by Reed, N. C.
“I wasn't a spy,” he told her with a frown. “I just used the radio I was given. Haven't got a clue how it worked, to be honest. Tandi probably does. He's a geek like that.”
“Nothing wrong with us geeks, now,” Leon didn't look up. “I can't tell you anything other than he was definitely using the HF bands. The packet was tight, too. Way too small to fully intercept, even if we had the gear to break it, which we probably don't,” he added absently.
“Probably?” Clay and Millie both said at the same time.
“What?” Leon looked up, still focused on the problem in front of him.
“You said probably,” Millie told him. “Does that mean you might be able to?”
“Well, sure,” he shrugged. “We can copy the burst on a disc, assuming we can get it all, and I've got a program-,”
“Of course, you do,” Millie smiled fondly.
“-that might work it out,” Leon continued as if she hadn't said anything. “But I doubt we can get it all. We're just catching a little bit of data. That means that whoever this is, they're either transmitting only a few words, maybe in a code for instance, or else we're missing most of the message. What we got could be bleed over from another wavelength, and we missed it,” he shrugged. “There are so many variables here I'd need to write them down to figure it all.”
“Honest, no bullshit answer, Leon,” Clay demanded. “Can you decode that or not.”
“There is no answer to that,” Leon shook his head. “I told you, the program might work or it might not. It's just a commercial program. This is not new methodology, really, but the tech is very new because it was very popular to use. Always being updated and improved. I read once that industrial espionage agents would use this kind of stuff to shoot data out of wherever they were spying. No way to catch them carrying anything out, because they weren't carrying anything out.”
“I don't care about industrial espionage, Leon,” Clay managed to keep his calm. “I care about whether or not this is one of that Worthy's idiots, sending information down the line to him. Or them. Whatever,” he waved aside the irrelevancy.
“I, don't, know,” Leon repeated slowly, trying to hammer his point home. “There is no way, and I mean none, to determine where this is coming from. That's the value, the appeal, of data bursts. It's incredibly difficult to track in on it. Probably why you were using it. You get one shred of something, assuming you get anything, then it's gone. We only got this because Millie saw the meter twitching. We still had to dial the gain up high just to get it. We can monitor the frequency, see if it repeats, and try to grab it on disc. If we can get it, then I can put it through the program, but,” he raised a hand, index finger pointing skyward, “if this is a military setup, then there is zero chance I'll be able to break it. I don't have that kind of gear. Never imagined I'd need it, and doubt I could have gotten it, anyway.”
“So, all we can do is hope it repeats, then,” Clay sounded disgusted.
“I'm afraid so,” Leon replied. “There is a limit to what we can do with the gear we have. This wasn't a scenario we ever thought we'd need,” he held his hands out to his side, palms up, in a gesture of helplessness.
“Not your fault,” Clay assured him. “We shouldn't need it. None of this was supposed to be a problem. Not for us at least.”
“It's still not, really,” Millie pointed out.
“It could become ours if we aren't very careful,” Clay told her. “Okay. Stay on it, and make sure everyone else knows what to look for. I want you two in here tomorrow at the same time you heard it today, just in case the sender is on a schedule. Make that the next several days. Adjust the duty roster to make sure you two are here.”
“We aren't working tomorrow,” Leon told him carefully, seeing a well-planned day off going down in flames.
“You are now.”
-
“No, I doubt we'd be able to decode it,” Tandi was shaking his head less than thirty minutes later. Clay had explained everything Leon and Millie had shared. More or less.
“Why?” Clay asked.
“Dude, do you not remember us having to wait for the signal to unscramble so we could hear what it said?” Tandi raised an eyebrow. “Those scramblers were strictly end-to-end devices. One on Command's end, the other on ours. No other device, anywhere, could decipher it because they didn't have the right code. It's what made that kind of communications ideal for what we were doing.”
“Oh,” Clay replied, unconsciously mimicking Millie from less than a hour ago.
“I forgot who I was talking to,” Tandi snorted. “Look, your nephew is right. Both of them are. If it's a standard commercial unit, then he can probably break it, assuming he can grab the entire thing, which I doubt. If it's Milspec, then forget it. Even built by the lowest bidder, it's still damn near unbreakable.”
“Damn near is not unbreakable,” Clay argued. Tandi sighed, resisting the urge to facepalm.
“Clay,” he said patiently, “the NSA uses Cray supercomputers to try and break those ciphers all the time. Or did, anyway. Their success rate is not optimal, to say the least. Last I looked, even your genius niece and nephew don't have access to a Cray, assuming any survived.”
“Oh.” It was the phrase of the day, despite being only one short word.
“If whoever is sending these packets is even half-way smart, the kids won't catch another one, anyway,” Tandi shrugged. “The frequency and the time will change each time, and only the end data user will know the freq and the time. Standard security measures. We used them ourselves,” he raised an eyebrow at his boss for emphasis.
“Stop doing that,” Clay complained. “I had you for that so I didn't have to know how it worked.”
“This is why officers are considered lazy,” Tandi pointed an accusing finger at him. “You can't do it yourself, so you order someone else to do it.”
“Don't you have work to do?” Clay demanded. He stalked away before a laughing Tandi could reply.
-
All of them had been right. They had been unable to intercept another burst, despite a week of trying. Schedules were rearranged to keep someone watching for it around the clock, but nothing came of it. No twitching meter, no rush of sound, no nothing. Wherever the initial transmission had come from, it wasn't being repeated, at least not on that frequency.
“Go back to the regular schedule tomorrow,” Clay told Leanne as he officially gave up. “There's no reason to continue this. We're not getting anywhere and it's wearing you guys out.”
“Okay.” It was a sign of how tired she was that Leanne didn't say more, simply nodded and kept working.
“Get some rest, Tiny Terror,” he rubbed the top of her head softly.
“I'm not tiny,” came the obligatory complaint.
“You're still my Tiny Terror,” he bent and kissed the top of her head before hugging her gently. For once she didn't object again, but simply hugged his arm as she smiled to herself.
“I'm headed home if you happen to need me,” he said, moving for the door.
“Got it.”
-
A week of listening didn't produce any results, but the day after Clay had ordered them to stand down, they did get a surprise.
“Bossman, this is Scope, on The Roof,” Nate called from the cupola. The Roof had become an unofficial name at first, but was gradually becoming more popular.
“Go for Bossman,” Clay replied. He had been cleaning the hooves of his favorite horse after a ride around the area to 'take the starch out' of the young stallion. He was till stamping his feet as Clay tried to check him over.
“We got vehicles incoming,” Nate reported. “Unless I miss my guess, our visitors are returning.”
“Roger that,” Clay immediately grabbed his gear and started that way. “If Poncho is nearby, have him meet them on the pad. I'm on the way.”
“Roger that.”
-
It was only the one Hummer this time Clay noted, making his way around to the
pad. Adcock was talking to Poncho as they waited. Both saw Clay at the same time.
“Hello again,” Adcock smiled.
“Welcome back,” Clay replied, accepting the outstretched hand. “How goes it?”
“It's a mixed bag, to be honest,” Adcock admitted. “Got time for a chat?”
“Sure.”
-
“So, what brings you back this way so soon?” Clay asked once they were situated in his office.
“We went through Jordan,” Adcock began. “Met with the Mayor and with the militia commander, Dawson. Seems like they're trying to get things going again, and they gave you a glowing recommendation, which I admit surprised me after our conversation,” he raised an eyebrow.
“Well, it surprises me as well,” Clay admitted. “Though I am glad to hear it. Maybe we'll be able to make nice after all.”
“We visited for a couple hours before we headed out, down that back road,” Adcock continued. “I don't know when you were on that road last, but it turned out to be in decent shape. You were definitely right about it being a back road, though. More twists and turns than a corkscrew. You were right about obstacles as well. We must have hit ten downed trees in the first four or five miles. We made camp on a small farm about ten miles south of town. No one was around, but there was a well we could use, so we stayed the night there.”
“Next morning it was more of the same, with trees, junk cars, even glass and plain old trash blocking the road. We made another five miles before I decided to give up and turn around. We came back through Jordan and took the interstate south, like you originally suggested. While it was a mess, we were able to make it through without near as much difficulty as we were having on that little road.”
“We got to the Lewiston exit, and found it about half-way blocked. Took us a little time to clear it, but we managed to get it done. After hearing about your problems with that group in Huntsville, I was surprised they hit you first.”
“That was probably our doing,” Clay admitted. “We had three gun battles with their group, eliminating each one of their elements completely. We assume that was what triggered them to come north after us. In our defense, they attacked us all three times.”
“Might explain it,” Adcock agreed. “Anyway, it was more of the same after that. Obstacles in the road every mile or so. It's almost as if they don't want visitors,” he added sarcastically.
“They may not,” Clay shrugged. “Like I said, we haven't had any contact with them at all. We're trying very hard to stay in our spot with our heads down. Not always working, I admit, but we're trying.”
“Anyway, we made it roughly half-way before we decided to make camp for the night. During the night we had a few of what seemed to have been false alarms, but I'm reasonably certain that someone was trying to get into our camp. At that point, after talking with Flores and my senior NCO, I decided to pull back. While I've got the strength, I think, to punch my way through, that sort of defeats the purpose if I end up looking like I'm going to war with whoever is out there.”
“I can see that,” Clay was starting to get a nagging suspicion about Adcock's return visit. “So, what did you decide to do?”
“We backed away and came back to your friend's truck stop to bivouac for tonight,” Adcock informed him. “And, I came down here looking for advice. You know these people, some of them at least. By that I mean this is your home area so you would know better than I how to approach people in this area. I really don't mean them any harm; I just need to get in there to investigate whether they've had any contact with this idiot or any other idiots that may be following him.”
“Well,” Clay sat back, thinking carefully, “truth is, I don't really know them. I left here at seventeen to join the Army. I came home twice in ten years. Once after basic, and once after my second tour in Afghanistan. Until I left the service and came home last year, I hadn't been back since. While it's possible I might know a handful of people there, especially if there are people there from Peabody, the odds are that I'm not going to be any help to you, really.” He thought for another minute or so as Adcock waited.
“Let me make a call,” Clay said finally.
-
“I might know some of them, still,” Greg Holloway nodded after hearing what Clay wanted. “If any of their Sheriff's deputies or maybe some of Lewiston PD survived, I would probably know them, even if just slightly. As far as friends go, I don't really, or didn't really, have any friends in town. But,” he rubbed his chin, “have you thought about whether or not some of the people from Peabody might have fled there?”
“I did, yeah,” Clay nodded. “But not until he started asking me about what kind of people they were,” he added.
“Well, Lewiston didn't have someone like Toby, at least that I know of, leading a criminal element out of Nashville into their area. Sure, they might have eased over that way once in a while, but they hadn't yet branched out that far in power, at least not that I had heard. And our run-in with them here should have made sure that they didn't move south even after the lights went out.”
“So, it's possible they're still moderately alright?” Clay asked before Adcock could.
“It's possible,” Greg agreed with a nod. “I'd even say probably if it wasn't for the likelihood that they behaved just like others did and wasted their resources. Which they probably did,” he shrugged. “It was right after harvest, though, and it's a rural area. If they didn't see the violence we did, or have some kind of communist bullshit seizures like old man Holman tried to run, then they probably did reasonably okay. I'd go so far as to say they even had some tractors that still run, and quite a few old vehicles. If they worked together, then. . .yeah. They could make it okay. For a while, anyway.”
“Well, the roadblocks they've thrown up indicate they aren't interested in visitors,” Adcock sighed.
“Or maybe they just aren't interested in some visitors,” Greg replied. “As in, visitors who are using military rigs and running around looting, raping and killing anyone they come across.”
“Now that makes sense,” Clay agreed. “If they had anyone watching the highway, or if they've talked to anyone who has been out and about, then they're likely aware that there has been a good deal of raiding like that. The roadblocks you've seen may simply be their way of trying to prevent, or at least discourage that kind of thing in their area.”
“Your prowlers were probably hunters, trying to get an idea of who you were and what you were after,” Greg continued. “See if they could ease in close enough to listen to what you had to say.”
“Probably a good thing you had your watch in pairs,” Clay commented. “If not, they may have tried to take one prisoner.”
“That would have made me have to move on the town,” Adcock said grimly. “I couldn't let something like that go.”
“No, you couldn't,” Clay agreed.
“I still need to get in there,” Adcock repeated, rubbing his face tiredly. “I know I sound like a broken record, but it's true. Any suggestions?”
Clay thought about that for a time, running over possibilities in his mind. He wouldn't mind getting into Lewiston himself, just to see what was going on somewhere else in the world. It was a selfish desire in some ways, he admitted, but at the same time it was good for the farm, and even for Jordan, to know what was going on there.
“Busting past the roadblocks is an invitation for a fight,” Greg was saying.
“That is true,” Clay agreed, his decision at least partly made. He looked at Adcock and smiled faintly.
“Tell me Captain. Can you ride a horse?”
-
Adcock had seven men and women other than himself who could at least sit a horse. All of them had been ordered to volunteer. The plan was rather simple.
“We'll trailer the horses to where you camped that night,” Clay said. “We'll make sure we get there with light left, and see if we can get someone to talk to us. I doubt it will happen, but we can see. Next morning,
we saddle up and ride into town. I don't know exactly where you were so I can't figure how far from town you were in that spot. But however long it takes us to get there, we leave town in the afternoon with one hour more than that to get back. I don't want us trying to ride in the dark, or even in a hurry so long as we're on pavement. Horses don't always do well on pavement to start with, and running just makes it worse.”
“You keep saying 'we',” Greg noted. “Who all is 'we'?” Aside from Lake and his men,” he indicated Adcock.
“I'm still thinking on that,” Clay admitted. “I had thought about taking one of two of the boys, and letting them search for their families. I know Zach can ride, and Gordy can, of course. I've seen Corey taking lessons from Charlie, but I've no idea how well that's gone.”
“Could take Abby, or Sam,” Greg mentioned.
“No,” Clay was shaking his head. “Not on horseback, at least not this time. If there's a next time, I'll think about it, but taking either of them is inviting trouble. Both have already been through a great deal as it is. If things are worse than we hope, we might be handing them right into that kind of thing again.”
“Makes sense,” Greg agreed.
“There are two women in my group that are going,” Adcock looked concerned. “Should I leave them behind?”
“That has to be your call,” Clay shrugged. “Your two women troopers are soldiers, not young women who have already been traumatized by would be kingpins.”
“I think they can hold their own,” Adcock said after a few seconds in thought. “I will explain it to them however. Give them the opportunity to back out if they desire.”