Dillon was in the front passenger seat. Marty and Donnie were in positions to open the left and right rear doors and exit quickly. They both had MP-5s with homemade silencers, but neither had loaded them yet, though they carried several magazines of ammunition on their persons. That was Dillon’s way of preventing accidental discharge of the weapons inside the vehicle. The drive was….immediately challenging.
“What’s that up ahead?” asked Dillon. He immediately felt the Suburban begin to accelerate, and his foot felt for the imaginary brake pedal as Lauren plowed through an impromptu barricade that some locals had hastily assembled. She didn’t flinch, and she didn’t change course when the locals threw rocks and even fired a few homemade shotguns at the vehicle.
Dillon decided then and there that it was time for him to immediately reassess Lauren James.
The rest of the trip went smoothly enough. There were a few bumps along the way, literally. When a small group of infected was attracted by the noise of the Suburban, as happened more than once, Lauren would grit her teeth and drive right through (or over) the group. It didn’t matter if it was a large or small group. It didn’t matter if it was men or women or children. She just drove. They made it to USAID in record time.
“Load up.”
Dillon heard Marty and Donnie load up. It didn’t sound crisp and professional, but it sounded like it had been done right.
“Hop out and secure the perimeter. You both watch the street while I get the gate open”
Dillon watched as the two men did their job fairly well. Granted, there weren’t any targets, but they were conducting themselves well. Dillon quickly moved to the USAID gate and found it had been locked, against all regulation, with chains and padlocks.
“Shit….”
Dillon briefly wished he had bolt cutters. Shooting locks didn’t work like it did in the movies. Most of the time, it just jammed the lock in whatever position it was when you shot it. That usually meant jamming it in the locked position, which was less than helpful. Dillon looked at the front windshield of the Suburban and shrugged in confusion.
“Let me ram it.” Lauren said.
“That would be a very bad idea, Lauren. Chances are it will make a huge amount of noise and damage our vehicle.”
“So what? All we have to do is get another Suburban. There are extras here.”
Damn. She was smart.
“It’s still too loud.” offered Donnie. “I suggest we use the jack to break the chain.”
Dillon was quickly reevaluating all of the Foreign Service Officers. They were smart, motivated, surprisingly cool under pressure, and most importantly resilient.
“That’s a good idea.”
It took about ten minutes to set up the jack against the gate and expand it until it snapped a link in the chain. It was reasonably quiet, and after that it was a simple matter of pushing the gate open. After entering the compound, they swung the door closed and Dillon assigned Marty to guard the gate.
“Why are we wasting Marty on that?”
Dillon tried to remember who the fuck this person was that was questioning him….Bob something….
“Bob, we need to be able to stop someone from opening the gate.”
“No, we don’t. We need to know if someone tries to do it so you can react. Why don’t you just park Lauren here in the SUV. If she sees someone trying to open the gate, she’ll honk the horn from the safety of the vehicle.”
It would have been a decent idea, IF Bob hadn’t presented it with a challenging sneer in the middle of the operation.
“Bob, I want you to go with Donnie and get the keys to all of the buses. Donnie knows where they are kept in the GSO shed. You….Jack, come with me so we can get the Suburban keys from the USAID motor pool office.”
Bob stared right into Dillon’s eyes. He knew his plan was better, and he didn’t understand how dangerous it was to change plans and bicker about who had the better idea in the middle of a dangerous situation.
“Now, Bob. Right now, or I’ll leave you where you stand.”
Bob moved off with a defeated look. Dillon realized immediately that he had lost a little more respect in everyone’s eyes. Foreign Service Officers didn’t work like the Military. They didn’t just blindly obey orders. That was a good thing in their line of work. Dillon had resorted to threats to get the job done, threats based on his ability to do violence. In doing that, he had proved himself, as far as Bob and the others were concerned, to be a bully. Perhaps they were right, but he would have to deal with that later.
The vehicles were all started up in less than ten minutes, though they encountered a small crowd of the infected on the way back, it was nothing they couldn’t handle by simply stepping on the gas pedal a bit. The real fight started as soon as they arrived back on compound.
Dillon was happy enough with the success of the mission that he let his guard down a bit. For the next hour, he sat on the floor and played Legos with Mikey while Hannah made dinner. Apparently, the gas was still on, though the water had stopped working. There was plenty of bottled water to brush teeth and cook, but they needed to get out of Cairo soon. Dinner was hearty – a selection of things from the freezer that weren’t going to keep much longer. Rick stopped by after dinner.
“Dillon, we should talk.”
“What’s up, Rick? Are you done with the list?”
“Do you have a few minutes to go outside and talk?”
Dillon looked at Hannah, who shrugged.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Outside, Doc and Talbot were waiting.
“What is this?” Dillon asked, a bit uneasy. “Is this an intervention or something?”
“Or something.” Rick said. “Listen, Dillon, we’re getting more than a few complaints about how you run things. People don’t seem to want you in charge.”
“Who? Bob? He wanted me to change plans in the middle of a mission. That’s not the time. He also felt like he could question me in the middle of a dangerous situation. We can’t have anyone second guessing us in the thick of it.”
“I agree.” said Talbot. “In the military, that’s how we do it.”
“That doesn’t work in the State Department, Dillon.” Doc said.
“It fucking needs to work like that if we’re going to survive.” was Dillon’s crystal clear response.
“Dillon, these guys aren’t soldiers. Their college educated professionals.” said Doc, trying to explain. “You can’t treat these guys like they’re stupid.”
“Careful, Doc. Your bias is showing.” was Dillon’s angry reply.
Rick decided to interject before things got worse. “Doc didn’t say soldiers were stupid. What he means is that you need to adjust your leadership style if you want to work with these people.”
“I think they need to adjust to Dillon’s leadership style. They need to realize that they are FAR from experts at every single skill they will need to survive. Dillon is not. I am not. They need to swallow their pride and do what they are told. They need to quit complaining and start listening. I’m not going to waste time discussing this further, and you shouldn’t either, Dillon.” Talbot seemed to have made up his mind.
“Doc? Rick? I know what you’re thinking, but Talbot’s right. Here’s why: I’m in charge. We don’t have time to argue everything in committee. When we’re out there, we can’t have an argument over what we’re doing. When we make decisions, it has to be someone who knows what the fuck we’re doing. These people clearly have no idea what they’re up against out there.”
“Dillon, stop being so stubborn. You need to compromise!” Dillon felt a little sorry for Rick, but Doc’s words were continuing to anger him.
“No, Doc, I don’t need to compromise. Tomorrow, I am selecting ninety-two people, to include eight drivers. They will be the people that Rick and I believe most qualified to represent the United States in a post-apocalyptic world where growing food has become more important than someone’s ability to write a paper on grain yields. There probably won’t be another plane. How do you think THIS issue will work in a committee?”
“I…um…what if there is another plane?”
“What if, right Doc? What if there is a second plane, and it agrees to wait for us to drive back here, pick up a second load of passengers, and then drive back to the airport. What if the infected don’t hear the planes land and swarm the airport. What if the non-infected don’t do the same. What if the drivers all agree to put their families on the first plane and make the drive, through dangerous areas, to pick up more people.”
“Fat chance of that.” added Rick.
“Damn it, Dillon, I get your point. Do you get mine? You need to stop being an asshole!”
Dillon had to remember that he liked Doc. It took a couple of seconds.
“I get your point, Doc, but I’m trying to show you that I’m not exactly being an asshole. I’m using a different method, a method that most of these people don’t understand and don’t respect. But it’s a tried and true method for surviving dangerous situations. I have to make hard decisions, and not everyone is going to like the results. Hopefully, though, they will survive long enough to hate me or thank me from the safety of the evacuation point.”
“Dillon, I think Doc gets that. We just needed to be able to show the community that we heard them and were willing to speak to you. I, for one, have to try to lead these people – the ones we are leaving behind.”
“What? You aren’t going?” exclaimed a very surprised Doc.
“No. Someone has to try to keep these people safe.”
“Shit.” was Doc’s only answer to that.
“Yeah, Shit.” said Dillon. “So now you know.”
Hannah opened the door and handed Dillon the Sat Phone. “I’m guessing this is for you, hun.”
Dillon laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Special Agent Shay speaking.”
The voice on the other end was a powerful baritone, obviously used to command. He sounded tired. “Special Agent Shay, this is Rear Admiral Covington. I understand you have some personnel to evacuate.”
“Yes, sir. We have 188 personnel in need of evacuation. We have them divided into two chalks of 94 each. Twenty four are kids under the age of five, so we shouldn’t have a problem with the C-130 loads.”
“Son, I don’t think you are reading me clearly. How many U.S. Government PERSONNEL do you have.”
With that, Dillon understood. The Department of Defense was in charge of this evacuation, and had little concern for the families of State Department employees.
“They won’t leave without their families, sir. We’ve prioritized the list based on skills we believe will be necessary for survival and rebuilding operations. I can show necessary skills for a great many of the dependents, sir.”
“Damn it, Shay, we aren’t going to be able to take family members. Cyprus is cutting the number of refugees it will take in, and Malta has closed its border. When we arrive tomorrow night, we will have three Ospreys, son. That’s 72 passengers. Active duty and reserve get first seat, followed by medical personnel. No kids. Nobody over the age of 60.”
Sir, I have special operations experience and my wife is a Captain AND a nurse in the U.S. Army. We have one kid, a ten year old. If you want us you take him. We also have an emergency room doctor, here. If you want him, you take his wife. She’s a psychologist. I also have a Captain with a Ranger tab who won’t come unless his wife comes. You are going to need these people, sir.”
There was a long pause on the phone. Dillon hoped that Admiral Covington didn’t just hang up the phone and cancel the flight. Who was HE to put disagree with the Admiral’s plans.
“Special Agent Shay, you have a deal. You will have 72 seats to do with as you must. The birds will land at 2200 local time. Do not be late.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Admiral hung up rather abruptly.
“And again, shit.” Dillon said. He wanted to throw the phone, but knew he would need it later.
“Sounded bad. Thanks for speaking out for us.” Doc said.
“We have 72 seats tomorrow. Though he originally said active duty and reserve personnel first, no kids and nobody over 60, he has agreed to let us put who we want in the seats. There won’t be a second flight. They’re leaving 116 of us behind.“
Rick looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown. “I don’t know how we are going to do this. They won’t go for it.”
“We lie, Rick. We take 92 out to the airport tomorrow. Then, we get as many as we can on the Ospreys. If anyone asks later, we deny prior knowledge. Once everyone is out there, the Navy will do everything they can to stuff as many as possible in those birds. Maybe they end up getting 80 out instead of 72.”
“Jesus. You’re kidding. We can’t do that.”
“Okay, then we wait until tomorrow evening and we deal with it then. As soon as we announce it, we will need to put guards on the vehicles to make sure nobody decides to take their own chances. Violence will be a real possibility. Seventy-two people get in the vans, and we hope to God that they don’t tell us they could have taken five more, or ten more.”
“We should tell them tonight. They have a right to know.” Doc said. Rick seemed paralyzed enough by the stark horror of it to go along with Doc’s decision.