Discarded

by Mark A. Ciccone

  Patrick nodded sympathetically. He moved closer to the map, peering at the radiation plume and the two crash sites. ‘If we can’t come at the targets from behind – why not the front?’ he mused aloud. Seeing Flynn’s confusion, he pointed to a spot below the plume’s southern edge, a few miles north and west of Mt St Helens. ‘We refuel the Ospreys, and head south and west, to the Columbia River.’ His finger traced a route across the screen. ‘We follow it as far as Portland, then cut straight north, setting down or taking station just east of Tumwater. That puts us within range of any route the targets might take to the Sound, and minimises fallout exposure.’

  ‘Like I said, though, we don’t have definitive recon capability or fresh intel on the region,’ Flynn replied. His tone was still professional, but there was an undercurrent of beseeching now. ‘Plus, our estimates of the fallout’s path are based mostly on past observations, due to patchy satellite coverage. It could shift south at a moment’s notice, and cook your detachment in less than an hour.’

  ‘Not to mention the time constraints,’ Hargrove broke in. ‘Your plan has merit, but leaves too much of a window for the targets to disappear deeper into the CZ – and perhaps slip past whatever cordon you set up. We need the direct approach at this point, no matter the risks.’

  Patrick faced Hargrove, practically coming to attention. ‘If that’s the case, Mr Hargrove, I’ll go with that approach.’ His features were solemn and controlled. ‘Rangers lead the way. One more time won’t be any different.’

  Hargrove donned a smile, broad and false. ‘I admire your spirit, Colonel.’ He gestured out the window. ‘Have your men in protective gear and ready on the landing pads in twenty minutes. My team and I will—’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Flynn cut in. He stepped closer to Hargrove, perceptibly holding back his temper. ‘I’ve already explained the danger – three times, now – and yet it seems you’re still having trouble.’ He pointed at Patrick and Costa. ‘You may have brought the colonel and his Rangers here under yours and Agent Costa’s auspices, Mr Hargrove, but I am the senior officer in this region. These men are the finest currently serving, and they are under my purview. I will not allow you to send any of them off into the glowing wilderness, after some runaways who’re probably cooked by now, just to satisfy some goddamn timetable!’

  Hargrove looked balefully back at him. ‘It seems you’re forgetting yourself, Colonel. This is my operation, and I will see it finished, by any means. You don’t have the slightest idea how vital—’

  There was a loud knock at the door. ‘What?’ Flynn and Hargrove barked in unison.

  The door opened, admitting a slim, bespectacled man in grey. Coming to attention, he held out a tablet computer. ‘Colonel. Latest reports just came in from the weather people. Given the deviations mentioned, I thought it best to bring them to you personally.’

  ‘What deviations?’ Flynn demanded. He took the device, flipping through the images one after another in rapid succession. Finally, he stopped, staring at one page. With controlled formality, he handed the tablet back. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant. Send this on to FOB Yakima and the other Line stations, highest priority tag. And get a satlink prepped with our counterparts at the Commonwealth base in Penticton. They’ve probably seen this as well, but we’ll need close contact to coordinate action.’

  The young officer saluted, and departed, closing the door behind him. ‘Care to enlighten us, Colonel?’ Hargrove asked.

  The Air Force officer glowered. ‘According to our latest data, the prevailing winds from the Pacific have shifted north-northeast, due to an expected thunderstorm sweeping in off the ocean. While it doesn’t offer a precise course, the report indicates that the fallout plume will be shifting along a similar trajectory, putting it on track to drop over the northernmost Cascades and over the Canadian border. Night’s still expected to settle it in general over its usual spots, but a whole lot of territory that’s been barely touched by the stuff in years might be exposed – hence the need for international cooperation.’

  Hargrove’s smirk was chilly. ‘Mother Nature’s giving us a little help, then. We can proceed with the eastern approach, and have a better chance at overtaking the targets; my men and Mr Costa will—’

  ‘No,’ Flynn interrupted. ‘If anything, this calls for more recon, or the alternative route Colonel Patrick suggested. The situation has changed, and the fewer lives we risk in sorting it out—’

  ‘I have a suggestion.’ Costa said, cutting through the argument. All eyes turned to him. He spoke equably, with no trace of a wobble. ‘What if Colonel Patrick and a small, select group take a slightly different western route, still below the plume, and probe a limited area around the crash site?’ His hand moved at a control or two off-screen, and the map changed, panning out to the wider view of the mountains and Puget Sound. ‘They follow the I-90 interstate, flying southwest through FOB Yakima’s range, and swing below Mt Rainier, coming from the Goat Rocks Wilderness. Mr Hargrove’s team can join them and remain on standby at Yakima if anything goes sour, or more of Colonel Patrick’s men can load up in the Ospreys for rapid insertion at our signal.’

  Patrick studied the map. ‘Maybe,’ he conceded. He traced a line on the map. ‘Angling in a steady northwest arc, we’d come to a stop somewhere right outside this town here: Eatonville.’ He marked the spot emphatically with one finger. ‘We sit on the place for an hour – two hours, max. If nothing shows, we set up camp further south, out of any likely fallout range, and keep waiting. If something does show, we mark the spot, and call in the second team to approach from the east, closing the other half of the trap. If it turns out a bigger response is needed, Colonel Flynn can monitor and support us from Yakima – assuming he’s willing to accompany us, to give more on-the-spot assistance.’

  Flynn didn’t respond. He studied the agent, and the map. ‘Wind’s still chancy, like we just learned, but we’d be able to adapt to that much more easily with fewer people, and react more adroitly to any change in the targets’ course once we spot it. It keeps risk to personnel at a minimum, gives us a fifty-fifty chance from either direction of bagging the targets, and has the possibility of ending this chase by nightfall.’

  The room went quiet once more. Again, Hargrove was first to break it, addressing Costa. ‘Well – your approach is certainly better than the others we’ve heard so far.’ He cast an acid side look at Flynn. ‘Unless there are any objections?’

  Patrick shook his head. ‘Don’t foresee a problem, given our experience – and your team’s training. Provided, of course, that they stay in the supervisory role for the mission; my men have enough to deal with if these targets are as advanced-trained as I’ve gathered. Any unneeded action – generally called heroics – would only make it worse.’

  Hargrove remained patient. ‘Very well, Colonel. I suggest you and Colonel Flynn discuss the particulars as to personnel, equipment and weaponry, and prepare the Ospreys for departure. Mr Costa and I will finalise arrangements for my men and for transporting the targets to D.C. – and backup options in the event of failure.’ His tone left no doubt about who would be to blame if that occurred.

  Scowling, Flynn moved to Patrick’s side. They huddled together above the tablet, speaking in lowered tones. Hargrove switched Costa’s call and vidfeed to his smartwatch, then headed out the door. Both brown-coated guards followed half a step behind.

  When he stepped onto the elevator, Hargrove waited until the doors closed, then brought the watch up, opening his mouth. The agent beat him to the punch. ‘It’s in the Sound area, isn’t it? The HQ for Project Golem.’

  Hargrove stopped. Behind him, the guards shifted, hands vanishing beneath their coats. He raised two fingers; they subsided. He touched a couple of buttons on the watchband, making sure the link was secure, and the audio routed to his earpiece. ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked in a nonchalant tone.

  Costa looked steadily back at him. ‘Nothing else makes sense. Everything you told me about these
targets, stands to reason they’d only fall back to someplace they knew, in every possible detail. They’re not just running around the CZ trying to lose us. They’re running to the one place they know they can drop out of sight. Somewhere they’ve known their whole lives. Which can only mean the original site where they were altered, and trained.’

  ‘Very astute,’ Hargrove replied. ‘I presume you also remember the level of discretion we’re still operating under?’ He waited for Costa to nod, reluctantly. ‘Then I should give you a friendly warning. If this operation is endangered again in any way, whether through failure in the field, or an ‘accidental’ whisper to an unauthorised person on the way back, you can expect a visit, once I return to D.C.’

  Costa’s eyes grew wide, for a split second. His voice was tight. ‘So that’s it, then?’

  Hargrove nodded. ‘You’ve known from the start the dangers that came with working alongside people in my area, Agent.’ He lowered his arm a bit; the point was made. ‘So I suggest you keep any assumptions you might have about the ultimate nature of our assignment to yourself. Unless, of course, you’d like to sample some of the Agency’s “enhanced interrogation methods” from a different perspective. A word or two in the right ear, in the right white building – and you will.’

  The doors slid open with a loud ding. Beyond was the exit to the tarmac, a pair of wide, bulletproof glass doors. Hargrove ended the call, and donned a confident smile. He had no illusions of the consequences if he failed; hell, they only drove him all the harder. But Costa was still labouring under the idea that he and his bosses held the reins – and that he was still able to manage the mission without risking his own hide. In a way, then, Hargrove was doing him a favour, by warning him of the mission’s real stakes. Working under the gun was far easier when you could spread the pressure around.

  He stepped out from the building, into a cold, blustery wind. The sun was shining brightly overhead, with hardly a cloud in the sky, but the temp was typical March, for the Northwest. Several hundred yards across the way, two late-model Black Hawks were being prepped for take-off on the main helipad. From the make of the rotors, and the alterations to the hull itself, Hargrove could see they were the most current ‘quiet’ design, intended for far stealthier insertions than all previous models, and nearly radar-invisible.

  Colonel Patrick emerged from the base building a few minutes later. He was in full battle dress beneath one of the new, paper-thin NBC suits, the hood and respirator thrown back. Eight other men in like garb followed immediately behind, as did two men in pilot coveralls, and Colonel Flynn. They passed by Hargrove in a few long strides. Patrick, however, halted and faced him again. ‘I’m assuming you’ll be ready to fly at a second’s notice, if something happens to my team?’ he asked with forced calm.

  ‘Of course.’ Hargrove inclined his head toward the two guards, standing further back. ‘My men have had a few… mishaps along the way here against our targets, I’ll admit. But that’s largely due to tactics – they’re unaccustomed to low-key, low-manpower assignments. When we find whatever spot the targets’ve gone to ground, they’ll be more than ready.’

  ‘You’ll be accompanying them, then, like at Monticello?’ Patrick pressed.

  ‘Possibly, in an observer role.’ Hargrove kept a damper on his smile. ‘I’m not exactly at the stage in life to be roughing it in the woods anymore. My associates will handle any and all operations, should the need arise. I’ll just be the directing brain, as before.’ He glanced pointedly at his watch. ‘Now, as to the job—’

  Nodding, Patrick shook hands – carefully – and strode to the nearest chopper. He turned back toward the base building, locking eyes with Hargrove for the briefest of seconds in a final gauging, suspicious stare. Then he faced forward again, rattling off a stream of orders to his team.

  One of the fliers and the four rearmost soldiers broke away, trotting to the second chopper. The rest followed the Ranger officer up to the first craft. Patrick spoke to Flynn for a few seconds, saluted and shook hands, which turned into a short but tight hug. Then the Ranger broke away and joined his men, clasping hands with one of them as he climbed into the chopper. Hargrove could see their lips moving, but the sound of the rotors starting up drowned them out. Flynn moved several yards away, watching the preparations.

  The Black Hawk lifted off with a humming whine, angling up and westward. One of his associates moved to his side. Text appeared on Hargrove’s lenses: All team members present and prepped for departure.Signal from team member’s confiscated comms device still readable, but fading– expect failure or discovery within three hours.Intended target?

  No target as yet, Hargrove pulsed back. Possible interference in mission expected, from Agency liaison.Proceed to standby point, and observe Ranger insertion. If successful, land and assist in guarding targets and package on return to Fairchild. If unsuccessful… He moved closer to the guard. His right hand darted out and back, dropping a small baggie into the guard’s jacket pocket. Further orders to come as situation develops.

  The guard stepped back, signalling to his partner. Hargrove watched them and the other two make for the Osprey they had arrived in earlier. The smile came back, colder and hungrier. Before too much longer – a day, maybe two – everything would fall into place, at long last. And if it took a certain body or two to help the process along, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  Chapter 13

  Outskirts of Eatonville, WA

  The sun was low in the west, throwing long pale shadows through the trees and brush. Crouching amid a half-dead bush, Leah abruptly raised a fist, and then flattened it. Twenty paces behind her, Greg and Cayden halted, and went prone. He moved his hand toward the Walther. The Geiger’s clicks had been slowing for the last mile – he’d heard it on the closed-band link between their three suit hoodsets – so it couldn’t be that she was worried about. They were nearing a gap in the forest, a clearing or the actual border.

  Leah’s hand came up again, making a V-shape with two fingers, and jabbing to either side of her. Leopard-crawling, Greg came to a halt a few metres to her left, just shy of the clearing’s perimeter. Cayden stopped on the right. Drawing her pistol, Leah took several crouched steps forward. Left leg extended in front of her, she moved out from the treeline, staying low. Greg dashed silently up behind the nearest tree, peering out into the clearing.

  Just in front of them was a low ridge, covered in tall grass. Several hundred yards further on, the outline of a deep gravel quarry crater was visible, with more grass and even a few saplings pushing up through the grey piles. Other than the half-collapsed processing towers in the centre of the crater, and a pair of rusted semi-truck cabins by the quarry’s edge, there was barely any sign of human presence.

  Coming erect with slow grace, Leah raised two fingers again, twitching them forward. Pistol at the ready, Greg stepped forth into the clearing, looking right and left. Cayden followed last, likewise alert. They moved at a steady walk, soon reaching a slight, overgrown rise between the main pits and rock piles. A long, paved road, cracked and uneven, meandered to the south, past a vacant parking lot and a collapsed building that might have been a warehouse or garage. The only sound was their breathing, an occasional bird note, and the rustling of the evening wind through the tree boughs.

  Cayden came up beside them. ‘Is this the place?’ he murmured.

  ‘Almost,’ Leah whispered back. She pointed down the road. ‘That leads to the outermost suburb of Eatonville, and past the local airport. The Sanctuary sometimes has patrols in these areas, but not for the last few months – not enough manpower, and it’s easier to operate out of the Fort Lewis area, closer to home.’

  Pulling back her sleeve, she activated the holo-interface, calling up a map and the motion detector. ‘Nothing that looks like unwanted company – and any scouts of ours would show up, even in clingers. Rad count hasn’t changed since we checked a half-hour ago, but it’s still enough to mangle long-range comms.’ She clicked the scr
een off. ‘It’s another fourteen miles to the edge of the old reservation. Figure another hour, maybe two if obstructed. We can hole up in the old airport tonight, and start again at dawn, or keep going through the dark. Riskier, but acceptable.’

  Cayden didn’t reply. Crouching, he scooped up a handful of dirt and gravel, sniffing at it like a dog checking familiar scents. Leah looked a question at Greg. He glanced around the quarry again, and down the road. ‘I say we hole up,’ he said at last. ‘If anybody from the Sanctuary’s in range, they’ll find us soon enough, or vice versa.’

  Leah nodded, then winced, and flexed her wrists and shoulders. The crash injuries had healed as expected, for all of them, but the afternoon’s ‘walk’ hadn’t helped the general soreness and adrenaline crash. ‘Seems we could all use a rest, anyway. I’ll—’

  In a flash, Cayden was on his feet, clapping a hand over Leah’s mouth. She stiffened, raising her pistol, but arrested the motion when he raised a finger to his lips. He pointed to the sky, twirling one finger in a circle. Choppers. Holding up two fingers now, he jabbed them southward, in the direction of the road. At first, Greg thought he was being paranoid. Then he heard it, too. The faintest disturbance in the air currents – and a low-pitched humming.

  He jammed a hand inside his duffel, pulling out the canister. He slapped it against his belt, engaging the nano-clasp; better to have it close at hand. Catching the others’ eyes, he pointed to the far side of the quarry, and the treeline just beyond. They could fall back into the trees behind them, but if they were being tracked, the choppers would set down on the first open clearing wide enough to accommodate the craft, and they couldn’t risk being cut off.