Crossing: Citizen Warrior Series - Book 3 Read online

  Inspired by True Events

  and

  Real People

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  CITIZEN WARRIOR

  SERIES-BOOK 3

  CROSSING

  by J. Thomas Rompel

  COPYRIGHT ACKNOWNLEDGEMENT

  CROSSING: Citizen Warrior Series – Book 3

  Self-Published by J. Thomas Rompel, 2020 ©

  Website | www.jthomasrompel.com

  Email | [email protected]

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Copyright © 2020. All rights reserved.

  J. Thomas Rompel

  NOTICE

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, recording, photocopying, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and/or the above publisher of this book. Request to the Publisher for permission should be emailed to: [email protected]

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to my good friend John Jannetto and Tia. To my son Tommy and daughter Trisha who have always been and continue to be an inspiration to me. To my lovely wife Linda and her continued love and encouragement. To all the men and women in our military and law enforcement who have given of themselves so we can enjoy our God given freedom. And to all the Citizen Warriors who are out there just waiting to be called if needed! Keep up the good fight!

  "The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree."

  Thomas Campbell

  Tuesday, 1:38 PM

  Tía Elena Restaurant

  Tucson, Arizona

  “Let’s get out of here,” Congressman Hector Granada said to his niece, looking into his empty beer glass.

  “Ok, let me run to the bathroom and then we’ll go,” FBI Special Agent Sylvia Granada said, glancing at her phone checking for messages. She picked up her purse… and opened it, pushing her plate away and throwing her phone inside. Reaching over to the back of her chair, her uncle knocked a glass of water over, splashing it onto the open purse.

  “Dammit, my phone’s in there,” she said, grabbing the purse from the small pool of water formed around it on the thin, well-worn, white table cloth.

  “Let me help you,” said their waiter, walking up to their table with a white towel in his hand.

  “Go ahead to the bathroom… I’ll make sure your phone’s ok. We’ll dry it off; it’ll be fine,” Hector Granada said, pointing in the general direction of the bathroom.

  “Ok, just make sure my phone’s ok,” Sylvia said over her shoulder, walking fast towards the bathrooms. Sylvia stood looking and then turned, not being able to hold it any longer.

  “Here, let me have the towel. I’ll get it—go away,” Hector said to the waiter. Haphazardly, he wiped the purse. Looking in the bathroom's direction, he opened Sylvia’s purse and pulled out her iPhone. In her rush to go to the bathroom and the upset of the spilled water, she’d failed to turn the screen off. Looking up again, then back at the screen, he went to the address section and scrolled down until he stopped at Rebecca Harper’s name. Awkwardly, he laid Sylvia’s phone on the table with Rebecca’s name, address and phone number displayed and snapped a picture with his phone. Looking up, he saw Sylvia making her way back to the table just as he put the phone back in her purse.

  “Here, good as new,” said Hector, handing her the purse. Sylvia opened it up checking her phone to make sure it was working.

  “Thank you,” said Sylvia, pulling her phone out.

  “Maybe I’ve time for another cerveza,” said Hector, holding up his empty glass.

  “No, I think you’ve had enough, Uncle. That’s weird. The screen’s still on… it should have turned off after a minute. I hope the water didn’t mess it up or I’ll be in big trouble. It’s a department-issued phone,” said Sylvia, peering at the lit screen on her phone.

  “If it did, it’ll dry out. Put it in a bowl of rice when you get home,” said Hector, glancing at Sylvia and then the phone, which finally turned off. Pushing his chair back, Hector stood and placed his hands onto the table for support.

  “Here, let me help you,” said Sylvia, putting her left arm around his right arm.

  Amidst the stares and murmured whispering, she stumbled, trying to support her overweight uncle, Hector. More than once while heading to the door, he bumped the corners of tables, interrupting people’s meals and knocking a man’s glass of beer over. At five feet, seven inches, and 295 pounds, he was a lumbering sight. Whispers of recognition from people sitting at the tables reached their ears. Sylvia couldn’t get him out of there soon enough. A waiter stepped forward to help. Once through the door, the congressman stopped and raised his right hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. Swaying, he looked towards the parking lot to their right.

  “Where’s my car? Let go of me, I can do it,” he retorted in a slurred voice, pulling away from her and lurching forward.

  “You took an Uber to get here. I’ll give you a ride. Where are you staying?” Sylvia asked, holding onto him to keep him from falling. Even with the help of the waiter, the weight and bulk of him pushed her back, forcing her to land on the bench just outside the entrance. Half standing upright, he looked down at her and smiled. His eyes moved from her face to her breasts and then back to her face and then back to her breasts. She turned to the left, hoping to stop him from looking at her like that. Turning, her uncle ran his tongue back and forth on his lower lip.

  “I… I took an Uber to get here? I… I’m staying at the Westin La Paloma. In the foothills. You going to take me there?”

  “Yes,” she said, lifting herself off the bench and grabbing his arm, pointing to the parking lot. With Sylvia on his right and the waiter on his left, the three of them moved towards Sylvia’s car.

  “Come on, Congressman, let’s get you to her car,” the waiter said, relieving Sylvia’s support of her uncle.

  “Who the f… fuck are you? Who the fucks is he?” the congressman said, looking first at the waiter and then Sylvia.

  “He’s helping us, Uncle. Come on, don’t be difficult, he’s a nice man.”

  After the waiter helped the congressman into the front passenger seat, Sylvia reached over to grab the seat belt and buckled her uncle in. As she did so, he put his right hand on the back of her neck, awkwardly pulling her close to him to kiss her. She winced at the smell of his breath, mixed with the Mexican food and beer, and turned away. She breathed deep, fighting a wave of nausea.

  “You’re so pretty.”

  Sylvia slipped her left hand and arm under his arm, raising her elbow up as she pulled away and walked around the car to get into the driver’s seat. Sitting straight up, she started the car and backed out of their parking spot.

  “Thank you, Tío . I think maybe you’ve had too much to drink,” she said, looking straight ahead, pulling out of the parking lot and turning right. More than once in her life she’d been around him when he was in this condition. She hated it. Putting his hand on her neck was something new. Speeding up halfway down the block, she felt his left hand on her neck again as he began rubbing it. “Stop,Tío,” she said, pushing away his arm. “You shouldn’t be doing that, I’m your niece.” Continuing to look straight ahead, she squirmed in her seat, took a deep breath and put her right hand over her mouth. The taste of the enchiladas she had for lunch wanted to make a second appearance. The sting of bile burned the back of her throat. r />
  “Did what’s-her-name say anything to you about the legal pad?”

  “You mean Agent Harper? No, she hasn’t said a thing,” Sylvia said, wondering whether to press him further about her discovery of his name, a reference to Stinger missiles and a known Syrian woman terrorist’s name written on a yellow legal pad she’d found in Rebecca Harper’s desk. The notes also mentioned they had shipped the Stingers from Benghazi, Libya, to Guaymas, Mexico. She started biting a nail on her left hand, something she hadn’t done since grade school after she’d got caught by a teacher cheating on a test. The teacher told Sylvia she wanted her to meet with her and her mother the next day. Sylvia promised she’d tell her parents what happened that night, but didn’t. Because of this, the teacher called her mother the next day asking her to come to school at the end of class to sit down with her and Sylvia. After the meeting, Sylvia’s mother was livid and told Sylvia’s father when he came home from work. He took a belt to her and through raining tears she apologized, promising never to do it again.

  Unconsciously, Sylvia moved her left hand, touching her behind and then back to the steering wheel.

  “Tío, what’s going on with your name being on that legal pad in my boss’s office? Tell me. Between you and me.”

  “I, I told you, probably because I’m on the Congressional International Arms Committee. CIAC. We talk about that sort of thing all the time. You shouldn’t have been snooping around her desk. Do you think she knows that you looked inside the drawer and read her notes?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know… I shouldn’t have but I did,” Sylvia said, not believing what her uncle was telling her.

  “Do you think anybody else knows about what’s on her legal pad?” Hector asked.

  “I don’t know. Last week, she called me into her office and asked me again if I knew anything about your involvement in an illegal shipment of Stinger missiles and this woman Assal. I checked her out… She’s number three on Interpol’s most wanted list.” Sylvia paused. She didn’t enjoy having this conversation with him in his drunken state, but couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Her name was right next to yours with the word ‘girlfriend,’ followed by a question mark. What’s going on?”

  “It’s nothing—I’m sure it has to do with the committee work I do. As… Assal… oh, I think there might have been a woman I met at a cocktail party by that name. I… I really don’t remember though. Is this agent… wha… what’s her name again?”

  “Rebecca Harper, Special Agent Rebecca Harper or, now, Supervisor Harper.”

  “Ok, this Agent Ha… Harper. Do you think she’s doing anything with the information?” Hector asked, looking at Sylvia with heavy eyes.

  “I don’t know. So far she hasn’t.”

  “Wh… wh… Why do you say that?”

  “We have a system that logs all open investigations. I was in it this morning on another case and looked for anything about this. There’s nothing in the system mentioning you or anything that’s on the legal pad. Maybe she doesn’t feel she has enough to go on. I don’t have a clue. There’s a standard protocol everyone follows before launching an investigation. I don’t know what the deal is. So, as far as I know, she’s not doing anything with the information on the legal pad. But… last month, I overheard part of a conversation she had with our former boss, Ben Nottingham. It was loud, even with the door closed. She was pretty pissed off about something that had to do with this. Other than that, nothing more.”

  “What did she say to this guy?”

  “Basically, what I just told you.”

  “Since you’re her partner, don’t you think she’d mention something to you?”

  “Well… I’m not her partner anymore. She got a promotion and now she’s the new Tucson Station chief. I’m not sure who’ll be my new partner. Besides, because you’re my uncle, I don’t think she’d say anything to me. Tío, I’m concerned about it. But if you say it’s nothing, then I believe you.”

  “I’m sure it had to do with being on the committee, that’s all. Really, not sure who this Syrian woman is. Tell me about Rebecca Harper. Is she married? Does she have a boyfriend? Children?”

  “She’s not married and, as far as I know, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She’s got a nine-year-old. A daughter she adopted from China. Kimyung. But I shouldn’t be talking to you about Agent Harper. Why are you asking?”

  “Ju… just curious,” Hector said, shifting in his seat and dropping his head.

  The entire conversation was uncomfortable for Sylvia and she stopped pressing him any further, especially in his drunken state. It scared her, the thought of what he might be up to and what could happen if she got caught covering for him. Jesus, what if Rebecca discovers I snooped in her desk and thinks, somehow, I’m involved in what my uncle’s up to? Oh God, I could end up in prison.

  She looked over at her uncle, who’d fallen asleep like he usually did after drinking. Pulling into the Westin La Paloma, she reached over to stirring him awake.

  “Stop shaking me,” Hector said, pushing her hand away and looking around as the car came to a halt under the covered entrance. A doorman walked to Sylvia’s side of the car and another opened the passenger door.

  “Greetings, sir. Do you have luggage?” the passenger side doorman asked Granada.

  “No, I’m already checked in. Do you want to come in for a dri… drink?” Granada said to Sylvia.

  “No,Tío. I’ve got work to do. When are you leaving and heading up to Prescott?”

  “Tomorrow morning, and then I’m go… going back to Washington. Have a reception party there on Thursday night. Want to come with me?” he asked, smiling and reaching over to put his pudgy hand on her right knee.

  “Tío, don’t. Stop it, you can’t be doing that. I’ve got to go,” she said, moving her knee left while pushing him off with her right hand. She glanced over at the doorman with a pleading look and he hurried over to help get her uncle out of the car.

  Pulling away, her thoughts went back to the consequences of being found out for snooping in Rebecca Harper’s desk and her uncle coming on to her. Driving down the road that lead out of the hotel grounds, Sylvia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She felt flushed and pulled onto the shoulder, skidding to a stop. Yanking the door open, crying, she ran to the other side of the car, took a deep breath, belched, leaned over and vomited. God, please help me.

  Tuesday, 3:54 PM

  Tucson FBI Field Office

  Rebecca had finished her report on the recovery of the Stingers missiles in the Nogales incident. She knew the two Islamic terrorists she’d killed while saving the lives of Carter Thompson and Doug Redman were connected to the Madkahl Mosque in Tucson. But, with no direct evidence to prove it, she’d come to a standstill in the investigation.

  Under the previous White House administration, terrorists on American soil got a pass, but with the present administration that wouldn’t happen… that is, as long as she had rock solid proof. No mention of her saving the life of Carter Thompson and Doug Redman was in the report.

  Sitting back in her chair, her thoughts drifted to different scenarios of how things could’ve gone, like if Carter, Doug and the others hadn’t stopped them. Travel in the country would’ve stopped, with airplanes grounded and the economy grinding to a halt.

  Being promoted to Supervisor of the Tucson Field Office was a surprise to her. After a month, she’d found herself pleased with having accepted the position. Throughout her career, Rebecca avoided taking on a leadership role because of the office politics involved. She’d decided a long time ago not to have any part of it. To her surprise, she’d found it suited her well and she embraced it. Now, she had control of what cases to pursue and which not to. Her silence regarding Carter and Doug’s group activities, which on two occasions resulted in many felonies, would continue… at least for now. Stopping dangerous people when her own government wouldn’t was all the justification she needed to look the other way. She felt good about it, knowin
g that sometimes breaking the law to protect the people and country you love is the right thing to do.

  Hearing a knock on her office door, Rebecca looked up and then down at the computer screen and hit the save button on the file.

  “Come in,” Rebecca said, watching Agent Sylvia Granada approach her desk.

  “Excuse me, do you have a moment to talk?” Sylvia interlaced her fingers, then put her hands behind her back like she didn’t know what to do with them.

  “Sure, sit down,” Rebecca said, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk. Sylvia gestured back with her head, and Rebecca fought back a smile. What's with the hands? “What’s up?”

  “I, well, I’m trying to figure out… I,” Sylvia started, just as Rebecca’s phone rang in her purse.

  Checking it under her desk, Rebecca saw it was Dax calling.

  “I’m sorry Sylvia, I’ve got to take this call. Can we talk later?” Rebecca asked, looking at her and then nodding in the door's direction.

  “Sure, it’s ok,” Sylvia said, biting her lower lip as she got up and walked to the door.

  “Just a sec,” Rebecca said, waiting for the door to close. “Hi, Dax. How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. I was just calling to see how you’re doing. And how’s the new job? Can you talk?”

  “Sure… I’m good. You know, it’s weird… I like being a supervisor, except for having to deal with the BS out of Washington. It’s challenging but rewarding at the same time. It’s nice to be running this office old school style. I’ve got my agents doing some actual investigative work instead of politically correct assignments to bolster their careers.”

  “Have you been able to wrap up the incident that involved you and my guys last month?” Dax asked.

  “I was just doing that now. Your guys? Can’t imagine what you’re referring to… It was just me and the two terrorists who pointed their AK’s at me. Hope they’re enjoying the seventy-two virgins,” Rebecca said with an innocent laugh.