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.”
“Eric!” she yelled, picking up her pace.
Her security chief patted one of the heavily armed men on the arm, sending them through the stairwell door behind him.
“Eric! Tell your men to stand down!” she said. “There’s no point.”
Eric Bines spoke into his handheld radio before rushing to meet her. The gun battle outside intensified, the sounds spilling through the broken window in the office next to them.
“Ma’am, I’m under strict Homeland orders to defend this installation against any and all attacks,” said Bines.
“This is different, Eric. If the military turned on us, it’s over,” Medina stated. “There’s nothing we can do but wait for D.C. to fix this.”
Bullets passed through the wall ten feet away, filling the hallway with drywall dust. Medina crouched next to Bines, who aimed at the stairwell door with his MP-9 submachine gun. His radio crackled with frantic reports.
“I have to go,” he said, through the door.
Medina shook her head, unwilling to process the man’s death wish. If he wanted to die a pointless death, that was his problem. She had a duty to protect her people, and that was exactly what she intended to do. Ian emerged from one of the rooms, hustling two men toward the communications center several doors away.
“Ian, I need you to enter my security override code into the automated keycard system and reboot the external doors,” said Medina.
“That’ll lock out the security team,” Ian reminded her.
“Just do it. Right now. They’ll get us all killed if they use the building as their Alamo.”
Ian sprinted down the hallway, pushing several people out of his way to reach the communications room, which housed their surveillance and security equipment. A group of administrative personnel burst out of the stairwell door, yelling and pushing their way into the hallway. Medina backed against the outer wall and waited for them to pass.
“Is the first floor clear?” she yelled to the last of the group.
One of the women stopped long enough to nod. “I saw a few security officers guarding each door, but that’s it.”
“Get inside the comms center,” said Medina, staring at her ROTAC. She took a deep breath and selected Colonel Martin’s call sign. “Colonel Martin”—she heard heavy gunfire in the background—“I tried to order Mr. Bines to surrender, but I’m afraid he’s hell-bent on defending the compound to the last man. I’ve disabled the key card readers at all external doors, so they can’t retreat into the building. I’d like to keep my staff alive.”
“They’re putting up one hell of a fight,” said Martin. “Get all of your people into the safe room and wait for my call. I expect this to be over in five minutes.”
“Most of the staff is already there. I’m told we have security officers guarding the ground-floor doors, from the inside.”
“All right. We’ll do everything we can to keep the gunfire away from your safe room. Make sure your people are lying down. The Kevlar only goes up to shoulder height,” said Martin.
“Colonel Martin?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I didn’t do enough to work with Governor Dague from the beginning,” Medina admitted. “I knew better.”
“This isn’t your fault. The blame for this lies about seven thousand miles west of here, in the People’s Republic of China. Don’t ever forget that. You were dealt a tough hand, and you played the cards the best you could. Not every RRZ made this much progress,” Martin assured her. “Launching a paramilitary coup against the state government would have erased that legacy and catapulted the state into bloody civil war. It’s already happened in three recovery areas. You’ve done well.”
“Funny. That’s not the picture Homeland painted,” Medina countered.
“Of course not. I listen to the same rosy reports, but I also get the real story from the military commanders on the ground in the areas that have collapsed,” said Martin, the sound of gunfire on his end of the call escalating.
Automatic fire erupted near the building, sounding closer than before. Through the stairwell door, Medina heard yells and more gunshots.
“They’re falling back to your building,” said Martin. “You better get to the safe room and lock it. Do not let any of the security team inside.”
Medina ran for the communications center door, a full-scale battle echoing through the hallway. She reached the room at a dead sprint, frantically grabbing for the door handle.
“Barricade the door!” she screamed, slamming it shut and scanning her microchipped badge over the electronic reader installed in the wall.
She punched a quick code in the keypad, and the card reader glowed red. She had locked the door from the inside. Only Ian McEyre or Eric Bines possessed badges that could override her lockout. If Bines survived the battle outside and made it back to the communications center, only a stack of furniture would keep him out.
While members of her staff moved desks in front of the door, she watched the surveillance screens, focusing on the camera views aimed at the entrances. The green night-vision images showed several security officers huddled around each door, firing at unseen targets, while one of them repeatedly swiped his badge over the card reader. One by one they started to fall as bullets visibly splintered the siding around the door and struck the ground near the crouched men.
She recognized Bines on one of the screens. Helmetless, he crouched behind a failing wall of body armor and rifles, holding his phone. Medina’s
ROTAC chirped. She checked the orange digital display and shook her head. Bines had sealed his fate when he refused to accept the reality of their situation. Seconds later, his unprotected head snapped back, a dark green stain hitting the door behind him. The rest of the team tried to run for the northwest corner of the building, only to be stopped halfway, their deaths marked by a sudden crescendo of gunfire heard through the communication center walls.
A group of soldiers quickly surrounded the main entrance door, peeling away moments later. The camera feed disappeared, followed by an explosion that shook the safe room. Screams punctuated the approaching sound of gunfire inside the building.
“Get on the ground!” she yelled as bullet holes peppered the top of the wall next to the door.
She saw the card reader blink red several times, followed by frantic banging on the door.
“Governor, open the door! They’ve breached the building!” said a muffled voice beyond the reinforced entry.
“You need to surrender!” she yelled back. “They’ll kill all of you if you don’t surrender!”
“Open the door! They’re here!”
A long burst of automatic fire exploded in the hallway, penetrating the door.
Medina crouched next to the computer displays, finding the security camera feed above the entrance. Two men in black body armor fired in different directions while a third pulled a critically wounded officer across the hallway, leaving a thick blood trail. More automatic fire thundered in the hallway, splintering the door and ripping into the security team. The rate of fire increased for several seconds, suddenly ceasing. She held her breath as 10th Mountain Division soldiers crowded the door.
“Governor Medina?” she heard.
None of the men on the display aimed rifles at the door.
“I’m here!” she yelled, approaching the door.
“My name is Captain Royer. We have instructions to secure the communications center. I need you to open the door so we can get this sorted out. Nobody will get hurt. You have my promise. Colonel Martin is on his way up.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” she yelled.
“Nothing, ma’am,” said the Army officer.
“Nothing, as in we just go back to our jobs?” she said, knowing that wasn’t what the captain had in mind.
“We’ll search for weapons first. After that, I presume you’ll be temporarily detained with your staff. I need you to open the door now, ma’am,” said Captain Royer.
“I need to speak with Colonel Martin,” she said, watching the screen.
The officer pressed a transmitter button on his vest and spoke. A moment later her ROTAC chirped. She answered it with a question.
“Colonel, what’s going to happen to us?”
“That’s up to you, ma’am. Lieutenant Colonel Grady is on his way to Augusta. We’re bringing Governor Dague here until the threat from the Counter Insurgency Battalion has been defused,” said Martin.
“I’ll do everything I can to help with that,” said Medina. “Unfortunately, getting the CIB deployed wasn’t a simple phone call. It attracted a lot of attention.”
“We won’t give Homeland or the White House any reason to escalate the situation, as long as you and Dague can function in a hybrid leadership role,” said Martin.
“I don’t understand,” said Medina.
“The RRZ concept is here to stay, and nobody is more qualified to run the RRZ than your staff. Governor Dague agrees that she’s not equipped to do your job,” said Martin.
“Then why has she put up so much resistance?”
“The New England RRZ governance structure had several permutations, based on the type of Category Five catastrophe we faced. None of the permutations included a tsunami wiping out the seaports from Connecticut to Portland, so Homeland decided to follow the New England RRZ protocol created for a nuclear strike against Boston,” said Martin. “It placed the entire RRZ infrastructure burden on Maine, which caused an unusual amount of friction.”
“That’s an understatement,” Medina said. “I think D.C. underestimated the independent spirit of the Maine population.”
“That too,” said Martin. “So, the job’s still yours if you want it.”
“What about Governor Dague?”
“That’s for you and the state governor to figure out. Dague will arrive here in less than an hour.”
“That doesn’t give me a lot of time,” said Medina.
“No, but it sounds like you’ve already given a lot of thought to how you could have better approached the situation last fall.”
“I used to sit in the annual training meetings, shaking my head at some of the protocol recommendations,” said Medina. “Like I said, I knew better.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think they picked the right person for the job. Especially for one of the nation’s critical RRZ’s.”
“Do you want to know a secret?” Medina asked, swiping her badge on the card reader.
“Always,” said Martin.
Medina punched her code, waiting for the reader’s lights to turn green before opening the door to face Colonel Martin.
“I was never trained for this job,” she said. “The real governor and his chief of staff never showed up at Andrews Air Force Base.”
“I’m beginning to suspect that might have been a blessing in disguise,” said Martin, extending his hand. “I assume you’ll stick around?”
She shook his hand. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Chapter 32
Bangor, Maine
Alex jammed the ROTAC into the center console, pounding the dashboard with his other hand. He muttered a few choice words about Grady.
“What’s going on?” asked Ed, slowing for the second gate.
The chain-link fence hummed on its track, taking an eternity to open.
“There’s a military coup underway in Sanford,” said Alex, hitting the side of his door impatiently.
“Jesus,” hissed Ed, edging the SUV closer to the gate.
“Who cleaned out the warehouses?” Charlie asked. “If it was the military, we shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
“It wasn’t the military,” said Ed. “Was it?”
“No,” Alex answered. “Medina called in some kind of paramilitary group to deal with the state government. They’ve been in possession of this stuff for nearly a month.”
The gate had barely cleared Ed’s side of the SUV when he gunned the engine, propelling them toward Runway Road.
Charlie asked, “Does he think they’re out here?”
“He didn’t say, but I’m guessing they’ll have a group nearby. The sooner we get to the turnpike, the better,” said Alex, watching the road ahead of them through night-vision goggles. “Can you see the road?”
“Barely,” grunted Ed. “Shouldn’t I be the one wearing the NVGs?”
“Normally, yes,” admitted Alex. “But I’m going to need them to spot any unwelcome roadside companions. You should be able to see it better once we get out of these trees.”
“I hope so. I’m just driving in a straight line right now.”
“You’re right on track,” said Alex, taking hold of the wheel. “I’ll guide us onto Runway Road.”
Ed accelerated after the turn, comfortable with the twilight scene unfolding at forty miles per hour. Alex kept his limited field of view through the NVGs focused forward, scanning the distance for anything that didn’t belong on the road, especially vehicles. A brisk wind churned through the windows, chafing his face and chilling the cabin. They rode in darkness and silence two-thirds of the way to New Boston Road.
“Anything?” asked Ryan.
“Looks good so far,” said Alex. “How are you doing, Ed?”
“I can see the road well enough to keep us out of a ditch. I’ll need help with the turns.”
“I see the barn coming up on the left. That’s our turn onto New Boston. Can you see it?”
“Kind of. It’s silhouetted again
st the horizon.”
Alex lifted the NVGs to check the ambient light guiding Ed’s journey. He was concerned about his friend’s ultimate ability to navigate the roads if they came under attack. Alex’s attention would be more focused on coordinating a defense than guiding Ed to the interstate. One wrong turn or missed intersection could put them deeper into unfamiliar territory. His eyes took a few moments to adjust before he could make an assessment.
The deep orange glow of scattered clouds had all but vanished, replaced by a thick cerulean blue ribbon above the trees. He could see the two-story barn against the deep blue horizon, but only because he knew what he was looking for. Ed would need his help if they ran into trouble. Alex lowered the goggles, spotting something in the distance on the other side of the intersection.
“Faster, Ed. I’m seeing something farther down Runway Road,” said Alex.
“Past the intersection?”
“Yeah. We need to beat them to the turn,” said Alex, feeling the SUV respond to the accelerator.
“Faster. I’ll let you know when to slow for the turn,” said Alex.
“I’m pushing fifty-five,” said Ed.
Alex squinted at the green image. The horizon light washed out the distance view, affecting the long-range clarity of the picture. Something was in the middle of the road, growing larger. Had to be a vehicle. It looked like they’d beat it to the intersection.
“Start to slow down,” said Alex. “Can you see the barn?”
“I got it,” said Ed, decelerating the SUV.
“Take the turn as fast as you can.”
“Right,” mumbled Ed.
Alex wondered if the other vehicle would slow. He couldn’t tell what it was doing at this distance, without magnified optics. The night-vision image sharpened, unveiling a substantial vehicle with a figure leaning out of the passenger side window. A bright green laser appeared, extending from the passenger to the hood of their SUV. Without hesitating, he grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it left.
Ed tightened his grip on the wheel and countered Alex’s move, keeping them from crashing off the road. Instead of careening wildly into a telephone pole or mailbox, the SUV instantly shifted lanes as red-hot tracers passed down the left side of the vehicle. Ignoring the screams and chaos in the SUV’s cabin, Alex raised his rifle and fired an extended burst through the windshield at the oncoming vehicle.
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 147