Arthur stood there with his hands in his pockets. He was a quiet man and he was a good man. It seemed a contrast that he operated such a militarized compound deep in this rugged country.
They fueled the truck from the cans in Robert’s Jeep. There were extra cans still in the trailer that Grace and Tom brought from Sonyea’s farm. They checked the truck out and everything seemed solid for the short trip.
Robert and Sonyea armed up and settled into their positions in the truck. Robert placed a chest-mounted magazine carrier in the floor near his feet. Laying against his thigh and pointing into the floor was his truck gun. It was a short AR pistol identical to the one he made for Grace. He’d machined the receiver himself from a kit. There were no markings and no serial number. Just as he’d told Grace, if one of them had to dump their weapon on the run it could never be traced back to them.
He set Sonyea up with his backup truck gun, a Kel-Tec KSG. It was twenty-six inches long, a 12 gauge shotgun with twin tube magazines. He could load each magazine with a different type of load, such as six buckshot rounds in one and six slugs in the other. A switch let you choose which magazine fed the chamber. On the dash in front of Sonyea lay an olive drab bandolier with elastic loops full of shotgun shells. After all, you never knew what was around the next corner.
They waved good-bye and Robert made a wide turn in the compound’s dusty parking area. He eased down the road, passing a guard tower and various armed members of the inner perimeter security. Further down the gravel road, camouflaged sentries opened gates for their passage. When he finally pulled out of the last gate and onto the main road, he didn’t see the men that allowed him to exit but he could feel them watching him.
“You ever think about moving your family in with these folks?” Sonyea asked. “They’ve got one hell of a setup.”
“I considered it, and I maintain a good relationship with them in case I ever need to take them up on their offer, although it’s not the kind of environment where I want to raise my children. I want them to be able to experience a life that is a little less…militarized.”
Robert and Sonyea were elated to begin their journey home. The hospitality provided by Arthur Bridges had been about the best anyone could expect under these circumstances and they were appreciative. However, they missed their families. It was an ache that would only be satisfied by a reunion.
They were relaxed despite the circumstances. They suspected there would be obstacles along the way. They knew there would be more populated areas where they would have to be on guard and where they might encounter trouble. They expected their first rough spot to be in North Carolina. In the western hills there were a lot of tourist destinations. There would be people trapped there by circumstance who had no resources and would be desperate for anything they could get their hands on. Those places should be the worst they encountered. What Robert and Sonyea did not expect was trouble within the first hundred yards of their journey.
When he heard the blast of the rifle, Robert was more confused than startled. He assumed that the firing was probably coming from Arthur's compound. Perhaps someone was training or even hunting. Then there was the devastating impact of the heavy .50 caliber round slamming into the engine of the truck. There was eruption of metal fragments and steam as coolant sprayed onto the hot exhaust manifold. Sonyea screamed and Robert cursed, slamming on the brakes. The vehicle lurched to a stop. Only then did Robert think about the horses in the back and that he probably should have stopped gentler. He yanked Sonyea’s head down, ducking beside her.
"Are you okay?"
"No! You’re tearing my incision open."
Robert released her but she stayed down. "Are you hurt?"
"No. I don't think so."
Robert waited on a follow-up shot but none came. Maybe the only intention was to disable the vehicle. Then a second round pierced the windshield flying just over their ducked heads, spraying them with shards of glass. Sonyea screamed again, Robert flinched.
"We've got to get outta here," he said. "We're sitting ducks. Can you run?"
"If someone's firing at me? Uh, probably!"
"Grab your bag and your weapon. I'll cover you. Run like hell."
"I think that last part goes without saying."
Robert threw open his door, leaned out, and fired three quick rounds through the gap between the door and the vehicle. Sonyea took this as her cue to bolt from the cab of the truck. She snatched up her shotgun and her pack and slid out the door. She kept her head down and ran as close to the truck and trailer as she could. Robert fired three more shots then grabbed his own Go Bag and took off running. He expected to see Sonyea in front of him, booking for the tree line. Instead, he found her fighting with the door to the horse trailer.
"Get out of here!" Robert yelled.
"Not without my horses!" Sonyea said firmly. In seconds she had the doors to the livestock trailer open.
"They're already saddled?" Robert asked in surprise.
"Yeah, because things like this can happen."
Robert shrugged. She had a point.
Sonyea sprang onto the back of one of the horses and took up the reins. "Can you ride?"
Robert mounted the other horse awkwardly. "If someone’s shooting at me? Yeah, I think so."
Sonyea kicked her horse and it shot off down the road. Robert followed suit and was close behind her. Shots rang out behind, gouging troughs in the dirt road. Robert assumed he was dealing with trained shooters who would have no trouble gauging the lead on a rider. He tried to make his horse weave but nearly fell off in the process. Fortunately for them, it didn't take long to close the distance to Arthur's gate.
As they approached Arthur's gate someone slung it open and they rode through without slowing. Camouflaged men in tactical gear spilled by them on both sides. They ran the horses along Arthur's road though there was no one to open the gates for them further in. Robert assumed that all the men who'd been manning these gates earlier were now engaged at the perimeter of the property. The pair didn't slow until they reached the main compound, where they found Arthur, Kevin, and the doctor waiting on them. All were wearing plate carriers and carrying rifles.
The doctor slung his rifle over his shoulder and ran forward to help Sonyea off her horse. "You're bleeding," he said.
Sonyea nodded in Robert's direction. "He about pulled my arm off."
"Trying to save your life," Robert said.
"What the hell happened?” Arthur asked.
"It sounded like a .50 cal," Robert said. "Someone center-punched the truck. Then I guess we didn't get out fast enough. They popped a round through the center of the windshield."
"The guys at the gate said it sounded like a .50 too," Arthur said.
"You think you've been compromised?" Robert asked.
Arthur shrugged, a frown on his face. "That's always possible. I try to run a pretty low-key operation though."
"There's nothing low-key about Blackhawks swooping in and dropping off folks," Robert pointed out.
Kevin looked harshly at Robert. "If I led folks here, they wouldn't have had time to deploy yet. There's no way to know who that is out there. I don't care how low key you try to be when you're building something like this, people are going to notice. Hell, there's probably satellite footage of this property being cleared. There's probably thermal footage of the occupants. People notice stuff like this."
"We knew that was a risk," Arthur said.
"I'm sorry your security has been compromised, Arthur," Robert said. "What most concerns me personally is getting back to my family. Especially with what Chuck said."
"We still have your Jeep," Sonyea reminded him. "We could try again in that."
"I wouldn't go anywhere until I knew what was out there," Kevin argued. "If there is another ambush waiting out there, next time you may not get away."
Chapter Twelve
Arthur Bridges’ Compound
Random gunfire continued throughout the morning, keeping the resident
s of the compound on edge. Arthur had a pre-staged command bunker in the basement of his home. Sonyea and Robert were seated at a table there, still looking a little shaken from their experience. The doctor had patched up Sonyea’s torn stitches and was hanging around listening to the radio chatter. Kevin and Arthur were there, as well as several other men from the compound.
Arthur put down his radio and took a sip of coffee. “The men on the perimeter say that whoever is firing on them is dug-in. They can’t seem to peel up an edge. They’re also well-equipped. We sent two snipers out in Ghillie suits and they took fire before they got too far. They barely made it back alive.”
“Thermal,” Kevin said. “They’ve got someone monitoring the woods with thermal.”
“Hell, who knows?” Arthur said. “They could have satellite support.”
Sonyea shook her head. “We’re screwed.”
“We don’t think like that around here, ma’am,” said one of the men Robert didn’t know. He had the bearing of a lifelong soldier. He wasn’t being harsh with her, only making sure she knew the score.
“This is probably a rogue operation,” Kevin said. “I’ve met people over the years who joked that their bugout plan was just to swoop in and take someone else’s setup. That’s what this feels like.”
“There was this woman I used to work with who told me I was wasting my time buying bullets,” Robert said. “She told me I should can food like she did, that she canned hundreds of jars every year. I told her that my system was to buy ammo and keep a list of people who canned. It was a joke in my case, but it’s the same principle.”
“Exactly,” Kevin said. “There are people at all levels of government who have the ability to track groups like yours, Arthur. This may well be someone simply carrying out their own personal bugout plan.”
“They’re not getting a damn thing from me,” Arthur said. His mouth was set firmly and his statement was not merely bravado. He appeared to be ready to go down with his ship.
“Although I appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” Robert said, “I’m not ready to make my last stand here, Arthur. I’ve got a family to get to.”
“Same here,” Sonyea said.
“I understand,” Arthur said. “I don’t hold that against you.”
“Do you think we could take the horses?” Sonyea asked.
Robert looked at her. “I’ve barely ever ridden a horse.”
“I thought you were all about flexibility? About adapting to conditions?” she said. “Isn’t that what you preach in your books?”
Robert frowned. Nothing worse than having your own words thrown back at you. “I’d be willing to try the horses, but it means giving up on all the gear. We’d have to cut down to the bare minimum.”
“We’ll hold on to your gear,” Arthur said. “Once we run off whoever is peeing on our parade, that is.”
“Can you live out of your Go Bag?” Robert asked.
Sonyea nodded. “I’ve done it. Have you?”
“I have. It’s barebones and it sucks. It’s not comfort.”
“Embrace the suck,” Kevin said.
“It concerns me that this could take weeks,” Robert said. “That’s weeks our family won’t know what’s going on. That’s weeks we won’t know if Grace and Tom made it home. Those will be long weeks.”
Sonyea considered this.
Kevin cleared his throat. “I might be able to help there. I may know a guy.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "A guy I don't know?"
"A guy nobody knows," Kevin said. "Or I guess I should say a guy few people know."
"He lives close to Damascus?" Robert asked.
"I think so. I know he lives in the coalfields close to where Virginia, Kentucky, and West Virginia meet."
"That's my general territory," Robert said. “It should be close.”
"Who is this guy? A prepper? A survivalist? Retired military?" Arthur asked. “It kind of surprises me to hear of new like-minded people. After you’ve been at this a while, you think you’ve met everybody.”
"He’s none of the above,” Kevin stated. “This doesn't leave this room. Are we all clear about that?"
He looked around the room and caught every eye. They all nodded their assent.
"I'm serious about this,” he said. “This is stuff no one talks about."
"You have my word," Robert said.
"Mine too," Sonyea said.
Apparently, Kevin had reason to trust the other men in the room without confirmation since he didn’t ask them. "This guy is a specialist," he said. "A world-class tinkerer. He designs and fabricates specialized low-tech gear for operators."
"What, like James Bond stuff?" Robert asked.
Kevin shook his head. "Nothing like that. This guy is old school. He’s a machinist and a welder. If you needed a pool cue that could double as a sniper rifle, this is your guy. If you needed explosives hidden in the lug nuts of a car so that the wheels will blow off at a certain speed, this would be your guy. If you need throwaway suppressors, this is your guy. He does all kinds of crazy gear—special stuff that people ask for or things he comes up with from his own twisted mind."
“You know him personally?” Arthur asked.
“I’ve worked with him for years,” Kevin said.
“Where did you meet him?” Arthur asked.
“It’s complicated,” Kevin said, choosing his words carefully. “Let me just say that he committed an act that made some people in government aware of his talents. They made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He’s been working for the alphabet agencies as a freelancer ever since. They call him The Mad Mick.”
“You think The Mad Mick could check in on my family?" Robert asked. “I don’t want to send him out into danger if he’s some kind of shop rat.”
"He’s not really a mad scientist," Kevin said. "He’s about your age. He's a little out there but he's fully operational. He's the rare guy who cannot only build the weapon but use it too. He has no reservations about pulling the trigger on someone."
"Do you think he’d do this favor?" Arthur asked.
Kevin nodded. "He owes me, but that's not why he'll do it. He's a family man with a daughter of his own. He'll do it because of that."
“How can you get in contact with him?" Arthur asked. "Is he a ham?"
"Better," Kevin said. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his satellite phone. "He has one of these."
"I'm already in your debt," Robert said.
Kevin looked Robert in the eye. "I suspect that by the time this whole mess is over, all of us will be owing a few favors. Just give me a credit on my tab."
Chapter Thirteen
Jewell Ridge, VA
The man known as The Mad Mick seemed like anything but a madman as he sat rocking in an antique porch glider. The glider was making the slightest of squeaking noises as it moved on its old mechanism. Rather than being annoying, The Mick found the noise to be comforting and somewhat nostalgic.
The glider sat on what looked like an old country porch. It was around eight feet deep and twenty feet wide with an overhanging roof of rusty tin. The porch looked like it could have belonged on a country house anywhere in rural America. On the side of the hanger-sized steel building, however, it seemed a little out of place. The Mick had never once lived in a house without a porch and he wasn’t about to start now. For some people, the heart of a home was the kitchen. For The Mick, it was the porch.
The Mick drank coffee from a ceramic mug that said Coffee Makes Me Poop. While he enjoyed his first cup of the morning he watched the whorls of mountain fog begin to dissipate in the rising heat. His goats and chickens plundered and foraged in the massive parking lot that was slowly being overtaken by weeds. The parking lot was surrounded by eight-foot high chain link fencing with three rows of barbed wire at the top installed by the company that had built, then abandoned, this facility. Had it not been for this fencing the pervasive coyotes would have already decimated his small homestead.
The facility had once been the home of a successful coal company. The property was over three hundred acres and had several mines onsite. There was a single-story brick office building, several shop structures, and open steel sheds for heavy equipment. There was even a helipad. Documents the company left behind indicated that they had spent over six million dollars developing the facility. When they mined out the property, they declared bankruptcy, picked up, and left. The property sat empty for eight years before the Mick was able to purchase it for about two hundred thousand dollars. Actually, it was purchased for him by his employers, but that was just a technicality. It was his.
The problem with selling the place had been the location. It was on a remote mountaintop in coal-mining country. There were no other business around that needed a facility like it. No one locally had the money to buy it for just the land. It was over an hour to the nearest town by winding, poorly-built roads. The Mick thought it was damn near perfect. Besides living here, he operated a machine shop that did welding, fabrication, and other small industrial jobs. It was the perfect cover.
To his right, The Mick heard the sound of a girl’s voice. The massive industrial shop building that The Mick had chosen for his home had heavy steel doors but he had installed old-fashioned wooden screen doors on some of the openings to allow ventilation. Of course, he had to have one opening out onto his country porch. It was part of creating the atmosphere, after all. His daughter Barb came pushing through the screen door. She was his only other employee, a welder and jack-of-all-trades like himself.
“Your satellite phone is going off,” she said. “It’s disturbing the peace.”
“I’m busy with my coffee. You can take a message.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, a mannerism she’d clearly inherited from her late mother. “You might also get up off your lazy ass and answer your own calls. I’m a lot of things around here but secretary is not one of them.”
Grace Under Fire: Book Two In The Locker Nine Series Page 7