by Robert Boren
“No problem,” Erica said. “Lousy coffee anyway.”
Heidi snickered. “I thought it was just me.”
They climbed aboard, looking around the rich cabin with its expensive leather seats, lush carpeting, and other nice appointments.
“Bathroom is in the back,” Gregg said. “Strap in. We’ll be leaving in a couple minutes.”
They found seats, Malcolm looking at the logo stamped on the seat in front of his. “This belongs to the Samson Corporation.”
“Isn’t that the same company that made those robots?” Heidi asked.
“Sure is,” Malcolm said. “Wonder how Ivan got to know him?”
“The war might have brought them together,” Erica said. “I’ll bet Jules knows.”
The doors closed with a firm clunk, the engines starting. Within a few minutes they were racing down the runway, climbing into the sky.
***
Lance heard the metal door of the bunker open and got off his bed, using the remote to shut off the TV. Victor appeared, with a new laptop still in the box, and a cellphone.
“Excellent, thanks,” Lance said as Victor put them on the table.
“Hopefully this will work out okay,” Victor said. “I had them activate the phone already. Battery probably needs more charging.”
“No problem,” he said. “What’s the passcode?”
“Your birthday. 0721.”
Lance nodded, turning the phone on and waiting. It prompted him for his passcode, which he input. The phone searched for the provider, loading up quickly.
“Excellent,” Lance said. “Plenty of bars. Went to LTE right away.” He set the phone down on the table and got out the laptop, getting it set up and plugging in the battery.
“See the news reports from Manchester?” Victor asked.
“Yes, a little while ago.”
“Think it’s related to Margaret Hines? Looks like somebody shot their way out of the airport there.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s got an estate around there. England is crazier than the states right now. Might not be related.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to your new toys. I’ll bring lunch down in about an hour.”
“That’s great,” Lance said, eyeing him. “Thanks a lot for this. Sorry I was such an asshole at first.”
“I understand,” Victor said. “You’ve been so successful. Of course you want to keep what you’ve got.”
Lance watched him leave the room, and then chuckled to himself. The laptop booted up quickly, and he got the initial setup done, then moved to the phone and set up the personal hotspot. It worked perfectly. “Gotta love iPhones. No muss, no fuss.” He had the laptop connected in a couple minutes, and opened the browser, searching first for info about the attempted hit at Tavern on the Green. There was nothing important that he didn’t already know, so he accessed the portal for his company and sent a private message to his head of security. He got a reply in a split-second.
Boss, thank God you’re alive. Where are you?
Lance chuckled as he typed the reply.
I can’t tell you that, but know that I’m safe and still in control. What’s going on? Anything from Charles, Jean, or Mateo?
He waited for a reply, which came a few seconds later.
They’ve cut us off, but I still have sources inside their organizations. Did they try to hit you?
Lance typed the reply.
The hit man said Charles says hi, but that doesn’t convince me. The guy had an English accent. Might have been that bitch Maggie.
Well, boss, my sources told me that Maggie is under the protection of the Queen, although there’s apparently a lot of push-back on that in Scotland Yard and MI6. They’re telling me she’s still in London, but I don’t believe that for a moment. She’s at one of her compounds if she’s still kicking, and that’s a big if. We studied the video from the attack at Heathrow. She was hit in the side as well as the legs. You can see it clearly if you process the video. Oh, and you know her DNA wasn’t found at the hospital, right?
Lance chuckled as he typed his reply.
I knew that as soon as the bomb went off. Wonder if the Islamists are secretly on her side?
Doubt it, boss. They suicided themselves. I think they were true believers, but their level of intel and their operational capability are worrisome. They might come after the rest of the group.
Lance typed his reply.
Yes, that’s why I’m not saying where I am. Do everything you can to find the current locations of the others. I’ll be waiting.
You got it, boss.
Lance closed the window and started his research.
{ 8 }
Manchester
S eth walked into the mine shaft, going into the intel room, where Kaitlyn was working on her laptop. She turned towards him, worry in her eyes.
“I can’t raise Justin or Katie.”
“That’s why I came back down here,” he said, sitting in front of his laptop, logging on. “It’s been too long. They should’ve been here by about sun-up.”
Trevor and Kaylee came down with Angel and Megan, Trevor stopping in his tracks when he saw Seth’s demeanor.
“Oh, crap, what happened?”
“Justin and Katie are overdue,” Seth said.
“And I can’t raise them,” Kaitlyn said. “I hope they’re okay.”
“Maybe they decided to disappear into the woodwork,” Angel said. “I wouldn’t blame them.”
“They’d have gotten word to us,” Kaitlyn said. “I know Katie really well now. She’s not like this. No way.”
Seth nodded. “I agree, although the last of their group is gone, now.”
“Robbie and Morgan,” Megan said. “Right?”
“Yes, they all knew each other before the war,” Trevor said. “They were a lot like us, just a little older, and from a different part of Torrance.”
“Maybe there’s something in the drop box,” Seth said. “They gave me access. I can check.” He typed on his laptop, waiting for a second as the portal opened on his screen. “No new messages. Dammit.”
“Let’s not go crazy yet,” Angel said. “Anybody had the local news on? If they were attacked on the road, it’s probably been discovered. Might be a news story.”
“I can search for that,” Kaitlyn said, turning back towards her machine and typing.
“What’s going on up top?” Seth asked.
“Nothing,” Trevor said. “Everybody’s on high alert. The Cavalry is all over the place, and the off-roaders are staying close to their machines. We checked our guns in the battle wagon, just in case.”
“Nothing on the local news sites,” Kaitlyn said. “Do we know how they were coming down?”
“That should be easy to figure out,” Trevor said.
“I’m on it,” Seth said, bringing up the map site in his browser. “Wrightwood to Dulzura.” He input the commands and waited as the screen drew the route. “Well, Angeles Crest to 138, then I-15. There are several alternatives once you get on I-15.”
“Like what?” Angel asked.
“Stay on I-15, or take the eastern route via I-215, or you can even cut over to I-5 and take that, now that the San Diego area is open to traffic again.”
“Lots of possibilities,” Trevor said. “It’s gonna be difficult to search.”
“We should chat with Ji-Ho and Garrett before we get too worked up,” Kaylee said.
“I’d leave them alone for now,” Seth said. “The operation in Dulzura is starting soon, and they need to focus. Justin and Katie will probably turn up before too long.”
“I hope so,” Kaitlyn said.
***
Charles woke up in the bedroom off the reception hall, checking his cellphone. Mid-morning already. He climbed out of bed and went to his suitcase, pulling out clean clothes and dressing. Jean was already at the food table when Charles got out there, picking through the various high-end breakfast choices. He turned towards Charles.
“Good morning. Lots of good food here.”
Charles smiled. “Only the best. Not sure I’m that hungry.”
“You’re worried about Maggie,” Jean said.
“Of course. Guess I should eat anyway. Maybe I’ll be able to see her today.” He picked up one of the china plates and joined Jean at the table, picking out several items, taking it to the couch afterward. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV.
Jean sat down on the couch next to his, focusing on the screen for a moment. There was a huge demonstration going on, several trash cans burning, and a car pushed over in the street. “More riots in Paris, huh?”
“The European Union is coming apart. I’m not so sure this was a safe place to come.”
“No place is safe for us, no?” Jean quipped.
Charles sighed. “Okay, you’ve got a point. My security chief told me there was talk of arresting me in New York.”
“For what?”
“Collusion with the enemy,” Charles said. “I don’t know where that’s coming from. We were very careful to cover our tracks.”
“You have a large operation. Hard to keep a lid on everybody. All it takes is one or two people.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Charles said.
“Is the hunt still going?”
Charles sat silently for a moment. “There are things in place that will happen as scheduled. I’m slowing down after that, though. At least for a while.”
“Why?” Jean asked.
“Because the person who leaked to the District of New York might be one of our Mercs.”
“Do you have any indication of that, Charles? Or are you simply losing your nerve?”
“Don’t push on me.”
Jean chuckled. “We made the agreement for a reason. If we don’t take these folks out, they’ll kill us. Has something come along to change your mind about that?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t think they’ll come across the pond to get you,” Jean said. “That might be true with General Hogan’s part of the operation. He has no way to operate here. The other ones are a different story.”
“Other ones?”
“Ivan and his henchman Jules.”
Charles laughed. “Ivan will be lucky if the operatives we still have in the Federal Bureaucracy don’t go after him, regardless of what the elected officials are saying.”
“I’d be careful about that if I were you,” Jean said.
“You ought to be worried about what’s going on in France. That used to be a pillar of the Globalist movement, and now it’s turning.”
“They tried to turn it five years ago,” Jean said. “We stopped them, and actually increased the quota of migrants we let in.”
“Because most of Eastern and Southern Europe refused to take any more migrants, and eventually left the EU. Face it, the French government was forced into that, and they did it against the will of the people. We are seeing the results now.”
“I thought this was what you wanted,” Jean said.
“It is, of course, but we have to be smart about how we do it.”
Jean leaned back in his seat, laughing again. “The heavy-handed way that we tried to bring the United States into the fold didn’t work. It’s driven us to hide underground like rodents, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Charles shook his head, getting up to put more food on his plate. “This is good.”
“Yes, it’s nice to sit and eat luxury food off fine china in the underground bunker of an estate, as the world closes in on us.”
“Are you trying to piss me off, Jean?”
“Why, are you gonna hit me too? I know you were responsible for the hit on Lance.”
“Actually, that wasn’t me,” Charles said.
“He’s still alive.”
“And you’d better hope I can convince him that we didn’t order the hit. If we can’t, he’ll probably kill both of us. He’s a lousy manager but a very good thug.”
Charles’s cellphone dinged with a text. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked, a smile washing over his face.
“What?” Jean asked.
“That operation in Wrightwood ended up turning out okay, after the initial problems. We took out all four.”
“Didn’t two of your Mercs get captured on that?”
Charles shot him a sly grin. “Yes, and they’re sitting in a small-town jail as we speak. We killed half of their sheriff department in the failed part of the operation. How long do you think those Mercs will last?”
“If you start killing off Mercs, we’ll have a third faction after us. That’s not smart. They probably won’t talk. They usually don’t.”
“Ignoring that possibility might get both of us killed,” Charles said.
Jean snickered. “Great, one more danger to add to the list. One of them will break the camel’s back.”
***
Mr. White and Mr. Black sat in their booth, facing the front door of Junior’s, 45th Street near Broadway in Manhattan.
“You sure he show up?” Mr. White asked. “Risky. He knows friends flee to England.”
“He head of state, think untouchable,” Mr. Black said. “He also moron. We should get permission to hit if chance comes.”
“I for, but he have entourage, and probably bodyguards too.”
“I text Ivan,” Mr. Black said, picking his phone up off the table. The waitress brought his drink, an Old Fashioned with a rock candy stick for garnish. “Ah, very good, thank you.”
The waitress smiled at him, a young woman with a beautiful face, framed by platinum hair. “You’re welcome. Would you like to order food?”
“Carrot cake, please,” Mr. White said.
Mr. Black smiled after the first sip of his drink. “Perfect. I take cheesecake.”
“What kind?” the waitress asked.
“Plain, please.”
“Okay, you got it.” She hurried away.
“Want sip of drink?” Mr. Black asked.
“Twenty-dollar drink? I think I pass. Might like.”
Mr. Black smirked at him, then looked around. “Place start to fill.”
“Theaters getting out. We see Mateo soon if he come. Might go to other places, though.”
“This favorite,” Mr. Black said. “After drink, understand why, plus waitresses all luscious.”
Mr. White watched the crowd of people filtering through the door, lining up at the hostess stand. “People still act scared here. Notice? Not like freedom, perhaps?”
“Some liked martial law. Not so bad if keep nose clean, but hard to keep nose clean forever. New laws all time, more and more things illegal. Impossible to keep up. You remember from home.”
Mr. Black’s phone dinged with an incoming text.
“Ivan already?” Mr. White asked.
Mr. Black nodded as he read.
“Well?”
Mr. Black smiled at him. “Take him if we can do without making suicide mission. He needs us for more difficult jobs coming up.”
“Exactly what I expect him to say,” Mr. White said. “Look at those two thugs, just come in door. UN blazers. They look at everybody. I’ll bet target has sweet tooth tonight.”
“We can’t hit in here. Restroom area too swamped.”
Mr. White cleared his throat. “The thugs come this way.”
The two men walked up to their table, making it obvious that they had guns under their blazers.
“We’d like to see some ID, please,” said the larger of the two in a French accent.
“I’d like to take my waitress home tonight, but not gonna happen,” Mr. Black said. “UN have no power, ought to be forced out of country. Leave.”
“I’ll go talk to the manager,” the man said. “You stay here, Carl.”
They watched the man hurry away. Mr. White smiled at Carl. “What European shit-hole you climb out of, Carl?”
“It’s illegal to harass UN officials on Manhattan,” the man said curtly in a Danish a
ccent.
“Denmark,” Mr. White said with a grin. “You live longer if you stay there, no? Nice women at least. My friend and I like to pass back and forth three at time.”
The Dane’s face got red with anger.
“Here comes boyfriend,” Mr. Black said, finishing his drink.
“There, we’ll show you,” Carl said with a smug grin.
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask you gentlemen to leave,” the manager said, looking like he wanted to be someplace else.
“You American and you let Eurotrash UN punks push around?” Mr. White asked. “Shame on you.”
“That’s a violation of law right there,” the first UN man said. “I demand your IDs so I can write a citation.”
“Stuff it,” Mr. Black said, standing up, dwarfing the UN man, who backed up, his hand going towards the gun under his blazer. Mr. Black grabbed his arm, squeezing hard and twisting, forcing the man to the floor as Carl drew his weapon. Mr. White kicked Carl in the shin, which shocked him into dropping his gun.
“I’m calling the police,” the manager said. Carl’s anger came up fierce, and he lunged at Mr. White, who punched him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, dropping him to the floor beside his friend. The manager rushed away. About half of the patrons in the restaurant clapped, but a few booed. Mr. Black bowed, laughing, and they headed towards the door.
“Hey, Manager,” Mr. Black said. “That drink was on house. You should watch what scum you let in this fine establishment.”
The terrified manager moved further back from the pastry counter, phone at his ear.
“That fun,” Mr. Black said.
Mr. White grinned. “Yes. Stake out. If he still come, we take when he leave. Body guards are joke.”
“Might decide Juniors not best place tonight,” Mr. Black said as they stood on the sidewalk, looking up and down 45th Street.
“Wonder if there is bar in Marriot Lobby across street?”
Mr. Black smirked at him. “Let’s walk down a block, back up across street.”
“Which way?”