Bitter Tide

by Jack Hardin

  This time, they didn’t fall away.

  A tangled mess of dirty blonde hair peeked up above the top edge of the cinder blocks. The man was giving it his all, and as his face began to appear Ellie could see that it was flushed red as the man held his breath and struggled to pull himself up. She slid her finger off the trigger guard and aimed just to his left. She slowly squeezed the trigger.

  Snap.

  Concrete exploded from the wall as Ellie’s round tore into the cinder block and exited the other side.

  The surprised man slid back but surprisingly didn’t let go. His head reappeared, and he struggled up again. He threw an arm over the top and heaved himself up, his chest now leaning on the top of the wall.

  She could picture his feet struggling like a frantic mouse on the other side of the wall as they raced to find purchase. Using his arms, he pulled more and came up another few inches. Another half a foot and he would be able to straddle the wall and drop to the other side. He hadn’t heeded her warning shot.

  That left Ellie only one choice.

  She heard Jet’s voice advising the teams that they had secured the house. Shots in the steel building had ceased.

  Ellie put the man in her reticle and spoke into her mic. “Medic. Make your way to the inside southeast quadrant of perimeter wall. Man down.” She slowly breathed out.

  Then she fired.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The round had punched through his right hand. She had aimed just below his fingertips on the hand that was extended the furthest from his body. She could hear him howling from the ground on the other side.

  She waited and watched. No one else manifested. Three minutes later Jet called the all clear, and now that he had agents freed up he stationed one near each inside corner of the compound, directing them to watch the perimeter.

  Ellie shuffled down the tree. She saddled her gear and jogged through the woods toward the front entrance to the compound. She trotted past the gate and into the compound that was now swarming with department vehicles. A Kevlar vest sat heavily across her chest, hidden beneath a wooded polo, and it rubbed against the soft flesh of her neck as she moved. She looked toward her left, toward the back end of the property, and saw three agents huddled over the man she had wounded. Mark was a couple cruisers over, speaking with the FBI. Garrett was standing near his Expedition, wearing an agency ball cap and sunglasses. He had his fingers at his ear, listening. He nodded at what he was hearing and then noticed Ellie. “Hey, good job.”

  Ellie motioned in the direction of the man she had shot. “What’s the damage?” she asked.

  “He may not be able to give anyone the bird anymore, but he’ll be fine.”

  “Did we get them?” she asked.

  “No. Jet said Oswald and Smith are still unaccounted for.”

  “Dawson?” she asked expectantly.

  “No. I’m going in the house. Come with me.” An agent came out the front door. Garrett gestured toward Ellie. “Bruce, take Ms. O’Conner’s gear, please, and secure it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ellie unslung her rifle. She cleared the chamber and removed the magazine, returning it to her waist pack. She handed off her tree seat, rifle, and utility belt to the officer who walked her belongings over to an agency truck.

  The interior was dark. Dirty, cream-colored linoleum floors lined the front entrance into the kitchen, and dark wood-paneled walls formed the interior. They walked into the kitchen where seven people—five men and two women—were sitting on the floor next to the table, their hands cuffed behind their backs, a steel cable wrapped through their arms until they were to be escorted off the premises. She surveyed faces that were impassive, stoic. One of the men was even grinning against a nose that was bleeding and appeared broken. None of the faces belonged to their leader.

  Jet materialized behind her. He pointed to the man with the broken nose. “That’s the gentleman who opened fire on team Charlie.”

  “Everyone all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Lucky for them he seems to have been one of the few people around here who didn’t spend enough time at their practice range.”

  Garrett, addressing Jet, said, “Tear this compound up. I didn’t storm in here today to not come away with Oswald. He’s here somewhere. Find out where.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Garrett brought out his handgun and started down the main hallway. Ellie unholstered her Glock 23 and drew the slide back, making it hot.

  She followed Garrett through the house. They had reviewed old blueprints of the home earlier in the day. Now, as they assessed it in person, they took special notice of where someone could hide. The attic had been cleared. There was no basement. The house was built on a concrete slab and had no crawl space. Together, Ellie and Garrett worked through the master bedroom, tapping the walls, tugging and prodding at the carpet, double-checking the closets. They moved into the master bath, the guest bath, and two more bedrooms before entering what had been set up as a leisure room of sorts.

  Ellie touched her mic. “Glitch. Run back tapes from earlier when we saw Oswald and Smith enter the compound. Confirm again they didn’t exit. We don’t have them.”

  “You got it.”

  A green felted pool table sat in the middle of the floor, and a couch sat against the far wall facing a flat screen TV. A refrigerator in the corner hummed loudly like it was about to give out. A bedroll in one corner, beer cans on the floor. Cardboard boxes up to the ceiling in another corner. She slid the boxes around and peered behind them. Nothing. She examined the contents of the boxes. They were filled with Magpul 30 round magazines and military MREs. There was no sign of anyone hiding in the room.

  “Glitch,” she said into her mic. “You still have a drone on the house?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Anyone on the roofs? Any irregularities?”

  “Negative.”

  She paused and thought. There were only two options before them. Either Oswald and Smith were hiding somewhere or they had managed to get away. The former was the strongest possibility. They had drones in the air during the entire operation, and the feeds had been closely monitored prior to the raid. Last they had seen, Oswald entered this house from the front door and hadn’t left. He hadn’t even gone out onto another area of the property. Which meant that he was still here or somehow he had slipped out unnoticed. “We’re sure the attic is secure?” she asked. She knew the answer. They wouldn’t have sounded the all clear unless it was.

  “Yes,” Jet replied. “And we’re not getting anything out of these morons in the kitchen.”

  Garrett said, “Let’s find them, people. We’re not leaving without them.”

  Attics, closets, under beds, and behind furniture. Ellie walked across the room to the window and checked the lock. It was closed, locked. She moved to the side of the room and slowly checked the paneling and the carpet for seams. She stepped around the hutch that held the television and continued her track forward. She came to the couch and then, with a hard push, sent it away from the wall. Nothing seemed out of place. She pushed the couch back and, as she did so, the tip of her right boot felt a give. She slid the couch back again, pushing harder this time and moving it completely out of the spot where it had been sitting. She pressed her foot into the carpet again and it gave more than it should have. She holstered her gun, got on her knees, and pressed down with both hands. The carpet depressed like a tiny trampoline. Ellie came back to her feet and stepped up to the wall.

  Garrett came over. “What are you seeing?”

  A tiny strand of carpet stood out from beneath the grimy baseboard. She bent down, grabbed it, and pulled. It lifted a few inches, and after gaining a tighter grip she pulled harder. The carpet came back, and Ellie immediately felt the temperature around her turn cooler. Garrett groaned. She looked down and shook her head. “Well done, Oswald. Well done.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Eli Oswald gave a final push upwards, and the severed
tree stump gave way and light poured down into the tunnel, temporarily blinding him. He heaved it aside and scurried up the last few rungs before falling into a dry carpet of pine needles and scattered leaves. Curtis Smith huffed as he pulled his large frame up behind Oswald and then slid the stump back over the hole. They took a minute to catch their breath. Oswald looked in the direction of the compound, but he couldn’t see it. It was only sixty yards away, but from where he was sitting the trees and the unkept growth on the forest floor blocked a clear view.

  “What now?” Smith said angrily. “I’m so pissed. We were on such a good roll.”

  Oswald rubbed the loose dirt off his forearms. “It’s Dawson, man. That’s how they got to us. No other way I can think of. I should’ve been more resolute in getting Ronnie. They would have never known it was us if Ronnie didn't talk.” He spit then set his jaw hard. “We’re gonna regroup, that’s what. First we’ve got to lay low. Now they’re onto us. It won’t be like it was before.”

  “Dammit. We were doing so good too.”

  Oswald came up into a crouch. “We’ve gotta go. They’ll find the tunnel soon enough, and I don’t want to be within a Montana mile of near here, my man.”

  “Where’re we goin’?”

  “We aren’t going anywhere. We’re splittin’ up. Lay low and don’t get caught.”

  “How will I find you?”

  “I’ll reach out when it’s time, my man. Might be a Montana minute. You should go up to Tennessee and visit Janey. They don’t know about her.”

  “Good idea.”

  He clapped a hand on Smith’s shoulder. “Be careful, my man. Once everything dies down, me and you will come back right as rain, yes siree.” Then Eli Oswald stood up and disappeared into the woods.

  * * *

  Ellie held her hand out. “I need your light.” Garrett unsnapped his small flashlight and handed it to her. She clicked it on, got on her stomach, and peered down the hole. A makeshift ladder assembled with two-by-fours ran through the home’s foundation and into the soil beneath. “It terminates...ten feet down,” she said. “And tunnels north.” She examined the ladder for anything other than wood or nail heads: wires, a metal or plastic box, switches. Seeing nothing, she squinted down at the end of the ladder and saw boot prints in the dirt. She stood back up.

  Garrett had already notified Glitch to reposition the drones over the woods and further down each end of the road. Then he had told Jet to send his men north into the woods and begin a search.

  To Ellie’s surprise, Mark entered the room. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I conscripted him for the search,” Garrett said. “That’s a priority over keeping the other agencies in line.”

  “I think they’re good,” Mark said. “They’re hanging back waiting for us to give them the go ahead.”

  “They’ll be waiting a while.”

  “Is that what I think it—?” Mark asked.

  “Escape hole,” Garrett interjected.

  Mark stepped toward it and peered down, let out a low whistle.

  Ellie slid to the edge of the opening and dangled her feet inside.

  “What are you doing?” Garrett asked. “You’re not going down there, Ellie. Let Jet’s guys do it. It could be rigged.”

  “Do you want to find Dawson or not?” Ellie said.

  “Ellie—”

  “Look,” she interrupted. “We don’t have a bomb squad on site. I don’t see anything on the ladder. The soil at the bottom isn’t freshly turned, so the odds are against it being rigged. Might as well be me.” Still, Garrett could be right, so Ellie intended to bypass the ladder altogether and hope for the best. Mark stepped back when she grabbed the edge and started to lower herself down.

  “Okay,” Garrett said, albeit reluctantly.

  Ellie brought her body down into the narrow cavity until her arms were straight and she was holding on by just her fingertips. She let go and landed on her feet. Nothing happened. She ducked down and shined her light down what was a narrow tunnel with no light source. Wood supports ran across the ceiling and down the sides every five or six feet, clearly intended to prevent a cave-in.

  “Mark, you coming?” she called up.

  Mark looked at his boss. Reluctantly, Garrett nodded at him.

  Mark, who felt more comfortable in an office than in some crazy man’s escape hole, sighed. “Coming.” He maneuvered his legs into the hole.

  Ellie told him to bypass the ladder and then crouched into the tunnel and moved out of Mark’s drop zone.

  Ten seconds later he was in, holding his elbow and grimacing.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Fine. Just scraped it on the foundation coming down.”

  “More respectful than a paper cut, I guess.”

  “Shut it. Let’s go.”

  She took the lead and spoke into her mic, “It’s heading due north, Garrett. As far as the light shows, I don’t see any turns yet.”

  “Copy.”

  The tunnel was narrow, less than five feet high in some places. The smell of damp earth filled the space, and trees and plant roots poked out where they had been partially severed, or not at all. She paused briefly every few yards to listen and inspect for trip wires, but she saw nothing alarming and heard no sound from the other end. Ellie estimated that they had gone roughly fifty yards when Mark said, “This tunnel was not a small feat. They were serious about not getting caught.”

  Ellie now knew where the dirt backstop to their shooting range had come from.

  They continued on, and the further they advanced the greater the certitude Ellie had that they would not find them. You didn’t put this kind of effort into an escape route and not do everything not to get caught. They went another fifty feet when the flashlight caught something. Two-by-fours set three feet apart reached upward. “Here it is.” They came to the bottom of the next makeshift ladder and looked up. It was seven rungs to the top and terminated at a large tree stump whose largest roots had been severed. Smaller roots dangled off like thick worms with clods of hard packed earth wedged in between. Ellie examined each rung, checking again for anything that would tell her it was connected to an explosive. Again, she saw nothing. Half holding her breath, she climbed up a few rungs and checked again. Then she examined the circumference of the stump’s bottom. Still, nothing ominous. She had two choices at this point. She could wait for an agent at the top to locate the stump and examine it from above or she could go now.

  She looked down. “Step back. I’m moving this.”

  “Wait. What if—”

  She heaved upwards and shouldered the heavy stump off the opening and onto the forest floor.

  “...it’s rigged,” she heard Mark finish sheepishly.

  Ellie brought out her Glock, scanned the immediate area, and exited the hole. She notified Garrett and Jet of their distance and direction from the compound and then called down to her partner. “It’s clear. Come on up. Watch your elbow.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Garrett stood over the hole’s mouth, peering down. The muted sounds of Ellie and Mark shuffling down the tunnel finally turned faint and then disappeared altogether. He turned around and examined the room. The hole had been well hidden and had it not been for Ellie’s thoroughness they may not have discovered it until much later.

  Something caught his eye on the wall near the window.

  He walked toward it. The wood paneling was bulging. Not a large bulge—it could possibly pass for being warped. Garrett decided to look closer. He ran his fingers up the seam where it joined the panel next to it. He tapped on it with his fingertips.

  It was hollow. He walked to the next panel, one that wasn’t bulging, and tapped. The vibrations were muted. There was insulation behind it. Just as it should be. Walking back to the first panel he pulled out his pocket knife and wedged the blade into the seam, and the makeshift level pressed the thin wood outward. It popped and he slid the knife down further, repeated the motion, popp
ed another brad nail.

  Garrett closed the blade and returned the knife to his pocket. He grabbed the panel, and successive pops rattled through the room as he tore it away from the wall. He pulled one more time, and the entire piece gave way. He stepped back, and as he let the panel fall to the floor he stared at the opening it left behind. In the wall, sitting along the cross studs, was the beginning of a veritable armory. The insulation had been removed to make room for the weapons. Fragmentation grenades, handguns, and two rifles, one being the Barrett M107 anti-materiel rifle and the other a Heckler and Koch G3 battle rifle, the grandson of the German ‘Storm Rifle’ that had been ubiquitous on so many World War II battlefields.

  Garrett spoke into his ear mic. “Eight and nine, I need you back here with me.”

  “We’re the only two watching the detainees, sir.”

  “Jet,” Garrett said, “can you replace them?”

  Silence, and then, “I have no one freed up right now.”

  “Eight and nine, they’re cuffed and strung together. They aren’t going anywhere. I’ll switch with you. I need you to document this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Seconds later two men clad in full gear entered the room. Their eyes bulged as they looked at the weaponry. “Holy Toledo,” one of them said.

  “Pull all the paneling,” Garrett said. “Make sure not to touch anything. I guess I need to get Greg from ATF in here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And that was the moment when the house was violently shaken by the explosive force of two pounds of Semtex discharging at 8500 meters per second, when everything in the kitchen—the refrigerator, twenty-three linear feet of upper and lower cabinets, a table, five chairs, a sink, a coffee maker, and seven people who had recently been read their Mirandas—disappeared into vapor.