Measure of Danger

by Jay Klages

  Velasquez nodded. “Okay. Do we know anything about the source?”

  “It was picked up from some two-way radio chatter, which only lasted a few minutes,” Morris said. “The AgriteX security team is now trying to track him down.”

  “Five hours,” Velasquez said. “But we haven’t received a sat-phone call from the cache site indicating he’s there. No emergency signal relayed from his transmitter either.”

  “He wouldn’t use the emergency transmitter,” Lerner said. “He’d think we’d come looking for him at the headquarters building when he could be miles away.”

  “Good point,” Velasquez said.

  “We know Flash has been hurt,” Morris said. “He might be in pretty bad shape. Jenkins, I want you to move to the cache site and see if he’s there, or wait for him there until further direction. He may be moving slowly if he’s injured. If AgriteX security is going after him, they could pursue him all the way to the cache site.”

  “Okay,” Jenkins said.

  “If we don’t locate him by morning, we’ll assemble and determine next options,” Morris said. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, OSP just told me the Nehalem shooting victim has been stabilized,” Velasquez said.

  “You got a name?” Morris asked.

  “Yeah, hold on a second.” Velasquez flipped open his notebook on the passenger seat when he stopped at a red light. “Alex Pace.”

  “That name sounds familiar,” Morris said.

  “It’s Flash’s roommate,” Lerner said. “If Pace has a Herndon, Virginia, address, that is.”

  “Yes, he does,” Velasquez said.

  “Oh my God,” Morris said. “What the hell was Flash thinking?”

  “It must’ve been an escape attempt at the clinic,” Lerner said. “Improvised. But the cartel had surveillance on Pace, Flash, or both of them.”

  “I feel like my brain’s going to blow a circuit on this one,” Morris said.

  There was silence.

  “So how do we proceed with Pace?” Velasquez asked.

  “Let me think about that until you get here,” Morris said. “But we need to get Sims out first.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Friday, June 28

  4:32 p.m. (PDT)

  AgriteX

  Owens was seated by the fire in the outer area of his office, sipping a cup of tea. The receptionist, along with other standard employees, had now been sent home on paid temporary leave, so Pierce was escorted in by a Sentry who then stood outside the door.

  “Hey, Marshall,” Pierce said and sat down across from him. “Holding up okay?”

  “Yeah, other than the headaches, nausea, and fatigue. More importantly, I’m so sorry about Heather. How are you holding up?”

  Pierce sighed. “I’ll make it. Sims is still out there and we’re still looking.”

  “You now have authorization and access to all of the kill codes in your account, including Sims’s code. Do you have your own succession plan in place?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Great.”

  “I have another update on Messia’s gang,” Pierce said. “We found out from one of Cisneros’s girlfriends that Cisneros told her yesterday he’d be gone for up to a week and that it was important. She bitched up a storm and Cisneros said, sorry, the boss was still in town. Then, one of our gang contacts said there were two people in his network picked for a “big job” this week—one that was going to pay well. Our contact tried to volunteer, but no dice. Also, I had all of the road surveillance reviewed and trail traffic counters checked. Not much difference in the road surveillance, but trail traffic is up forty-seven percent since Monday.”

  “Recon,” Owens said. “Started after Messia’s visit on Monday. Messia’s an expert. I doubt anyone could teach a bunch of thugs recon better than Messia. So an attack is coming.”

  Pierce nodded. “We also reviewed the visit by the DEA agents as a follow-up. Two of the men were actually on our list as FBI agents out of Portland. We didn’t find any surveillance devices left behind, but I’m concerned they may be looking to conduct their own raid.”

  “We need to move our launch forward,” Owens said.

  “Unless we think that’s going to lower our impact and chance of success.”

  Owens finished the last of his tea and took a deep breath.

  “What is mission success? It’s causing enough damage in Phase One to create the right environment for Phase Two. The Fourth of July’s symbolic value really isn’t that important, and moving the launch forward to Sunday could be a great move—our targets may be out attending various events on the Fourth anyway. It couldn’t change our target estimates more than a couple of percentage points. The more important question is, are you ready?”

  “Absolutely,” Pierce said. “I can deploy the mobile command unit. It’s loaded. We’d just need to tweak the download and get it out ASAP.”

  “Okay, let’s do it. I’ll prepare our defenses for Messia and the FBI and reschedule the acquisition of CEC to occur on July one.”

  “I don’t envy anyone trying to attack us here with you in command,” Pierce said.

  Owens smiled. “The more I think about it, a cartel attack could be a huge stroke of luck if we can encourage that first. It may just end up covering our tracks.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Friday, June 28

  9:51 p.m. (PDT)

  AgriteX

  It took Kade close to an hour to descend the tree at nightfall, knowing that a misstep and injury would most likely mean recapture and death.

  There was the slightest bit of moon illumination through occasional breaks in the cloud layer, but it was now becoming harder to see. At least the night was cool and moist; it was keeping his tired mind alert.

  When he reached the ground, he pulled out his pistol again and spent a few minutes stretching. His legs were cramped, his groin area and butt bruised from sitting in the tree in excess of twelve hours. His throat was dry and his stomach felt like a gigantic burning pit. Yet, he was thankful—he’d seen two other groups of Sentries during the day in the distance and remained unseen.

  He got his bearings from his rock pointer and then moved in spurts from tree to tree. He didn’t like the idea of being visible on the ground and imagined Sentry patrols might have night vision and thermal devices. Carol had said the LLFC was a mile and a half away from the headquarters via the path, and he estimated he couldn’t have gone more than a mile yet.

  He again walked parallel to the path but stayed as far away from it as he could without losing his way. In a few minutes, he felt the terrain slope downward and remembered the path would join the trail circling the edge of Lost Lake. Another path would run right by LLFC.

  Remembering the training map of the terrain, Kade knew Kidders Butte was less than one mile away, but the base of the butte, on its west side, was also the boundary of the AgriteX private land. He thought about the FBI’s escape plan and if it could’ve been compromised. Would Sentries have a dense patrol in that area or would they assume that he would avoid the steep grade of the butte? The private land boundary also ran between the butte and the lake with a much less rugged open space of a quarter mile. They would expect that to be his more probable route.

  There was a third option that would add an extra mile and bring him uncomfortably close to LLFC. But it would be less risky if he could reach the outer boundary. In fact there’d be no risk at the perimeter at all.

  He decided to go with it.

  Moving to the forest edge and crossing the path to the opposite side, he stayed as low to the ground as possible. The down slope flattened out and he could see where the trees ended and the recreational fields began. He could also see the LLFC building lit up from its western edge. The fields weren’t lighted, but there was zero cover out there.

  In the next hour, he crawled on his stomach to traverse the fields until he reached a gravel road about ten feet wide. He paused and thought about his current position since the cloud
cover had increased and the night had darkened. There was a shadow, something blocking a faraway light, down in the direction of the road, and he decided to take a short detour.

  He crawled parallel to the path for another five minutes until he could discern two buses still parked in the road. They were the ones he’d seen before—they had a raised suspension and were equipped with oversized treaded tires. He continued until he was to the right of the first bus and stopped at the passenger door, which had a slight buckle in the middle. He pushed on it so the door folded all the way to the right, slipped inside, and slid the door shut behind him.

  He stood up and walked down the aisle touching the seat backs of eleven rows, and realized he wasn’t going to be able to see anything. He went back to the front and sat down in the driver’s seat, pulled the Motorola radio out, and turned it back on. The small display window of the radio lit up with a soft orange glow. The radio also had a small white-light flashlight on it, but he didn’t dare try that out and possibly reveal his position. First, he flipped through the channels to see if there was any security chatter, and there wasn’t. They must have realized there was a radio missing.

  He held the radio close to the steering column and in the faint orange light saw the bus had a Blue Bird logo in the middle of it, and to the left of the column were switches for four-wheel drive. There weren’t any keys in the ignition and he couldn’t find any. That eliminated the possibility of driving one of the buses out of here if he had to come back this way. He cupped his hand over the orange screen of the radio and stood up facing the back of the bus.

  As he swung the light, the first unusual thing he discovered were rifle racks mounted above the windows on each side and a number of overhead storage bins. An interesting retrofit. He took a step forward and lowered the light below his waist level and saw two brown rectangles on the first row of seats. He reached down to the one to his right, and could feel it was an oversize plastic-coated envelope. Inside were six laminated sheets of white paper and two black grease pencils. He flipped through the pages and saw by the orange light that each page had a title at the top followed by blank lines, as if someone might write in those lines by hand:

  Page 1: “Zulu Training Packet”

  Page 2: “Target Diagram”

  Page 3: “Target Known Security”

  Page 4: “Target Evac Plan”

  Page 5: “Target Photos”

  Page 6: “Weapons Review”

  He spread the pages out on the seat and stared at them.

  This is an attack plan template. This is what they were training for.

  Only I don’t know the target.

  He wanted to take pictures, but remembered his camera no longer had a battery, and he’d maxed out the camera memory card.

  A light flickered outside the bus. He turned off the radio, poked his head up, and through the rear exit window saw a pair of headlights in the distance, from the direction of the back of the bus.

  Shit, they’re coming—and coming on this trail.

  He shoved the items back into the envelope, placed it back on the seat, then crouched on the stairs of the passenger door and slid the door open. The lights were coming too fast to run out in the open. He crawled flat onto the gravel from the door and slid the door shut with his outstretched arm. The vehicle was about fifty yards away.

  He crept under the bus, and huddled next to the front right tire. The headlights were narrow and the only noise the vehicle made was the tires on gravel, so it had to be one of those electric ATVs. He slid his Glock out from his cargo pocket as the headlights came to a stop.

  He angled his body forward, trying to keep his face and bare skin in the shadow. He couldn’t see who was coming but heard more than one person walking on the gravel. Someone walked within three feet of him, pulled the door open, and went inside. Within seconds the ignition turned and the engine started. The headlights turned on. He assumed the other bus was doing the same.

  He panicked. If he stayed where he was and dodged the bus’s wheels as it pulled out, the ATV would see him in the headlight. Or run him over. If he ran for it, the ATV was going to see him in the field. He had to wait for the bus to pull away and take his chance with the ATV.

  When the bus engine revved, he turned so he was facing rearward on his belly. The headlights from the ATV moved to the right, off the path, and he saw the ATV pass alongside the bus while the bus only moved forward a few feet. Once the ATV moved to the front of the other bus, both buses started to move. His heart thudded while he stayed pressed flat on the gravel, centered between the wheels on each side, as the bus passed over him. He felt a wave of relief when it was gone.

  He crawled off the path into the field and watched the small convoy of headlights go about a hundred yards, veer right, then sweep left.

  They’re turning around and coming back. I’m going to be lit up.

  He bounced to his feet and sprinted in the direction of the wood for five seconds, watching the headlights angle back toward him. He dove on the grass, landed on his stomach, and lay motionless about forty yards from the road while the headlights passed by. Now he’d check to see if there was some more radio traffic, if anyone was talking about him. All of a sudden, he got a feeling in his gut that something was wrong. He felt his cargo pocket.

  I left the radio on the bus.

  He got up and ran farther away from the road, reaching the edge of the field in less than a minute. There was a four-foot-high chain-link fence that he rolled over without a problem, and within seconds, he was inside the wood, bounding downhill. In less than a minute, he could see a slight shimmer from the water of Lost Lake in front of him.

  He knew he wasn’t a very good swimmer, but he sprinted harder when he reached the dirt banks, sloshing out into the cold water until he was up to his knees. He put his Glock back in his cargo pocket and buttoned it.

  The dim light from the cloud-shrouded moon was as useful as a dying glow stick. He stood for thirty seconds with his hands on his hips, and when he’d caught his breath, he picked a direction toward a few points of light on the opposite side of the lake. He waded forward until the cold water enveloped his waist and he could begin a sidestroke.

  He thought about what a disaster CLEARCUT had become. He thought about Alex, then about Janeen. There was no doubt he was responsible for putting them in danger. Were they victims of his own selfishness? Was this whole mission an attempt to prove his self-worth at their expense? His body began to feel heavier in the water but he told himself it was only in his mind.

  Just focus—one stroke at a time.

  CHAPTER 47

  Saturday, June 29

  2:12 a.m. (EDT)

  Walpole, Massachusetts

  Sentry Robertson brought Yates and Russell, the last pair of Zulus from D8 Work Crew Two, into the inmate mentor training room of Camp Walpole and had them take a seat at one of the desks. Sentry Wolf was already seated in the first row. Russell leaned back in his chair, stretched, and yawned.

  “Guys, we have a change in the plan,” Robertson said. “Exact same mission plan, different date. We’re moving out this time tomorrow. So we have to make an adjustment to your mission template.”

  “Wow, okay,” Russell said. “Giddy up.”

  Yates shrugged. “Cool, let’s do it.”

  “I love everyone’s attitude,” Wolf said.

  Both Robertson and Wolf knew the update was necessary because the plan and the associated checklists would self-delete following the mission day, at 8:00 a.m. local time. It was an additional safeguard to ensure that even if any crew members were captured during or after the mission, no plans would be revealed.

  “So we have a tiny download for you both to update the template,” Robertson said, “and we needed to wake you up and keep you up until four this afternoon so we can adjust your sleep schedule. We want you all to be fresh and rested.”

  “Just keep the coffee comin’ and we’ll be good,” Russell said.

  “No problem,
we’ll have coffee and plenty of activities all day to try and keep you all from snoozing too much,” Robertson said.

  Yates and Russell took turns moving to the download station and sitting in front of the infrared beam for a few seconds.

  “Okay, thanks, guys,” Wolf said as the two Zulus got ready to leave with another IM escort.

  “Just curious, why the pull-up in the date?” Yates asked.

  “I can’t tell you ’cause we don’t know,” Robertson said.

  And even if we did, we couldn’t tell you.

  CHAPTER 48

  Saturday, June 29

  4:41 a.m. (PDT)

  Lost Lake, Oregon

  Kade reached a thick fluorescent orange rope stretching across the lake, supported by floats. When he passed under the rope and looked backward, he could see a sign on a nearby float and swam over to read it.

  “PRIVATE PROPERTY OF LLFC—DO NOT CROSS”

  This meant he was now in the recreational area of Lost Lake. Kade was elated at this small marker of progress even though he assumed Chapter thugs were still in pursuit. A small wave of energy came from nowhere, despite his extreme thirst and hunger. The hardest thing wasn’t the swimming—it was making sure he didn’t drink the lake water while he was so thirsty. It was nice and cold, and the numbing effect felt good on his body, but lake water had a ton of pathogens in it, and he wasn’t going to take himself out with a double whammy of puking and diarrhea when he’d made it this far.

  It took him between ten and fifteen minutes to finally reach the opposite bank. There were a few areas littered with fallen tree debris that were hard to navigate. A campfire burned in the distance and it looked like there were a few lights from either tents or RVs, so he avoided that direction. Most likely those were friendly people, but he couldn’t take the chance. His feet touched bottom in another couple of minutes and he waded to where the water was at his waist.

  Once again he put himself back on high alert. Sentries could be waiting for him down at the beach, in the park, or camping area. The Chapter would expect him to ask for help, for a ride, or to use someone’s phone. He ignored the urge to stop and ask for food and water. No, his next finish line was Kidders Butte, and he knew there’d be survival supplies there. He could make it in another hour or two at the most.