Dispatches (20 page)

“Get in the SUV now!” he said. “We have to leave.”

“What are you talking about!” yelled Ed, pounding the hood of the Jeep.

“The warehouses are empty, and Grady fucking knew it. He just needed us to confirm it,” said Alex, mumbling the rest. “I knew there was something wrong with this. Fuck.”

“I don’t see why we’re leaving the—” started Ed.

“If they can see that we opened the gates or the warehouses, we need to get as far away from here as possible. Right now! In one vehicle! We don’t have time to fuck with the trailer. Let’s go!” he said, pushing Charlie toward the SUV.

Ryan completed a three-point turn between the buildings, stopping in front of them.

“Ed, you drive!” yelled Alex. “Charlie behind the driver. Ryan behind me.”

“Why am I driving?” asked Ed.

“You want to shoot instead?” said Alex.

“Come on! I think you’re overreacting here,” said Ed, pulling the front door open for Ryan.

“If I’m overreacting, we can come back and get the Jeep. Right now, we’re getting the fuck out of here—together. Trust me on this,” said Alex, walking behind the SUV.

He freed his rifle from the sling ready position and smashed its buttstock into the taillight housing, hitting the plastic cover repeatedly until he was certain that the bulbs were shattered. Pieces of red and white plastic trickled onto the pavement at his feet.

“What the fuck are you doing?” yelled Ed.

“Smashing the brake lights!”

He aimed the buttstock at the aerodynamic fin above the lift gate’s window. He hit the thick plastic fin, which resisted the rifle strike. His next blow skimmed off the fin and spider cracked the window below it.

“Press the brake pad!” yelled Alex.

Light from the fin’s imbedded taillight enveloped him in a red aura. He hit the plastic piece three times, until the light failed, turning the buttstock’s attention to the entire rear window. A few solid blows broke through the safety glass, covering the road in hundreds of small, opaque pieces.

“Let’s go!” he said to Ed, who stood next to the open driver’s door, mumbling obscenities.

Ed climbed in and slammed the door. Alex slid into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt, verifying that all of the doors had been shut.

“Your job is to get us to the interstate,” he said, patting Ed on the shoulder. “Windows down and rifles out. I have a bad feeling about this ride.”

When they reached the perimeter fence, Alex held his breath, exhaling when the gate started moving along the track. He wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if the gate had remained in place, locking them inside. As Ed edged the SUV up to the painfully slow gate, Alex swiped the ROTAC from the center console.

Chapter 30

Main Operating Base “Sanford”

Regional Recovery Zone 1

Lieutenant Colonel Grady sat in the troop compartment of a UH-60M Black Hawk helicopter at the far western edge of the main tarmac, alternating glances between his ROTAC and the RRZ authority compound framed by the compartment door window. Staff Sergeant Jackson sat directly across from him in the main troop compartment, which held six more combat-loaded Marines.

His Black Hawk sat at the end of a staggered line of six helicopters waiting mission approval to fly north. Orders that would originate from Grady when Fletcher called with final verification that the storage facility was empty. Of course, Alex might not call at all. If the warehouses were empty, as they suspected, Alex would immediately know that he’d been conned into visiting the storage complex. He might smash the ROTAC and speed off, knowing damn well that Grady needed the information.

Anything was possible with Alex, which was why the commanding officer of a Marine infantry battalion was watching his phone like a giddy teenage boy after a text to his high school crush.

Come on, Alex.

A voice materialized in his headset. “Colonel, we’ll have to shut down and top off if we don’t launch in five minutes,” said the pilot. “I can go cold now to save fuel. In
ready launch
I can have us in the air within two minutes.”

“Negative. Should be any minute now,” said Grady.

Damn
. Maybe he’d played the schedule too tightly. He’d received a text message from Alex when they were a mile from the interstate exit, which put the verification phone call a minimum of ten minutes out. He figured Alex would be careful approaching the site, so he added another ten to fifteen minutes to the timeline. They’d started the helicopters when the text message arrived, waiting ten minutes before loading the Marines. Ten minutes would give all of the RRZ folks enough time to hear the helicopters and ask their questions about the unscheduled flight operation.

Tower controllers, pilots, and ground personnel in the hangars had been briefed to say it was scheduled engine maintenance; thirty minutes to run live diagnostics. The Marines entered the tarmac from a gate on the western fence line, using the closest hangar to mask their approach to the helicopters. With the port-side troop compartment doors closed, RRZ security officers or observers within the walled compound couldn’t see inside the helicopters. If they could, they would undoubtedly raise further questions.

Grady peered through his window at the row of dark, open hangars facing the RRZ compound. Armored vehicles lingered in the shadows, waiting for the order to speed across a recently cleared section of eastern tarmac toward the main RRZ compound gate. Additional vehicles hid behind the cluster of tents between the primary runway and auxiliary taxiway. In undisclosed locations, snipers sighted-in on the visible security officers, ready to take them out if they fired on the approaching soldiers. When the order was passed, a reinforced company of infantry soldiers would descend on the compound, with the ultimate goal of detaining Medina and her staff. All of this hinged on a phone call from Alex Fletcher, which was ten minutes overdue.

Almost on cue, his ROTAC vibrated, dragging his eyes from the menacing hangars.

“Grady,” he answered, knowing he was about to take an earful.

“That’s all you can manage?” Alex snapped.

“Alex, I don’t have time to explain what’s going on. I just need to know if the warehouses were empty,” said Grady. “We can sort out the rest later.”

“The rest?” said Alex, and the line went quiet.

“Alex?” said Grady.

“The first two were empty. We didn’t stick around to check the rest,” said Alex.

Grady turned to the second lieutenant seated next to him and nodded emphatically. The young officer passed the confirmation order over the mission’s primary VHF frequency, instantly telling designated units that Operation Quick Switch had entered the final execution phase.

“Where are you now?” said Grady.

“Driving as fast as fucking possible to get out of here,” said Alex. “Who has the equipment? I get the impression it’s not Governor Dague’s people.”

The helicopter jolted as the landing gear left the tarmac. Through the window next to Grady, the murky tarmac drifted away, dark silhouettes racing across the airfield toward the RRZ compound, and flashes erupted from the main gate. The Black Hawk tilted forward and gained speed, quickly leaving behind the scene below.

“Hello?” Alex prompted.

“We just launched an assault on the RRZ compound. I’m in a Black Hawk headed to Augusta to secure Governor Dague,” said Grady. “It’s a little hectic over here.”

“Sorry if this is a bad time for you, Sean, but I’m a little worried about making
hard contact
on my way out of here. What am I looking at?”

“Paramilitary types. Government sponsored, so most likely professional security contractors,” said Grady.

“Most likely? Wait a minute, you don’t fucking
know
?”

“We’ve received reports of similar groups being used in other trouble spots. We think they arrived a month or so ago,” said Grady.

“How did they get here?” said Alex.

“We’re not one hundred percent sure. RRZ compound security was augmented about a month ago with personnel and vehicles from a C-17 Globemaster. 4
^th
Brigade’s Prophet system picked up encrypted UHF signals from the west at the same time. The signals changed position rapidly, heading north. We think additional aircraft delivered the rest of the group. Possibly by parachute,” said Grady.

“How many?”

“Four to five hundred would be consistent with reports from other military commanders,” said Grady.

“Five hundred? That’s a small army, Sean.”

Grady heard him talking in the background of the phone call.

“Sean, if we’re caught, our families will be in serious danger. I can’t believe you did this to us!”

“Alex, it was the only way to get eyes on the warehouse without tipping off the RRZ,” Grady explained. “Medina was on the cusp of launching something big against the state, and she didn’t trust the military.”

“Yeah, well, I kind of understand where she’s coming from,” said Alex.

“I wouldn’t leave your ass totally hanging in the breeze, Alex. Two of my sanitized Matvees will arrive in your neighborhood within five minutes. I have a squad of Marines watching over your families. Two of my helicopters will continue to your position to provide support. They’ve been armed with hellfire missiles in case you run into any armored vehicles,” said Grady. “I’m sorry it had to go down like this, but I knew you wouldn’t agree to check out the site if I leveled with you.”

“I can’t eat an apology, Sean. If we pull through this intact, I better be looking at enough MREs to build a floating dock across the lake.”

“I’ll personally deliver them, Alex. Get your ass south on the turnpike and run like the devil. Two Black Hawks will contact you when they hit Waterville in roughly thirty minutes.”

“Shit. We have company,” said Alex, followed by frantic yelling on the line.

“Alex? You there? Alex!”

The call disconnected. Thirty minutes might be too long. Grady pressed the transmit button on his headset.

“Contact Hellfire zero-five and zero-six. Tell them to proceed north at maximum speed. Troops in contact,” said Grady.

Chapter 31

Main Operating Base “Sanford”

Regional Recovery Zone 1

Bethany Medina stood in front of a row of glowing computer monitors, speaking rapidly into her ROTAC.

“I just received a call from Homeland telling me that 3
^rd
Battalion, 172
^nd
Infantry Regiment’s Category Five storage site has been accessed.”

“With the codes?” asked Jerold Berkoff.

She wanted to call him ‘Jerkoff’ so bad she had to pause.

“Yes, Berkoff. I didn’t say
breached
. I said
accessed
.”

No wonder none of this was working. The RRZ had thrown one incompetent idiot after another in her lap.

“I don’t have any personnel at the site, ma’am,” said Berkoff. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“How about telling me ‘I’ll get someone out there right away to check it out,’” said Medina. “I need to know who’s out there.”

“Copy that. I have a team close to the site,” said Berkoff. “What are my rules of engagement?”

“I want to know who sent them—how they got the codes. Detain and interrogate using any and all means at your disposal. Time is critical,” said Medina. “And, Berkoff?”

“Yeah?”

“Put all of your teams on ready alert. We may have to execute the plan tonight.”

“Do you want me to pre-stage any of the teams closer to their targets?” he asked.

Medina considered the question carefully. Putting unfamiliar military-grade vehicles on the streets, even for a short time, might draw the wrong kind of attention from Dague’s expansive network of observers. On the flip side, the storage-site intrusion represented a significant, immediate problem. She had to assume that the perpetrators knew exactly what they were looking for—a battalion-sized weapons and equipment load out. When they found the warehouses empty, all bets were off, especially if Colonel Martin or Lieutenant Colonel Grady were behind this.

That was the worst-case scenario. She’d have to move fast to remove Dague and the state government before the military could formulate a response to the missing cache of gear. The best-case scenario involved Governor Dague somehow uncovering the codes and finding the warehouses empty. She’d probably blame the RRZ and somehow overreact, giving Medina a good reason to take action with the Counter-Insurrection Battalion.

The muted crackle of sporadic gunfire reached her ears, drawing her attention to the communication center’s door.

“Ma’am, do you want me to pre-stage any of the teams?” Berkoff repeated.

The gunfire grew more consistent.

“Negative. Just send the team to investigate,” she said, ending the call.

Voices and rustling chairs filled the hallway as staccato bursts of heavy-caliber machine-gun fire sounded. She started to wonder if the airport was under militia attack again, but dismissed the thought before it wasted any mental space. She didn’t believe in coincidences. Less than five minutes ago, someone had accessed a hidden top-secret weapons cache site in northern Maine. A site she had emptied a month ago. No. This wasn’t a coincidence.

Medina opened the door and poked her head into the hallway. Ian McEyre, her chief of staff, ran down the hallway toward her, dodging panicked staff members. Past him, at the end of the hallway, Eric Bines, the RRZ compound’s security chief, spoke with three heavily armed men wearing black body armor.

“We’re under attack by our own soldiers!” yelled Ian. “Six helicopters just took off, headed north.”

A window shattered in one of the nearby offices, followed by screaming.

“Gather the staff in the communications center. Hurry!” Medina said, passing Ian.

In the aftermath of the militia attack last fall, the room housing the RRZ’s encrypted communications equipment had been reinforced with Kevlar shielding and sandbags. Located in the center of the building, it doubled as the headquarters building’s “safe room.”