by Ben Hale
"But they can monitor signals in the air," Tess said. "Does it matter where they work?"
"It does," Jack said. "We use what's called a faraday cage, which is a metal mesh that blocks signal transfer through the air. With some subtle direction from Breaker, I have ordered ours to be reinforced."
Kate issued a burst of laughter. "Jack's bosses think he's brilliant."
He frowned and threw her a glance. "They do, but I can't exactly tell them that I have a high level informant in the mage military."
"Where is Breaker?" Tess asked, and looked around the apartment. "I was looking forward to seeing him."
"Breaker stayed with us until the attack on Brokins. After it occurred he was recalled with the rest of the Rayth and battlemage corps."
Tess was taken aback with the knowledge that her parents had gained in the recent weeks. The blocking of techno mages, the reference to the mage military, it all sounded odd coming from her parents. And where did her mother fit into all of this? She clearly had a role, but her reluctance to share only piqued Tess's curiosity.
"What else can you tell me?" Tess asked.
Jack sipped from his steaming mug. "Once we managed to remove the Harbingers from our office, we have begun to search further out. It's . . . disturbing how many officials have been corrupted by the Harbingers."
"That's how they initiated the attack on Brokins," Tess guessed.
"It is," he replied. "They simulated satellite imagery, phone intercepts, and even video recordings of informants. The only way to do that on such a scale is to have a presence in every branch of government. In three weeks I have found fifty-four Harbinger agents within the CIA, FBI, and the armed forces." He hesitated, and then said, "I believe the attack on Brokins was set in motion months—or even years—in advance."
Tess leaned back, struck by the ramifications of that insight. How big had the Harbingers become? Was there anything that would stop them? Then a question crossed her mind that chilled her to the bone.
"With so much influence, what else could they do?"
Jack's gaze was leveled on her. "I doubt there's anything outside the scope of their power right now."
Tess closed her eyes in defeat. How could they possibly win? The Harbingers had been setting this up for much longer than anyone had realized. They clearly had the ability to all but control the auren world, so why have them attack a mage city?
Blame.
The word resonated in her mind. Since the vote to take magic public the Harbingers had used ever increasing blame tactics to foster strife, confusion, and anger. Culminating with the attack on Brokins, each event was intended to amplify the rising conflict.
But how much tension did they want to create? How much would it take for the mages to retaliate out of fear? Then she had a terrifying thought. What if the attack on Brokins had succeeded? What if the city had been destroyed, and thousands of mages killed? Her intuition triggered and she knew exactly what would have happened. The entire mage world would have called for war, and the Harbingers would have been happy to oblige.
"It's late," her mother said, pulling her from her thoughts. "Perhaps it would be best if we get some rest. We have all week to catch up."
Tess wanted to protest, but instead she rose to her feet. As she trudged to the bedroom her mother indicated, she wondered if her family would ever return to being just a family. Would they ever sit and watch TV, oblivious to the threats all around them?
Glad to find a bathroom adjacent to her bedroom, she changed and brushed her teeth, and found a measure of solace in the mundane acts. Then she hugged her parent's goodnight and climbed under the covers. In minutes she was asleep.
She dreamed of the Dark, and witnessed it spread across the globe, one continent at a time. One by one she watched her family and friends fade into its grasp, until she was left alone, and the Dark came for her . . .
Chapter 33: A Mother's Secret
Tess awoke to the smell of pancakes and bacon. Instantly famished, she climbed from her bed and padded into the kitchen. Her mom turned at her approach and gestured to the table.
"Have a seat. It's almost ready."
"What's with all the fancy food?" Tess asked. Their breakfasts in the past had mostly involved the toaster.
"Jack already left for work, so I thought you and I could spend the day together, just us girls."
Her mom slid a pair of pancakes onto Tess's plate and added a side dish with the bacon. The precision in her handling suggested that her mom was nervous, and her voice bore a trace of earnest vulnerability that she had never displayed before. The combination sparked Tess's curiosity.
"What's up, Mom?" she asked, and poured syrup on her pancakes.
Her mom placed her own plate on the table and sat down. "What makes you think something's wrong?" she asked.
Tess skewered her with a look until her mom squirmed. "Fine, there is something I want to talk to you about—but not here."
"I'm glad to see it worked," Tess said. She took a bite to hide her smile.
"What worked?"
"That was the look you give me."
Kate laughed in chagrin. "And so it does work." She then cocked her head to the side and peered at Tess as if it was the first time she'd seen her.
"What?" Tess asked after swallowing.
"You're just more . . . grown up . . . than I had realized."
Tess shrugged. "Isn't that the way it's supposed to happen?"
Her mom issued a sigh and turned to her breakfast. She didn't respond to the query. Confused, Tess lapsed into silence. When they finished their meal her mom pulled her into the hall.
"We need to hurry if we want to be back by the time Jack gets home."
"Where are we going?" Tess asked. She donned her jacket and followed her mom.
"Storage," her mom said.
Tess blinked in confusion, but her mom didn't explain further. Together, they paused at the rear threshold of the apartment, where the two guards remained. Apparently they had taken shifts, because they both looked rested.
"I'm sorry, Oracle," the first said. "We have specific instructions not to let you leave without us."
Kate folded her arms and stared them down, causing them both to fidget. Tess looked away so they wouldn't see her smile. Her mother's stance and look reminded her of the steel entity, and privately she thought that the mage guards didn't stand a chance.
"We can't," the second said. He tried to keep a sense of authority, but it wilted in the face of Kate's glare.
"The rest of the week you may accompany us," Kate said, and the bite in her voice caused them both to flinch. "Today you will let us go alone."
They looked at each other, and by unspoken accord stepped aside. Kate led Tess to the door and unlocked it.
"Just don't say we—"
Kate threw him a withering glance that silenced him. Then without another word she left. Suppressing the urge to laugh, Tess followed her outside. She knew from long experience what her mother's look could accomplish, and it was nice to see it leveled on someone else.
Tess followed her mom down the stairs and to a nondescript car at the back of the lot. Getting in, they backed out and turned onto the rear street. Kate took several odd turns but their general direction was south. Each time she glanced at her mirrors.
"Watching for someone following us?" Tess asked.
"Always," her mom replied easily.
"How far are we going?"
"It's only thirty minutes away," her mom replied as they turned onto the interstate.
Tess fell silent. She'd never seen her mother behave this way. Throughout her entire life Kate had been composed and resolute, but loving. Now she appeared worried and nervous almost to the point of fear.
Unsure of what to say, Tess looked out the window. It was the end of November, and Christmas decorations were in full swing. Everything from shops to telephone poles were decorated with garland, wreaths, and lights. Tess blinked, and realized that she'd completely f
orgotten about Thanksgiving. Had she really been so busy? Or did the mages not celebrate it?
She sighed, and felt a longing for the turkey dinner and stuffing. Every year Kate bought cranberry sauce, and they teased each other about eating it. So far no one had, and it always ended up in the trash with the bird's bones. The image of previous years was poignant in her thoughts, and she wondered if it would ever be that way again.
Twenty minutes later they descended the off-ramp into a seedy section of town. Trash littered the sidewalks, and there was more steel in the windows than glass. Multiple layers of graffiti blanketed the walls, making it difficult to decipher what had originally been written. Several people sat or walked on the road, and were dressed like gang members. They eyed their car as it passed, the glint in their eyes measuring how much it was worth.
After ten minutes of twisting turns her mom turned off the main road and followed a pockmarked alley that was hardly more than gravel and weeds. They turned at the back of a warehouse, and then bumped over a set of railroad tracks before entering the rear of a long-term storage facility.
"You weren't kidding about the storage," Tess said as they parked. Her mom flashed a tiny smile, but it was tight with nervousness.
Tess got out and looked around herself, surprised and curious. She stood in a small section of gravel behind a long, squat, brick building. Its roof was faded sheet metal, and had the distinct look of a storage facility roof, the type where people stored boxes and furniture that didn't fit in their house.
The small expanse of dirt had evidently once been connected to the front side of the storage facility, but the drive up the side was choked with weeds growing higher than the building. The weeds had also surrounded the gravel area, making it invisible from anywhere except the gap leading to the train tracks.
Kids had obviously discovered the hide, and their colorful marks layered the bricks. All the doors leading into the storage rooms had been broken into, but her mom didn't go to any of them. Instead, she led Tess around to the end of the structure and into the piles of weeds.
Grass and branches scraped the building as they pushed their way to another door. With all the vegetation it was impossible to see the door from the front or the rear of the building, but it was also painted to look like faded bricks, further making it difficult to spot. Unlike the other doors, this one was securely locked.
Withdrawing a small device from her pocket, Kate passed it around the right edge of the door. A series of muffled clicks followed it, and when the last one ticked she unlocked the doorknob with a standard key. Then she used a second, stranger key to unlock a keyhole hidden in the brick at the side.
Kate glanced back and saw Tess's wide eyes. "The door is triggered to destroy everything inside if it isn't opened correctly. I can't allow the hardware to be found by criminals."
Tess shook her head, the questions threatening to burst as her mom swung the door open. Together, they stepped into the interior and her mom closed the door behind them before turning on the light.
Tess gasped as the guns were illuminated. Banks and banks of weapons, ammunition, and other gadgets lined the walls. Bullets the size of her fingers filled one slot, and beside it a long-barreled gun rested. Some were handguns, and could have fit into a purse. Others were shotguns or assault rifles, and one was even a—
"Is that a rocket launcher?" Tess asked.
"It is," Kate said quietly.
"Is this all Dad's?" Tess asked. She leaned in to peer at a series of different grenade belts.
"No," her mom said.
Her tone caused Tess to look at her. "Then whose—"
"It's mine," her mom said. She tapped a chair in front of a worktable and took a seat across from it. "I think it's time you learned who I was before you were born . . ."
Chapter 34: Corporal Marks
Twenty Years Earlier
Lance Corporal Kate Marks jumped out of the helicopter and rappelled to the ground. The moment her boots touched the dirt she unclipped and raised her gun to her shoulder, scanning for hostiles. The helicopter banked east and joined the second chopper carrying the wounded and dead. Both hugged the ground as they departed.
When no threats appeared Kate lowered her assault rifle and shouldered her gear. Then she set herself into a jog that would eat up the distance. Her target was three klicks out, and she only had thirty minutes to arrive and set up.
Dirt and sand formed hills and shallow valleys in every direction, unbroken by tree or building. The Libyan sun beat down on her with scorching intensity, creating waves of heat and sand rippling across her vision. She checked her bearings and drank water frequently, keeping herself hydrated.
Most of her attention focused on her surroundings, scanning and rescanning for potential hostiles. The rest of her mind was drawn to her mission orders. Like most military ops this one was explained like it was meant to be simple, yet she knew from experience that it rarely worked out that way. She had the scars to prove it.
This mission was a prime example. The marine recon team had encountered heavy resistance where there wasn't supposed to be any. They had lost some good men, two of which were their sniper and his spotter. Unfortunately that meant they were shorthanded to complete the op—which was where she came in. She wasn't a marine recon sniper, but she did have the requisite skill set.
Her radio clicked, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Marks, what's your ETA!" a voice whispered, harsh and angry.
"Five minutes out," Kate said. She crested a rise and saw the village in the distance.
Lieutenant Pearson cursed into the radio, and then whispered, "That's five minutes too long, corporal. Come straight south to the beacon."
"Understood, sir," Kate said, and picked up the pace. A moment later she spotted the blinking light that indicated her goal. Turning her footsteps toward it, she approached the edge of the abandoned village.
Built sixty years ago, the village was nothing more than a few dozen crumbling structures pointing to a mosque at the end. A barely visible road wound its way through the center before continuing east to Tripoli. At this point they were only six miles from the Tunisia border. Beyond that was Algeria, which was where the intel said their target was traveling to.
Karim Zwalik had been involved in a handful of bombings and high profile assassinations in the last few years, but his most recent hit had involved a group of suicide bombers and a U.S. military base in Algeria. Seven marines had been killed, and the incident had drawn the interest of the CIA. Its subsequent investigation had found that Zwalik had ties to other terrorist organizations and the Libyan government. Upon learning that he would be traveling between Tripoli and Algeria—with three American hostages—the CIA had decided to act. Relations between the U.S. and Libya were poor, necessitating a covert op.
Only one vessel was in range to carry out the strike within the necessary window, a marine ship performing exercises in the Mediterranean. Satellite imagery of the region had revealed the abandoned village, and intelligence had suggested it as a location for the assault. Within an hour the USS Striker had dispatched their force recon team to the village.
But several of Karim's men were already there.
The marines had taken out the detachment before they could radio a warning, but not before taking several casualties. Lance Corporal Kate Marks was the only other sniper on board the Striker. Against Lieutenant Pearson's request, she had been ordered to join the recon team and provide cover fire for the extraction.
It was an opportunity she'd wanted since she'd joined the military, but marine recon units were closed to females. In the last two years she'd applied anyway and been turned down—twice. Despite her stellar marks in distance shooting, her gender had kept her from joining a recon platoon.
She buried her nervousness under resolve as she reached the outer buildings. Corporal Lars stepped out to greet her.
"Captain's waiting for you," he growled. "He's up the stairs on the second level." Then he
turned and disappeared into the sandy alleyway.
Kate took the stairs two at a time but dropped into a crouch as soon as she reached the top. Three men turned to look at her. Distaste dominated their features, but Lieutenant Pearson managed to keep most of it from his voice.
"Lance Corporal Marks," he said. "You're with me. Sergeant, inform me if the convoy is spotted."
He then crawled away from the broken window and stood up. Stepping into a darkened side room, he turned to face her.
"I have been informed that you have the necessary skill and experience for this mission, and that you have been in combat before. I also understand that you have received two combat medals." He grunted, leaving no doubt what he thought of her record.
"But make no mistake, Marks, your presence was not requested, nor is it wanted. Your spotter is sick, and my spotter was killed with my sniper. I do not have someone to spare with the proper training to act as spotter for you. You will have to make do on your own."
As the Lieutenant spoke Kate studied the man. Lean and well-built, Pearson was not overly muscled or cocky. The few times she'd seen him he'd been focused and wary, even aboard the Striker. She had never seen him laugh, or even smile. His men respected him, that much was clear, and he trained as hard as they did. The few times she had seen him off-duty he still behaved like a lieutenant in the marines.
She fleetingly wondered what had caused him to be so driven. Perhaps the military was a heritage thing for him, or maybe he'd lost his family so his career was the only thing left. In any case he was skilled and cautious. In the given situation he would view her as an asset, not a member of his team, and attempt to minimize her as a variable to the operation.
"Our intel says that Zwalik will be traveling with a team of twenty," Pearson was saying. "We have buried claymores and C4 on both sides of the road and will detonate when he's in the kill zone. My teams are placed in flanking positions within the buildings, and will move in to engage any survivors.