“Do you know how to drive this thing?” Jeff asked.
Robert didn’t answer. With a steady throttle, he climbed back onto the road and straightened out. Flooring the gas, he sprayed sod, dirt, and leaves in all directions. They were up to a more cautious thirty-five miles per hour in seconds.
“Did you see anyone?” Robert asked.
“No!” Sonyea shouted, trying to be heard over the engine. “Arthur’s idea must have worked.”
“Let’s hope so.”
16
Congressman Honaker frantically paced his RV. His command team tried to comfort him and offer suggestions but the ideas rolled off him without taking root. The leaders all assumed the congressman was brainstorming, hence his distraction, but they were wrong. He could never have admitted the truth to them, that he was in fact wondering why he and his son had never bonded. He’d tried when they were both younger, but maybe he had been gone too much. Between growing a business and his political ambitions, he’d probably been a lousy father.
He also couldn’t help but wonder how he was going to explain this to his wife. She would see it as his failure, his fault, and in the end, who else was there to pin it on? This whole campaign, this whole effort, was his idea and his alone.
Even more concerning than his son’s fate was the thought of how he appeared at that moment to the men around him. Was his indecision, his paralysis, reflecting poorly on him as a leader? Was his whole effort to portray himself as a commander, a leader of men, unraveling? This was not the way this was supposed to be going. This was not the way he’d planned or imagined it over all these years. How could it be salvaged?
He stopped pacing and faced his command team. "Have all the outlying teams reached us?” he asked.
"Almost,” Bradshaw replied. “The most distant, those covering the back of the compound, are double-timing it and should be here within two minutes.”
The congressman nodded, processing. "Is my son moving at all?"
"I’ve observed him myself on thermal,” Colonel Jacobs said. “We can't see features with any type of optic because the head is covered by a sack or something, but it's definitely a warm human body. He's alive. Judging by the awkward stance, he may have been roughed up a little. They may have also drugged him to keep him from panicking and falling off the tower. I'm assuming at some point they’ll send somebody up there to shove him off if their intention truly is to hang him."
"That may be our best opportunity," Bradshaw said. "If someone shows themselves to climb the scaffolding we have a sniper drop them. In the confusion, we rush the scaffolding. Maybe we create some diversionary fire against their positions so we can get men to the scaffold. We send someone up, they cut him loose, and lower him to the ground. There’s nothing elegant about it but it might work."
"As long as it's understood that we can’t do this without casualties," Jacobs said. "We’ll be operating in the open. We know Bridges has thermal, night vision, and the same sniper rifles we do. We’re going to lose men. If we lose too many, our force may be sufficiently compromised that we’ll need to retreat until we get reinforcements."
"I hope you’re not suggesting I leave my son up there to die,” Honaker said, shooting Jacobs a warning look. “That’s an unacceptable option.”
The colonel stood and sighed, resting a hand on the congressman’s shoulder. “Look, I’m not speaking as a father but as a strategist. Is it worth losing ten operators for a cook? Those are the questions officers have had to ask themselves for years. If you’re going to undertake activities like the one we’re engaged in now, this won’t be the last time you’re faced with a dilemma like this. It comes with the territory. You may not like it but you still have to deal with it.”
"Let’s just be clear here that you’re speaking as an officer and not as a soldier,” Bradshaw said. "For a soldier there would be no question but to save one of their own. Cook, mechanic, engineer, whatever, doesn’t matter. It’s still an American soldier. You’ve probably forgotten that."
Colonel Jacobs bristled. “I wasn't brought along to win friends, Bradshaw. I was brought here to win battles, and that’s what I’m trying to do. That’s not a goal we’ll accomplish if the game stops every time somebody’s in danger. There are no time-outs in war.”
“It’s never a game when lives are at risk,” Bradshaw said.
“And this isn’t just anybody out there in danger,” Honaker added. “It’s the son I vowed to keep safe and out of the fight. At the moment, I’m not as concerned about facing Bridges as I am about facing my wife.”
The colonel threw up his hands in defeat. “The decision isn’t mine. I was just offering my opinion. Do what you feel you have to do.”
“Command!” squawked the radio.
Bradshaw keyed the mic. “Go for command.”
“This is Cummings. They must have some kind of rope system on the scaffold that we didn’t see. They’re tipping it over.”
Bradshaw looked at Congressman Honaker with an expression of shock and fear.
The congressman grabbed the mic. “What’s happening to my son?”
“It tipped! He’s hanging from the noose!”
Bradshaw and the colonel stormed out the door, grabbing rifles on their way.
“Cut him down!” the congressman screamed into the radio. “Cut him down now! Charge the gate! Whatever it takes.”
He threw down the mic, grabbed his own rifle, and stumbled out the RV door. He rounded the hulking vehicle and looked to the distant gate, spotting the limp body of his son dangling against the pink striations of the morning sky. Congressman Honaker was paralyzed by shock, his rifle falling from his numb fingers. Gunfire erupted at the gate, then yelling. He heard someone call his name but didn’t know who it was or what they were saying.
He lumbered forward, staring at the hanging body, his child dying before his eyes. His focus was zoomed to that single point in the vastness of the universe, the point where his son hung, hopefully clinging to a spark of life.
Inside the now empty RV, a second radio crackled and the whisper that emerged from the speaker went unheard. “It’s a diversion. I repeat, the body is a diversion. It’s not real. A team is escaping through the rear of the compound at this very moment. If you get men back there now you may be able to intercept them.”
When there was no response, the voice transmitted again.
There was no answer.
“Hello? Anyone?”
17
From his command bunker, the basement of his cabin home, Arthur watched the action at the gate unfold on security cameras. The congressman’s men were scrambling over the gate, trying to find the rope that would lower the hanging body to the ground. Of course those men didn’t know it was a dummy, and Arthur couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they discovered that fact.
“They’re firing on us,” Kevin said, repeating a message he heard through his earpiece.
“Remind the guys to keep down,” Arthur said. “They can pop off a few shots to keep the men from advancing on them but I don’t want this turning into a serious firefight. My guess is this is a recovery mission only.”
The men on the screen found the end of the rope tied around a nearby tree. They couldn’t just cut it because the body would drop about twenty feet to the ground. Men latched onto the rope and held it tightly. Someone cut the knot with a knife and two men lowered the body as quickly as possible. The body dropped into the waiting arms of two combatants who immediately noticed something off about the body but still frantically wrestled the noose off the neck. In seconds, their suspicions had been confirmed and they knew they’d been tricked.
“This is it,” Arthur said, sitting up in his chair and scooting closer to the security monitor. “Wait for it…”
Cummings yanked the hood from the body and found himself staring at the rubberized grimace of Bob. He hit the microphone on his vest. “Abort! Abort! This is some kind of trick.”
There was immediate ra
dio chatter and requests for confirmation, the sporadic gunfire making it difficult to understand what Cummings had just transmitted. Cummings let out a loud whistle and directed his men to retreat.
“It’s a trick! Cover us!” he shouted, fleeing toward the locked gate and flinging himself over.
While the men who came with him provided cover fire, he helped stragglers over the gate and they scrambled to safety on their side of the wire. Once everyone was over, Cummings ran straight for the command RV. He found the congressman waiting for him, flanked by Bradshaw and Jacobs.
“What the hell is going on? Where is my son?”
Cummings wiped his forehead with the back of a sleeve, sweating from both the humidity and the adrenaline. “He ain’t there. That wasn’t even a person. It was one of those striking dummies. I’ve seen the same damn dummy at my gym.”
“But it was warm,” Bradshaw countered. “You saw it on thermal. I saw it on thermal.”
Cummings shrugged. “It was warm in my hands when I caught it. They must have put something inside it to make it heat up. It was definitely not a person though.”
The congressman spun and slammed his fist against the side of the RV. When once didn’t help, he repeated the gesture several more times. “What the hell! What was the point of that? Why would they go to all that effort?”
“There was certainly an ulterior motive,” Colonel Jacobs agreed. “They wouldn’t do this simply for entertainment.”
“An attack?” Bradshaw suggested. “We consolidated our forces and left everything else open. Maybe they’re circling us? Preparing to launch an attack?”
The utter sensibility of that move bore down on all of them instantly.
“Build a perimeter!” the congressman barked. “I want this camp circled-up right now. They could be moving in from any side.”
Cummings was on his radio in a second, relaying the barrage of orders coming from both Bradshaw and Jacobs. The congressman stalked off, Bradshaw on his heels. He threw open the door to the RV, clambered up the steps, and tossed his rifle onto a bunk. He cursed and banged on the wall, still stinging over what had transpired.
“Get Bridges on the radio,” Congressman Honaker snapped.
Bradshaw slid into a booth and began working his magic. “Congressman Honaker for Bridges. Congressman Honaker for Bridges.”
The congressman frowned and yanked the microphone from Bradshaw. To heck with radio procedures. He wanted answers. “What the hell was that about, Bridges?”
The congressman’s angry voice spilled from a speaker in Arthur’s basement. It was his personal radio, not quite so fancy or far-reaching as the setup in the commo shack. Arthur picked up the mic, looking at Kevin. “Did we find their antenna yet?”
“I put Brandon on it since he was familiar with the terrain,” Kevin replied. “He followed the wires and found two up on a ridge. He cut the wires and broke the antennas into little pieces, scattering them on his way back.”
Arthur couldn’t restrain a smile. “Can they reach anyone farther out than us?”
“Probably not,” Kevin said. “The wire that went to the antenna will function in that capacity somewhat but won’t be sufficient for long distances in these mountains. They’re just going to be talking to us from this point forward unless they brought a replacement antenna with them.”
“I doubt that,” Arthur said. “And I’m not sure they’ll find talking to us as comforting as hearing from their families.”
The speaker barked again. “Answer me, Arthur!”
Arthur sighed and raised the mic to his mouth. “What are you growling about, Honaker?”
“What the hell are you up to? What was that stunt all about?”
“I’m pretty certain you’re not supposed to use that kind of language on the airwaves,” Arthur said. “They’re pretty strict about that.”
“I’ll show you strict when I come up that hill and shove that striking dummy up your ass!”
“Bring it,” Arthur said. “That may end this whole mess sooner than later.”
The congressman was silent for a moment. Arthur glanced at Kevin, who shrugged to indicate he had no idea what was going on.
“What was that all about?” the congressman repeated, his voice more measured this time. He was trying to regain control of his anger.
“I’m afraid you don’t have the clearance level to access that information,” Arthur said, speaking in a sarcastic tone that he knew would infuriate the congressman. “It’s classified.”
There was no response, and Arthur pushed himself from the table, rolling casually back to the table where Kevin sat. “He’s probably wrecking things about now. Or at least making life very unpleasant for the folks around him.”
“He seems like that kind of guy.”
“He is,” Arthur said. “A jerk. Spoiled, entitled, and drunk on his own power.”
“So what now?”
“I’d imagine he’s a little amped up,” Arthur said. “He’s probably waiting for us to attack.”
“I’d agree with that assessment.”
“When we don’t attack, he’ll gradually work people back into position around us.”
“You don’t think he’ll come after his son?” Kevin asked.
“I think he’ll try to negotiate or intimidate us into giving him up,” Arthur replied. “I do think we have to maintain a heightened state of alert. He may try to kidnap one of our guys or start taking potshots at us. The closer his families get, the more his anxiety will go up. He’ll want to have this mess cleaned up before they get here.”
“You still think those families are going to get here?”
Arthur understood that the implied question was whether he thought Robert had a chance of blocking the families from reaching the compound. “I’m not going to voice any opinion other than that I hope he’s successful. Life will be a lot simpler for all of us if Robert succeeds.”
18
While GPS satellites were still orbiting and functional, GPS mapping of the national forests, like many remote areas, was not always dependable. Sometimes the GPS included historical roads or trails that were not navigable in a vehicle like the Razer. Robert was relying on a USGS paper topographic map Arthur had given them. Sonyea was the navigator, calling out directions and landmarks. In his state of urgency, desperate to escape the fear of coming under fire, Robert felt like he’d been driving for hours, but that couldn’t have been the case. Probably fifteen minutes was more likely.
They were doing okay. They were putting miles between them and the congressman’s forces. They’d also not taken any fire, which had been one of Robert’s biggest concerns in the open cockpit. If fireworks had started they’d have been sitting ducks.
Thankfully, the condition of the forest roads was not nearly as bad as expected. Since they were used frequently by hunters, adventurers, and four-wheel drive clubs much of the year, the forest service kept them passable. It wouldn’t have been until fuel became more difficult to get that people would have stopped using the roads. Still, they came across several downed trees they had to go around and one they even had to winch off the road. They also ran into a sweeper—a downed tree with limited clearance beneath it. Robert was able to get beneath it and push up while Sonyea drove the vehicle through.
Each time he slowed or stopped the vehicle, Robert reminded his passenger that he was clear to kill him if he caused any trouble. Jeff still had an attitude, although was less intimidated by Robert than he had been of Kevin or Arthur. Part of Robert wanted to do something to Jeff to earn that same measure of fear and respect but he didn’t have it in him to assault the man for no reason. He considered it, though.
They’d gone nearly thirty miles when Sonyea mentioned she’d like to stop to stretch her legs. The map indicated they were about to make a river crossing near a waterfall. “I’d love to stick my feet in a cold creek.”
“Not there,” Robert said. “Waterfalls are noisy. You can’t hear people coming.”
There were several campsites at the river crossing. The water wasn’t deep there, more of a creek than a river, but trash left at the campsites was fresh enough that Robert couldn’t tell if it pre-dated the terror attacks or was a recent deposit. It reminded him of all the people who said their plan was to bug out to the hills if the power went out and things collapsed. The most likely place for them to go would be these national and state forests since those were vast public lands rich in big game.
The truth was that these mountains would be hunted out pretty quickly if everyone who claimed they were bugging out there actually did so. With most people not understanding food preservation, and with the warm temperatures this time of year, a lot of that game would be wasted. Even smoked meat wouldn’t last indefinitely in the humid southern mountains.
When Robert killed the Razer’s engine at the creek-side campsite, some of his stress dissipated. He didn’t get out immediately but sat holding the steering wheel and forcing himself to relax. He focused on his breathing, on calming himself down.
“You okay?” Sonyea asked, wasting no time unbuckling herself.
He nodded. “Just decompressing.”
Sonyea climbed out and walked around the vehicle, stretching as she went. “My husband and I used to do a lot of four wheeling. He had an old Jeep and we took it everywhere. I don’t remember those trips being as hard on the body, but I guess I was a lot younger then.”
Robert unbuckled and climbed out, noticing immediately what Sonyea was talking about. He’d been so distracted by his own stress while he was driving that he didn’t notice he was sore all over. His back was stiff and his shoulders ached. The Razer had better suspension than any vehicle he’d ever owned. It floated over bumps and downed branches. Perhaps it was from being so tense. Robert stretched and his back sounded like popcorn popping.
Compound Fracture Page 9