The Team X Project

By Ezequiel Escamilla

The US Government trained them to be the best super spies that the CIA had ever seen. They do not exist except for the darkest of hours. Now the timing is crucial for the CIA and NSA to move on a plot to put a terrorist leader into power of the free world. The president is not Senator McNeal, who the American people had voted for in the last election. He is in fact the leader of a terrorist organization that wants to take control of the free world. Only the CIA cant go through the usual channels to stop them. They must put all their trust in one team and pray for the best in their darkest hour. The team has been assembled and has not had action in four years now. All the hopes of the nation and security of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are up to Robert and Team X. Will they pull it off in the nick of time, or will they fail and its too late? Only time will tell, and they are our last and only hope to preserve freedom for the American people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524654115

Ezequiel Escamilla

Ezequiel works at a warehouse when he is not writing stories. He is currently working on several new books that he hopes to have out real soon, including a continuing of the story of Robert and the rest of Team X. He is working at the moment toward his bachelor’s and law degree. He loves to watch movies and write down new ideas when they come to him for stories.

Book preview

Prologue

Senator McNeal got up from the desk in his campaign penthouse suite; he had been on the phone with his running mate about the race for the presidency. It was October, and they both had their doubts about the whole days until they were either won the election and president-elect or not. If they won, it would be the second time the Democratic Party was in office since the election of 2008, when the country made history with the election of the first African American president. The 2012 election was the first time that a president did not go for reelection. He had done a lot for the country in his term. The president had ended the involvement of troops in Iraq and helped with the economy by opening a lot of jobs for the middle class. He also had helped the banks and businesses with aid, at which point the next step was to have the world’s worst terrorists rounded up and captured, even bin Laden. They were all brought up on many charges and sentenced to death or life in prison of the country that they were captured in. Well, they brought most of them down; the rest were in hiding and not seen since the roundup started. After all that had happened, the president refused to run for his second term in office, at which point Senator McNeal and Governor Torres from California had been nominated. If elected, it would be the first time a Hispanic would be the vice president. Since that time, the security of the president and senators was changed and handled differently. The procedure was simple for them now. He headed to the kitchen and would be guarded by one bodyguard. He had to go into a maintenance closet where he would change into clothes of a maintenance worker and meet up with his or her car about two blocks away. The others weren’t around until he got to the car, at which point they would follow in a chase car. As he got into the car, his bodyguard got in on the other side of the car, and they headed out to dinner. He was all right—just a little nervous about the whole idea of getting the nomination for president.

The bodyguard just said, You got nothing to worry about. I mean, you got the votes, and you’re going to win it.

As soon as he said that, the car stopped suddenly, and the driver rolled down the partition. A silenced gun came out, at which point two shots came out of it, striking the bodyguard and killing him. Senator McNeal reached for the bodyguard’s gun, and another shot came out—only that one was a tranquilizer dart. It hit him in the hand, and he finally dropped the gun. He lay down slowly on top of the bodyguard.

The driver’s voice said, Hey, Senator, relax and enjoy the last ride of your life.

The senator’s eyes closed, and he passed out from the tranquilizer in his system. The driver turned back around and started up the limo and drove off toward his rendezvous point. The caravan headed to the rendezvous, which was an abandoned warehouse and the first step in their plan. The people were there to do something that would never be expected by most of the free world.

The carloads in the caravan got out and started to assist the limo driver with getting the senator and his bodyguard out. The bodyguard was already dead, and the doctors and nursing staff had Senator McNeal on a gurney, looking over his vitals and prepping for surgery. They all knew that if they got caught doing this or messed up that, they would have to disappear forever. The senator was wheeled into the operating room that they had set up there, and then a man came out of the shadows. The senator, in a somewhat awake state, saw who it was, and then the man said, I know you. So we can dispense with the bullshit chitchat and get right to the point of why you’re here. You’re here because I need to disappear before the free world catches me and hangs me.

The senator tried to speak but only got out slurred bits of what he was trying to say.

The man finally chuckled and replied, My name is Mohamed Altinia, but you can call me Cobra, as the operatives I work with do. I am the leader of an organization banding together from the small terrorist groups from around the world. We are now known as the International Brotherhood of Allied Terrorists. I’m the one who has been selected to be you. I have the education and body structure to pull it off.

The senator’s eyes shut, and Cobra finally lay down next to him on the bed. The surgeons went to work on Cobra to the full extent. A man in a suit came up to the door to the operating room. The man was in his mid to late twenties. He stood there smoking State Express 555 cigarettes. Then a much older man came up to him and handed him a file folder. The young man walked away from the door and headed out to the car in the garage part of the warehouse. The older man didn’t say a word until the man opened up the folder.

We tracked down all the members of the project and the people who had any knowledge of it. The best thing about it was that we got one of the head members of the project to give us the exact location of the operatives who helped train the team.

The young man tossed his cigarette to the ground and opened the driver’s-side door. He got in and rolled down the window as he started the car.

Look, my father wants this done right—no screwups of any kind. When this is done the right way, Great White, the team, and all involved with it will be dead or in hiding.

The older man nodded and took the file folder from the younger man, who then he drove off toward his mark’s location on the information that he kept. It showed the point man for the team and the best place to find him. This would be the second time that they met, and this time, he would kill him. Only he was going to play games with him and get in his head.

It was at least four in the morning when John Carlton got into work at CIA Headquarters in Langley. He had had a rough couple of nights with the elections and having to brief the new president-elect on all the operations and the agenda for the next four years. It took its toll on the man. He had his usual routine of getting up at three o’clock and running at the gym before going into the office, where he and his deputy director of operations would go over all important affairs overseas and in the country. That was after his secretary would bring him his morning cup of coffee. He’d liked it the same way for the past thirty-five years—three powdered creams, three packs of sugar, and two little half-ounce cups of Irish cream. In all his time working in the intelligence community, he’d never taken his coffee any other way.

The deputy director of operations came in and handed him the reports for the weeks. John looked them over with his bifocals on, proving that his age was starting to catch up with him. He noticed that his DDO was not taking a seat and hardly said a word while he looked over the briefs and reports on everything going on in the world. When he was done, he handed them to his DDO and waited for him to leave. Then he picked up his phone and dialed the number for the deputy director of intelligence. When the other man on the line picked up, John Carlton spoke.

I need to know if anyone has the location on Senator McNeal. It’s been thirty-six hours since he was listed as MIA. We have to find him or get a story as to where he is—and fast.

The deputy director of intelligence froze; he knew that with the senator missing, Team X would be called up to find him. He knew that would not be a good thing in the long run. Of course, the other reason was that this was the first time he didn’t have any information on the whereabouts of the future president and didn’t know what to tell the director.

Sir, we have not heard anything yet, and I will keep you posted as to the outcome of the senator’s location.

Director Carlton sighed and replied, That’s right, you will, and I want a report in the next twelve hours as to his health, location, and what he is doing. I mean, I can understand if he chooses not to address the people after his victory; however, we can’t keep saying that he’s got family affairs that are keeping him away. The press will get snoopy, and I hate to see something on the front page of the newspapers.

DDI Ferguson agreed with what Director Carlton had said and hung up his phone. Then he went through everything he had on the last known whereabouts of President-Elect McNeal.

The deputy director of operations hung the phone up after getting a secure call from MI6’s section chief and grabbed his coat as he headed out of his office. William Jones grabbed his small Walther P99 and slipped it in the waistband of his pants. Then threw his suit coat over it and headed out. He told the secretary he was headed toward town. Since he was there all night, he took the morning off and headed straight to his meeting. The man he was meeting was MI6’s Section Chief Elliot Miller, also known as Great White, and it was over the events that had just transpired. When he got to the meeting place, he got out and lit a cigarette, his hands shaking from the cold in the air and his nerves.

Great White pulled up and parked the car next to William. He got out carrying a small gym bag. He handed it to William and said, Next time you leave your stuff at my house, make sure to wash it.

Great White looked around and tried to see if he could spot anyone that might have followed them. While he was doing that, both of them never looked up and kept it to a soft-spoken conversation.

Hey, look, I can tell you right now that Director Carlton is getting on edge and very curious as to where the president-elect is so that he can brief him and come up with a cover story for why he was not able to address the people after his victory.

Great White said, Relax, Sidewinder, I got it covered. Cobra will be there in two days and have a full address to the people then. Besides, you’re the creative one, so think of an idea for where he is, and I’ll relay it to Cobra so that it covers all bases and Carlton doesn’t get suspicious.

William took a hard drag from his cigarette and nodded in agreement. Another thing is that there’s an MI6 operative snooping around, and of course there’s Director Martin Franks of the NSA, who has tabs on the office and Team X. Carlton and Director Franks go way back, and of course, he helped train the team, so he knows for sure that there are no traitors in the group.

Great White replied, I’ll handle the MI6 operative; you take care of the NSA director. That’s why we came to you, Sidewinder, and I hope that we can count on you.

Williams put out his cigarette and nodded. Remember if this goes south and they catch us, then I go down with you guys.

They finished their meeting and headed their separate ways. William got in the car and took a big drink from the flask he had in the car. That was to calm his nerves as he headed back to the office, acting if the meeting never took place at all. When he got there, he called the director and told him that the president-elect was sick with the flu and recovering at his house outside of Cleveland, Ohio.

Director Carlton had an uneasy feeling from the report about the senator being sick. He paged the deputy director of intelligence, Henry Ferguson, and asked him to come in his office. When DDI Ferguson came in, he handed him a signed order, enclosed in an envelope, to activate Team X. No one was to read it but the communications officer. The DDI took the envelope and ran it down there as fast as he could. Little did he know that DDO Williams had informed the FBI and Justice Department about Team X. He had also told them that they were traitors and were ordered to assassinate the president.

When DDI Ferguson gave the envelope to the communications officer, he said, Don’t let anyone know what is written in the envelope that I just gave you.

The communications officer nodded and opened it as soon as DDI Ferguson left the room.

When DDI Ferguson got back to his office, he saw a large, almost overstuffed envelope on his desk. On top of it was a Post-it that read, Just a precaution. However, keep this safe, and in the event something should happen to me, get this to Director Franks of the NSA. He’ll know what to do with it. This is an emergency direct line to the national security adviser and vice president’s office.

DDI took the envelope and placed it in his safe. He knew that Director Carlton would not send it to him unless he knew something was wrong.

Chapter 1

T HE DAY WAS LIKE ANY other in Boston—cool and mildly windy from the coast. But it also was different from most others. Boston PD was heading to the MIT campus to arrest a man, but they would let the campus police get him out. That would make their job that much easier, and they would not have to worry about making a big scene. The young man they were after had been at MIT for almost four years. He was at the top of his class, had just one year left, and was a teacher’s assistant for the underclassmen. He was sitting next to the professor’s desk checking the online assignments for the computer cryptography class. It was always what he wanted to do. He wasn’t a total geek to begin with. He stayed in really good shape by running every morning, working out with free weights, and swimming about fifty laps in the evenings. He stood five eleven and