War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel (18 page)

As he did so, Frank breathed heavily behind him, glancing all around.

“Take it easy, Frank,” Tucker whispered.

“I’m fine.” His words came out like a croak.

Tucker glanced back. He had spent the past two days refreshing Frank’s memory on the finer points of soldiering, but being told something wasn’t the same as experiencing it firsthand.

“I’m okay,” Frank assured him, and hiked his pack higher on his shoulder. “I got this.”

Tucker removed a pair of wire cutters and started snipping a hole in the fence.

“Lights!” Frank hissed, grabbing his shoulder and knocking the wire cutters out of his grip.

Tucker followed Frank’s pointed arm toward a glow rising from the south, coming up the road. To cover up their work, Tucker took out some camouflaged duct tape and resealed the few snips in the hurricane fencing. He then backed to the woods and waved everyone flat.

As the headlights drew closer, Tucker realized he had left the pair of wire cutters at the base of the fence. He couldn’t risk them being spotted.

He rolled to Kane and pointed to the cutters. “R
ETRIEVE
.”

The dog immediately bolted from hiding and ran low through the grass. Kane snatched the wire cutters in his teeth, then smoothly circled back, flowing like a dark shadow. The shepherd dropped next to him just as the Suburban’s tires hissed along the dirt road, drawing even with their hiding place.

The vehicle’s spotlight swept across the fence, casting slivers of light through the grass around Tucker, Kane, and Frank.

“Not a muscle,” Tucker whispered.

The Suburban passed them and kept going, its spotlight skimming ahead.

Tucker caught a glimpse of the vehicle’s interior through the window. In the glow of the dashboard, he spotted only the driver. He waited until the Suburban rounded the next bend, its taillights fading into the trees.

Frank let out a long breath. “Did we trigger something by cutting the fence? I’ve read about these new tamper-resistant fiber-optic wires that the military is building into their fences.”

“If that were true here, there would’ve been more than the one patrol closing in on us. No, the explanation is something much simpler. We assumed the patrols ran like clockwork, but the smarter play from a security standpoint is to vary the schedule every now and again. To catch any trespassers off guard.”

“Like they almost did us.”

“All the better to keep us on our toes.”

“If you say so.”

Tucker returned to working on the fence, snipping faster, opening a two-foot-square hole through the barrier. Once done, he signaled Kane to take point, sending the shepherd through first. Kane dashed across the border and vanished into the woods on the far side of the perimeter road.

Frank followed next, then Tucker, who hung back to replace the section of cut fence and resecure it with camouflage duct tape. As Tucker joined Frank at the forest’s edge, Frank searched around.

“Where’s Kane?”

Tucker pointed a few yards down the road. “Right there.”

Kane lay flat in the grass; his mottled coat and similarly camouflaged tactical vest had rendered him a loglike lump on the ground.

Frank shook his head. “Kane’s done this a few times, huh?”

“More than a few times.”

“Makes me feel like a wet-behind-the-ears newbie.” Frank stared into the dark forest. “How far to the compound, do you think?”

“A quarter mile. But we’re not going that way.”

“What do you mean?”

Tucker checked his watch, dropped his pack, and began preparing.

“Why walk when we can drive?”

11:58
P
.
M
.

“
I got lights in the distance,” Frank said. “Heading this way.”

Right on time
.

Tucker was down on one knee next to Kane, double-checking all of the shepherd’s gear, making sure the earpiece was situated correctly, then aligning the vest’s collar-mounted night-vision camera. Kane already sensed it was time to go to work, staring at Tucker with eager brown eyes.

But first there was one final bit of preparation.

Tucker brought his face close to Kane’s. “Who’s my buddy?”

A warm tongue lapped his nose.

“That’s right. You are.” Tucker pointed into the depths of the woods and gave a string of orders. “C
OVERT
SCOUT
. S
TOP
AT
STRUCTURE
. S
TAY
IN
COVER
. G
O
.”

Kane twisted to the side and sailed away, his paws gliding silently over the pine needles as he vanished through the trees.

Frank sidled next to Tucker. “He understood all that?”

“And more.”

Tucker had sent Kane in advance, ordering the shepherd to follow through the woods to the Odisha camp, to be Tucker’s eyes and ears on the ground. In the meantime, he had his own duty.

He crossed back to the edge of the road as the headlights of the next patrol rounded the far curve and trundled toward them. Its spotlight swept along the fencerow, oblivious to the two men hidden in the woods nearby.

Tucker waited for it to pass, then rolled low and swung a thick branch against the rear quarter panel of the SUV. The dull bang reverberated up his arm as he fell behind the Suburban’s bumper and crouched out of sight. The brake lights flared as the vehicle ground to a halt.

Spying under the vehicle, Tucker watched the driver’s door pop open. A pair of booted feet dropped into the dirt, accompanied by a soft curse. The driver must have believed he struck something. There were deer throughout these woods.

As the man circled toward the rear, Tucker lifted his new weapon. A day earlier he had purchased the unique handgun. It was a Piexon JPX Jet Protector, engineered to fire wads of concentrated pepper spray. Tucker had been at the receiving end of this weapon in the past. The impact had felled him to his knees and left him incapacitated for twenty minutes.

Tucker waited until the guard reached the back wheel—then rolled out of hiding with his weapon raised. He laid the red dot of the handgun’s aiming laser on the bridge of the startled man’s nose and pulled the trigger. With no more than a sharp hiss, the charge shot from the barrel. A maroon splotch burst across the guard’s eyes. The man dropped to his knees and started gasping.

Yeah, I feel for ya . . .

Tucker strode forward, raised the JPX, and cracked the butt into the man’s head. His body slumped forward and went still.

Frank joined Tucker, his eyes huge. Together, they dragged the guard into the woods, where they quickly flexi-cuffed him around the trunk of a tree and gagged him. Tucker frisked the man, passing Frank a portable radio and a Beretta M9. He also found a wallet and checked the driver’s license: Charles Walker.

Frank stared down at the man. “I think that’s my first felony assault.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

Tucker led him back to the idling Suburban. He retrieved the guard’s cap, which had fallen off his head when they had dragged his body into the woods. He dusted it off and tucked it atop Frank’s head.

“You’re driving,” Tucker said.

“Where to?”

“To pay our neighbors a visit.”

Frank shoved the Beretta into his belt. “Sounds like the only hospitable thing to do.”

12:12
A
.
M
.

Seated in the passenger seat of the Suburban as Frank drove, Tucker studied the video feed from Kane’s night-vision camera. Frank continued along the perimeter road, going slowly, aiming for the cutout that led toward the Odisha compound in the middle of the woods.

But before reaching the camp, Tucker wanted to know what he would find there.

On the screen of his phone, he watched as Kane skimmed through the forest. The trees quickly began to thin and a clearing appeared ahead, brightly lit with sodium lamps mounted on poles.

Kane slowed his pace and slunk lower to the ground.

Good boy
.

The shepherd finally stopped, sliding under the low branches of a pine.

Tucker squinted at a set of six log cabins and a pair of cinder-block buildings. The grouping was split by a gravel road. In the middle was a turnaround with a white flagpole rising from the center. At this late hour, the cabin windows were dark. He spotted no movement.

Was anyone still there? Are we already too late?

That was a fear that had plagued Tucker over these past three days after speaking to Sandy’s mother. The plan tonight had been to rescue the group and hightail it out of here. But what if the others were already dead, murdered like Sandy and the rest of Project 623?

There’s only one way to find out
.

“We’re coming to the turnoff that leads to the camp,” Frank warned. “What do you want me to do? Head in or circle around another time?”

Tucker had no idea what the usual routine was for changing patrol shifts. If they came in too early, it could raise a red flag.

He studied the feed from Kane. To the left of the cabins was a small gravel parking lot with a fleet of Suburbans parked there. “Frank, how many vehicles did you say Tangent had registered at Redstone?”

“Eight.”

“There are six parked at the camp right now. Which means, beside us there’s another Suburban out there somewhere.” That made him uneasy, as did the remaining vehicle in the parking lot. “There’s also a huge moving van sitting over there.”

“Sounds like someone’s planning on bugging out of here.”

Tucker remembered Jane’s story, how Project 623 had been shut down, only to resurrect under a new name, at a new location.

And the old team members were eliminated
.

“We’ve got to go in,” Tucker said. “We can’t risk waiting.”

Frank’s fingers tightened on the wheel, the knuckles going white, but he nodded. “I agree. So what’s the plan?”

“Grab the Odisha people, pile them in the back of the Suburban, and drive out the main gate.”

Frank glanced to him, his face tight with disbelief. “You really think it’s gonna be that easy.”

Tucker shrugged. “A guy can always hope.”

14

October 19, 12:34
A
.
M
. CDT

Redstone Arsenal, Alabama

So far so good
.

Tucker sat shotgun beside Frank as the Suburban approached the cluster of cabins. He kept low in his seat, trying to stay out of sight while keeping his JPX handgun ready in case he had to silently take someone out.

“Where now?” Frank asked, braking as they neared the gravel parking lot.

“We should get as close to the cabins as possible.” Tucker pointed. “There’s a turnaround in the middle. Stop in front of the second cabin on the right.”

“Is that where Kane wants us to go?”

“Seems to be. And I’ve learned never to second-guess him.”

While en route here, Tucker had ordered his four-legged partner to make a quick and furtive circle of the encampment, allowing Tucker to get a lay of the land. The four cabins to the left bore placards with winged logos on their doors.

Tangent Aerospace, the private defense contractor running this outfit. The placards likely marked the security detail’s cabins. The last of that row had the words M
ESS
H
ALL
etched into the lintel.

On the opposite side of the turnaround squatted two massive cinder-block bunkers with a small airstrip behind them. A riot of antennas and communication dishes sprouted from their roofs. Glowing keypads secured all the entrances, which included a set of small hangar doors. Those buildings had to house The Odisha Group’s work spaces. At this late hour, all the buildings’ windows were dark. Apparently no one was burning the midnight oil.

All the better for us
.

From Kane’s canvass of the encampment, Tucker had noted signs hanging on the remaining two cabins’ doors: M
EN
’
S
B
UNKROOM
and W
OMEN
’
S
B
UNKROOM
.

He was counting on the civilian personnel being housed there.

Frank edged the Suburban to a stop in front of the women’s bunk. It was where Sandy likely lived while working here, and where Tucker had the best chance of finding Nora Frakes, the woman Sandy had brought home to meet her mother.

Frank’s door was closest to the steps leading up to the cabin. As Frank exited, Tucker grabbed the MP-5 assault rifle and followed out on the driver’s side, scrabbling low, and dropped to a knee next to the Suburban. He hoped any casual look this way would only reveal Frank’s head, his face and features shaded under the guard’s cap.

Holding his breath, Tucker braced for some alarm, some shout of challenge.

But the night remained quiet.

“Check the cabin window,” Tucker ordered, plagued by a persistent worry.