by Steven Bird
In addition, the CX91E and RX91E both had a digital zoom feature built into their holographic sighting system, with the CX model zooming out from zero to 4X, and the RX model reaching a maximum of 10X of magnification, all without the weight and bulk of a traditional rifle optic or scope.
As I pulled my pistol from its charging station in the safe, I looked at the now empty charging port and thought, I guess I’ve got a day or two at most with this thing before the batteries are depleted, depending on how much I have to use it, that is.
After I holstered my pistol, I removed my CX91 from its charging port as well. Although we didn’t typically carry our patrol carbine at my level, its use would not be out of the norm today, considering the fact that we were assigned an escort mission of one of the OWA’s most valuable and closely guarded assets.
Looking at my watch, I realized I had wasted enough time contemplating the day ahead. It was time to get to work and get on with things.
I took the employee shuttle from my apartment complex to the capital building as I usually did, yet on that day, with my patrol carbine slung securely over my shoulder, I felt the eyes of everyone on the bus staring right at me. Maybe I was just paranoid, but I felt as if everyone around me knew something was different, that it wasn’t just another day at the office for ol’ Joe Branch.
Once I arrived at work, I followed my typical morning routine of grabbing yet another cup of coffee from the ODF break room, and then took my place in line to receive my daily dosage of Symbex, metered out by medical personnel assigned to the facility.
Though not required to be taken daily, the powers-that-be had determined that a smaller dose given more frequently had the same effect as a much larger dose every two or three days, saving the OWA some of its most precious resources. No one would come right out and tell us how long we could go without the drug before signs of the virus first appeared, but I had never personally gone more than two days without a dose.
I arrived at Ronnie’s office ten minutes before my required report time. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we, Lieutenant Branch?”
“Sorry, Captain, the line was long this morning,” I muttered as the others assigned to the detail looked me up and down as if I somehow didn’t measure up. Seeing the cup of coffee in my hand, they knew I had my priorities.
“No longer than any other day,” Ronnie replied in a grumpy, dismissive tone.
Present in the room, in addition to Captain Ronnie Wilks and myself, also onboard for the escort detail were Lieutenant Don White, Lieutenant Jose Perez, and Sergeant Hamid Houbbadi.
“At least you’re not last,” Ronnie chided. “Sergeant Capelli isn’t here yet, either.”
I couldn’t help but look at each of them and wonder if they had any idea they could be seen by their Captain as being expendable. I also couldn’t help but wonder if I was the only one Ronnie had briefed in such a way. Maybe I was the expendable one? Perhaps someone else in the room thought they were there to kill me and follow through with some insane defection plan?
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a paranoid guy, riddled with self-doubt. I was, at that point in my life, quite the opposite. I had complete faith in myself; it was everyone and everything else around me that gave me pause. A lot had happened in the preceding years, and most of what I had seen, heard, and read about, shook my faith in humanity to its core.
“Captain Wilks,” Sector Chief Hildebrandt announced as he walked into the room, accompanied by an ODF officer unfamiliar to me.
Standing, Ronnie replied, “Yes, Chief.”
“Officer Hanson here will be joining your detail in lieu of Sergeant Capelli. He’s been detained elsewhere. Besides, Officer Hanson here has a bright future ahead of him, having recently been promoted to Sergeant.” Patting Hanson on the shoulder, Chief Hildebrandt added, “He’s not been officially promoted yet, but he may as well start getting in on some higher-level assignments to get ahead of the game.”
I gazed at Ronnie’s facial expression. I could see fear and confusion in his eyes. He hadn’t expected this. I could see the conflict going on within him.
“Is this a problem, Captain?” Chief Hildebrandt asked.
“No. No, sir,” Ronnie replied. “I’m sure Officer Hanson, whom I’ll soon be referring to as Sergeant Hanson, will be a great asset to us today.”
“Congratulations, Sergeant,” Ronnie said to Officer Hanson, shaking his hand to welcome him aboard.
“Very well,” Chief Hildebrandt said. “I’ll leave you men to your work. I’ll be expecting your report once the delivery has been made, Captain.”
“Yes, Chief. You’ll have it by the end of the day,” Ronnie replied as Chief Hildebrandt turned to leave the room.
“I’ll have it as soon as you’re back,” Chief Hildebrandt demanded loudly enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, affirming his authority over the operation.
“Could you get the door, Lieutenant Branch?” Ronnie mumbled quietly.
“Of course, Captain,” I replied, taking the knob and pulling it shut.
After Ronnie went through the motions of our standard security escort detail pre-brief, we walked as a group to the rear entrance of the capital, where we would be met by Sergeant Evans of the ODF vehicle and equipment division.
Once outside, we saw a Navistar Defense MRAP (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected Vehicle) pulling up just outside the vehicle access zone.
As Sergeant Evans exited the vehicle, Captain Wilks approached him and asked, “Where did you get that old thing?”
“Hell, Captain, this thing is one of the best we’ve got. They’re old by today’s standards, but they were built right in the first place. Besides, you’re only going a few miles right here in the city, right? What more do you need?”
“If you knew what we were transporting, you’d have sent one with a gun on top,” Ronnie replied with a wink.
“Ahhh, you’re haulin’ some juice,” Sergeant Evans chuckled, referring to the slang name of the Sembé virus anti-viral treatment medication formally known as Symbex.
“I didn’t say that,” Ronnie replied.
“That’s okay, Captain. Your secret is safe with me,” Evans said with a grin. “Well, you boys have fun, and try to bring her back in one piece.”
“It’ll be a walk in the park,” Ronnie said as he turned to me and said, “Lieutenant Branch, you drive. Houbbadi, you ride shotgun. White, Perez, and Hanson, you guys can sit in the back with me. I’ll be carrying the… juice, as Evans so professionally put it.”
Ah, great, I thought. Right where I can be shot in the back of the head.
Working our way across town toward the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, or the Walter Reed World Medical Center as it was now known, a few of the guys in the back chatted with Ronnie while Houbbadi and I kept our eyes peeled on what was out in front of us. We weren’t necessarily friends, so keeping up the charade of a friendly chat wasn’t expected by either of us. We were each content with our silence as we watched the city go by out the thick, bullet-resistant windshield.
Reaching Walter Reed, I looked back and asked, “Captain, where are we picking up the objective?”
“We’re being met at the Command Duty Office. It’s just off Palmer Road South,” Ronnie explained.
“Roger that, Captain,” I replied as I negotiated the sizeable armored truck through the foot traffic surrounding the facility. One can imagine just how hectic things would be around a major government medical facility in the wake of the largest medical disaster of human history.
Pulling to a stop, I set the parking brake as Captain Wilks said, “All right, you two stay up front and keep the truck running. The rest of us will meet with station security personnel and take possession of the objective. Keep your heads on a swivel.”
After a few minutes inside, Captain Wilks and the others exited the main Command Duty Office door with the case in hand. Ronnie was carrying a specially designed case that would withstand moderate impacts w
hile suspending the contents safely inside. The case also contained a cooling system that regulated the internal temperature to ensure the greatest possible longevity for the contents. Battery power provided the necessary support for the electronic lock, the onboard tracking system, and the cooling system. The unclassified answer was that the case could remain at an adequate temperature for up to four days without recharging, but who knows what it’s really capable of.
Climbing back into the truck, everyone took their seats in the back as Captain Wilks ordered, “Let’s move.”
As I drove the MRAP on the prescribed route toward the Central Detention Facility, we’d reached what I felt was the half-way point when Ronnie shouted toward the front, saying, “Hey, Joe! Let’s take the alternate route we discussed.”
Hearing mumbling amongst the others in the back, I looked to my right to see Houbbadi turning around, confused at what Ronnie had just said. I looked back to Ronnie and said, “Sure thing, Captain.”
Looking me dead in the eye, Ronnie nodded, then drew his PX40E and shot Lieutenant White directly in the forehead, causing the back of his head to explode, splattering its contents onto the interior wall of the armored vehicle. The sound of the round hitting the wall as it exited White’s head was almost as deafening as the muzzle report.
Seeing Houbaddi begin to reach for his weapon, I immediately drew my sidearm as well, shooting him in the head while his attention was focused on the ruckus occurring in the back of the MRAP. If I had it to do over again, I would have fired several shots into his torso, attempting to avoid his body armor under his arms or around the bottom of his neck. The splatter of blood and brain matter from the exit wound in his head obscured my vision on the passenger side window, as well as the portion of the front windshield directly in front of Houbbadi.
Dividing my attention between keeping the vehicle on the road and the conflict occurring inside, I heard Ronnie shouting, “Stand down, Hanson! Stand Down!”
“Damn it, Captain! What the hell?! What the hell is going on?!” Hanson shouted with fear and confusion in his voice.
“You weren’t supposed to be here. It wasn’t supposed to be you!” Ronnie shouted. “Now lower your damn weapon, and you’ll make it out of this. Don’t make me do it.”
Glancing back, I could see that both of the men had their sidearms extended, pointing them at each other. Ronnie had a calm and collected look on his face, but Hanson was in total panic mode. His gun shook uncontrollably in his hand as he struggled to steady it.
“Lower it, Hanson,” Ronnie said calmly.
Looking forward, swerving to avoid an oncoming vehicle, I heard two shots being fired in rapid succession.
“Damn it to hell, Hanson!” Ronnie shouted.
I quickly swung my sidearm toward the rear, only to see Ronnie pointing his pistol directly at me. I struggled to remain focused on him while I kept the large vehicle between the lines, narrowly avoiding several collisions in the process.
Lieutenant White lay dead in the back of the MRAP. Ronnie had managed to catch him sufficiently off guard while I dealt with Houbbadi. However, Hanson had reacted in a split second, complicating the situation.
I glanced to Hanson, then back at the road, and then back to Hanson, who lay there twitching and bleeding.
Multiple scenarios ran through my mind. Was I set up just as the others were? Was the only reason he hadn’t shot me yet because my hands were on the wheel and he needed me to bring the vehicle to a stop first? Was I just a pawn in his game?
“He’s alive,” Ronnie said. “I tried my best to avoid a kill shot.”
I could hear Hanson begin to moan and grunt, confirming what Ronnie had said. “He wasn’t supposed to be here, Joe. Chief Hildebrandt screwed everything up. That bastard always screws everything up. Hanson wasn’t supposed to be here. He’s not one of them. He’s not like them. At least, not yet.”
With a nod, Ronnie looked me squarely in the eye and said, “We’re good, right, Joe?”
Slowly lowering my pistol, I said, “Yeah, Ronnie. We’re good.”
“The bastard got me right under the collar bone,” he said as he placed his gun in his lap and reached into his vest and shirt, removing his hand to reveal blood on his fingers. “The damned bullet glanced off the edge of my vest and got me right under the damned collar bone. I don’t think it’s broken. It feels like it passed straight through. I’ll live, but we’ve gotta get him some help. I’ve got an idea. Just drive.”
“Roger that, Captain,” I replied as the full weight of the situation came bearing down on me like a ton of bricks.
Chapter Four
“So, what now?” I asked as Ronnie pulled Houbbadi’s body from the front seat and shoved it into the back of the vehicle.
“Take a left off of Wisconsin Avenue onto Yuma Street,” he said as he wiped Houbbadi’s blood from the window with Don White’s jacket. “There, see that construction site? They got started on that years ago. It was supposed to be an expansion for American University. But when the Sembé virus outbreak reached us, construction simply ceased.”
As I exited onto Yuma Street, he pointed and directed, “There, pull around between those two buildings. We don’t have a lot of time. They’ll be on us before we blink.”
“Don’t they have drones in the air watching us?” I asked.
“Not this time,” Ronnie replied. “They planned on it, but… hell, I’ll explain later,” he mumbled.
As I rounded the corner between the two buildings, he again pointed, “There. Pull up next to that Tahoe. That’s our ticket out of here. While I’m transferring the doses from this case to a container I have waiting, grab the clothes in the back seat and put them on. I guessed about your sizes. Hopefully, I was close.”
Pulling to a stop alongside the Tahoe, I quickly grabbed my CX91 carbine, climbed down from the truck, and began changing out of my uniform as Ronnie had directed. I was starting to settle into the fact that Ronnie and I were definitely a team. All of my doubts and misgivings were brushed aside at the sight of Ronnie’s foresight and planning, which obviously involved me for more than just taking out the other officers.
Once I had changed into the denim jeans, hiking boots, and the brown pullover sweatshirt, Ronnie said, “That leather jacket is yours, too. Once you’re all squared away, go back to the truck and gather the extra ammo from the others.”
Doing as he had asked, I exited the MRAP to see him opening the transport case via the digital keypad adjacent to the handle. Once the case was open, he began transferring the contents into a backpack that contained a small twelve-volt powered, soft-sided electric cooler.
“This thing was made for road trips, camping and such,” he explained. “It will work perfectly for our needs as well. I’ve got one of those fold-out solar charging systems to keep its batteries topped off during our journey, especially since we have no idea how far we’ll have to go or for how long we’ll have to travel.”
“I was starting to think you had every detail worked out,” I replied in jest.
“There’s more,” he said with a grin. Reaching into the pack, he produced a container made for breath mints and slid it open. Inside was a USB data storage device. “Remember when I said some people tried to obtain data on Symbex and were dealt with accordingly?”
“Yeah,” I replied, thinking back to our first conversation on the subject.
“One of them was a dear friend and confidant. She worked deep inside the belly of the beast as a researcher. Though security was far too tight to sneak anything out of the lab, she was able, over time, to memorize and then transcribe some vital data obtained from their years of research, trials, and error. She put together a Cliff notes version that could be used to jumpstart the reverse engineering process and get other makers of the drug up and running in far less time.”
“That’s all on there?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Ronnie replied. “So, if you find yourself separated from me at some point, and you have the pack,
don’t forget about this. It will be critical to the success of the drug’s replication.”
“So, what happened to her?” I asked, curious as to how Ronnie could have avoided being identified as one of her contacts. “How did she get the data to you without you being exposed as well?”
Pausing and placing his hand on my shoulder, Ronnie avoided the question of what had happened to his friend, and instead explained, “I read a book once where the author said, ‘every job you ever do should be to train you for something else, either for a promotion, or a new venture, something. Don’t just sit there idly by collecting a paycheck and not putting what you do every day to some important use’. For example, if you’re gonna be an HVAC technician, you should be using that time to learn the business from the ground up so you can go into business for yourself someday. Well, I’ve tried to live my life that way, and my time with the anti-terrorism unit, well, let’s just say it provided me with a vast education that is now paying big dividends. I didn’t just learn what my ‘persons of interest’ were doing, I dug deep and learned how they were doing it as well. Not only did that help me shine in that position, but it helped me to be able to put all of this together without ending up simply being another unplanned job vacancy.”
He then added, “But as much as I may seem to have things nailed down tight, what I couldn’t do was reach out and make contact with the right people on the outside from my office. We’re just going to have to wing it from here.”
Getting back to the task at hand, he said, “Get the truck warmed up and be ready to go. I’ll be right back.” He tossed me the keys as he turned and opened the back of the MRAP, pulling Hanson out and slinging him over his shoulder. He had just begun to shuffle toward the building when he paused and quickly waved for me to join him.