There is nothing down there, is there? Think! Think! She processed.
Then it hit her, the Old Airport! The airport buildings were converted after the revolution to a security station and also housed a harvesting center, or officially known as a S.O.A.R. facility. Would Hunter harvest this young man?
Regardless if her hunch was correct she needed to hit two potholes, one at Peachtree Street and one at Turner. The one at Turner would be first, and hitting two so close together would infuriate Hunter.
If she was correct and the south security station was the destination, she would need to signal again once they were on the connector or on the 85.
She exhaled a tense breath, hoping Hunter did not notice. This is a stupid way to pass messages, she decided.
They continued on Baker Street until she saw the on-ramp for the 85, and she turned the vehicle without being directed. Hunter looked at her but said nothing.
“Director, my apologies, but the street is bombed out at Piedmont and this was the only way we could go. Since we did not head north from the stop, it was logical we were headed for the connector.”
Much too attentive, he thought. But he said, “You are correct, of course. Thank you for your attention to detail.”
“May I ask our destination?”
“The Old Airport, as I suspect you had already guessed.”
“I had no way of knowing, sir.”
“Naturally,” he said. He was suspicious of his beautiful driver with the penchant for potholes, but he wiped it from his mind as he plotted his next move.
***
Emily missed the abduction of Joniver, as she was much too busy hiding the backpack and books. Olinar, on the other hand, saw what had happened to Joniver. He also saw the signals from the car indicating Hunter was in the lead Mercedes limo, and he understood they were heading to the Old Airport.
It was the Old Airport, right? He wasn’t sure.
There was a S.O.A.R. facility there.
“Did Hunter plan to harvest Joniver?” he said. Hunter had harvested Joniver’s brother, so anything was possible.
“What is important now,” Olinar said, “is to get this information North.”
He hoped to soon head back North and this time, stay for a while. Although he enjoyed being with Joniver, he hated it here. He liked Emily, and he believed she could be recruited if Buscar didn’t blow it. Olinar was sure Buscar was in lust - not love - with Emily, and he knew this didn’t sit well with Joniver.
He was not concerned with all this relationship stuff right now, however.
For one, I have way too much work to do, he thought, and second, I have my own issues.
He and Genevieve had been pledged to one another prior to this assignment and Olinar hoped it would still work out. They talked about what the mission would entail and Olinar had agreed it would be ok.
But it was not ok. In theory, in discussion, it had been ok, but it was not ok now.
If it was simply sex with another man, I could get over it, Olinar thought. The problem is the man she has sex with.
She said it meant nothing, and she was only doing it for the job, but this almost made it worse. She was prostituting herself for their freedom.
If you do a bad thing for a good cause, you still have done a bad thing, Olinar thought.
He was not sure if he was more upset with her or with himself for saying it would be all right.
Olinar knew and even told Genevieve, he was simply angry with himself. He knew it was true, but the hurtful words still came out of his mouth. Once said, he could not change them, and he and Genevieve did not have enough time to work through the rough spots like many couples. He was trapped and she was trapped, and he had no idea where it all was going.
He suddenly realized he had lost track of valuable time. He had wasted precious minutes and it made his current assignment all the more urgent.
He was hiding in a flat on the opposite side of Baker Street, so he could watch Joniver as he came and went from Emily’s. Spotting Olinar in this apartment was impossible. In the window he had installed a specially designed OLED screen attached to the window’s interior pane.
If anyone looked at the window they saw normal - and boring - activities; things like cooking a meal, reading a paper, or watching the broadcast. Despite the picture seen from the street, the interior occupant could see through the screen as if looking through a tinted window.
The window device had been developed in the North for this exact purpose and proved more than useful when concealment in a flat was necessary. Olinar had even written the majority of the code that controlled the screen.
He beamed with pride at the device, but he was far more proud of what they had been able to accomplish with it.
He pulled a small cylinder from his pocket. The device was approximately eleven millimeters in diameter and about a centimeter tall. One end of the cylinder was slightly rounded. Olinar steadied the cylinder on its flat end and touched the side. A heads-up screen popped from a laser opening in the top and a keyboard projected on the table in front. Olinar touched a space in the heads-up display labeled,
Encrypted
Communication
He waited for the electronic handshake with a paired computer somewhere and then, in a clear and steady voice, he said, “My favorite aunt has just had a baby girl and I am very excited about my new cousin. What is the appropriate present for a newborn?”
Through a rotating and involved cipher, his message was read and understood by the receiving computer to say, “Subject has been taken and is in route to Old Airport, purpose unknown. Hunter is in lead vehicle.”
Olinar did not know nor did he care who it was who received this message. He did care that appropriate action was taken, for Joniver’s sake, and especially, for Genevieve’s.
His job complete, and the throws of dusk engulfing the sector, Olinar packed up and prepared to vacate his watch. As he packed, something outside the window caught his eye, and he leaned in toward the window.
Another Guard detail arrived. He saw it was another Elite Guard unit; they had the gold shoulder boards but there were only four members. Two moved toward Emily’s building and two, he was unnerved to see, walked toward his location. He knew the lack of egress methods was the disadvantage of this location, but when he picked this spot he believed it was a low risk. However now, with the troops heading toward the door, he felt caged.
***
Emily eased toward the door, surprised by the knock. She did not expect Joniver to return and was ill-prepared for visitors. Maybe Joniver was coming back and they could talk.
I was a little hard on him, she told herself.
From her side, with the door closed, she said, “Who is it?”
“We’re the Guard ma’am,” a husky voice said. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, fine, why?”
“A gun shot was reported coming from your flat.”
“A gunshot? No, no there was no gunshot. I’m fine. Thank you.”
She turned to walk away when she heard the voice again, “We’d like to come in ma’am.”
“Well, I’m fine. There is no need,” Emily said. She did not want to sound defensive, but she did not want those guys in her apartment.
“Open the door please ma’am,” the voice said, “we don’t want to break in…but we will, if we have to.”
He spoke so matter-of-factly, Emily thought. He probably would break the door down, and then she’d have every stray cat and mangy dog in town living in her flat.
She went to the door, cracked it open, peered out the crack, and then opened the door wider to admit her guests.
Emily knew, as did everyone in the Peachtree District, stories of Guardsmen entering and destroying the homes of otherwise peaceful people. Some of the stories spoke of rape and death, so she left the door open in the event she had to run or scream. She doubted anyone would help if she screamed, but she could at least run.
If I run, I’ll b
e screaming anyway, she thought. The backpack is safe in a wall hideaway, and…
Did I close the door of the hideaway closet? She could not remember. Her hands trembled.
“Ma’am,” Mr. Husky Voice said, “could you come here please?”
More than Emily’s hands trembled now, and she needed to control her emotions.
She stepped into the second bedroom. This was the room she did not sleep in, but used for sewing and preparations for each Market Day. She saw when she entered the room, she had closed the closet door, but when she got closer, her heart jumped into her throat.
She had indeed closed the door but normally with preparations, sewing materials and fabric about, the floor was cluttered. As things turned out today, she had picked up a few things and stacked them on her work bench.
In and of itself, this would not be a problem, however the things that she moved were covering an area of the floor next to the hideaway door. With the items missing from the floor, scratch marks in the shape of a semicircle were obvious to any close observer.
The marks looked as though something had been swinging in an arc along the floor. Emily knew it was the door of the hide away closet, and she could tell Mr. Husky Voice knew it too.
“Is there a closet or compartment door here, ma’am?”
“Yes, there is,” Emily said. Her voice was unsteady at first, but she recovered. “Like most people who sell at Market, I need a safe place to keep my certificates and my most valuable supplies.”
“Sure, of course...very understandable, ma’am,” he said. “Would you please open it so we can look inside?”
Emily’s heart pounded hard in her chest, and she felt her stomach in her throat.
She tried to be cool and nonchalant. “Sure.”
She worked the combination lock.
As soon as the door was free, it swung open and the backpack flopped out of the door on its side. It hit the floor with a characteristically dull thud. The books fell out on the floor with their titles and authors visible. Emily felt as though each one shouted its name and pointed an accusatory paper finger at her.
Mr. Husky Voice glanced down and stooped to look at the strewn books before him. “You’re going to need to come with us.”
***
Olinar walked toward the door. A difficult choice lay in front of him. He could stay where he was and hope they went to another apartment, or he could attempt to work his way down and get out a lower level window. Neither option was promising, and Olinar did not like his odds.
The two Guardsmen crossed the first floor toward the single stairwell available in the building. Olinar was still at the door of the flat, standing as if frozen.
Was there another way? Then it hit him. There was a second way down!
Olinar opened the door and looked outside. All was clear. He moved toward the elevator without a sound. As he expected, the unit was out of service.
“Perfect!” he said.
With the pack hauling all his surveillance gear on his back, he put his hands on the elevator door. Using his finger tips to wedge into the seal, he worked the closed doors side to side. Each panel moved just a few millimeters at first, but within a few seconds the compartment doors stood open. Stale air blew up through the shaft and he saw the elevator car at the first floor, frozen like a brick in concrete. The two Guardsmen surveyed the first floor, and moved onto the second. He heard them moving from flat to flat.
Olinar needed to act quickly. There was barely room for him to get a toehold let alone balance himself inside the shaft, but the support structure provided enough of a ledge. He stepped out as fast as he dared, putting his feet on the narrow steel of the structure and holding the intact cables to keep from falling. Now the trick was to get the doors closed.
Olinar took his right leg and wrapped one of the elevator cables and swung around it. He kept a foothold on the structure and used his hands to reach across the compartment to the doors. As he stretched toward the door, the cables swayed, and he struggled to maintain his toehold.
After what seemed an eternity of effort, the two panels slid slowly toward one another. The aluminum shuddered as the doors hit their stops.
In the dark, Olinar saw the seal of the doors was not tight. There was a tiny crack of a few millimeters that allowed him to see out. Because the stairs wound behind the elevator shaft, the landing put anyone coming up the stairs to the right of the elevator with its doors facing down the hall. Olinar had a complete view of troop movement on the floor.
He heard their quick measured footsteps on the stairs then heard them walk by to his left. He glimpsed a portion of the face of one of the Guardsmen, and it struck him how familiar he looked. They did not march together, but their footsteps still rang in cadence off the hallway walls of the old building.
They checked each door and asked to see the occupants. They knocked, waited and then opened the door of the flat where Olinar had been. They found it completely empty, which Olinar was sure must have struck them as odd, since living space was so hard to come by.
The Guardsmen turned back toward the stairs when the familiar one received a call. Olinar did not hear all of what was said, but both Guardsmen broke into a run downstairs.
Olinar waited for almost twenty minutes before moving. He needed to exit with caution. Somehow they had been tipped off and might be tipped off again if he was not vigilant.
Risking another transmission is stupid, he thought, but I need to get a message out.
Would the old fashioned way work?
Chapter 10
Hunter’s limousine pulled onto the ring road, which took traffic in and around the S.O.A.R. facility. The compound was colloquially known as the Old Airport. Hunter’s driver, Marissa Joy Pitts, pulled the Mercedes limo into the space marked for the Director. Hunter got out but as he did so, he said, “Marissa, we’ll be here a while so secure the car and wait inside.”
Marissa was stunned. Hunter’s offer to wait inside felt like an act of charity on his part, and it made her suspicious.
The van carrying Joniver pulled into the parking lot of the same building a few slots removed from the Mercedes. The four Guardsmen who rode in the back, jumped out, dragging the still unconscious Joniver with them.
Marissa watched silently. She would wait inside, just not where Hunter expected. I’m one of the best soldiers the Resistance has, she thought. Its time I proved it.
“Take him inside to my office,” Hunter said, as he walked toward the entrance. He said this to no one in particular, but with the expectation they all would comply.
The night air was cool, and the sky clear. The stars shone bright and the waxing moon highlighted the outline of the building and grounds. The old Hartsfield-Jackson airport had been quite a facility in its heyday, having serviced more air traffic than any airport in the world, despite the boastings of Chicago’s O’Hare. The compound had been made up of five terminal buildings with a sixth under construction when it was first attacked early in the last century. Most of the runway space and some of the buildings had been bombed beyond use, but three of the remaining terminals had been converted in the last twenty years to a very productive S.O.A.R. facility. Although surrounded with the typical security encountered at any such center, the buildings did not emanate the eerie glow typical of newer structures. Otherwise, the use and layout of the compound was familiar to any company employee responsible for its operation. The tall, large water towers - eight in all at this facility - stood at the back of the compound and were lit with flood lights and monitored with security cameras. Like most any other installation of its kind, the company was confident no one could penetrate the defensive systems and procedures in place at the S.O.A.R.
Hunter had never liked the airport or its location. He remembered even as a boy hating the ride he and his parents and sister would take from the northeast suburbs to meet friends or family who arrived. Rides to the airport now were painful memories considering the first terrorist incident here killed his
father and some cousins who had flown into town from the West Coast. Still, Hunter nursed the pain, using the memories as motivation against the ongoing terrorist threat.
Terrorists are cowards, he told himself, and cowards deserve to die. The company successfully marginalized the terrorists, pushing them to the poles. They can call themselves the Resistance or Terrorists or whatever they want to, it is simply a matter of control and I have control. The whole idea is very straightforward. Why am I the only one who sees this?
Recognition of the threat is vital to any security system, and as long as people are free to come and go as they wish, the threat remains. The key to security is control, and the people cannot be allowed to move about as they wish or gather as they wish. Once fully implemented, my plan will finalize control. The entire population will be controlled, and therefore security and most importantly, safety will be permanently in place.
Surprisingly enough, a critical cog in the machinations of his stratagem was now unconscious and being dragged to his office.
Hunter walked the 100 meter concrete sidewalk from his parking spot to the entrance of the building. In the pale glow of the moon, cracks both big and small cut the concrete walkway.
Dandelions and crabgrass pushed their way through the openings, creating chaotic and random seams of green in the hard surface. Hunter crushed them under his foot as he marched for the door, but there were too many and their roots too deep and strong for him to seriously push back what nature was pushing forward.
He reached the door and looked in the retinal scanner. Two inside Guardsmen snapped to attention as he entered, but he bolted for his office without acknowledging them or anyone else.
The building was much like the Station. The interior was very antiseptic looking with gleaming white walls and floors. Hunter’s footsteps could be heard bouncing off the hallway walls as he made his way to this much anticipated meeting. He had not taken time to wipe his feet before entering the building and bits of green leaf and chlorophyll stained the pristine surface of the floor.
Another Force Page 10