I felt elated, but uneasy. I didn’t want to be put in the position of injuring or possibly killing someone. While I had no problem with killing in self-defense – I’d done it before, to defend my patients or myself – one of the reasons I became a PJ was to get out of the business of assaulting the enemy as my primary mission. It was a fine line, I knew, maybe so fine that some people couldn’t see it. But saving lives is what I wanted to do, not take them. But even if we, yea verily, opened the benighted eyes of the poor misguided researchers and consultants, there were six security specialists, probably good Americans all, who would be doing their duty as they saw it by trying to stop me. Kill me, maybe, protecting their people.
And the idea of putting Elise at risk, of her becoming collateral damage, made me positively sick, almost frantic. I had no idea why I was feeling this way, unless it was from the XH. Maybe it was because she bit me? Like there was really some biological connection between us now? It made no sense, but I knew how I felt.
The good thing was, as far as I knew, I would be very hard to kill. This might give me some leeway to not kill them, strangely enough. Normally, when it was a matter of a split second, you didn’t hesitate, just put two or three center mass, and if they died, they died, because if you didn’t, they would do the same to you. But now, I could pick a shot. I could take a hit, maybe, especially if I had a Kevlar vest and helmet. I felt confident that hits to my limbs would take care of themselves, as long as I had food and water and a little bit of time. Elise had recovered from a hideous amount of damage in just a few minutes, though she might have collapsed from starvation if I hadn’t fed her.
That was a scary thought, though. If we were captured, we were as vulnerable as anyone, especially if they knew about the XH. Someone could torture us, and the XH would try to heal even if it killed to do it.
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place, but it was still fuzzy. That couldn’t be the whole downside. That was like saying a revolutionary super-tank got bad gas mileage. The tradeoff was obviously worth it, if it ruled the battlefield.
Suddenly, I felt exhausted. I had to get some sleep. I never used to sleep this much. Maybe that was part of the XH too. Might as well store it up while I could. I said good night and turned in.
-10-
The next day dawned cold, with a few flakes of snow and a sharp wind. I popped out of bed while the other three were still stacking zees, ate some toast and jam to still the growling and went for a run. My nose and ears were burning red with the cold by the time I came back but I felt like a million bucks, better than I’d ever felt in my life. I made breakfast for everyone, ate and drank my fill, which meant I consumed as much as all of the rest put together. I wondered if this state of affairs was going to continue. It seemed like if the XH put my body into peak condition, I should actually be eating less, using everything more efficiently.
We really, really needed to get Elise, to find some answers.
Washing the breakfast dishes, I heard a vehicle approaching. The white stuff was coming down lightly and Spooky slipped out the back, dressed in winter camo.
Zeke and I grabbed assault rifles while Vinny looked worried and went to the window. Zeke came up beside him and looked out too. He put a hand on Vinh’s shoulder and said, “Relax. It’s my guys.”
It was a big black Suburban – no, it was actually an Escalade, with gold trim and those spinning hubcap things, blacked-out windows, running boards, fender flares, and other geegaws and add-ons that I couldn’t name. It blasted a multi-tone horn as it pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, and a big black man in a fancy track suit got out of the driver’s seat. He looked to be about three hundred pounds, fat but fit, like a football lineman. He was in his thirties, with gold chains on and a short but expensive haircut, some kind of logo shaved into the hair.
“Larry!” cried Zeke, wrapping him up in a bear hug.
“Come on, man it’s ‘Lawrence,’ how many times I gotta tell you?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” Zeke grinned.
I don’t think he’d forgotten. It must be some kind of inside joke. I nodded to Lawrence, then held out my hand as he approached.
“Hi Lawrence. Dan Markis. Call me DJ. I was a PJ.” It was an old joke, DJ the PJ.
“Air Force? Aim High, baby. Call me Larry, Larry Nightingale,” he said, with a smile full of gold and white teeth. He squeezed my hand, just to see what I was made of, I guess.
I returned the grip effortlessly.
His eyes went wide, and he grinned even wider. The XH had restored my strength, and more.
“Larry was my engineering and demo guy before he decided to chase the green,” Zeke said, mock-disapproving.
“Hey, E-6 pay wasn’t squat compared to what I make now. Dolla dolla bill, y’all. And I expect to get paid now too. Honeys give it up for the bling.” He made some kind of urban hand sign, laughing with those golden teeth showing again.
I could tell he was caricaturing himself, but you never know. The urban gangsta shtick was so ubiquitous now that it was hard to tell what was real and what was just image. Culture is a funny thing.
The passenger door opened and another man stepped out, tall and thin, with a shaved head and deep-set black eyes in a narrow face. Late thirties, very fit. Skin and bones and wiry muscles, and a trace of Native American in his background for sure. He looked like an undertaker stuffed into tactical pants and polypropylene, and he peered distastefully at the thinning flakes falling from the sky, waving a hand as if to shoo them away. He had a Patek timepiece on his wrist that probably cost more than the Escalade, but it was pure functionality and understated elegance.
“Skull!” Zeke cried, seizing the man’s hand enthusiastically. Skull looked pleased, but his smile was tight and reserved.
“I’m here, Zeke. Hey, DJ.” He nodded at me, I nodded back.
Alan “Skull” Denham and I were acquainted. He had been a Marine sniper, a very closemouthed guy. We’d only met a couple of times, through Zeke, and didn’t really hit it off. I never got the full story of how he ended up working with Zeke, and I had the feeling he always looked down on anyone that wasn’t a jarhead, hiding it well but not well enough. Still, they were all Zeke’s guys, and if Zeke vouched for someone, that was good enough.
“Where’s Denny?” Zeke asked.
Larry’s smile faded and he dropped his eyes. “Couldn’t make it. Got a woman and he’s whipped.”
Zeke shrugged, playing it off. I think he was hurt, but didn’t want to show it. “He never could say no to a skirt,” he said, sighing.
“Said he’d try to get away, but you know him…”
“Forget it. This one needs to be rock-solid, no weak spots. Let’s go inside.”
We got the Escalade into the barn. I noticed it rode heavy. Probably armored. It was getting crowded in there. We had a whole motor pool.
Inside, we made some coffee and heated up a pie from a box. I slipped another one in the oven when Zeke wasn’t looking. At this rate we were going to have to make a grocery run soon.
Seated around the dining room table, we briefed the two recent arrivals. It took the rest of the morning, what with the questions and disbelieving looks. I had to do my healing thing again. I let Skull stab me with a fork this time, just to make sure they knew it wasn’t a trick. I wasn’t ready to get shot just yet. Once we’d settled that, we started brainstorming the operation.
“We have to assume Elise is locked up on the island. They know she wants to run, and she’s a test subject too, so it makes sense. That means one, probably two shooters to keep an eye on her and the others at all times. Two or three shifts, but they can’t keep more than two guys in prison-guard mode all the time. “
“They could have a jail cell,” Spooky said.
“Yeah, that would make it easier for them, but that’s good for us too. Fewer shooters means fewer problems,” Zeke said.
“Do you think the researchers stay there or go home at night?” I asked.
&nbs
p; Zeke replied, “If it was me, I’d keep to a normal schedule. Ten miles by boat or helo – probably boat, much lower profile – makes for an easy commute. Thirty minutes each way or so. Probably have facilities to stay overnight, though, if they need to or want to. So we figure Miss Wallis, one or two guards, maybe a scientist.”
“Recon?” This from Skull.
Vinny replied, “Yeah. I’ll find some more recent overhead imagery, that there is three months old. I need to buy a drone if you want really good stuff from up close.”
“No drones for now.”
Vinny looked disappointed. He wanted the toys.
“No need to get that fancy, and it might draw attention. We just need a fishing boat.”
“Pleasure fishing in February? In the Chesapeake?” I asked.
“Crap,” replied Zeke, rubbing his bearded chin. “How do we get close?”
“A boat is fine,” I said, “but we’ll have to just do a few slow passes on the way to and from Tangier Island." I pointed to the map.
Tangier Island was a fishing and tourist destination, with quaint bed and breakfast places, crab shacks and fancier seafood restaurants, and its own marinas and an airport. Anyone leaving from the mainland near Onancock would naturally pass by Watts Island on the way.
Spooky spoke then, softly. “And surveillance on their houses. See what their routine is. See where their boat is. Find the helo. Also exfiltration plan. Snatch will be the easy part. Getting away clean is harder.” He pursed his lips, brooding. Took a sip of his special tea.
“Element of surprise, boys, element of surprise,” Larry rumbled. “They won’t know what hit them. But Spooky’s right. We’re going to blow the lid off this thing. We can’t expect to get everyone, so someone will go to their boss or bosses, and then there will be some heavy-duty blowback. If word of this gets out – and it will – we’re going to need a bolt-hole deeper than this cabin. No offense Zeke, but this place is a matter of public record, right?”
“Sort of. It’s in my wife’s maiden name.”
“Well, that will take them an extra hour to find out,” Vinny said sourly.
“What’s wrong, you getting cold feet?” Skull asked accusingly. Vinny glared at him and folded his arms.
“My nephew’s manners may be in question, but not his courage,” said Tran quietly, and Skull sniffed, mollified. He looked away, as if he didn’t care. I think he just didn’t want to cross Spooky.
“We have a bolt-hole. Never you worry.” He showed off that I’ve-got-a-secret grin. “All right, team, because that’s what we are now, a team, let’s start acting like one,” Zeke stated with emphasis, “Let’s get planning. DJ, put some more coffee on and start making more stew out of that venison, will you? I know you can cook.”
I nodded, going into the kitchen and rattling around, getting things together. Zeke obviously wanted to talk to the others without me around, reassure them a bit, I guessed. Right now they needed some space.
So I puttered around, unloading and repacking my van, poking around the barn, checking out Vinny’s gear. I didn’t touch anything – it was mostly out of my league, though I recognized a frequency-hopping tactical radio base station of the latest type, and what looked like an encryption module, designation KY- or KV - something.
And a flashing red light.
I looked at the light, which was attached to another box of unknown purpose, and the computers. There was a little noise, bip, bip, bip, each time it flashed. I think it had to do with the satellite uplink, though, so I figured Vinny might want to know.
I went toward the cabin to tell him.
I think he already knew, since he bolted past me as I was coming to the cabin door. He had a smart phone in his hand and he made a beeline for the barn, slipping once on the thin snow cover. He was cursing under his breath.
All the rest of them came after, not moving quite so fast, except Spooky, who somehow managed to get around everyone and follow Vinny into the barn first. By the time we all trooped into the structure, Vinny was furiously banging away at keys and continuing to curse like a sailor on speed.
“What is it, dammit?” asked Zeke.
“Alarm and repeater transmitter for my smart phone, local mode. It means one of several things happened…” He started hammering furiously on the keys, switching views, windows, displays.
“Transponder…it’s my ATC back door – air traffic control. Something flying at low level…” He brought up a map of the local area with an overlay of moving dots with tails and numbers beside them. He pointed at one flashing. “Rotor-wing…someone turn off the overhead light in here. Uncle, unplug the transmitter please? It isn’t sending but might as well be sure.”
Larry flipped the wall switch and we were plunged into cold darkness, lit only by the glow of the computers.
Vinny held up a pointing finger, straight up. “Hear that?” Everyone fell silent. There was a faint eggbeater buzzing somewhere, which grew louder.
“Helo. Sikorski. Probably a Black Hawk,” said Skull.
I agreed.
The sound swelled, then burst overhead. Spooky moved off to a side door, weapon ready, but the helicopter continued on, flying fast, fading.
“They’re looking for us,” said Skull. “For him,” he said, looking at me.
“Maybe,” said Vinny. “Probably. Military transponder. Huh.” He grunted in irritation. He pulled up another display, flashing.
Zeke leaned over Vinny’s shoulder. “What’s that?”
“It’s a threshold alarm on all the things related to this INS Inc. situation. It means my bots have detected a certain level of cyber activity looking at what I have been doing. Nothing from NSA yet, thank God, but there is one hot node that I know is Langley’s.”
“Somebody finally reported the feces impacting the rotating oscillating device, and the Agency is waking up. The helo probably has ELINT gear on board. Our timeline just got shorter.” Electronic Intelligence equipment would try to find our transmitters, cell phones, anything that radiated.
“How much shorter?” I asked.
“At a guess? I’d say we should have twelve hours, less if I transmit on anything but the Harris net.” He meant our frequency-hopping secure tactical radios, almost impossible to detect or intercept.
“Well, shut it all down!” cried Larry, looking around as if for an off switch for the gear. He started to move toward the main power cable running to the lone outlet in the barn.
“Leave that alone!” Vinny yelled. “We already shut off the transmitter. Don’t panic.”
Larry stopped, looked sheepish.
Vinh went on, “I’d say fifty-fifty they find us at all. They probably have us to within two to four hundred square miles right now, but unless we transmit, they have to do it the hard way – with people. That means identifying your acquaintances, friends and family, you know, six degrees of separation stuff. Nodal analysis. Then they have to dig through everyone’s records, and even digitized stuff isn’t necessarily textual data.”
Blank looks.
“Like if it’s a document that’s been scanned in, but wasn’t generated on a computer – it’s just a picture. Needs a lot of processing power and human-in-the-loop to dig stuff out. If it’s a handwritten document they might miss it entirely except by a human. How much manpower do you think they have devoted to this?”
“You tell me,” Zeke said.
“Well…if it’s just one bigwig in the Agency, he could probably form a small team of three or four analysts and set them to work without drawing any attention. So…it’s a crap shoot. At least twelve hours, more likely several days, and like I said, they may never make the connection to Zeke’s wife’s maiden name.”
“What about HUMINT?” asked Spooky. He meant human intelligence. Boots and eyeballs. “If they come here and ask the sheriffs, ask people.”
“No way,” said Vinny. “That would take forever. There are at least five thousand residences within ten miles of here. Besides, people ar
ound here aren’t going to tell tales to a stranger, or the feds.”
“Okay,” started Zeke, “we tear it all down. We can’t risk being caught. Take it all apart, pack it up. And everyone pull your batteries from your cell phones if you haven’t already. Dan, your van is going into the lake. Sorry, but it’s the only vehicle they have positive ID on. Spooky, you have to park the Porsche somewhere, it’s too noticeable. Maybe a storage unit? We’ll use the other four SUVs. Pack everything in there. And rip out your lo-jacks, your GPS units, everything that can be traced. Come on people, chop chop.” Zeke clapped his hands.
There was a flurry of activity, as everyone tore down and packed all the gear. Boxes went from vehicle to vehicle, all sorts of cases and high-tech-looking containers. I wondered what all we had besides weapons and Vinny’s commo gear.
I cleaned out the van really well, took the plates off and tried to sanitize it. Spooky helped. We couldn’t get rid of every identifying mark and number, but the more we could slow them down, the better. I put all my stuff in the Land Rover, my long gun case, my ruck and my aid bag. One or two men in each vehicle meant we had plenty of cargo room.
Zeke took my van, Spooky fired up his Porsche, and Skull drove the Jeep as the recovery vehicle. An hour later they came back in it, having sent the van into the lake in a hidden cove. If we were lucky it would be months before anyone found the site.
In the meantime I had cooked some food, trying to use up everything that we couldn’t bring along. I laid a huge spread, knowing I’d eat a lot of it, and the others wouldn’t be too far behind. Stuffing our faces, between bites the talk naturally turned to the coming operation.
“How soon do we go?” I threw out. “And how?”
“Qui Audet Adipiscitur,” quoted Skull.
I furrowed my brow at him. “Latin?”
“Who Dares, Wins. The motto of the SAS.” He meant the Special Air Service, British special forces.
“You mean you think we should go in fast and hot.”
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