Braxton and Phillips had become friends over the first two months of filming, but the former SEAL was smart enough to presume that the up-and-coming movie star would move on from this role and they’d probably not be hanging out much after the film wrapped.
The five individuals from the Escalade entered the Starbucks, and immediately Kateb recognized Braxton among the group from his signature sideburns, square jaw, and muscular build. He saw another man, of similar build, in the group, but this man had a clean-shaven face and a short haircut. Along with these two were two women and a big black man with huge muscles.
Four of the five ordered coffee, while the black man stood a few feet away from the others.
Kateb nodded once to Aza and wrote the number 5 on the napkin in front of him with a Bic pen and a shaking hand. She nodded, her back still to the counter and the customers. He then placed his phone on the table, propping it up with the foldout easel attached to the phone’s hard plastic case. He positioned it toward the counter and nodded to his wife.
The phone was centered on the group, and it was broadcasting live to Kateb and Aza’s ISIS leader, who they only knew was somewhere in America.
Aza reached down between her knees and inside her purse, wrapped her fingers around the grip of her Glock, while across from her, Kateb reached into his backpack.
T-Bone Braxton drank his coffee black, and he’d done so ever since he was a teenager. Caffeine was a drug that got him going in the morning, nothing more. He didn’t want to take the time to dress it up into something pretty before he pumped it into his body.
The twenty-five-year-old actor Danny Phillips, on the other hand, always started his day with a venti soy chai latte, into which he stirred several bags of Sugar In The Raw. Similarly, Danny’s two personal assistants, sent everywhere with him by the studio, liked their coffee infused with flavored syrup, sweet and light.
Braxton appreciated that at least Danny’s bodyguard, a big man named Paul who always wore a polo shirt that showed off his massive pecs, delts, and arms, arrived at the hotel each morning to pick up Danny and the others with his coffee ready to go in a stainless-steel mug that he kept in the Escalade.
Braxton ordered his simple beverage and stood there while the barista made all the other drinks to order. It had been like this every day for the past couple of weeks while they’d been getting up early for the ninety-minute drive to the set in the Mojave. He didn’t know why the hell the lady behind the counter couldn’t just draw him a cup of hot coffee and be done with him before she began working on the other concoctions.
He’d almost said something; after a decade of living a life of excellence and effectiveness in the teams, any inefficiency drove T-Bone absolutely ape shit, but today he just stood there with his arms crossed. He had other stuff on his mind to keep him occupied, because this was the day he would make a brief transition from adviser to movie star.
Today was his moment, his close-up. His acting debut. He’d had it written into his contract that he’d get a small action role in the film about him, which he thought seemed kind of dumb, but still, it got him a little shine time and he hoped it would lead to feature roles down the road.
To prepare for his brief time in front of the camera, he’d shaved off his muttonchops the night before; he couldn’t very well act in the movie as a Navy SEAL behind the guy playing the Navy SEAL who looked just like him without making at least some obvious cosmetic changes. He worried that the lack of tan where his sideburns normally were would be obvious in the movie, but he’d been assured by the makeup artists that they’d have his face so covered with movie tan and movie battle grit and grime that he needn’t worry about his skin tone.
Braxton told himself he’d kick ass on screen today, just as he exceeded all expectations on every challenge he ever faced. That was just who he was, and nothing was more important than his positive mental attitude.
Phillips got his drink first. Braxton figured the barista recognized him from TV, and Phillips had just started stirring sugar into his chai latte when the door opened and another group of four customers entered the coffee shop. One headed toward the restroom, while the others stepped up to the counter.
The former Navy SEAL regarded them for a second; it was second nature for him now to check everyone around him to make sure they weren’t a threat, and he’d just told himself there was nothing to see when he heard a sudden shout from the back corner. He’d noted the dark-complexioned couple there when he entered, saw they were fixated on their phones and didn’t give them a second thought, so he swiveled around to their table in surprise to see what the commotion was all about.
Before he’d even focused on the couple, he sensed the bodyguard Paul turning to the movement as well.
And then Todd Braxton saw the guns.
The shout he heard was the couple chanting “Allahu Akbar” in unison, and now they jerked big black Glocks in the direction of the counter and the eight people standing in front of them.
And then cracks of gunfire filled the room.
The two women who worked for the studio screamed. Danny Phillips stood on wooden legs while Paul ran toward him, and Todd Braxton, who carried only a small folding knife, did the only thing that made sense. He took two steps backward and then hurled himself over the counter, knocking the barista working there to the ground, and he shouted for the others to get to cover.
The gunfire was unrelenting, perhaps no one heard him. All T-Bone knew for sure was that no one followed him over the counter.
Braxton pulled his knife, moved down the counter to the end near the front door, as the pops from the handguns continued to snap off. He told himself he’d jump both of the small attackers from behind as they ran out the door, or if they tried to come around the counter to confront him, he’d be ready to launch at them face-to-face. He knew knife fighting from his training in the teams, though he never really thought he’d employ it in a life-or-death encounter in a Starbucks after he left service.
But then the gunfire stopped as quickly as it started.
The baristas lay cowering behind the counter, and T-Bone could hear the two women from the studio crying out in front of the register. Seconds later an alarm went off.
T-Bone had expected to see the shooters pass near his position when they went out the front door, but the alarm told him they’d pushed out the emergency exit. He rose to his feet, stepped around the counter, and saw that the coast was clear.
He also saw a scene of carnage.
Danny Phillips lay dead, shot six times. Paul wasn’t dead, yet, but he’d been shot six times as well, and T-Bone knew enough firsthand about battlefield medicine to know the big man would check out in seconds.
One of the women from the studio had taken a round through the kneecap, and a middle-aged commuter had been shot twice, though he wasn’t critically injured.
T-Bone ran to the window and looked out as the two shooters disappeared through a hedge leading to an all-night pharmacy. He thought about giving chase, but decided he needed to stay behind to do his best to keep as many of the injured alive as possible.
Aza and Kateb were both positive they’d succeeded in their mission. Todd Braxton’s look was impossible to miss, and both of them targeted him from their first shots. For some reason the former soldier had protection; the big black man had thrown himself between the gunfire and Braxton, but Aza and Kateb just kept shooting, killing both men.
It wouldn’t be for another hour that they found out they’d made a mistake. While listening to the radio on their way back to the San Francisco area, they heard that a Hollywood movie star had been killed in Los Angeles, along with his bodyguard, and two others had been injured in the attack.