Return to Chaos

For the next two weeks, the driver stayed in the house, eating, sleeping, talking with agents, and learning about the nurses. In turn, he answered questions, gave part of his life story, and recuperated from his injuries. After the first week, he started doing range of motion exercises to keep his shoulder limber, and the nurses helped him through the painful portions at first, then watched him during therapy to make sure he was exercising properly. They would comment on his muscle tone and figure, since exercising meant slimming down. Unfortunately, there was no equipment in the house to exercise with, so he just sat in a chair and did the necessary motions. At the end of the second week, Dr. Zhen came in to check on his progress.

"I see we are feeling much better now," he said to the driver. "Do you have any pain at the moment?"

"Other than the usual muscle aches after therapy, I feel fine," the driver replied.

Dr. Zhen looked at his chart. "I see you have been free of the pain medication for almost a week now," he commented. "Do you foresee any complications once you return to work?"

The driver shook his head. "No, doc," he replied. "Most of these exercises I can do while going down the road. I have plenty of room to maneuver my arm, except for a couple of them, which I can do from the comfort of my bunk."

"Good," Zhen said. "I see no reason to keep you under my care anymore, so as of now, I am declaring you fit to return to work. If you have any more issues regarding your shoulder, please let me know, and I will see that you get the necessary care." Handing the driver a piece of paper and a business card, he said, "This is my information and your return to work note for your employer. If they have any questions, have them call me at the phone number listed on the card."

"Thanks, doc," the driver replied. "I appreciate everything you've done here for me."

Nodding, the doctor headed towards the stairs to the upper floor. "Oh, by the way," he said, "Stillman says he needs to see you when you get a chance."

"Copy that, doc," the driver said. "Tell him I'll be up in a couple of minutes."

Grabbing his shirt, he pulled it over his head and inserted his arms into the sleeves. His shoulder groaned at being bent into such a position, but he was told that this was going to happen for a while until his shoulder fully healed. Feeling the fabric rub against the incision, he winced slightly, but finished dressing, and putting on his shoes, he headed upstairs to the kitchen.

Stillman was sitting at the counter when the driver walked in. Seeing him, the agent asked, "How's the shoulder?"

"It's still stiff, and it hurts like a mother every now and then, but it'll heal up soon enough. The doctor said you needed to see me?" the driver asked.

"Yeah, I wanted to get you up to speed on your admirer," Stillman said with a smile.

"Which one, the Swiss cheese chef, or the pancake maker?" the driver said with a grin.

"The 'janitor' from the hospital," Stillman said. Pulling a picture from a file folder, he passed it over to the driver. "Meet Jaleel Sim Al-Jazera, a former Iraqi lieutenant in Saddam Hussein's Republican guard, turned ISIS member. He's been on Interpol's scope for about two years now, after a nasty little incident in Syria. They lost track of him about 6 months ago in Turkey, until he showed up on your radar. Sorry you had to get mixed up in this, but we're glad he's out of commission."

"Well, one less terrorist to deal with," the driver commented. "What about his buddies?"

"That's the fun part," Stillman said. "He's been known to hang out with several different members of Al Qaeda and ISIS, most of which we have tabs on. A few possibilities include these guys." Pulling another page out of the file, he handed a picture lineup to the driver. "These guys have been known to associate with him, and we have no current whereabouts on them."

Nodding, the driver looked through the lineup. He glanced through the pictures until one jumped out at him. "Here's one of the guys," he said, pointing to the picture in the middle of the page. "I distinctly remember him shooting out of the passenger side of the truck in Missouri."

"Ah," Stillman said. "I was praying he wasn't one of them." Taking his pen and circling the picture, he said, "His name is Saleem Khazibid, and he is about as nasty as they come. A rumor ran around during 9/11 that he may have helped with the planning of the attack on the Pentagon, but it was never confirmed." Shaking his head, he said, "If he's in country, usually it means there's something being planned, and it's gonna be big." Looking at the driver, he asked, "Is the other one on this list too?"

Looking further down the page, he found the remaining terrorist, but only after scrutinizing the picture. "This guy looks like the driver, but his hair is different, and he's not wearing a turban."

"How do you know it's him?" Stillman asked.

"Mostly his facial features, but his eyes are what is giving me the vibe. Yeah, that's him, I recognize that cold stare anywhere," the driver stated.

"OK," Stillman said. "If this is the guy, then we definitely need to put you in witness protection." Circling the picture, he said, "The guy's name is Kalil Jimballa, and he's a mercenary for hire. No real ties to anyone, he sells his services to the highest bidder. Not known for any real shooting skills, but he's another slippery one. Has his hands in more logistical portions than anything else, kind of like a supply clerk, but one of the most elusive. Hard to catch anything on him, he appears, then disappears almost like magic. If he's here, then we need to get NSA and Homeland involved."

"Uh, if he's as bad as you say he is," the driver said, "then you need to get my wife out of my house. If he can reach me in the hospital, then he can reach her and use her as leverage." He reached for his phone, but Stillman grabbed his arm.

"Wait a sec," Stillman said. "Let me make the arrangements. I can have her out of there and on the way here in 30 minutes."

Grabbing his phone, his speed dialed a number. Putting it on speaker, he waited until someone picked up the phone. "FBI field office in Dallas, this is Courtney, can I help you?"

"Hi, Courtney," Stillman said. "I am Agent Stillman from the office in Chicago. Can I speak to the agent on duty right now?"

"Yes, sir, one moment please," she said, before putting him on hold. A few seconds later, a male voice answered. "FBI Dallas office, Grumman speaking."

"Grumman, this is Stillman from the Chicago office. Is this line secure?" Stillman asked.

"One moment please," Grumman answered. Hearing a series of beeps and clicks, he answered, "Line secured sir, how can I help?"

"I have the whereabouts of two known terrorists here in the Chicago area from a witness who lives in your jurisdiction. We are placing him in protective custody, and need to have his wife evacuated and transported here as well. Do you have a Gulfstream available?"

"Yes, sir," Grumman said matter-of-factly. "Let me have the address, and I'll have agents dispatched in 2 minutes."

Stillman gave him the address, and told Grumman, "Let her know we have her husband, and it's a matter of personal safety that she come with them. If there are any questions, give her my number, and I'll let her speak to her husband. As a matter of fact, once I disconnect with you, then I'll call her directly."

"Understood, sir, I have two agents already en route, they should be there in about an hour," Grumman said.

"Thanks Grumman, I appreciate the expediency," Stillman said. "Gotta run."

"Yes, sir," Grumman said before disconnecting the line.

Turning to the driver, he said, "Your turn," as he passed his phone over.

Nodding, the driver dialed his wife's cell number. Ringing twice, she answered, "Hello?"

"Honey, it's me," the driver said.

"Whose number is this you're calling from?" she asked.

"I'll tell you everything as soon as you get here, which brings me to my next point." He took a breath, then continued. "It seems that I accidentally stumbled on a terrorist plot, and as a result, I'm being put into protective custody. There are two agents coming to get you and fly you here to me. They tried to get me when I was in the hospital, but failed. I don't want to put you at risk of being captured and held as leverage, so the FBI is sending a car to get you. Don't worry about packing anything, just get yourself ready to bug out like I practiced."

"So, this is one of those situations that you warned me about?" she asked with a note of concern in her voice.

"Yes, this is a 10-1. Lock down the safe, and get yourself in the 'safe room.' Wait until they ring the bell, then look at their ID's. Only then do you leave the safe room."

"Understood," her voice said shakily. "ETA?"

"About 50 minutes. Hang on." He looked at Stillman. "Can she carry a handgun for protection?"

"What kind?" Stillman asked.

"9mm, Taurus G2C, one clip jacketed hollowpoint." the driver replied.

Nodding, he said, "I'll make them aware."

Turning back to the phone, he told his wife, "Pack the G2C, and carry your clip of hollow points with it. I'll get clearance for it. Stay put, help is on the way, baby."

"OK, hon. See you soon," she said.

"Love you, baby. Be safe," he said before hanging up. Handing the phone back to Stillman, he said, "She's up to speed, just let the agents know she's armed."

Nodding, he speed dialed the Dallas office once again. Giving the details, he hung up, then called his office. "Stillman here. We need a safe house set up for two people. Male/female couple, all the necessary items; clothes, food, toiletries, the works. Make sure it has a safe in it too." Hanging up, he said, "There's a car on the way to get us with two agents in it. We'll get set up at the safe house, then bring you to the airport to get your wife."

"OK, but when we go, I need to be armed during transit in case of attack," the driver said.

Nodding, Stillman said, "I'll make sure you have a pistol with an extra clip in the driver's pouch in the event of emergency. Glock 19, standard issue 9mm, hollow points."

"Good," the driver said. "How long until the car gets here?"

"No more than 10 minutes," Stillman replied. "Until then, let's get you ready to travel."

Heading back downstairs, the driver made sure he was properly dressed, then climbed back up the steps, where Stillman was waiting for him. Hearing the tires of a vehicle turn into the driveway, he saw a black van pull into view. Seeing two agents get out, Stillman called for them at the door, challenging for the password. The proper response allowed Stillman to open the door, and the two agents then turned around, scouring the situation in case of trouble. Stillman and the driver climbed into the van, followed by the agents. The van backed out of the driveway, and proceeded to their new location. Noticing the windows were darkened, the driver asked, "Is this normal?"

"Yup," Stillman replied. "If you don't know where you're going, then no one can ask you how to get there."

Nodding, the driver then turned his attention to the bulge in the back seat. Feeling the outline, he pulled the Glock from the pocket, removed the clip, and checked it for cleanliness. Once he was satisfied, he jammed the magazine back in, chambered a round, then put the safety on. Last thing he needed was a gun to go off accidentally in the pouch, so he placed it on the seat next to him, barrel facing him. Reaching back into the pouch, he grabbed the spare mag, checked the capacity, then reloaded it. He thrust the spare mag back into the pouch, then turned his attention back to the road.