Never Again

by M. A. Rothman

  Their escort had managed to find a method of transport that she disliked more than flying—but as the Ecuadorian military vehicle bounced along a dirt road on its one-hundred-mile trek west-northwest of Quito, she felt as if all of her bones were rattling in their sockets. Neeta began to feel a visceral hatred for the personnel carrier she’d been stuffed into the back of.

  Sitting opposite from her, Bella and Dave both seemed unaffected by their chaotic surroundings. In fact, Dave had been chattering nonstop since they’d left the hotel located just outside of Ecuador’s capitol. As he droned on and on about every last detail of assembling the space elevators on the Moon, Neeta’s mind wandered.

  Between the acrid smell of the truck’s exhaust, the pungent odor of the rotting vegetation from the surrounding jungle, and the bouncing truck, Neeta wasn’t sure which was making her more nauseous. The stink permeated the warm, humid air, and it was all Neeta could do to avoid throwing up as she maintained her death grip on the bench seat welded to the bed of the military vehicle. Glancing toward the back of the transport, she saw four men wearing brightly colored Hawaiian shirts, who thankfully looked nearly as miserable as she felt. They were a small part of their government-assigned security detail.

  Following behind their transport were a series of identical vehicles, and leading their procession was yet another series of troop transports. In total, the Ecuadorian Army had sent an entire company of heavily-armed soldiers to escort them through the jungle toward their final destination.

  Neeta wasn’t used to the idea that she needed protection from anyone. Certainly not by well over one-hundred soldiers. But even though the jungles were reputed to be safe, neither the U.S. government nor the Ecuadorian government were taking any chances with the American scientists, Dave especially.

  “Doctor Patel, Doctor Holmes,” one of the Secret Service agents announced, as he pressed his finger against his ear. “Our escort’s commanding officer is riding ahead and says we are only five miles from the location, which should be about ten minutes at our current pace. I also just received a status report from the ISF’s monitoring crew out of Quito. They said that the descent of the elevator’s guidance system has just broken into the Earth’s atmosphere.”

  Turning her gaze toward Dave, Neeta caught him glancing in Bella’s direction and watched with fascination as she lightly touched his arm. They stared wordlessly at each other, and suddenly Dave turned his gaze toward Neeta.

  “Perfect timing,” Dave remarked. “We’ll probably be in visual range of the guidance system in about twenty minutes.” He winked at Neeta. “I can tell you’re miserable out here in the heat. Truthfully, I’d have figured that you’d be used to the heat with your Indian heritage. I promise that we’ll be in and out as quickly as possible.”

  Neeta’s back stiffened and she raised an eyebrow as incredulity flushed through her. “Oh, really? I was born in London, you ass. I happen to be used to air conditioning, cold weather, and fog. You of all people, I’d have thought, wouldn’t presume things just because of my complexion.”

  Dave burst out laughing and shook his head. “Neeta, I love that I can get a rise out of you so easily. You’re still as prickly as ever.”

  Bella wiped a sweaty lock of red hair from the side of her face as she glanced back and forth between Dave and Neeta with a perplexed expression.

  Neeta’s mind raced with any number of retorts about him being black, and therefore more tolerant of heat from his own African heritage, but she choked them down and controlled herself as she glared at him. The damned bastard was actually looking quite comfortable and wasn’t sweating at all. Over the years that she’d known Dave, he’d proved to be one of the few people who’d ever called her out on her sensitivity about stereotypes. As she let her surge of anger subside, she felt slightly embarrassed by her reaction.

  She gathered her long, sweat-soaked hair and began to braid it into something more manageable. She tossed Dave a lop-sided grin and groused, “I hate you sometimes.”

  Dave sat back with a satisfied expression. “Only because I’m always right.”

  Rolling her eyes, Neeta growled with frustration.

  ###

  “Daddy, when are you coming home?” Emma asked. Her voice reverberated through the speakerphone in Stryker’s small hotel room.

  “I’m not sure yet, honey. As soon as I’m done with my work.”

  “Hey, you know what?” The six-year-old whispered.

  “What?” Stryker asked, as he finished shaving at the bathroom sink.

  “Mommy says that the Army is a poopy place, but she didn’t say poopy, she said the ‘c’ word.”

  Stryker wiped his face with a hand towel as he imagined Emma’s shocked face when his ex-wife used the word “crap” to describe the Army. When Lainie and he were still married, she’d often used much more colorful language when describing Army life.

  “She used the ‘c’ word, eh?” He smiled and desperately hoped Emma would keep her six-year-old innocence for as long as possible. “Well, sometimes your mom gets upset.”

  “She didn’t really meant it. I told her that it wasn’t a very nice thing to say, and she said she was sorry.” Lainie’s voice suddenly echoed loudly in the background, and Emma whispered, “Okay, I have to go. Mom is calling me for school.”

  “I love you, Emma.”

  “Love you too. Bye.”

  A dial tone blared through the speaker, and the line disconnected, bathing the room in an eerie silence.

  Stryker stared at himself in the mirror; the bags under his eyes and the haggard expression reflected the hours he’d been putting in. “Jon,” he said to himself, “you’re looking like shit.”

  He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and realized he had a full six hours before meeting with his platoon sergeants.

  Enough time to go through the latest intelligence reports the captain had given him.

  Suddenly, a loud buzzing echoed from his nightstand. With two quick strides, he grabbed the ringing cellphone and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Lieutenant Stryker?”

  It was Mia’s voice. It had been a couple weeks since he’d last seen her, but her voice was unmistakable.

  “You do realize that it’s not even 0600, right?”

  “Sorry, but I just talked to my brother and he’s given me some info I think you might find useful. I’m about to grab breakfast, you interested?”

  He pressed the speakerphone button on his cellphone and switched to the map application. “Where at?”

  “It’s called The Corner Diner. It’s here in town at the corner of Leber and Rainier Lane.” Stryker’s phone buzzed momentarily. “There, I just sent you the location.”

  “Got it. I’ll be right there.”

  Stryker hung up, made sure his firearm was securely seated in its holster, and wondered what the sheriff’s brother might have told her.

  He grabbed his car keys from the nightstand and felt a smile cross his lips as he considered meeting Mia again.

  Having breakfast with an attractive woman was never a bad way to start the day.

  ###

  Stryker walked into the noisy diner, and despite the early hour, the place was packed with people chatting loudly over the sound of an oldies radio station blaring something by Taylor Swift.

  The place had a different vibe than the New York City diners he was used to. The smell of bacon hit him like a truck.

  Most of the customers looked like construction workers, many of them with their yellow hardhats either occupying a space on their table or under their chair.

  Stryker, on the other hand, was fully kitted out in his fatigues, and stood out like a sore thumb.

  Panning his gaze across the restaurant, Stryker felt the attention of a dozen or more of the nearby workers shift toward him. The conversations faded as he looked for the town’s sheriff.

  “Stryker!” Mia’s voice cut through the music and mur
murs of the diner’s patrons.

  He glanced to his left and saw her waving from one of the booths on the far side of the restaurant.

  As he walked toward her, he barely suppressed a smile. She was wearing civilian clothes and her hair was down, still wet from the shower.

  She looked fantastic.

  As he settled into the seat opposite from her, a gray-haired waitress came and asked, “What can I get you kids?”

  Mia said, “Hi, Debbie, I’ll take my usual.”

  The waitress tapped a few times on her tablet PC’s touchscreen. “Three brown-sugar waffles, two slices of bacon, extra crispy, two eggs scrambled, a side of hash browns, and a black coffee.”

  Stryker stared open-mouthed at Mia. “Good lord, that seems—”

  “I’m a breakfast girl.” Mia smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

  “I guess you are.”

  The waitress turned to him. “And you, honey? What’d you like.”

  “Coffee and do you have any Danish?”

  “No Danishes, but we have scones with raspberry jelly, if you like.”

  “I’ll take that.”

  “Any cream, sugar, flavorings?”

  “No, black works, and I prefer coffee flavored.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  The waitress tapped a few times on her tablet and walked toward another table.

  “A scone?” Mia arched a brow and stared at him. “Lieutenant, didn’t anyone tell you breakfast is the most important meal of the day? That’s just a snack.”

  A waitress with a tray full of drinks walked by, wordlessly deposited two mugs of coffee on the table and moved on.

  Stryker shrugged. “Well, I guess I’m more a dinner type of guy. And Sheriff, you can call me Jon.”

  “Will do, and while I’m not in uniform, go ahead and call me Mia.” She slid a white envelope across the table. “Billy handed that to me. It’s Raven Miller’s DD-214.”

  “So, Raven’s former military, eh? How’d your brother get his hands on the man’s discharge papers?” Stryker flipped open the envelope and scanned the text.

  “I didn’t ask.” Mia shrugged. “Billy’s always had a way of getting into things he’s not supposed to. Nothing illegal that I’m aware of, but you know ... sometimes I know better than to ask. As far as this Raven character, I can tell Billy really wants him strung up pretty badly.”

  Taking a sip of the strong coffee, Stryker shook his head as he read through the suspect’s discharge papers. “Raven Blackfeather Miller. Enlisted and Airborne out of Fort Benning, SFAS and Q-Course out of Fort Bragg, and then four years as a Special Forces Weapons Sergeant. This guy was no slouch.”

  Stryker folded the paper and put it back in the envelope as a waitress appeared with their order.

  With a heavily-laden plate of food placed in front of her, Mia launched into her breakfast.

  Crunching on a strip of bacon, she jabbed the end of a half-eaten piece in his direction and said, “From what Billy told me, Raven was a bomb guy. He spent a lot of time in Eastern Europe back in the 50’s when Romania was having those terrorist attacks. You know, when the Muslims and Christians were at each other’s throats.”

  In his mind’s eye, he saw the burnt-out hull of the mosque where he’d lost many of his men. It was Bucharest, Romania’s capitol: October 3rd, 2055.

  Stryker’s nose crinkled as he relived the moment from a decade ago. A nearly overwhelming smell of burnt flesh dominated his senses. He swallowed hard against the rising bile. He and his men had been assigned to guard the old mosque near Romexpo, never thinking that the Christian separatists would retaliate against the Muslim place of worship using the same tactics that had been used against them.

  Suicide bombers.

  “Jon? What’s wrong?” Mia asked.

  Shaking his head, Stryker grabbed for his mug of coffee and took a deep swallow. The still-steaming liquid burned as it went down his throat and settled warmly in his stomach. He focused back on Mia’s brown eyes. “Nothing.”

  He took a deep breath. “So, this Sergeant Miller was dishonorably discharged. I’ll have to look into it. Is there anything else your brother learned about him? Where he went or anything like that?”

  “Well, one of the members of Billy’s group died of food poisoning.” Mia shoveled a large piece of syrup-laden waffle into her mouth. She chewed for a second, swallowed, leaned forward, and whispered, “His name was Cookie, nobody knew his real name, but he made the meals for everyone. It seems that the same day that Raven disappeared, Cookie was making food like he always did when he suddenly fell over and died.

  “Cookie was old, could have had a heart attack, but for some reason, Billy decided to feed some of the stew Cookie had been making to one of the dogs, and it ended up dying as well.”

  “So this Raven guy tried poisoning everyone and took off?” Stryker balled his hands into fists as he remembered his ex-partner’s attempt at drugging him.

  “Seems to be the case. If you think it’ll help, my brother offered to lead you to where he buried the dog. I’d guess the poison might still be detectable.”

  Stryker pursed his lips as the lyrics of the fifty-year-old Spanish song named Despacito blared through the speakers in the ceiling.

  “I might take you up—” the speakers shrieked with high-pitched feedback and went quiet, leaving static playing through the restaurant’s sound system.

  Mia looked up at the ceiling. “What the hell was that?” She tapped at the phone stud in her ear. “Hi, Meredith, what’s up?”

  Stryker studied the sheriff’s expression as she talked to Meredith. The frown lines at the corners of her mouth deepened.

  “No need to dispatch a car, I’m only five minutes away. I’ll take a look. Besides, he probably fell asleep.”

  Mia tapped at the phone stud in her ear, and Stryker asked, “Was that a call from dispatch?”

  “Yup, someone called in a complaint about an incident at the radio station.”

  Hitching his thumb at the speaker in the ceiling broadcasting the hiss of static, Stryker frowned. “You mean the complaint was about that?”

  Mia nodded.

  He was hit by a wave of apprehension; every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. “Bullshit. No way someone called into dispatch that quick.”

  Mia’s eyes widened and her expression was wary. “Well, the transmission tower is less than a mile from here,” she explained as he reached for his phone.

  Only two days ago, he and the rest of their battalion had been informed by the head of the 42nd MP Brigade that civilian communications jamming would begin rolling out across the nation.

  He hadn’t heard anything since then, but maybe that was what had started?

  Pressing one of the speed dial buttons, Stryker put the phone to his ear and heard, “Cohen.”

  “Cohen, your team’s combing the land just outside the Orting valley, right?”

  “Yes, sir. We’re following up on a lead we got from the Pierce County PD. What’s up?”

  “I’m sitting with the Orting chief of police. She and I are going to the transmission tower that’s at ...” He glanced at Mia and aimed the receiver in her direction.

  “It’s where the Trout Spring Hatchery meets with Canyonfalls Creek,” she said. “It’s a big one-hundred-foot tower with a two-story building at its base and a small parking lot. You can’t miss it.”

  “You get that, Cohen?”

  “Got it, sir. We’re about ten minutes out. What are we looking for?”

  “Meet us at the location, we’ll see when we get there.”

  Mia tilted her heard with a confused expression. “You really think backup is necessary for this? The place probably had a generator blow out or something. Do you know something?”

  Ignoring her question, he held up a finger and dialed another number.

  “What’s up, Stryker?”


  “Captain, we’ve got possible activity at a local radio transmission tower. Has the rollout of what Colonel Gibbons had talked about started?”

  “I’m not aware of anything being activated in your area yet, but I might not be in the loop. I’ll check and let you know. Watch yourself out there, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  The line disconnected, and Stryker took a quick bite of his scone, dropped a few bills on the table, and stood. “Let’s get going.” He glanced at Mia’s diminutive form. “Are you wearing a vest?”

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin and huffed with frustration as she stood. “Don’t worry, I’ve got my vest in the trunk, and my service weapon is always on me.” Mia dropped some cash on the table, motioned toward the waitress, and made a beeline for the exit.

  ###

  Stryker tilted his head toward his right shoulder and heard his neck crack as the car weaved through traffic, its navigation system keeping pace with the sheriff’s vehicle.

  As the cars turned off the main road and proceeded along a packed dirt path winding beside the Puyallup River, the cell phone rang. Stryker leaned forward and tapped the “pickup” button on the old Chevy’s touch screen.

  “Stryker?” The captain’s voice boomed through the car speakers.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I just got the G2 on your area. Looks like jamming has begun across all commercial frequencies. A broadcast message to all Washington state residents will be going out through emergency channels about this in the next hour.”

  A chill raced up Stryker’s spine. “Shit! Sorry, sir. But if they’re jamming all frequencies, there has to be more than just some localized terrorist thing. What’s going on?”

  The only noise on the line came from the captain breathing heavily for a full ten seconds. Was he jogging?

  “Stryker, I just don’t know, and I’ve got the same questions you do. I’ll run them up the chain and see what I can learn. In the meantime, just do what you have to.”

  “Roger that. Thanks for letting me know.”

  The connection ended just as his car pulled into a remote parking lot located near the base of a one-hundred-foot tall broadcast tower.