Fall of Adam

by Rusty Ellis

  “Okay, fair enough.”

  “You can actually do two things for me. Keep trying to reach Henry and monitor any polo guys coming and going, even if they bypass getting gas.”

  “Got it. I’ll call if I get ahold of Henry.”

  Chase jumped into his truck and punched the address to the surplus shop into his phone and looked at the map. The business was on the northeast side of town, close to the highway. Making it easy to hit the place and get right back on the road. He needed a few small wins at this point.

  Work on the things you can control. Buy boots. Find Henry. Make a plan to get to Megan.

  Chase kicked up a pocket of gravel on the roadway as he turned out of the store and onto the road. He had two hours to work on a plan—an hour there and an hour back.

  How did Megan end up on the back porch of the cabin? Did she know where Haley was?

  James checked the GPS application on his phone. Chase had stopped at the gas and grocery long enough to fill up and then was on the road. James could see that Chase was clipping along about 10 miles per hour above the posted speed.

  He looked at his watch and made a mental note to check back on Chase’s location in about an hour.

  38

  The man on the hill kept slipping back into Viktor’s mind. Not that he was an imminent threat, just the fact the man kept coming to mind was a red flag to him.

  He’d handed the problem off for James to monitor. James would follow through and keep him abreast of any changes or escalations of concern. However, the man kept wandering back into his thoughts. This meant the situation needed further action, personal action.

  When he made assignments, he expected two things. The assignments would be followed explicitly, allowing him to file the issue away as ‘resolved’. If the issue kept nagging at him, he needed to take further action. Not a sign James wasn’t doing his job, but a personal note that he needed to attend to the issue personally. If experience had taught him anything, it was to follow logic, then pay close attention to instinct and follow his own gut.

  “Popov to James.”

  “James, go ahead.”

  “Channel Four,” Viktor instructed James to take the conversation off the main channel.

  Viktor switched his radio over and waited for James.

  “Go ahead, Viktor.”

  “Our little problem on the hill.”

  “He’s gone from the location now,” James said.

  “Roger, that. Do we know where he is?” Viktor asked.

  James hesitated, “No, sir.”

  “All staff notified of his presence and actions?”

  “Yes, sir,” James answered. “I met with on-duty staff and put it on the hot-sheet for the other teams.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Is there something else, Viktor?” James asked.

  “I want you to locate him. To make sure he isn’t getting stupid or brave on us,” Viktor said.

  “Do you think he will? Have you received any other reports from staff?”

  “No. Nothing. Just my gut.”

  “I’ll check on him, since you’re stuck watching my special project so closely,” James let out a conservative chuckle.

  “You’re welcome. Get back to me with an update,” Viktor said.

  “Roger, that.”

  James switched his radio back to Channel One. He didn’t mind following up on the guy on the hill. It would get him off-site for a while at the end of his shift, and he was always up for a little game of ‘cat and mouse’. James knew the elderly man didn’t actually stand a chance of being a challenge. In fact, he presumed the elderly man was either asleep on the hill or napping in his favorite chair in the living room of his house.

  The residence wasn’t far from where the man was glassing the Garden. If he located the man in the same spot on the hill, he would take the time to slip over to the man’s home and do another walk-thru on the residence, just to make sure there wasn’t anything out of place or clues hinting at a change in his mood or mentality toward the HLC.

  James guessed the man’s residence had changed little since his first entry shortly after the sensors were installed. The man’s volley of questions for Viktor and the installation crew were a red flag. During one of the man’s many visits to the edge of the property and watching the installer, Viktor had put eyes on the man and had James canvas the exterior and interior of the man’s residence. More of a precaution to know who they were dealing with. A precaution to ensure the man didn’t have an arsenal of weapons or any real angst against the HLC or Adam.

  The man’s home had been in simple order. The basics of a rural home in the mountains—quasi-off grid. His “arsenal” was nothing more than a rifle, two shotguns, and two revolvers. Nothing concerning. Enough firepower to protect his home and do some deer and bird hunting.

  James reached his original spot on the perimeter where he’d last exited the HLC. He decided to stop at the residence first to see if the man was there before hiking over to recheck the earlier location.

  “James to Operator.”

  “Operator here.”

  “One crossing north sensors.”

  “Roger that, James.”

  James marched over the sensors and leaned into his march toward the west-edge of the clearing surrounding the man’s house. A memory of his childhood and playing hide-and-go-seek crossed James’ mind, tugging a grin at the corner of his mouth.

  One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi… ready or not, here I come.

  39

  Chase tossed the box with his new boots onto the passenger seat of his truck. Standard issue, standard size, the first pair fit just like he expected. He grabbed his phone and tried to call Henry once more—straight to voicemail. No doubt Frank was having the same luck.

  Chase’s original search for Megan and Haley had gone from a hunt to a tactical movement. He preferred to deal with things on his own. Three reasons stuck in his mind: One, you could fail and disappoint yourself. Two, you weren’t putting anyone else at risk. Three, limiting the pieces on the board to only himself kept the variables to a minimum. Number three was in jeopardy.

  Megan and Haley were already in play by their own decisions, at least to some degree, Chase assumed. But having Henry pulled into the loop, and then the Jones, were not variables Chase wanted on the board.

  Focus on the objective and what a successful conclusion looks like.

  The objective: Extract Megan and Haley from the HLC.

  Everything outside of the objective was collateral—normally. He had to minimize Henry’s exposure and to keep the Jones’ off the radar. All three were willing to help—salt of the earth people—but he needed them to stay back and stand down. What little help he’d need from them he preferred to get from their working in the shadows. Frank and Alice were still there, thankfully. Henry… not so much.

  His little escapade of pointing his rifle in the cabin's direction, the sacred Garden of the compound, escalated him from the edge of the shadows to shining a spotlight on himself. And they knew him already. They knew where he lived. And no doubt they knew he lived alone.

  Chase learned they’d done a little counterintelligence on Henry, mainly because that’s what he would have done if he was in charge. It would have been instigated by either Popov or James. Doubtfully it would have come from Adam. He probably didn’t even know about Henry. If Popov was doing his job, Adam was in the dark about Henry. He had no reason to know. Popov’s job was to protect Adam. That would mean keeping him physically safe and just ‘handling’ things.

  About 15 minutes outside of Crouch, Chase received a text from Frank.

  Frank: Left a message with Henry. Still no word. Tempted to check on him.

  Chase tapped the microphone button on the keyboard and let the device translate his reply.

  Chase: Don’t. I need you to just keep trying and to monitor traffic. Be safe.

  Frank: 10-4.

  Chase was afraid Frank would want to
push the envelope and get involved. Frank wasn’t afraid to join the fray. One word, Vietnam. The thought gave Chase goosebumps as he drove. Mention the place to most Americans and you were likely to get a variety of replies.

  The long-winded replies were normally political positions, arguments against the war. Those that served usually held the shortest replies. Their country called. They answered. God bless the USA.

  Frank’s service gave Chase all the faith in the world he could trust the man. He had his six, though they barely knew each other. Brother vets. On the other side, this same willingness to serve chanced Frank striking out to ‘help’. Frank had already given enough. Alice had already given enough. They’d taken their turn. Chase hit the microphone button again and dictated another text to Frank.

  Chase: Thanks again. I’ll be back in touch with you and Alice as soon as possible.

  Chase decided to play his trump card to keep Frank working in the shadows—Alice. He knew the mention of Alice would help keep Frank from wrestling with the idea of driving up to Henry’s. He didn’t want to play the card, but it was genuine. She’d been through enough and he wasn’t about to slap the demons in Frank’s head and reintroduce them into the couple’s life.

  Frank: Roger, that.

  Chase looked down at his phone, content with Frank’s response. The nagging question now was: Where’s Henry?

  40

  The old man’s truck was parked in front of his house. James pulled his field binoculars from the pocket on his BDUs and worked the oculars across the front of the house, pausing at each window. There was no movement in the residence. Nothing to show the man was at home. Or for that matter, wasn’t at home. He had two choices. Press on and see if the man was still watching the Garden from his earlier position or creep up on the house and peek in the windows, hoping not to get caught if the man was actually home, and not receive a 30-30 rifle welcome.

  James decided on the simplest answer—due diligence. If he peeked in the windows and the old man was there, he didn’t have to waste time hoofing it further up and around to locate him again.

  James continued along the west edge of the man’s property in a northerly direction. He would approach the house from the northwest corner where the fewest windows existed. He noticed as he lowered his stance and glided toward the house, he was holding his binoculars as if they were his old service weapon. He pictured raising the binoculars in front of him, grabbing them with a two-handed combat grip, and lowering his stance to ready himself to ‘get off the rails’ and respond to any threats. If anything, the old man would think James was holding a firearm, by the time he noticed otherwise, James could make a tactical retreat.

  He reached the corner of the home and positioned himself below and to the left of the kitchen window. He raised up and peeked in through the lower corner of the window. Nothing. He maneuvered along the back of the home first. If the old man was taking a nap on his bed, James could see him through the rear bedroom window. Nothing.

  He continued along the windowless third side of the house and onto the front porch. The wooden porch was a little tricky. The dry, old boards moaned under each step. A look through the last window verified the old man wasn’t home.

  James worked his way back to the windowless side of the house and headed directly west back into the trees and brush for coverage. He would have to return to the same spot as before, where the man was looking through his rifle scope at the Garden.

  He could make a beeline for the location, but if the old guy wrapped up his surveillance for the day and was headed home, they would meet head-on. James headed north to align himself above the man’s position. Several minutes later, he slowed his pace and closed in on the spot.

  There he was. Sitting in the same spot. It looked as if he hadn’t moved an inch, spotting scope locked on the same direction and his rifle on the ground next to him. James watched as the old guy raised his hand to his mouth and tore a piece off of whatever was in his hand and chewed.

  What in the world are you trying to find out?

  James hunkered down behind a tree and kept one eye on the man. The phone in his pocket vibrated. He assumed it was Popov wanting an update. He pulled the phone out and looked at the screen. A notification reminded him to check on Harper’s location. He’d set the alarm to go off every hour. One less task to memorize. No need to allocate mental resources when he could set a timer and let technology free up a few brain cells for other things.

  James dropped to one knee and sat down on the heel of his boot. He pulled up the GPS application and waited as the slow connection pieced together Harper’s location with a pulsing white circle on the map. The white circle showed him halfway to Boise. It made little sense, Harper should have made it to Boise to pick up his boots some time ago.

  Stupid phone and connection.

  James assumed the application was showing him a prior point on the map, probably frozen from the crappy coverage in the bush. He held the phone up just below his chin so he could keep one eye on the phone and the other on the old man.

  The white circle continued to pulse, slow and steady, giving away Harper’s location—at some point. James hit the refresh key and the white circle moved, closer this time to Crouch, not Boise. The reading made little sense.

  What’s he coming back for? He’s not supposed to report back until his morning shift.

  James was trying to make sense why Harper was headed back in their direction when he saw movement in front of him. He slowly lowered the phone and watched as the old man rolled from a sitting position onto his knees. The man began gathering items around him and stuffing them into his backpack. He picked up the spotting scope and collapsed the legs without removing them from the bottom. He loosened a fitting where the scope met the tripod and folded the legs along the body of the scope. He pulled a towel from his bag and wrapped it around the scope and stand and set the bundle inside the top of his backpack. After zipping the large pocket, the man grabbed his coat and slipped it through a tie on the top of the bag and stood. He stretched, leaning back and raising his arms out to his side.

  The old man hefted the bag onto his back and slipped an arm through the left sling and then the right. Leaning down, he grabbed his rifle and wrapped his palm over the top of the ejection port and lifted the gun to his side.

  The old man gave one last long glare toward the Garden and turned toward his house. Using his free hand to clear his path, he pushed through the branches and stepped out from the little hollow.

  Keeping up with the man’s pace wouldn’t be a problem. In fact, the slow pace he set was more of an issue than if he was trotting home. James gave the man a bit of a head start before catching up to him, letting the man fall into a rhythm of hiking before falling into step.

  James pivoted toward the man’s direction of travel and raised his phone again. He tapped the refresh button once more. The white circle moved closer, almost to the edge of Crouch. James stared and tapped the screen one more time. The circle inched closer.

  James pocketed the phone and stood to follow the old man back to his house—presumably—a slow-motion pursuit. Once the man was safe and sound tucked back into his house, James would contact Popov and give him an update.

  His excitement for the hunt was short-lived. The old man appeared to be more a nuisance, driven by some curiosity and a landowner complex. The rifle had been a concern, though.

  The fact was the gun didn’t have the range needed to pop a round at the Garden. He would have to point the gun in an upward trajectory and lob the round to even have a chance at the round striking anything other dirt between him and the cabin. Even then, the odds were in the HLC’s favor.

  James needed his little cat and elderly mouse game to end so he could change his focus. He needed to see why Harper was heading back toward Crouch and the HLC.

  41

  Chase repeatedly checked his speedometer on his way back to Crouch, and more specifically Henry’s. The time didn’t matter as much—it was out
of his control—but his speed was another story. He battled to keep his truck within a few miles per hour over the speed limit. He kept reminding his right foot that a ticket would kill any progress he was making.

  He made the turn off the highway toward Crouch and rolled through the little town. Chase slipped around the backside of the Jones’ store to avoid any unneeded excitement or resulting unnecessary calls about non-updates with Henry.

  Chase pulled up and over the Middle Fork Payette and located his previous parking spot near the off-road tracks to Henry’s house. He tucked his truck further in and off the road and began the short hike, shadowing the roadway to the north and following its windy path. If they discovered his truck, he would have a hard time explaining parking his vehicle outside the HLC perimeter and disappearing into the woods surrounding the property, but he would try to sell it if need be.

  His simple explanation being recon. Learning the area. Getting a better feel for the terrain and any possible hazards and locals.

  What he wouldn’t be able to explain is knocking on Henry’s door and spending time in the man’s house. Especially given Henry was now of special interest to the HLC—all the way up to the Head of Security—ending in an emergency entry on the security hot sheet.

  As Chase came into sight of the house, he could see someone in the distance approaching from the opposite direction. Chase froze and crouched down, erasing his outline from the surrounding terrain. On one knee, he watched. The body grew closer, a casual lope toward the property. Chase could make out a rifle in one hand and a camouflage backpack humped like a turtle shell on the man’s back.

  The man’s beard, lope, and the rifle added up in the distance; Henry was returning from what looked like a hunt. Chase didn’t want to startle him, or the rifle in his hand, so he waited for Henry to trek the last of the distance home and watched him disappear through the front door.