I folded the invoice and stuck it in my coat. “We got what we came for. Time to go.”
*****
Back at headquarters, we bypassed the main office and proceeded to a massive complex Tyrel Jennings had dubbed Murphy Hall, named after a Navy SEAL posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. The building had once been a gigantic sports complex where wrestlers, powerlifters, boxers, judokas, basketball players, and a wide assortment of other Olympic athletes had trained. Now, the only part of the building not repurposed to train mercenaries was a basketball court.
The area I led everyone to had once been a gymnastics facility, but now all the equipment was in a sports complex in Bricktown. The floor space was covered in tables, shelves, file cabinets, communications equipment, computers, and in the center, a bank of radio operators receiving communiques from all over the country. As I entered, the Blackthorn support personnel working in the room went wide-eyed and scrambled to look busy. I told them to relax and approached a young woman named Alicia Conyers, one of my lead intelligence specialists.
“Gabe,” she said, smiling. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I smiled back. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“Not really. Things are tense here in the Springs, but ten miles past the wall, it’s business as usual. I’m just about finished with today’s threat assessment. Want to take a look?”
“Later. I’m working on something time-sensitive.”
Alicia’s smile departed. “Need a hand?”
I grabbed a notepad and a pen. “Check the city’s building records for these two addresses. One is a warehouse on the west side of the city, pre-Outbreak. The other is a tavern called the Red Barrel. I need everything you can get.”
“I’m on it.”
Alicia bustled away. Cole watched her backside attentively as she departed.
“Damn,” he muttered. “She fine as hell.”
“Forget it, Isaac. We have work to do.”
There was a pitcher of water and a stack of cups in the center of the conference room table. After closing the door, I poured myself some water and motioned for the others to do the same. Thompson, being the nice guy he is, poured water for everyone.
“We need a plan, and we need it fast,” I said as the others took their seats. “No time for dress rehearsals.”
“Well,” Eric said, “let’s look at what we know. We know the locations where the steel shipments were delivered. We know SRT was behind the attack on the District, even if we can’t prove it. The first thing we need to do is get eyes on those delivery locations. Call me crazy, but if there’s another attack, I think it’ll be from one of those two places. Maybe both. Which means we need surveillance teams. I believe the Blackthorns have a few of those on staff.”
I shook my head. “Negative. It would raise questions and endanger operational security. We can’t have anyone else knowing about this.”
“You do not trust your people?” Great Hawk asked.
“I do, but I also know soldiers love to talk. A man doesn’t need intimate details to compromise an operation. The wrong word said to the wrong person can send up a flag. Especially to an organization as paranoid as SRT. They have informants all over the city. We can’t risk it.”
“What about the old man at the factory?” Thompson said. “You know, the one we just shook down.”
Eric shook his head. “He won’t say a thing. If word gets out he let someone look at sales records without a warrant, he’ll be ruined.”
“Let me say it again.” I looked around the room, making eye contact with everyone. “No one else gets involved. We keep this between us.”
“That doesn’t leave us many options,” Holland said. “In case you didn’t notice, there’s only seven people at this table, and you and Hicks are the only ones who know your way around the city. The rest of us would stick out like sore thumbs. Especially the Hawk.”
Great Hawk nodded. “He is right.”
“I can get a surveillance team,” Hicks said.
I looked at him, and so did everyone else.
“How?”
He patted the coat pocket containing his black card. “I didn’t send myself here. I can call for help if I need it.”
Eric turned in his chair. “Who else at Homeland knows about this?”
“Me and two others, and believe me, they aren’t talking.”
“How many people can they send?” Cole asked.
“One team. Four operators. Any more than that would bring attention we can’t afford.”
“Are your people reliable?” I asked, not liking the idea of strangers being involved in an operation that could potentially land me and my friends in jail. “Can they keep their mouths shut?”
Hicks smiled. “I’ve worked with them before. Trust me, they’re solid. You say the word, and I’ll make the call.”
I looked around the table. “Anybody got a better idea?”
No one answered.
“I’ll be honest, I don’t like it. But we don’t have much choice. Make the call.”
Caleb started to stand up, but a knock at the door stopped him.
“Come in,” I shouted.
The door opened and Alicia stepped inside holding a pair of cardboard tubes. “Got those building plans you asked for.”
“Outstanding. Thank you, Alicia.”
She placed the two tubes on the table next to me. “Need anything else?”
“We’re good here, Alicia. Thanks again.”
She patted me on the shoulder and left. I pulled the tubes over, took out several large sheaves of paper, and spread them out on the table. Holland came over and started to say something, but I stopped him.
“Give me a minute,” I said.
Holland glowered at me. I ignored him. Eric sensed his employee’s irritation and held up a mollifying hand.
“It’s okay, Derrick,” he said. “Just wait. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”
Holland looked skeptical but sat down. I studied the blueprints, committing them to memory. The plans covered not only the warehouse in question, but also the layout of several buildings in close proximity, the streets and alleyways nearby, and the sewage and power lines between them. The process did not take long. I wrapped up the blueprints, stuffed them back in the tubes, and walked over to a chalkboard at the end of the room.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, and picked up a piece of chalk.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Maru
Old Industrial District, Bricktown
It was cold.
Maru hated being cold. He missed the sunny shores of California where, as a young man, he had attended university. After being expelled, he had moved in with a family friend in a low-income suburb of Chicago. It had not been his first choice of destination, but beggars cannot be choosers. His options had been to relocate or be homeless. He had chosen the lesser evil.
It had not been bad, at first. It was summer when he arrived, and he had found the city to his liking. The food was good, the girls were pretty, and while Lake Michigan was not the Pacific, at least it had a beach.
But then winter came.
He shivered at the memory. It had been his first exposure to the true meaning of cold, to facing the very real possibility of frostbite and hypothermia, to feeling the relentless, merciless wind off Lake Michigan cut through any amount of clothing like an icy blade. He had once thought no place could be as miserable as Chicago.
Colorado had proven him wrong.
In all the years since his shameful exit from California, he had never made his way back to the Pacific Coast. He could have, he realized now. There had been nothing stopping him. He’d had a car, and money, and he could have found another university to attend. He could have started over, corrected his past mistakes. But he had not. To this day, he did not know why. It was, perhaps, his greatest regret. If he had gone back to California, his life might have turned out much differently. Or
maybe he would be dead. On balance, he was not sure which was worse.
Looking toward the high windows, he felt a crushing depression come over him. He did not want to be here. Did not want to stomp his feet and dig his hands into his pockets and stare at the bare concrete walls of this shitty warehouse and freeze his ass off because some fucking old lunatic had decided it was the best use of his talents. He wanted to dig his toes into warm sand, feel the hot sun on his face, and breathe in the scent of salty air. But that was not going to happen. Not while he was stuck babysitting a gaggle of vicious, contemptible morons while snow fell outside and the cold threatened to shrivel his balls into his stomach.
Does it get worse than this? Does it get worse than wondering if death would be a better option than carrying on this way? What am I doing here? Why don’t I just leave? What am I so afraid of?
The questions had been haunting him for months now, maybe even years. In the past he had been able to ignore them, but something was changing. He was changing. The vague sense of disgust and disillusionment he had been carrying for so long was metastasizing. The low murmur of bitter thoughts, the sense of impending doom, the gut-wrenching dread, all of it was swelling and stretching and tearing him apart from the inside out. He could no longer ignore these whisperings, these feelings. Something had to change. Something had to be done. And Maru was beginning to think he might know what that something was.
“Maru, can we talk a minute?”
The big man had heard Locke and Horton approaching, recognized their footsteps, but did not bother turning around. It was Horton, the more sensible of the two, who had spoken. Maru stood and stared at the pile of old wooden pallets that covered the underground sarcophagus where the monsters were being held.
“Any word from Ferguson or Tobias?” Maru asked.
“Nothing from Ferguson, but you know him. No news is good news. Tobias called. Everything’s clear at the tavern.”
“Cops?”
“No sign, he says. Our guys haven’t spotted anyone either.”
“You sure?”
“If they’re out there, we’ll know.”
A snort. “Right. All the same, tell the men to stay alert.”
Horton stepped around in front of Maru, followed closely by Locke. “Something on your mind?” Maru asked.
“If the feds haven’t figured this out yet, they will,” Horton said, keeping his voice low. “And it won’t take long.”
“That’s right,” Locke chimed in. “We need to talk about this.”
Maru looked at them coldly. “So talk.”
Horton sighed and did not answer. Locke, the sadistic fuck, was also being uncharacteristically quiet.
“What’s the problem, Locke? Cat got your tongue?”
The skeletally thin man stared wide-eyed at Maru. The insolence and cruelty normally etched into the torturer’s face had been replaced by the panicked look of a cornered animal.
“We’re in trouble, Maru,” Locke said. “This has gone too far.”
A few seconds of silence stretched between them. Maru wanted to ask Locke why he had not been worried during the preceding months when he had taken every opportunity to throw some poor doomed soul into a hole full of nightmares. He had certainly not been worried when he had come up with the idea of imprisoning Grays in bunkers for the specific purpose of executing the tribe’s enemies. And he absolutely had not been worried when he had recommended to Heinrich they feed every rival, snitch, informant, and unfortunate loose end to the Grays when he had discovered the fucking things were changing.
“Getting cold feet?”
Locke shuffled and scratched his pockmarked face. “It was a mistake letting those things loose in the district. There had to have been witnesses. Somebody saw what we did, and those people aren’t going to keep their mouths shut for long. Not after what’s happened. The feds are going to know it was us.”
“If they don’t already,” Maru said.
“That’s what we’re saying,” Horton said. “Look, Heinrich took things too far this time. We were just criminals before, but now we’re fucking terrorists. Sooner or later, the feds are gonna come after us. And not with handcuffs. They’ll be out for blood.”
Maru’s mouth twisted in a cruel parody of a smile. “That’s funny, mate. I don’t remember hearing either of you cunts speak up when Heinrich floated the idea of releasing the ghouls.”
Locked swallowed and looked away. Only Horton met Maru’s gaze.
“I wanted to. A lot of us did. And I think you did too.”
Maru did not answer.
“Look, it doesn’t matter now. They’re coming. What do you want to do?”
Maru walked a few steps closer to the bunker. “For now, we lay low.”
Horton stepped next to him and lowered his voice. “And what if we get the order to release these things?”
“We’re the only ones who will know. We tell the men to sit tight, make an excuse about being called away, and leave.”
“And what about after? What happens when the feds figure out where this place is?”
“Leave that to me.”
Locke’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s not going to cut it, Maru. We need details.”
Maru fixed the torturer with a glare. It was just like the little shit to come shuffling over with his hat in his hands and then try to take control.
I’ve had enough of this.
Maru looked back toward the bunker. In that moment, he made a decision. And with that decision came a sense of relief. For a second or two, he almost allowed himself to smile. The consequences did not matter. The facts did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore. If the next few minutes wound up costing him his life, then it was worth it not to have to live another second in the purgatory of indecision. If this was the end of the whole thing, then so be it. He would go out on his terms. And if he somehow survived…well, he had muddled along pretty well so far. Maybe he could make it a little farther.
Maru made a show of surreptitiously glancing around. “We shouldn’t talk here. Let’s go on patrol.”
Locke and Horton glanced at each other. “Okay,” Horton said. “I’ll let the men know.”
“Meet us by the east exit in five minutes,” Maru said.
A nod.
Locke followed Maru to the exit. There were two men guarding the door, both positioned behind concrete pillars twenty feet away. They had carried empty crates over to their posts and were sitting on them. When they heard Maru approaching, they stood up and faced him attentively. There was a small part of Maru that wanted to scold them for being lax on duty, but the rest of him knew it no longer mattered what these guards did. Their fate was as good as sealed.
“Stand easy,” Maru said. “We’re heading out on patrol. Just waiting on Horton.”
“Yes sir,” one of the guards said. He and his partner remained standing, feet shuffling nervously.
“Go on, take it easy,” Maru said, waving a hand toward the crates. “We’re in for a long night.”
The men looked at each other, then relaxed and sat back down. Maru and Locke walked over to the door and leaned against the wall next to it.
“So what’s the plan?” Locke said quietly.
“Wait for Horton. We’ll talk outside.”
Maru dipped a hand into his pocket and felt the garrote waiting there. He always kept at least one on him, as well as several knives. It was bloody work he did, and it often required stealth. Garrotes and knives were good tools for that sort of thing. He glanced at Locke from the corner of his eye and tightened his hand. The nylon cord was smooth and sinuous under his fingertips. He felt a giddy sense of anticipation. All the years of doubt and anxiety and sleepless nights and the slow-burning hatred that had been building in him was now bubbling close to the surface. He took a long breath and counseled himself to stay calm, to not let the simmering emotions persuade him to act hastily. He would only have one shot at this, and he needed to get it right.
Horton
returned after a few minutes and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Maru took the radio from his coat, held it up, and turned to the guards. “Stay alert. We’ll be back shortly. I’ll call if we spot anything.”
The guards muttered assent. Maru held the door open for Locke and Horton, then quietly shut it behind them. He took a moment to look around. The empty alleys and abandoned buildings surrounding the warehouse were quiet, the snow covering the cracked and broken streets unmarred. Overhead, a sullen sheet of iron gray clouds dropped snowfall in slow, gentle drifts. It was nearly dark. Night would fall soon, and Maru knew if the feds were going to strike, they would do it early in the morning. He planned to be long gone before then.
“Place looks empty,” Horton remarked.
“There’s people out there,” Locke replied. “Holed up like rats. They know something is going down.”
“Yeah,” Horton said, “and if the cops show up, they’ll sing like birds.”
“Quiet,” Maru said. “Let’s get a couple blocks away, then we’ll talk.”
He walked in front and led the two marauders away from the warehouse. Walking in front was important. A sign of trust. He wanted them relaxed, wanted them to think he was on their side, a co-conspirator.
Two blocks of silent, empty alleys and parking lots full of rusted out hulks of vehicles passed before Maru spotted a suitably dark and concealed lane between two abandoned industrial buildings. He pointed toward it.
“Over here,” he said, and walked into the darkness. Horton and Locke followed suit. When they were under the shadow of the buildings, Maru stopped and waited. The two men caught up, their eyes darting nervously.
“Why so far away?” Horton asked. “We don’t know who’s out here.”
“No one we need to worry about,” Maru replied. “Our men won’t be out this far, and we’re not going to be gone long.”
Horton sighed, a cloud of white vapor forming in front of his face. “Shit. I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Locke said. “Heinrich is playing a violin on the fucking Titanic. If we don’t get out of this mess, we go down with him.”
Surviving The Dead | Book 9 | War Without End Page 21