“Those guys wouldn’t have moved those vehicles anyway,” Sonyea said. “Even if Jeff hadn’t blown it, there would have been a standoff over fuel or the Razer.”
“I didn’t peg those guys as killers.”
“I wouldn’t peg you for a killer either, but you are. It’s the times, not the people.”
Robert hated to admit it but she was probably right. It made him feel better to blame Jeff, though. It reminded him not to trust the kid and not to let his guard down around him. This thought made him realize that he should probably check on the kid. He should be done by now. He got to his feet.
“I’m going to get him moving. You about ready to hit it again?”
Sonyea sat up and rubbed her eyes. “I guess so. A cup of coffee would be nice. I was getting a little sluggish.”
“No time for that now but I have some caffeinated jelly beans if you want a pack.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, just not the same.”
“Suit yourself,” Robert replied, moving around to the front of the Razer. “You done over there, kid?”
There was no response.
“Jeff?”
“He not answering?” Sonyea asked.
“No,” Robert replied, heading toward the tree where he’d left Jeff.
The chain was still visible, cinched and padlocked around the tree at about waist height. Robert drew his pistol and kept his distance from the tree, moving left to gradually reveal what lay on the other side of it. He didn’t want to get too close in case the kid had some attack planned. Once he’d moved far enough laterally, he found the kid squatting at the far reach of his chain but his pants were still around his waist. Whatever he was doing was something other than he was supposed to be doing.
Robert’s brow furrowed, trying to figure out what was going on. Then he saw a white wire extending from the kid’s ear to a device cradled in front of his mouth. He heard the low whispering and figured it out. It was a radio. The son-of-a-bitch had a radio.
Robert charged and lashed out with his foot, kicking Jeff over to his side. The radio flew from his hands but was stopped in its flight by the cord connecting it to his ears. While Jeff lay stunned, Robert snatched up the radio, yanking it free, and unplugging the earbuds. A man’s voice was barely audible through static. In fact, he could barely understand the voice at all. Robert hit the volume key and the voice grew louder.
“Can you repeat that?” the voice said.
Robert glared at Jeff, still lying on the ground, not meeting Robert’s eye.
“Please repeat that last transmission,” the voice said. “We’ve lost you.”
Robert jumped on Jeff, sitting on his upper body, and throwing a punch at the younger man’s head. “Who the hell was that? Who were you talking to?”
Jeff squirmed, tried to dislodge his attacker, tried to get a hand up to shield his face, but he didn’t answer.
“I asked you a question,” Robert repeated, punching the man again, then grabbing him by the collar and screaming in his face. “Are you setting us up? Where did you get the radio?”
As Robert shook him, a scrap of paper fell from Jeff’s balled fist. Robert stared at it a second, then picked it up. Jeff scrambled, trying to take it back, but couldn’t reach it. He recoiled when Robert drew his fist back to strike him again.
Robert got to his feet and backed away from Jeff. He could smell the paper in his hand. It smelled like mint. Like mint gum. Then it hit him. He remembered finding Carlos at Jeff’s cell in the hay barn, the piece of gum he’d given him, and the wrapper that Jeff slipped into his pocket. Robert unfolded the paper: This radio will reach your dad. Don’t worry. You have friends on the inside.
“Is that who you were talking to?” Robert demanded. “Your dad? The men back at the compound? You trying to direct them to us?”
Jeff shook his head.
Robert yanked his pistol from the holster and leveled it at Jeff. “I will kill you. Who were you talking to? You have one chance.”
“My family!” Jeff spluttered. “And the men escorting my family. They’re apparently on the same frequency. They heard me and started talking to me.”
Robert holstered his gun and drew back his arm, his frustration driving him to throw the radio as far as he could. Just before he could throw it, a hand closed around his forearm. He whipped his head around and found the hand belonged to Sonyea.
“What the hell?”
“We can use that,” she said. “If it picks up the families, we can listen in to what they’re saying to each other. They have to be close if he’s picking them up with that handheld.”
Robert realized she was right. Throwing the radio was a stupid idea. He relaxed his arm and Sonyea released him. He shoved it in a pocket.
Sonyea faced the prisoner. “Did he hurt you?”
“A little,” Jeff said, sensing she was the more compassionate of the two. He was wrong.
“Good,” she said. “You deserved it. This is the second attempt you’ve made to sabotage us today. It better be the last. What did you say to them?”
“Nothing,” Jeff said. “I was trying to get my dad. When that guy gave me the radio, he didn’t know anything about me coming out here. He thought I could use it for talking to my dad from the cell. I thought I’d try it and see if it would still reach my dad’s camp but it didn’t. One of the men escorting the families heard me say my dad’s name and they asked me to identify myself. We were just starting to talk when that asshole knocked me down.”
Robert glared at Jeff. “He’s probably lying. He’s trying to set us up.”
“I’m not lying.”
“What else did Carlos give you?”
“Carlos?” Sonyea asked. “I’m confused.”
Robert held up the scrap of paper. “I saw Carlos giving him this note in the hay barn. I didn’t think anything about Carlos being in there at the time. I guess I should have said something about it. He must have given him the radio too.”
“What else did he give you, Jeff?” Sonyea asked.
Jeff shrugged. “Nothing.”
“He could have a weapon,” Robert said. “Cover me. I’m going to find out.”
With Sonyea holding her pistol on Jeff, Robert thoroughly searched him, looking for anything that might be used as a weapon. In the small of Jeff’s back, he found a thin knife clipped to the inside of his waistband. He held it up for Sonyea to see.
“What was that for, Jeff?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I wasn’t going to use it unless I had to.”
Robert pulled the knife from its sheath and tested the blade with a thumb. Jeff watched him with wide eyes. “I should cut you right now. Just enough to make a point.”
“No!” Jeff wailed.
“Don’t do it, Robert,” Sonyea said.
Robert shoved the knife in the sheath and stood, tucking it in a pocket. “You’re going to run out of chances, kid. I can see it already.”
“Can I finish my business now?” Jeff asked. “I’ve still got to go.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. We gave you plenty of time for that already,” Robert said.
“I’m sorry,” Jeff said. “I never got to it because of the radio.”
Robert looked at Sonyea.
She shrugged. “What choice do we have?”
“You better make it quick,” Robert ordered. “And I’m not leaving you alone this time.”
Sonyea returned to the vehicle to repack her sleeping bag. Robert dug in his pocket to find the key to the padlock fastening Jeff’s chain to the tree.
While Robert was distracted with unlocking the chain, Jeff raised his cuffed hands to swipe a grimy forearm across his runny nose. As he did, he casually spat a handcuff key into the palm of his hand. When he turned away from Robert to unzip his fly, he slipped it into the watch pocket on his jeans, and casually went about the mission at hand.
When he was done, he zipped up and turned back to Robert. “I’m ready.”
&nb
sp; Roberttook up the slack in the leash and nodded toward the vehicle.
Jeff walked by and took a seat in the Razer. Sonyea was already in the back, the shotgun laying across her lap.
“You ready?” Robert asked, cuffing Jeff to the grab handles with the second pair of cuffs.
“Yeah,” Sonyea said. “I guess.”
Robert settled into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt. “If I’m reading the map right, we have to drop down over the southeast side of this mountain now, pick up a different road, and try to make it to Highway 64 before those families do.”
“What are you going to do to them?” Jeff asked. His tone implied a serious concern about their well-being.
“I haven’t thought out all the details,” Robert said.
“Will anyone be hurt?”
“A lot of that depends on you, Jeff,” Sonyea said. “If you can’t keep your head in the game, if you keep withholding stuff from us, we might not be able to assure their safety. Whatever the plan ends up being, you need to go along with it. You need to do your part. That’s the only way you keep your family from getting hurt.”
“They’re at a campground,” Jeff mumbled.
Robert, who’d already started the Razer, turned it back off again. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
“They’re at a campground. It’s near some town called Marble. The Cozy Creek Campground.”
“And you know this how?” Robert asked.
“They told me just before you pounced on me, dude,” Jeff said. “They said they were supposed to wait there until they received word from Dad.”
“Why should we believe you?” Sonyea asked.
Jeff looked at her like the answer was obvious. “Because I don’t want my family to die. I know I probably can’t save my dad but maybe I can save the rest of them.”
Robert restarted the vehicle. “Maybe you can.”
21
Under a heightened state of alert at the compound, everyone had assigned tasks or stations. This was one of the things they drilled on during the training sessions conducted a couple of times a year during normal times. Carlos was supposed to be glued to the radio while other residents of the compound patrolled the grounds, sat in sniper nests, or tended to various support duties. Carlos also needed to satisfy his other benefactor. He needed to check back in with the congressman. He wanted to pass on Robert’s name and the information he’d gotten from Cass, but he wanted a little more.
Finding a moment when things were quiet around the command pod, Carlos slipped out the door of the commo shack and headed for one of the outhouses located nearby. He paused at the door, made sure no one was looking, then bypassed the outhouse and disappeared into the woods. He caught a cleared footpath and accelerated to a jogging pace. He needed to make this quick and get back to his station.
It took him several minutes to get to the first of the bunkhouses located at the core of the property. This wasn’t his bunkhouse but he hadn’t noticed any paperback books laying around the one he was staying in. This unit, where both Brandon and Cass had bunks, was the place to start.
He slowed and looked around, feeling like a spy as he crept up the steps. He peered through the glass panel in the door and didn’t see anyone inside. He was relieved to find the door unlocked. The bunkhouse he stayed in was never locked either, so he’d anticipated this. Living together in these conditions required a certain degree of trust. After all, everyone had been vetted. They’d all gone through background screenings and been cleared. Even Carlos.
With one last glance at his surroundings, he opened the door and slipped inside. The bunkhouses were long, simple cabins but were designed to provide comfortable year-round living quarters. They were insulated but had bare plywood walls with a minimum level of trim. They were neat without being extravagant. There were windows for light and ventilation, with a woodstove at one end to provide heat when required.
Bunkbeds provided the sleeping accommodations. Both the top and bottom bunks had privacy curtains. To the side of each bunk there were personal lockers for storage of weapons and gear. A solar setup provided illumination by way of a few twelve-volt LED bulbs. At each end of the bunkhouse, an odd assortment of yard sale furniture provided a place for people to hang out. There were no showers or bathrooms within the quarters. A gravity-fed, solar-heated shower facility was located centrally to all the residences. An outhouse was located just outside, and downwind, of each bunkhouse.
Carlos walked the length of the room, headed straight for the sitting area at the far end of the space. He checked the coffee and end tables. There were gun, fitness, and off-roading magazines, as well as several paperbacks. Carlos flipped through the stack but none were by Robert Hardwick. He frowned. Somebody must be reading it at night. It had to be in someone’s personal pile.
During the day, with the bunkhouse abandoned, the facility was dim, the only light coming from the stray illumination filtering its way down through the tree cover. Carlos pulled a Streamlight flashlight from his pocket, thumbed the switch on the butt, and began scanning nightstands. Despite the fact that he working for the enemy of these folks, despite the fact that he was trying to get them all evicted for the convenience of a greedy congressman, this simple act felt like a violation. It was odd how morality worked sometimes, kicking in when one least expected it. He pushed that feeling to the side and did what he had to do.
Halfway up the narrow aisle he saw a battered paperback dangling off a bedside table. The cover showed a heavily-muscled man in tactical gear. He was shirtless but wore a plate carrier. He held his rifle in such a way that his bicep flexed and showed off tattoos. On his arm was a buxom woman, scantily-clad in shredded clothing. She’d obviously just been rescued by the hero. Carlos considered the cover, thinking this book might be pretty good after all. He stared at the title. Angels of Armageddon by Robert Hardwick. He’d found what he was looking for.
Carlos shoved it inside his shirt and slipped out the door. When he was certain there was no one around to see him, he started running again. He returned by the same route he’d used earlier, slipping by the outhouse like he was returning from using the facilities. He slowed at that point, making his way casually across the open command pod.
He didn’t start to relax until he was climbing the steps to the commo shack. He would go in, get the congressman on the horn, and tell him what he’d found. He was already digging the book out of his shirt when he tugged open the screen door and went inside. He stopped in his tracks when he found Kevin waiting on him.
The contractor was sitting in Carlos’s chair, fiddling with the dials on the radio. Carlos froze. He already had the book out in the open. It was too late to put it back in his shirt, too awkward to whip it around behind his back.
“Where have you been?” Kevin asked, accusation and disapproval in his voice.
“Taking a dump, man,” Carlos said, holding the book up in the air. “Guess I got sucked into this book I’m reading.”
“There’s a lot going on right now,” Kevin said. “You should request somebody to cover your station if you’re going to be out of action. You know how this works.”
Carlos shrugged. “Sorry, man. Didn’t think I was going to be that long. Things were quiet. Didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” Kevin said. “But you don’t know because you were out of action. You have no idea what might have been transmitted in your absence. What if we missed an important transmission? What if one of our guys was in trouble and depending on you to relay a request for assistance?”
“I’m sorry,” Carlos said. “It won’t happen again.” He strived to sound apologetic, though he hated being reprimanded like this.
Kevin got up from the chair and walked by Carlos. “It better not happen again. This isn’t the military but your duties here are serious. If you don’t understand that, you don’t belong here.”
Carlos flushed, embarrassed at the dressing-down. Kevin pushed o
ut the door and headed down the steps.
Carlos realized something and stuck his head out the door. “You never did say what you needed.”
“Forget it,” Kevin said, waving him off.
Carlos crumpled his face in concern. What had Kevin wanted? Had he been compromised somehow? Had he given himself away? He went to his desk and slipped his headphones on. He put the book on the desk in front of him. After staring at it for a moment, he powered up one of the secondary radios and switched it to the memorized frequency.
“Green for White. Green for White.”
It took several minutes of repeating the transmission before there was a response.
“Go for White,” Bradshaw said.
“I have more information,” Carlos said.
“One second.”
Shortly, the gruff voice of Congressman Honaker barked into the radio, “What have you got for me?”
“Robert Hardwick,” Carlos said, reading the name from the cover of the book despite having memorized it.
“Who’s that?”
“The guy who took off with your son. The writer.”
“You got any background?”
“Only from the back cover of his book.”
“What does it say?”
“‘Robert Hardwick writes from his fortress of solitude deep in the mountains of Damascus, Virginia. He spends each day looking for new ways to destroy the world so he can enjoy writing about it.’”
“Robert Hardwick, Damascus, Virginia,” the congressman repeated, scribbling the information on a piece of paper. “And the woman?”
“Nobody famous,” Carlos said. “She owns a riding school for people with disabilities. Sonyea Brady is her name. Took some asking around to get that.”
“Riding school for the disabled. How noble,” the congressman drawled, his voice oozing sarcasm. “Anything else?”
“That’s all I got. I couldn’t ask much without raising suspicion. Things around here are on a need to know basis.”
“Let us know if you hear anything else, especially any information about what this mission of theirs entails.”
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