilac's limo!" exclaimed Captain Gleason, pilot of the Apache.
"Missile launch, missile launch, five o'clock!" shouted WSO Bison from the back seat.
"Chaff and flares! Get me a target!" commanded Gleason as he banked toward the missile to reduce his heat signature.
WSO Bison launched two bundles of chaff and two magnesium flares as the Apache continued to gain altitude in the bank.
"Missile launch! Eight o'clock!" said Bison.
"Damn!" was all Captain Gleason was able to say before the second shoulder fired FIM 92D Stinger missile went into his port exhaust.
The Apache AH-64 Longbow gunship exploded into a white and yellow fireball and spun flaming to the desert ground below.
Desert camouflaged tangos rose up from under their well concealed spider holes on both sides of the road flanking the burning wreckage of the convoy. One of the attackers leveled an RPG-7 at the President's armored limo as its driver attempted to maneuver around what remained of a burning Suburban. The yard long rocket closed the forty yards in less than a second and impacted the black Lincoln limo on the left side of the grill. It easily defeated the light armor—the warhead blew the hood several yards into the air as it destroyed the big V-8 engine and any chance for the President to escape. Inside the limo, airbags deployed and filled the driver and passenger compartments with a smoky brown haze. The agent in the front passenger seat was stunned from the explosion, but instinctively struggled to get the hot air bag off, unbuckle his seat belt and draw his weapon.
Mickey drew his Sig, unbuckled his seat belt and moved to a position covering the President with his body.
"Are you hurt, Madame President?"
"I don't think so," the shaken President replied.
Seven surviving members of the Secret Service detail staggered from their destroyed SUVs only to be quickly gunned down by the terrorists with their FN SAWs. One of the terrorists climbed on top of the limo and emptied a magazine from his AK-47 through the lightly armored roof into the front seat of the limo, killing the Secret Service driver and the agent riding shotgun. The limo was quickly surrounded by gun wielding desert camo clad Mexican terrorists.
"All right, you inside, you're surrounded, your support detail are all dead. Come out now—hands in the air!" commanded Arturo Jimenez, leader of the attack force. "I said, now! I'm not in the habit of repeating myself!"
Inside the limo, President Annette Henry Thompson nodded to Mickey then asked,
"How could they know, Mickey?"
"There had to be a leak, Madame President. White House staff or the military."
Homeland Security Director, Barbara Hoffner sobbed hysterically.
"Oh, shut up, Barbara—Show some spunk," President Thompson admonished.
"They're going to kill us all!" Hoffner said through her tears.
"No, they're not. We're being kidnapped."
Mickey looked at the President, keyed his satellite radio inside his coat pocket to open, unlocked the side door, threw his Sig Sauer 220 outside and stepped out with his hands in the air.
"Now you—Madame President, and that other slut with you," said Arturo sarcastically.
The President exited the limo followed by the still crying Hoffner—the three stood outside the limo with their hands in the air.
An Arab man also clad in desert camo approached.
"Well done, Arturo," said Abbas Al Hakim. "The emir will be pleased."
"Al Qaeda has been most helpful, Abbas. The infidel dogs of the great Satan will know our power and resolve now that we have taken their whore leader."
President Thompson and Mickey exchanged confused glances as Hoffner accelerated her blubbering. Mickey looked up when he heard the familiar
whump, whump, whump of a helicopter coming over the nearby mountain. As the chopper grew nearer, he was able to determine that it was a dark green Bell Jet Ranger 206B-3.
The helicopter settled down fifty yards from the highway, just parallel to the President's limo, stirring up a large cloud of dirt and sand until its rotors spooled down.
"Our chariot has arrived," said Abbas.
Abbas and Arturo motioned President Thompson toward the chopper.
"That Jet Ranger only seats five," she said.
"So it does. Pity," replied Arturo as he turned, drew his Beretta M9 and shot both Mickey and Homeland Security Director Hoffner once each in the chest—they dropped where they stood. "Now we have room—I was tired of that wench's wailing anyway."
"You murdering bastards," said President Thompson through her teeth, her amber gold eyes snapped. "You'll pay for this."
"Shut up, woman! It is you and your country that will pay," Arturo replied.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked as she knelt beside Mickey's body and gently caressed his face—tears streamed down her cheeks.
"To our base in the Sierra Madres where the great Mexican Revolutionary general, José Doroteo Arango Arámbula hid out—the place your General Black Jack Pershing could never find in 1917."
"Its beauty reminds me of the mountainous border country between Afghanistan and Pakistan. I think it is why our exalted leader Osama bin Mohammed bin Awad bin Laden chose it for our new command center six months ago," said Abbas Al Hakim.
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