“Same here, Captain Fletcher.”
Alex walked across the tall grass field connecting with the dirt road leading to the gate. He pressed the remote transmit button on his vest and recalled the Matvee, which raced out of the tree line to meet him on the road. Looking over his shoulder at Campbell’s property, he tried to picture what would have happened if Eli had concentrated his attack on the York County Readiness Brigade headquarters. A hundred men armed with rifles and explosives-laden vehicles could have punched through the defenses fairly easily unless Campbell had a few surprises he hadn’t disclosed.
He wondered if the Marines back in Limerick would notice if the thirty-caliber machine gun disappeared. Maybe another trip to see Campbell was in the very near future, bearing a proper farewell gift. As one thought triggered another, he settled on the silver pickup truck, imagining one of Eli’s unwitting followers driving it toward Campbell’s people in the woods. Something bothered him about the mental image. He kept picturing Duhaime behind the wheel. Duhaime. The twenty-three-year-old kid that knew his way around an AR-15—and happened to own a brand-new pickup truck.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered, sprinting behind the Matvee to the passenger side.
He jumped in and slammed the door shut.
“Is this set to Patriot?” he asked, grabbing the VHF handset.
“Yes, sir. Is everything all right?” said Keeler.
“Hold on, Sergeant,” he said, triggering the radio. “Patriot, this is Guardian Actual. Over.”
Static filled the Matvee for several moments.
“Patriot, this is Guardian Actual. Over,” he said, releasing the transmit button. “Where the fuck are they! Allen, get us moving. RTB. Don’t stop for anything.”
The Matvee lurched forward as the radio speaker crackled. “This is Patriot Three,” replied Major Blackmun.
“Ops, have they started identifying the suspects from this morning’s attack?”
“They’ve identified three of the five prisoners. Not sure about the rest. They’re still trying to get the vehicle wreckage off the runway.”
“Copy. Any chance one of those vehicles is a silver Nissan pickup truck?”
“Wait one. I need to call 4th Brigade. They’re collecting all of this information.”
“Standing by,” said Alex.
Sergeant Keeler leaned between the driver and passenger seat. “Anything we need to be worrying about, sir?”
“Get Peterson out of the turret. Make sure everyone is strapped in tight,” said Alex, fumbling with his harness while trying to hold onto the radio handset.
“Gunner stays in the turret, sir,” said Keeler.
“You can’t shoot an IED. Get him down now. I’m not having a repeat of this morning.”
“Roger that, sir,” Keeler said, pulling PFC Peterson down through the hatch.
“This is Patriot Three,” Blackmun’s voice said over the radio. “Good guess on the pickup. We have a silver Nissan Frontier with Maine plates sitting in the grass between the main runway and the outer taxiway.”
“Was the vehicle rigged with explosives like the rest?”
“Affirmative.”
Alex froze for a moment, terrified by the possible implications.
“Did they find all of the occupants? I’m looking for someone specific,” said Alex.
“Three dead inside the vehicle. A fourth cut down about twenty feet away. 4th Brigade sent me a list of names they’ve collected. What’s the name?”
“Rob Duhaime,” Alex said, his heart pounding.
“Bingo—two for two. Robert Duhaime. Source of ID is a Maine driver’s license. Age twenty-three. Springvale address. Right up the road.”
Shit. Eli knew about the Belgrade house, and Alex had no way to warn Charlie and Ed.
Eli wouldn’t head up to Belgrade alone, not after his spectacular failure at the Limerick compound. He’d head to a predetermined rally point and link up with whatever remained of his militia army. If Alex acted quickly enough, he might be able to nail Eli before they left the rally point. Someone had to know where he was headed. Alex started thinking about possible links to Eli, starting with the most obvious.
“The ranger at Outland One mentioned a guy they captured by the police cruiser. Can you read the names of the prisoners?”
“Pinette, McCulver and Bowen. Two unknowns,” said Blackmun.
“What was the middle name?” said Alex.
“McCulver. Kevin McCulver. There’s a note attached to his name. Rangers picked him up by the police cruiser at the far end of the runway. Says the driver had chased him around the car, trying to kill him with a suppressed pistol.”
They have Eli’s bomb guy.
“Interesting. Which unit is running the detention center?”
“262nd Engineering,” said Blackmun.
“Copy. Striker Two-Two is inbound. ETA five minutes. Out,” said Alex, pulling the vehicle commander’s data tablet out of the docking station attached to the dashboard.
“Sergeant Keeler, can I use this thing offline?”
“Yes, sir. Select ‘local mode’ on the first screen.”
After following the sergeant’s directions, he chose “navigation tools” from a list of offline applications and opened a map of Maine. By the time they reached MOB Sanford, he had a plan. A desperate plan with no guarantees outside of the fact that September 8th, 2019, would most likely be his last day in Maine.
Chapter 42
EVENT +21 Days
Main Operating Base “Sanford”
Regional Recovery Zone 1
Alex grabbed his rifle and turned to Sergeant Keeler in the back seat. “If anybody asks, I’m trying to get a little more information about the two unidentified prisoners. One of them might be this Duhaime guy.”
“If anybody asks,” said Keeler.
“If being the operative term,” Alex said, closing the door.
He walked through the dusty parking lot, slipping between a pair of Humvees parked in front of a corrugated steel hangar. A handwritten sign was taped to the inside of the glass door leading into the building that read “262nd Engineering.” A gray-haired, slightly overweight soldier typing at a laptop greeted Alex inside, barely looking up from his work.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“I’m here to see Captain Adler,” said Alex, looking at the empty computer stations spread throughout the sparse office. “Where did everyone go?”
“All hands on deck reinforcing the RRZ compound. Captain Adler’s across the tarmac, trying to unscrew that situation. They want Jersey barriers around the whole thing. Both sides of the fence.”
“Where’s the good captain going to find that much concrete?”
“Where else? The perimeter checkpoints. RRZ’s orders,” said the soldier. “Robbing Peter to pay Paul.”
“Perfect.”
“I’m sure we can expect even brighter decisions in the future. Do you want me to contact the captain, sir?”
“Yes. I need to see one of the prisoners.”
“You can see them right on this monitor, if you’d like,” said the staff sergeant, pointing to the laptop next to him on the desk.
Alex walked behind the desk and examined the green image. Five men sat next to each other along a wall, hands behind their backs.
“Where are they?”
“Locked inside a storage container at the back of the hangar. We had them under guard in the open until Captain Adler mobilized the company.”
“Why do they have engineers watching prisoners?”
“The RRZ didn’t want the rangers watching them, or any of the Marines. My guess is they’ll be transferred over to 4th Brigade. There was some talk of building a fenced-in area past the main runway for detainees. Some kind of tent city setup.”
“Sounds like they’re expecting more guests,” said Alex, turning from the screen to the soldier. “I can’t make an ID with this night-vision image. I need to see them in person.”
“I
’ll have to clear that with the captain. The RRZ threw a fit when they found out the ranger guys went to town on the prisoners,” he said, grabbing his ROTAC.
“Sounds like they got solid intel on the group responsible for the raid.”
“Old intel. The place was empty,” he said, raising the handheld radio. “Sir, I have a Marine captain here requesting to see the prisoners. He needs to make an ID, and the night-vision camera view isn’t cutting it.”
The staff sergeant looked up. “He wants to know if it can wait, sir?”
“The prisoner I’m trying to locate may be able to shed some light on Eli Russell’s location,” he said, staring at the screen while the staff sergeant relayed his response.
“He’d like to talk with you, sir,” he said, handing over the ROTAC.
Alex considered his approach and decided to go with direct.
“Rick, it’s Alex Fletcher. I need a favor. One of your prisoners might have information that can lead us to Eli Russell. I need to see them immediately.”
“Alex, I can’t grant you access to the prisoners. The information shaken out of them this morning didn’t pan out. The RRZ wants a proper interrogation team handling this. They’re flying in a team from somewhere. Nobody is allowed to handle the prisoners until they arrive.”
“This is a personal favor, Rick. The asshole responsible for the airport raid is the same psycho responsible for two attacks against my family. He’s disappeared, and I think he might be targeting friends of mine. I don’t have much time here. Eli has a three-hour head start.”
“They’ll throw me into one of those containers next if they find out about this. Something tells me you’re not planning on a quiet sit-down with the prisoner in question.”
Alex walked deeper into the office and whispered his response.
“I don’t think I’ll need to take it that far. Sounds like he had a little falling out with the other guy in the police cruiser. Instinct tells me it was more than an argument about who was driving. Just give me some time with the guy. Ten minutes. If I can’t get the information I need in that time, I’ll approach this from a different angle.”
“I know I’m going to regret this,” said Adler. “Put Staff Sergeant Gates on the line. The clock starts as soon as Gates steps through the door. Ten minutes.”
Alex jogged back and handed the ROTAC over to Gates, who listened to Adler’s instructions.
“I don’t think we should leave the prisoners unattended, sir,” he said, glancing nervously at Alex while Adler responded. “Understood, sir,” he said, setting the ROTAC on the desk.
“Captain Adler needs me to run a new laptop over to him at the RRZ compound. He wants you to watch over the hangar while I’m gone,” said Gates, raising an eyebrow. “The keys to the prisoner container are hanging there. In case something happens that might require you to evacuate them in the next ten minutes.”
“I suppose I could hold down the fort for you,” said Alex, suppressing a grin. “I should probably keep your ROTAC. Do you have a directory for the MOB?”
Staff Sergeant Gates stood up. “Who do you need to call?”
“Combat Controllers. Tech Sergeant Gedmin, if you know his station.”
“Preset nine,” said Gates, running his hand over his balding head. “Ten minutes.”
“Make it thirty. Please.”
“I might make it four hours…go home and have a drink. Something tells me I’m going to need one,” he said, walking toward the door with a black nylon laptop case. “Good luck, Captain. I hope whatever you got planned is worth it.”
“It’s more than worth it,” Alex said, selecting preset nine.
“Tech Sergeant Gedmin,” the phone squawked.
“Tech Sergeant, this is Captain Fletcher.”
“Good to hear your voice, Captain. Word on the street is you had a close call this morning.”
“Too close. I lost a Marine in the attack,” said Alex.
“Sorry to hear that. It wasn’t a good morning, and it just got worse,” said Gedmin. “NOMAD’s raid was a bust.”
“I heard. What if I told you I know how to find Eli?”
“I’d tell you to grab Lieutenant Colonel Grady and head over to the RRZ compound ASAP.”
“That won’t work for a number of reasons. I have something different in mind, but it requires a huge favor. One I can’t pay back.”
“Define huge.”
“The size of a Black Hawk helicopter.”
“That’s one hell of a favor,” said Gedmin.
“And I need it delivered to Captain Adler’s hangar in less than ten minutes, fueled and ready for a 115-mile, maximum-speed transit to the Belgrade Lakes area. This is a one-way trip for me, and I’m running out of time. There’s more at stake than just losing Eli Russell.”
Gedmin didn’t respond for a few seconds. “What’s your alternative plan if I can’t pull this off?”
“You don’t want to know,” said Alex.
***
Kevin McCulver thumped the back of his head against the metal wall, creating a steady, low-grade pounding rhythm to compete with the self-hating voice inside his head. The distraction technique hadn’t proven very effective. Sitting in the dark on the coarse plywood floor, all he could think about was how stupid it had been to think he was indispensable, part of Eli’s inner circle.
He kept trying to rationalize Eli’s decision. Maybe Eli had ordered him killed if it looked like they might be captured, to keep the Rangeley Lake house a secret. Possible, but deep inside, he knew it wasn’t true. Eli had used him to cull the herd, and he’d never once suspected that he was being played. None of them, including Karl Pratt, had a place at Eli’s next table. He quietly laughed at the irony of the situation. He sat in a hot, unventilated shipping container, zip-tied to the floor next to four men he had readily betrayed. They’d tear him to pieces if they discovered the truth, just like he’d stab Eli in the throat if he ever saw him again.
“Quit banging your fucking head against the wall!” someone shouted, startling him.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, resting his head against the corrugated steel.
A voice to his left started the same angry line of questions they’d rehashed at least a dozen times since their capture. He was thankful everyone was handcuffed to the container tie-down bolts. Two of the prisoners were from the correctional facility, and there was little doubt they would beat him to a pulp given the opportunity.
“How the fuck didn’t Eli know they had this much shit here? He had to know!”
McCulver stayed silent, hoping the question would go away.
“I’m talking to you, shit stain! Don’t act like you don’t know that!”
McCulver cleared his throat. “I told you. Reports from our guy in town indicated one company of Marines and a few vehicles. That’s why we planned a run-and-gun operation. A quick shake-up.”
The container jolted as the inmate pulled on his restraints.
“More like a shake and bake! Our cars were rigged to explode!” he said, kicking the plywood floor with his heels. “First chance I get, you’re a dead man.”
The guy next to him, one of the men assigned to Matt Gibbs’ squad, spoke for the first time since the soldiers locked them in the container.
“You knew everything was rigged, right? I mean, you’re Eli’s bomb guy.”
Time for some tap dancing.
“Not all of the cars were fitted with explosives. We had a primary and a secondary, in case the first car didn’t make it to its objective. Everyone driving in one of those cars knew about the explosives.”
“GI Joe said all the cars had explosives,” said a gruff voice at the back of the container.
“They made that up so you’d give them Eli. You didn’t tell them anything, did you? A bunch of helicopters took off right after they finished pulling us one at a time into the office.”
McCulver hoped floating a few of his own accusations might put a stop to this line of questioning. No
body like being called a rat.
“I didn’t say shit!” yelled the prisoner who had started the inquisition. “Maybe I should have.”
The container door swung open, causing him to squint. With the sun blazing through the doorway, he couldn’t see who had opened the container. The outline of a combat helmet appeared briefly.
“Which one of you is McCulver?” said the figure, stepping into the enclosure.
“The piece of shit right in front of you,” said an angry voice.
A gun barrel pressed into his right temple, lukewarm against his skin. “Is that right? Just nod or shake your head.”
He nodded swiftly, concerned about the situation. The gun barrel jammed into his head represented a significantly disturbing setback in their treatment. All of them had been abused upon capture, subject to sudden, short-lived beatings while they were corralled into the hangar. The situation changed quickly with the arrival of some government-looking types. The civilians put a stop to the blatant physical abuse, removing their captors from the scene. The group that took responsibility for their custody seemed less intense, like they didn’t do this for a living. The soldier pushing the business end of his rifle into McCulver’s head looked deadly serious, and he was alone. Not a good combination for someone wearing a dead sheriff’s deputy’s uniform.
“I’m going to cut you loose. If you do anything besides sit there quietly, I’ll use the same knife to spill your guts on the floor. Understood? Nod or shake.”
He nodded, spurring the soldier into action. A second later, with his shoulders nearly pressed out of their sockets, a sharp pain seared through the top of his left wrist, causing him to writhe against the floor. McCulver howled as the pain continued, burrowing into the top of his hand. A moment later, his hands snapped free.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” yelled McCulver, receiving a bloody fist to the side of his head for the question.
“You’re lucky I didn’t cut off one of your thumbs and slide the zip-tie off,” said the soldier, kicking him in the solar plexus and knocking the wind out of him.
McCulver was yanked to his feet and kneed in the right quadriceps muscle, causing an agonizing spasm. His leg felt immobile from the blow, and he couldn’t put weight on it. A second strike to the side of the thigh collapsed his leg in a series of unbearable cramps, and a forearm locked under his neck. The soldier’s hot breath washed over the right side of his face.
Point of Crisis (The Perseid Collapse Post Apocalyptic Series) Page 31