The tire tracks led directly to a closed metal garage door. Mulligan looked at it through the infrared overlay, but the image fidelity wasn’t sufficient enough for him to determine how substantial the door was. And he wasn’t going to stop and check it out personally.
“Lieutenant Jordello, take control of the FLIR turret and put eyes on the building to our right. It’s a parking garage, and the entrance has been sealed off. Let me know if the door looks solid, if you would. We won’t be stopping, so do it quickly.”
“Roger that,” Kelly said from the science station on the other side of the cockpit bulkhead. Mulligan kept the SCEV moving at just above a crawl, and he looked out the side port to his left. The night was as dark as ever, and there was no sign of any illumination. No firelight, no candlelight—nothing. If the opposing force was nearby, they were certainly adhering to strict blackout routines.
“Yeah, it looks like it’s a folding metal rollup door,” Kelly reported after a moment. “Seems solid enough. Quite large, though.”
“They must’ve run semi-trucks in there,” Mulligan said. “You said there’s a civic center somewhere around here?”
“On the other side of the garage,” Laird said.
Mulligan grunted. “Makes sense. They’d roll the big rigs in whenever they had a show and offload the trailers right into the center. Okay, let’s go around the block and see what we can see.”
“Maybe we should dismount,” Laird suggested.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Mulligan said. “The group that attacked us, they didn’t have any projectile weapons—only clubs and bats and knives. If that’s all they have, then they’ll have a hell of a time trying to get at us as long as we remain in the vehicle. If we had more boots with us, we could do what you suggest, but we don’t. Right now, our best protection is the SCEV.”
“I got you, Sergeant Major,” Laird said. “But from the transponder data, SCEV Four is definitely somewhere inside there.”
“I know, Captain. I know. Patience.”
With that, Mulligan slowly drove around the block. He wished he felt as confident as he sounded, but he knew the situation could explode into a clusterfuck at a moment’s notice. While he was comfortable with the assumption that the opposing force—OPFOR, in military parlance—didn’t have much in the way of heavy weaponry, and almost certainly no antitank weaponry, there were still a dozen other ways for their night to be ruined even further. If the OPFOR managed to block off the street and prevent the vehicle from escaping, that would definitely put a damper on the presumed rescue mission.
As the rig pulled around the huge, domed civic center, the city remained quiet and dark. That made Mulligan nervous. The SCEV had doubtless made a large racket in its passage, even while operating on battery power—driving a multi-ton vehicle over rubble and not making a lot of noise was impossible. He saw no indication that anyone was going to investigate the disturbance made by the rig, but he wasn’t sure if that was a positive or a negative.
Time will tell.
When Mulligan made to turn right on the far side of the civic center and head back for the parking garage, he brought the rig to a sudden halt. Laird let out a long sigh when he saw what lay ahead of them.
“Man, it’s a good thing we didn’t come the other way,” Laird said.
Ahead, the street had collapsed. The concrete roadway had been transformed into millions of pieces of disjointed rubble, all of which lined the bottom of a wide crevasse. Despite the utter darkness, the infrared sensors revealed that the train station below the street had been exposed in the collapse. An old car lay upended in the rubble, its battered rear bumper gleaming in the wan starlight.
“Looks like an earthquake hit the city some time ago. That explains why this area is such a mess,” Mulligan said.
“Then why would they bring SCEV Four here?” Laird asked.
“Because the place is so fucked up, no one would bother to look around here. Cagey bastards.” Mulligan regarded the train station for a moment. He knew that the BART system had been extended from San Francisco all the way to southern San Jose. That there was a station stop at the civic center was no surprise.
“You know, we might be able to use that,” he said, pointing at the train station.
“For what? Catching a train?”
“Ingress, Captain. Ingress. There’ve got to be ways inside the civic center from there, and from the civic center into the garage.”
***
Ten minutes later, Mulligan parked SCEV Five between two decimated buildings a block away from the civic center. He preceded Laird into the second compartment and went directly to the arms locker located near the second bulkhead. It was locked, of course; only rig commanders had the keys to the small arms. He turned to Laird and motioned him forward.
“You mind opening the locker, sir?”
Laird reached into his uniform blouse and pulled out a set of keys hanging around his neck on a thin lanyard. He opened the locker wordlessly and stepped out of the way. Mulligan removed four of the eight M416A3 rifles that were secured inside and set them on the dining settee. Then he reached further into the locker and pulled out a worn, black plastic case. It had its own lock, this one biometric.
“What’s that?” Laird asked. “I don’t remember that being there.”
“That’s because I took the liberty of placing it aboard before we left Harmony,” Mulligan said. He set the case on the settee table and pressed his thumb against the biometric lock. It clicked open instantly, and Mulligan raised the case’s lid on its hinges. Inside the case’s foam-lined interior lay several blocks of white, putty-like substance, several blasting caps and their integral batteries, and two remote detonators. Mulligan examined the case’s contents with a critical eye. The C4 was a bit long in the tooth, but it should still be functional, along with the blasting caps. He checked the radio frequency detonators—they were fully charged. Everything was just as he had left it.
“Sarmajor, are those explosives?” Kelly Jordello asked.
“Well, you could play around with one and find out,” Mulligan said. “I like to be prepared, but I gotta tell you, I didn’t think we’d need ’em. Captain, maybe you could start handing out rifles. Everyone should take at least six magazines with them. We have no idea what we’ll run into.”
“Roger that,” Laird said. He reached past Mulligan and pulled out several pre-loaded magazines, then began slapping them inside the rifles.
“We can’t use those! Those are people out there! We can’t just blow them up because of some misunderstanding!” Kelly said.
Mulligan turned and looked at her directly. “Lieutenant, if we can walk in and negotiate with the people who are holding our crewmates and get out of there without firing a shot, fine—I’m all for it. But if we meet resistance, I intend to respond decisively.”
Kelly glared at him. “What’s the matter, Mulligan, wasn’t the last war enough for you?”
“Back off, Jordello. He says he’s got the skills for this stuff. Let him do what he has to do.”
Mulligan looked past Kelly. Rachel stood right behind her, holding a heavy ballistic vest in one hand and a radio headset in the other. Her expression was hard, her attitude focused. It was obvious that she wasn’t letting her dread over her husband and her hatred for Mulligan get the best of her anymore. She looked like a full-time player. Mulligan was caught completely off-guard by the unexpected alliance.
“Kelly, you and Rachel get suited up in combat armor,” Laird said. “Sarmajor, I take it we’re going to move fast and keep our exposure to the elements to a minimum?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Then let’s skip the MOPP gear,” Laird suggested, which surprised Mulligan almost as much as Rachel backing him up against Jordello. “The rad count’s so low we won’t need it, and it’ll just slow us down.”
“Hooah on that, sir,” Mulligan said.
Kelly wasn’t letting it go. “Jim, we can’t just go to guns on the first
group of survivors we’ve encountered in—”
“We’re not,” Laird said. He popped a magazine inside another rifle, pulled back on the charging lever, and checked to ensure the safety was set before setting it down and moving to the next rifle. “We’re going in armed, and Mulligan has operational control of the mission, but no one’s going to shoot first and ask questions later. Right, Mulligan?”
“Depending on the situation, yes,” Mulligan said. He turned back to Kelly. “If we’re attacked, we’ll need to defend ourselves. We’ll give them a chance, but if they fuck it up, we absolutely will light them up so we can continue with our mission—remember what we’re here for, Lieutenant.”
“Remember what Harmony Base stands for, Sergeant Major,” she shot back.
Laird sighed. “Kelly, listen—”
“Pull your head out of your ass, Jordello!” Rachel said. “We let these people get the upper hand and detain us here, or outright kill us or whatever it is they might want to do, then everyone at Harmony winds up taking the long dirt nap. You need to choose between the survival of everyone you know or your ideals. Let us know when you’ve made your decision, all right?”
Damn, that was impressive, Mulligan thought.
Kelly glared at Rachel, then looked to Laird. The captain met her eyes for a moment, then shrugged. “Andrews and Mulligan are right, Kelly. Mission first, founding principles second. The situation’s pretty clear, and I think we’ve taken this discussion as far as it can go. Get manned up. You too, Andrews. I know you’re not military, and we’ll do what we can to keep you out of it, but I’ll walk you through operating an assault rifle. Just in case.”
“Good,” Rachel said.
“So that’s it? Decision’s made?” Kelly asked.
“It looks that way, ma’am,” Mulligan said.
She turned away and pushed past Rachel without saying anything further. She reached into a locker and she pulled out another set of body armor.
Mulligan nodded to Rachel. “Thanks for the assist.”
“Just do your job,” Rachel said. “For once.” She turned her back to him and began pulling on a pair of kneepads.
14
Andrews sat on the floor of a darkened room, trying not to think about the aches and pains that still sung across his body, courtesy of the beating he’d taken at the warehouse. He was angry at himself for allowing the attackers to take him down so easily. Even though he’d been alone, he had been armed with an assault rifle and had gone through a fairly intensive basic training regimen that Mulligan himself had presided over. Andrews had thought he was ready for all eventualities, including having to kill another person, only to find that he had hesitated in the final moment. The only way to have avoided capture would have been to flick the firing selector to auto and open up on anyone not from Harmony Base. But he hadn’t, and now it was time to figure out just what the hell he was going to do.
“Coach …? How you doing?”
Andrews looked up. Sitting across from him was Spencer, his face battered and bloodied. He cradled his right arm against his chest. His wrist and hand were severely swollen, and the distended flesh there was already turning a vibrant shade of purple. Like Andrews, he had been stripped of all his gear, save for his uniform. Spencer tried to smile, but the expression turned into a grimace when his split lip started to bleed again.
“Compared to you, I’m sitting pretty. How’re you holding up, Spence?”
Spencer looked down at his arm. “You think this is broken?”
“Oh, yeah. Don’t move it, just keep it right where it is.”
Spencer nodded. “I gotta tell you, the pain’s about to get me, sir.”
Andrews reached out and patted one of Spencer’s feet gently. “Hang in there, man.”
Spencer nodded, but his eyes seemed unfocused. After a long moment, he said, “What do you think they did to Leona?”
Andrews clenched his teeth and looked away. He squeezed Spencer’s foot. Both of them had heard Leona screaming, a bloodcurdling series of shrieks that rocked them to their very cores. Andrews had immediately gone to the room’s locked door and pounded on it—attacked it, really, kicking it with all his strength—but it was a metal fire door and wouldn’t budge. They could tell from the screams that Leona wasn’t that far from them, but with the thick cinderblock walls and the locked metal door, she might as well have been a million miles away. Her screams had stopped after a brief time, and they’d heard nothing for over an hour since. The light coming in from the room’s single window high on the wall above Andrews’s head had already faded to a dull amber. The sun had set, and night was coming.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t know,” he said finally.
Spencer nodded again. “She’s a strong chick. For her to scream like that … they must’ve been doing something horrible to her.”
“Don’t talk, Spence. Save your strength.” He wanted to add a platitude like We’ll get out of this, or Don’t worry, the others are on their way, but even to his own ears they would sound false. He settled for patting Spencer’s foot again, though he knew the gesture would do little to dispel the swarthy crew chief’s fear. He knew what Spencer was thinking. Even though they were both concerned for Leona’s well-being, they were also deeply frightened of what lay in store for them. Death? Torture? Andrews didn’t know, but he knew he would find out eventually. He had already decided to plead with their captors to let Spencer go and keep only him.
Or kill him first, so he wouldn’t have to listen to Spencer’s screams in the growing darkness.
But where’s Mulligan? If they’d caught him, too, wouldn’t he be here with us? Is he being held somewhere else? Or did he escape?
The last thought was a source of strength. If Mulligan had in fact escaped, there was at least a chance they could be rescued. Andrews had no doubt that Mulligan was the cold, highly skilled special operator he was said to be. If he had managed to elude capture and if he could get to SCEV Five and contact Laird and the others, then the chances of getting out of this mess alive went up a notch.
Unless he convinced the others to go for the supports and get the hell back to Harmony.
That last thought didn’t leave Andrews feeling warm and fuzzy. He and Spence had made a silent decision not to discuss Mulligan or his whereabouts—if he had escaped, there was no sense in giving their captors any intel on him. The possibility that he might have put mission success ahead of a rescue was something they didn’t want to consider.
The sound of a metal bolt being drawn cracked through the darkness. Andrews rose immediately, facing the door as it slowly swung open. Spencer slowly clambered to his feet, cradling his injured arm; Andrews didn’t move to help him. He wanted to be free and unencumbered in case he needed to fight.
Torchlight brightened the room. Two natty-looking men in threadbare clothing stepped inside. One held a torch in one hand and a spiked cudgel in the other. The second man held a machete, which looked like it had seen years of use. Both men were filthy, and their rank body odor filled the room quickly. Spencer muttered a curse and stepped away from them, grimacing. The two men were as thin as scarecrows, clearly malnourished, but Andrews didn’t dare underestimate them. Though scrawny, they also appeared to be as tough as shoe leather—anyone who had survived in this dead city had to be.
A third man stepped into the room. His face was pockmarked and his clothing was old and worn, but he obviously tended to himself. His bearing told Andrews he was a man of some authority, such as it were. The bright gleam in his dark eyes conveyed to Andrews that he was as ruthless as any warlord who had ever lived. The man looked from Andrews to Spencer, then back again. He smiled broadly.
“Captain Michael Andrews? Commander of the Self-Contained Exploration Vehicle you’ve so graciously donated to us? The vehicle entry code is eight-nine-zero-two-four. It’s powered by two Honeywell AGT2500 gas turbine engines and has an Arbalest millimeter wave radar system manufactured by Lockheed Martin—oddly enough, I’m
familiar with those. You come from Harmony Base, a subterranean complex located in what’s left of Kansas, some fifty miles from the Colorado border. You’re here to secure supports for your geothermal heat conversion units. If you fail, then about three hundred seventy-five people will die.” The man’s smiled widened into a Cheshire Cat grin. “Feel free to correct me if I might have gotten something wrong.”
“Where’s the rest of my team?” Andrews asked.
“Lieutenant Eklund is being well taken care of, Captain. Don’t worry—I know you must’ve have heard her screams, but she hasn’t been permanently damaged. And your man Mulligan will be found any time now … assuming he’s still alive.” The man’s countenance darkened slightly. “He managed to kill several members of my family. He’ll pay for that. All of you will.”
Andrews heart leapt at the news. Mulligan’s still alive!
The man smiled once again. “I wouldn’t feel suddenly optimistic, Captain. He will be found. But listen, forgive the delay in our little meeting—I’ve been exploring the capabilities of your vehicle. Rather impressive collection of technology, isn’t it? Sophisticated, but simple at the same time. Lieutenant Eklund has been most helpful in assisting me in understanding its more advanced operations. Allow me to introduce myself.” The man actually bowed, as if Andrews was some sort of visiting dignitary being received by a civilized man in a civilized land. “I am the Law.” He straightened and met Andrews’s gaze with humorless eyes. “In both name and fact.”
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