by James Hunt
“What about the team to pick up Sean?” Dylan asked.
“Agent Cooper will be handling your son’s extraction.”
It wasn’t what Dylan had expected. When he turned around, Cooper finished loading the magazine into the rifle then slung the strap over her shoulder.
“I’ll make sure he comes home alive, Dylan,” Cooper said. “You have my word.”
Dylan gave a light nod, and then Moringer checked his watch. “We’ve got at least a two-hour drive before we get on site, and I’d like to show up before Perry and his men do. Tell your men we’re rolling out, and do not let them engage until we have confirmation of Dylan’s son in our custody.”
Dylan picked up the computer chip and the other small device for the exchange and watched Cooper climb into a separate truck to head to Sean’s site. The doors to the back of his own closed, and the truck lurched forward. The trip felt longer than the scheduled two hours. When they arrived, the sun was still up.
The location was a small field surrounded by trees. The field was barren with the exception of a small bench and a lone tree placed right in the middle. Moringer wouldn’t allow Dylan out until everything was in place, and even then it was only to stand outside of the vehicle.
One of the DEA agents outfitted a small radio into Dylan’s left ear and did a communications check so Dylan could hear what was happening with his son. Dylan gave a thumbs-up, and the agent left him alone. He stood there by the truck, his weight shifting on his feet until the sun went down, and Moringer gave word that a caravan of vehicles was on its way.
Dylan sat under the tree, on the slanted bench, and ran his fingers along the rough wood nervously. When his heart pounded, it sounded like a thumping echo in his head. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark night, and Moringer’s voice whispered in his ear.
“Five vans just pulled onto the road. Stand by.”
The headlights glowed from the vehicles through the trees then flooded the open field as they turned off the dirt and onto the grass. All five pairs of lights shone on Dylan, and he held up his hands and squinted from the brightness.
Car doors slammed shut, and a shadow blocked one of the headlights. Dylan lowered his arm, and while he couldn’t see the man’s face, he already knew who it was.
“You look well, Captain,” Perry said, walking over and joining Dylan on the bench. He leaned back. “Better than I thought you would, considering the circumstances.”
“We have a visual confirmation on your son,” Moringer said. “Cooper is almost in position for the trade.”
Dylan tried to look between the vans at the shadows of the men standing outside. The weight of the pistol at his ankle felt clunky and heavy. “Once I hear that my son’s safe, you’ll have what you want.”
“Will I?” Perry asked. “How many men did Moringer bring? Hmm? Twenty? Thirty? It won’t make a difference.” Perry picked at his fingernails. “I suppose I could just ask.” He leaned in close to Dylan and spoke loudly. “I hope you’re well, Moringer!” Perry leaned away and threw his head back and laughed.
“You’re not getting anything until I hear that my son is safe,” Dylan repeated, trying to cut through the maniac’s laughter.
“Did you ever stop to ask yourself why, Captain?” Perry asked, the fit of laughter dying down. “Why you? Out of all the ships, out of all the people who go out on the water every day, who live here, who have done things more terrible than you could ever think of, why did I pick you?”
“Pick me?” Dylan asked.
Moringer whispered in Dylan’s ear. “Cooper is about to engage in transition. Stand by.” A light rumble echoed in the distance. Dylan looked into the night sky, but Perry seemed oblivious to the noise.
“If I were in your position, I would be asking myself that question,” Perry said. “But perhaps Agent Cooper didn’t have a chance to tell you everything she found. The harbormaster who ignored your Coast Guard call? How convenient it was when the terrorists came right into your path?”
The noise thundered again, growing louder, constant. Dylan shifted his foot closer to his body. His hand gently pulled up the denim of his pant leg. “You did all of this? Why?”
“Now, there’s a good question for you to ponder while you’re rotting in your jail cell.”
The rumble in the distance was unavoidable now, and Dylan’s earpiece had gone wild with shouts and screams. Gunfire immediately erupted from the tree line where Moringer and his men were stationed, and Dylan had sprinted to the other side of the tree by the bench when he felt two quick thumps slam into his back. He stumbled forward into the grass and dirt, still holding the bag with the gear inside. He reached for the pistol at his ankle and fired into the darkness behind him.
Dylan crawled backward, listening to the popping gunfire try and break through the roar of whatever was above them. Dylan looked up and saw the flashing lights of planes and then watched the surrounding trees light up with fire that circled the entire field, orange flames contrasting against the night sky, while smoke billowed and blocked the stars above. Drifting embers danced and swirled in the wind, popping and crackling as fire consumed the woods.
Even from the distance, Dylan felt the heat from the flames, and the radio in his ear went silent. He pushed himself to his feet, his back aching from the bullets, but the Kevlar seemed to have done its job. The case with the chips was still gripped in one hand, while the other held the pistol.
The flames illuminated the field, but Dylan could find neither Perry nor his men. “Moringer? Moringer, can you hear me? Cooper? Anyone!” He tried to remember if Cooper had gotten his son, but he wasn’t sure if Moringer had said Sean was safe or not before the shooting started.
A blow landed across the back of Dylan’s head before he had a chance to think about it further, and he fell to the ground face first, and both the bag and the pistol fell from his grip. Disoriented, he managed to push himself to all fours, but before he could reach for the gun, Perry stepped on his wrist, aiming a pistol in his face.
“It’s a powerful force, fire,” Perry said. “Hot enough that it can melt the strongest steel and has the potential to ravage the entire earth, turning it into nothing but a pile of ash.” Perry looked to the tree line, the flames’ reflection flickering in his eyes. “It’s a distinct smell, the burning of human flesh. Once you smell it, you’re never able to get it out of your nose. It just… lingers there. You can taste it in everything you eat and drink for days, weeks afterward. I’d imagine Moringer and most of his men have burned out by now.” He turned back to Dylan, the pistol still in his hands. “It’s an unimaginable pain, Captain. One that you’re fortunate to never have to experience. But then again, you’ve had your share of pain over the years.”
Dylan yanked his hand free, but Perry took a step back when Dylan tried to grab for him then laughed when he fell into the dirt once more.
“Yours truly is the saddest story,” Perry said. “So close to the life you wanted, only to have it ripped away from you, then forced to watch as it disintegrates in your own hands.”
“Your scars, you think they hurt when you got them?” Dylan asked, rising from the ground, wiping the dirt from his face that had clumped among the sweat. “Put that gun down, and I’ll show you what pain is.”
“You’re done, Captain.” Perry’s smile vanished from his face as he clutched the bag of computer chips to his chest and lined up his shot. His finger was on the trigger, and just before his muscle jerked the trigger back, gunfire exploded behind him.
Dylan shuddered, and Perry spun around. It was only for a half second but enough for Dylan to lunge and tackle him to the ground. The combined weight of their bodies smacked against the compact earth with a thud, and the two rolled on top of each other a few times over.
Dylan gripped Perry’s throat, squeezing the flesh between his fingers, and then reached for the gun that Perry held just out of reach. Perry kneed Dylan in the stomach, but the Kevlar blocked most of the blow. Dylan kept reachi
ng for the pistol, his fingertips grazing the composite of the gun.
Finally, Dylan had one hand on the pistol, but then a sharp spasm of pain shot up his thigh, and his grip on both the gun and Perry’s neck loosened. He looked down, and Perry’s hand twisted the knife deeper into Dylan’s thigh, the handle the only part of the knife visible. Dylan cried out, and Perry punched him across the face.
The gunfire grew closer, and Dylan rolled on the ground, his hand gingerly touching the knife, but even the slightest graze triggered a spasm of pain. Blood gushed up from the fabric of his pant leg and rolled down the side of his thigh. He gritted his teeth and heard the sound of feet rushing behind him. He quickly turned his head, waiting for Perry to finish him off, but instead he saw the face of Director Moringer, with a handful of men.
“Dylan! Are you all right?”
Dylan gripped Moringer’s collar, pulling him close. He started to feel lightheaded and was having trouble concentrating. “My son.” He grunted, suddenly feeling cold despite the still-raging fire that surrounded him. “Did my son—”
“Cooper got him out. They’re en route to a safe house now to meet with Peter and your daughter.”
What was left of Dylan’s strength left him, and he let go of Moringer’s collar and fell back into the grass. He watched the flames dancing in the night air as his eyes slowly closed. And for a moment, in the thick of the trees burning, he could have sworn he saw Perry, walking casually through the forest, fire all around him, and turning back to look at Dylan with a smile across his face.
Chapter 13
Dylan awoke with a stiff soreness in his leg that seemed to quickly spread to the rest of his body. He looked down at the tubes and wires attached to him and the thin hospital gown that covered him. When he moved his left arm, it was suddenly pulled back, and he noticed the cuffs around his wrist.
The heart monitor beeped faster as Dylan looked around the room. Another empty bed was to his left along with a curtain and a window that had its blinds drawn. Through the window in the door, he saw the shoulder of a police officer. “Hey.” His voice cracked and barely left as a whisper. He cleared it then tried again. “Hey!” He jangled the cuffs around his wrist, and the officer turned to look back then motioned for someone to enter.
It was Cooper. “Good to see you awake.”
“Sean. Where’s—”
Cooper held up her hand. “He’s fine. He’s down the hall, with Mary and Peter.”
Dylan rested his head back onto the pillow, the pain in his body numbing. “Do they… Have they watched the news?”
“They don’t know your involvement other than you helped save Sean,” Cooper answered.
But it wouldn’t be like that for much longer. Once the charges were filed and he was thrown behind bars, his children wouldn’t be hidden from those truths forever. “I want to see them.”
“You will, but the attorney general wants to change a few items on your deal. There’s been a few developments.”
“I don’t care. I’ll sign whatever he wants. Just let me see my kids.”
Cooper nodded then unlocked the cuffs around his wrist. “I’ll bring them in.”
Dylan sat up and tried to get out of bed, but his leg wouldn’t have it. He fidgeted anxiously, and when the door opened and both Sean and Mary stepped in, his eyes itched, reddened, and his throat caught. They sprinted to him on the bed and jumped up and wrapped their arms around him. It felt like his leg was going to explode, but the pain was worth it. “Are you guys okay?”
Mary pulled her head back and smiled, but Sean kept his face buried in Dylan’s chest. He kissed the top of his son’s head, and he felt the boy start to weep. His small body vibrated against Dylan’s chest. Dylan squeezed him tighter. “It’s okay, son. You’re safe now. I promise.”
Dylan looked over to Cooper, who gave a smile then disappeared, leaving him alone with his children. He wasn’t sure how much longer he had with them, but he was going to savor every second of it.
***
Cooper made her way into the makeshift conference room where Moringer, the director of Homeland, and the director of the FBI waited for her. She closed the door behind her and tossed the folder onto the table. “He’ll do whatever we need him to. He’s just happy the kids are safe.”
“Good,” Moringer replied.
The Homeland director knocked the folder off the desk in a fit of anger. “How did this happen? Did he even know what he had? Did he even realize what it was?” He jumped up from his chair and stormed over to the window.
“No one knew what we had,” Moringer said.
The table was scattered with papers stamped Confidential and Prototype. Cooper picked up some that had fallen and restacked them. “How much time do we have?”
“There’s no way to know,” the Homeland director said. “The Navy said that the prototype is functional but hasn’t been fully tested.”
“So it may not even work?” Moringer asked.
“No, it’ll work.” The Homeland director turned from the window, hands on his hips and his body sagging in defeat. “Perry now has the ability to control every nuclear arsenal in the continental United States. And god knows what he’ll do with his finger on the trigger.”
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