by Robert Brumm
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Grayson said. He smiled and took a sip from his mug.
The four men sat in silence for a moment in the farmhouse kitchen. The light morning drizzle outside had turned into a steady downpour, hammering on the old tin roof of the house. A steady drip from the ceiling in the corner of the room plunked into a cooking pot on the floor.
“Well, you know how I feel, but I’ll help you guys with the planning as much as I can,” John said. “If anything, it’ll give me a little piece of mind knowing I might keep this knuckle head alive.” He nodded in Hank’s direction. “But that’s not my fight. I need to get to my wife as soon as I can and try to get her out of the city. For the next few days, maybe a week or two, they’ll just hide in the shadows and watch her. Wait for me to make contact. But it won’t take long for their patience to wear thin. They’ll take her in and start with simple questions. When that nets nothing, more creative measures will be taken.” He glanced at Hank. “I’ve seen it plenty of times first hand.”
“Tell you what,” Grayson said. “If you agree to help us plan the attack as you’ve said, I’ll help you as much as I can to reach your wife. Weapons, transportation, and a man or two.”
Sanderson shook his head. “Having one of your guys tagging along will just slow me down.”
“We may not have your training and budget, but we can handle ourselves,” Holden said.
“That’s non-negotiable,” Grayson said to John. “You haven’t exactly earned my trust yet, Mr. Sanderson. How can I be certain you won’t march right into your office and hand over our group in exchange for your safety?”
Sanderson opened his mouth and closed it again before finally speaking. “Point taken. But whoever you set me up with better know he’s getting into some sticky shit and can handle himself. The odds of me pulling this off are pretty slim.”
“What about me?” Holden asked. He sat back in his chair with a grin on his face and crossed his arms.
“You? Please.”
“That’s right, me. I trust you even less than my dad does and I would love to watch your ass personally to make sure you don’t sell us out.” Holden leaned forward and tapped the table with his finger. “And don’t you worry, I’m more than capable of handling myself out there.”
Grayson sighed and nodded his head. “He’s right. Holden is one of my best men. You sure about this, Son?”
“I insist,” Holden said without taking his eyes off Sanderson.
“It’s settled then,” Grayson said. “We’ll need to move fast. You both need to try and save your wives as soon as possible and the only reason we were holding off on hitting Windigo is because we didn’t have a solid plan. Both of you gentlemen were just on the inside and can give us a good idea of what we’re up against.” He turned to Holden. “Go get the map, Son.”
*****
They spent the next hour going over a tattered map on yellowed paper that covered most of the table. “This corridor here looks okay,” Sanderson marked the spot with this finger. “But this room next to it isn’t storage. I’m pretty sure it’s the back wall of one of the enlisted barracks. Here, gimme the pencil.”
Between Hank and John, they corrected mistakes, added details, and included areas of the plant Grayson wasn’t even aware of. Hank watched his son-in-law as he frowned at the paper, erasing his sketch of the armory and starting over. He studied his face as he worked, trying to a recall a time in all the years he’d known John when he’d been suspicious of him. Tried to remember if there was even a second of doubt that his entire life was a lie. He couldn’t.
“Once you get inside, it’s vital to hit the armory first,” Sanderson said. “Most of the soldiers are armed at all times, but just with their service pistols. If you give them enough time, you’ll be facing shotguns and assault rifles. Not to mention heavy body armor and riot gear. If it comes to that, you guys will be in serious shit.”
“Good point,” Holden said. “Last time I checked our gear we had a few incendiary grenades. One of those babies could melt every gun in the place.”
“That’ll work, but first you have to get through a reinforced steel door with a combination lock none of us knows the code for. Got any other explosives?”
“We have plenty of C4,” Grayson said.
“That might do the trick.”
“James,” Hank said. “You mentioned before you wanted to rescue as many retiree workers as you could. What do you plan on doing with them all?”
“Bring them back here for starters. Then I’m hoping most of them will help spread the word on what’s really going on in there.”
“Over the past couple of years we’ve slowly been building a network of our people in the media,” Holden said. “We’ve got contacts in most of the major news outlets who are loyal to our cause. We’re going to videotape as much as we can when we’re on the inside and interview the workers later if they’re willing.”
“We’ll do our best to flood the media at the same time from as many sources as possible,” Grayson added. “The State will try to cover it up and spin the facts, but just maybe it’ll be enough to make a difference. Plant a seed of discontent. It’s time to take our world back. Some say this was a great country once, a land of freedom. I’d like to make it great again.”
“It’s not a bad plan,” Sanderson said. “I’ll give you that much. But I have serious doubts how effective it’s going to be. I think in the end it’s just going to get you all killed for nothing.”
“Son, the first sixty years of my life were for nothing,” Grayson scowled. “Every day since then I’ve tried my best to make up for that. Maybe one day when your hair is as gray as mine, you’ll understand.”
“Then let’s get back to work. I’m turning gray just listening to you drone on.”
Grayson laughed and the others soon joined in as the tension in the room evaporated. They returned to their map and continued planning the attack.
Chapter 23
His left eye was completely swollen shut and it would only take a few more blows for his right to follow. After everything he’d been through, that was the most terrifying thought of the day. Not being able to see what was coming next. Funny how quickly the concept of day and night had already become obscure. He had no idea which it was, being locked in the windowless room as the hours melted into one another. The merciful escape of sleep was kept from him like everything else since it all started.
He turned his head, wincing at the pain in his neck and spit more blood on the floor, adding to the mess already there. He carefully removed the red soaked rag from his hand the last goon had tossed at him before leaving, right after his ring finger hit the floor. He held up his hand to the light, trying not to move his remaining two fingers as it just made the pain worse. At least the bleeding had slowed.
The last guy didn’t even ask him any questions. Never said a word. He simply took a few laps around the chair before picking up the bolt cutters leaning against the wall and cut off another digit. They had his hands bound so tightly behind him on the chair he couldn’t so much as wiggle his fingers, a commodity that was quickly diminishing in numbers. He didn’t know which sound was worse, the snap of the bone from the steel teeth or his finger bouncing off the concrete floor. He was only able to hear both of them last time because his throat was so dry and sore his screams barely made a sound.
At least his hands were free for the time being. Only his ankles were bound to the metal chair. But it didn’t matter much. At this point, he was so weak he doubted if he could even stand on his own.
He caught himself as his head dipped and he snapped to attention, fighting the strong urge to let sleep overcome him. He learned their routine. He knew they were watching him, always watching, waiting for him to doze for just a minute before storming in and starting all over again. He knew if he could just stay awake he’d earn himself a few extra minutes of peace.
The door opened and he recoiled out of reflex, a pathetic s
queak escaping from his throat. It was too soon. They were changing the rules of the game, taking it up a notch, and it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair at all.
“Jesus Christ,” the voice at the door hissed. “For the love of…Hey! Somebody get me some water.” Voices in the hallway. Shuffling of feet.
The door closed and the man approached. A hand rested gently on his shoulder. “Those bastards,” he whispered. “Raptor. Can you hear me, Son?”
He opened his good eye, taking in a pair of expensive looking wing tips in front of him. The hand still rested on his shoulder and squeezed it.
“Carter?”
Carter. It was the first time any of them had used his name. Probably a new tactic. Something one of the Psy Ops bastards on the other side of the glass suggested to earn his paycheck.
“Carter, it’s me, Victor. Have some water.”
He finally looked up and saw the first friendly face in what felt like weeks. Victor Young held out a glass of water and carefully placed the rim to his cracked lips. The cold water burned like fire going down, cramping his stomach and almost came back up.
Young dragged a chair from the corner of the room and sat directly in front of Carter. “Those bastards,” he said again. “I can’t believe they’re treating you like this. Trust me, when all of this nonsense is over, heads are going to roll.”
Carter struggled for words, overcome with emotion at the sight of his supervisor. “Brother,” he finally managed. “Please help me. Tell them I don’t know anything. It’ll mean something coming from you.”
“Shhh,” Young patted his knee. “I’m doing everything thing I can. We’ll get this mess sorted out, trust me.” He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and offered it to Carter, motioning at his bloody finger stumps.
Young glanced at the one-way mirror on the far end of the room and leaned forward. “If I’m going to be able to help you I have to know everything, Carter. I can’t pull any strings unless I know every angle, every detail. It’s not too late to recover from this, but they have to know where your loyalties lie. Do you honestly think he’d suffer through all this for you if the roles were reversed? What are you holding out for?”
Carter groaned. “Goddammit, Victor. I keep telling them and I’m telling you, I don’t know anything. I haven’t seen Razorback for over a week. He never told me anything. Why can’t they just believe that?”
“Carter, it’s me. Enough with the lies. Think of how it looks from their perspective. You’ve worked with Sanderson for over ten years and it’s well documented you two are friends outside of the agency. How can you think for a second they’d believe you don’t know anything? Sanderson just woke up that morning and decided to go rogue, just like that? My operators simply do not jeopardize their lives and their career on a whim. Especially not John.”
Carter hung his head, trying to ignore the searing pain going up his entire arm. “He was going through a rough patch with his wife, but I swear, that’s the last thing we talked about besides work. I didn’t even know his father-in-law was still alive until they brought me in here. I was just as shocked as anybody else when I watched that security tape.”
He lifted his head and looked Young in the eye. “I just want to go home now. Denise must be worried sick. Just let me go home and I’ll help with the investigation anyway I can. I swear. My loyalties lie with the State. You know that, Brother.”
Young sighed and nodded. “You really don’t know anything, do you? You’re being completely honest?”
“Of course,” Carter smiled.
Young rose to his feet and nodded at the mirror. Seconds later, the door opened and two men entered, one holding a syringe.
“What’s going on?” Carter looked to his director for answers.
“I’m sorry to see you go, Raptor. You’re a good operator with big shoes to fill. Take solace in the fact they decided to let you fulfill your final patriotic duty to the State.”
Carter barely noticed as one of the men stood behind him and placed his hands on his shoulders, preparing for resistance. He barely felt the prick of the needle as it pierced his skin. Tears silently fell down his cheeks, finding their way into the many cuts and fissures on his face.
“Denise,” he said. “Keep an eye out for her, would you? Make sure she’s okay.”
Young put his hand on Carter’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Brother. Your girlfriend is fine. As a matter of fact, she’s in another room just down the hall.”
The drug was quickly having an effect on Carter. The corners of his vision grew dark and his hearing was starting to fade. “What?” he managed to say.
“I just spoke to Denise before I came to see you,” Young said, his warm smile gone. “I can’t make any promises, but I think I’ll be able to get you two assigned to the same boiler room. Maybe your pod will be right next to her.”
Carter tried to lunge at Young. The man behind him grabbed him and slammed him back into the chair. “You bastard!” Carter fought to stay awake and resisted the overwhelming urge to let the sedative take him under. “You’re not here to help me at all. You’re just another part of the game.”
Young crouched down so he was face to face with Carter. “Don’t take it so personally, Brother. As you know, tradition says operators are cremated straight away after retirement as a sign of respect. But in your case, we needed to make an exception, and the FDR needs warm bodies more than ever.”
Carter found his anger slipping away as Young stood and went for the door. He muttered something to the other two men in the room, but Carter didn’t hear it. It wasn’t so bad. His pain was gone and a pleasant numbness washed over him. The game was over, and he allowed himself to close his good eye and let the warm darkness take him.
Young closed the door behind him, surprised to see Rebecca Devlin waiting for him in the corridor. He’d only seen the director of the agency in person twice during his twenty year career. The last time was over five years ago when he was promoted to district three supervisor. Devlin was one of the most powerful people in the UFN. She was one of the handful that reported directly to the Father, and therefore was excused from retirement. Devlin would be allowed to serve the State until her natural death, something that wasn’t too far off, judging by her appearance.
“Victor.” She smiled, revealing unnaturally white teeth. “So good to see you again.”
“Sister Devlin, what a surprise it is to see you, Ma’am.” He pointed to the door behind him. “I was just finishing up with one of the men connected to the traitor.”
“Yes, I watched the whole thing from the next room. Good job in there. Just as I would have handled it myself.” Devlin erupted into a coughing fit, covering her mouth with one hand, holding up her index finger with the other. The coughing tapered off and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Let’s sit down for a moment, Victor. Have a little chat.” She motioned at the interrogation room door across the hall.
“With all due respect, I think we’d be more comfortable in my office, Sister. It’s just on the other side of the building.” Young turned around and realized the interrogator who had cut off Raptor’s fingers was standing behind him.
“More comfortable, perhaps. But I think this particular room is a more appropriate setting.” Devlin entered the room and the goon behind Young placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him through the entry before closing the door.
Chapter 24
Viper knocked on the door and shifted his weight to his other foot. He swallowed and wished he’d taken a swig of water before getting up from his desk. He was about to knock a second time when the voice from beyond the door beckoned him in.
He opened the door and hoped his attempt to hide the shock on his face was successful. It hadn’t even been a full day, and every trace of Victor Young was gone from the office. From the artwork on the walls to his personal mementos and knickknacks. Gone. Even the lingering smell of his cigar smoke that haunted his office long after he’d gone home for the day
was absent. Scrubbed clean and replaced by the subtle odor of disinfectant.
“Viper, please have a seat.” Rebecca Devlin sat behind Young’s desk. She looked especially small and frail behind the massive mahogany desktop dominating the room. A man he’d never seen before sat in the corner behind her. He regarded Viper with cold eyes and a face devoid of all emotion. Viper sat down and cleared his throat, wishing more than ever for that sip of water.
Devlin cracked a smile and looked around the room. “I know it must seem strange, me sitting in your supervisor’s office. Trust me, these are temporary accommodations for me. I have no intention of running this district myself. I just want to be sure everything is squared away here before I head back to Washington.”
She blinked at him and kept smiling. Was he supposed to say something? He cleared his throat again and nodded. “Yes, Sister.”
She finally looked away and picked up a tablet from the desk, the only thing on it. She swiped her finger across the screen a few times and sat back in her chair. “Rickard Hugg. Call sign Viper. Twenty-four years old, earned operator mission status three years ago. Two commendations in the line of duty despite receiving four disciplinary demerits for reckless behavior and taking unnecessary risks.” She looked up at Viper for a moment before returning to the screen. “It’s noted here that it was Brother Young’s opinion you showed too much aggression and emotion in the field.” She set the tablet down and clasped her fingers together. “I do believe he was considering suspending your mission status so you could receive additional training.”
Viper could feel the man in corner staring at him and he risked a glance into his cold eyes. It just made him more nervous. “Yes, Sister. I mean, I wasn’t aware of that, but if you say so, then I believe it.”
“I understand you worked several times with Razorback, is that correct?”