Authors: James Hunt,Roger Hayden
Jim paced back and forth in the small station room where he, Coyle, Brett, and Twink were staying to prepare for their mission with Samantha. He spoke into his phone as he strode across the room. “You’re sure?”
“It’s a hunch,” Locke replied through the phone.
Coyle watched Jim pace back and forth. It made him nervous. Coyle leaned into Twink, who was loading ammo into AR-15 clips. “I don’t think it’s a good phone call.”
Twink didn’t look at Coyle, he just continued loading bullets into the empty magazines strewn about the table. “When was the last time any of us got a
good
phone call?” Twink asked.
“Your mom called me to come over last night,” Coyle whispered back at him. “That was pretty good.” Twink paused loading the magazines and eyed his teammate. Coyle flashed him a shit-eating grin.
“What did we find on Brenner?” Jim asked.
“We didn’t find any direct correlation between Brenner and Matt, but after some digging, we realized that PamTech was a shell corporation under one of Brenner’s many ‘business’ ventures. Currently most of Brenner’s resources are tied up in renewable energy.”
“Seems too neat,” Jim said.
“That’s what we thought, so we dug a little deeper into the financials and found that the solar, wind, and water factories that he started had little to zero material for actual renewable energy,” Locke explained.
“Where are we with the codes Samantha gave us?” Jim asked.
“We were right about the chemical warfare. Brenner’s been stockpiling the ingredients for VX nerve gas for the past three years,” Locke said. “He has weekly shipments to a chemical plant in San Diego where we think he’s storing it.”
“Christ,” Jim whispered. “Do we know how much he has?”
“It’s enough to wipe out all of California if he wanted to, but his sights aren’t just locked in on the West Coast, part of the code that our analysts were deciphering were launch sites. Those layers of code we were analyzing were viruses set to override military silos. That’s why Brenner needs them. Without the missiles, the gas is useless to him. Jim, this guy’s smart. We found out that he had a congressman sponsor a bill looking into our missions. I haven’t fought it because I know it won’t pass, but he put it out there to see whose desk it would float across.”
Jim had second thoughts about bringing Samantha into this. If he was going to abort, now would be the time. Samantha and Chase were meeting in less than an hour. “Should we pull out having Samantha give him that code then?”
“No, as of right now, none of the gas has been shipped. It’ll take another week before he’d be able to do anything with it. If we hit him now, we’ll be able to stop everything before it even starts. Good luck, Jim,” Locke said and then ended the call.
Jim checked the time on his phone. He slipped it into his pocket and headed to the table where Twink was still loading the clips. “We head out in fifteen,” Jim said, glancing at each man in the small operations room. “Be ready.”
***
Samantha took a left at a traffic light and turned onto one of the main highways. A group of soldiers from Locke’s unit had already taken Annie to Matt’s aunt and uncle’s house. She wasn’t sure what she was getting herself into, but she wanted to know the truth. She wished she had handled her interaction with Jim better. She knew he must be hurting. She saw it on his face.
Stop it,
she said to herself as she shook off the thoughts. She had to stay focused. If all of the theories that Jim had told her about what this organization was capable of, if they really were responsible for the attacks around the country months ago that killed millions, then the people that she was about to interact with were very dangerous.
The closer she got to her destination, the tighter her hands gripped the steering wheel. The buildings around thinned out the further north she drove. What was once a bustling metropolis area soon turned into rural farms and a few factory warehouses. She checked the GPS, saw she was only ten minutes out, and dialed Jim per his instructions.
“Hey,” he answered.
“I’m almost there,” she responded, feigning confidence.
Jim was tucked into the back of a surveillance van with Twink and Coyle. He was a half a mile from where Samantha and Chase were going to meet, but he had Brett on the ground hidden there in case anything happened.
“I just spoke with Brett. Chase is already there. Try and have him give up as much info as you can. Don’t press it though. You don’t want to act like you’re trying too hard,” Jim said.
“I know,” she said. “Jim, about Matt’s funeral,” she started, but Jim cut her off.
“We can talk about it after we finish this.”
“Okay,” she said, letting out a breath and getting into character.
Once Jim hung up his cell, he clicked his radio piece on.
“Brett,” Jim said.
Brett was lying down in a tall patch of unkempt grass on the edge of the building. His eyes were focused on two guards outside of the front door of the rundown warehouse where Samantha would meet Chase. “Copy, Jim.”
“She’s ten minutes out,” Jim said.
Brett shifted the scope on his rifle, checking the other end of the building. “Roger that,” he said, making sure to click the radio off then muttering to himself, “Next time, I’ll sit in the van and someone else can lie perfectly still for three hours. God, I have to pee.”
***
Kate lay on her back on the cot in her cell. The lumps in the mattress caused her body to elevate and sink in random places. Her dirty grey jumpsuit hadn’t been changed in over a week, and the cuts on her face were still fresh. Her left eye, now bloodshot, roamed the concrete ceiling. The dim fluorescent light flickered above while she lightly drummed her fingers on her stomach.
A soldier leaned back in his chair, occasionally glancing at nine monitors streaming live video of the prisoner cellblock before going back to his hunting magazine. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the first screen go dark, then the second, third, and then the other six. He jumped out of his chair, reaching for his radio to report the malfunction.
Kate’s eyes popped open at the click of her cell door unlocking. The door creaked open and a knife skidded through the crack. The knife came to a stop in the center of the cell floor. Kate snatched the blade from the floor and headed out the door.
Locke was at his desk when he heard the first shots fired down the hall in the cellblock. He reached for the pistol in his desk and clicked the safety off. He crouched below the windows of his office, peeking over the top. He saw a few Military Police Officers rushing through the door. He watched them flip over desks to provide cover from the prisoner’s bullets flying at them.
The gunshots blasted in all directions. Locke’s office door flew open and Chris, Locke’s assistant, jumped inside. Locke let out a sigh of relief.
“General, are you alright?” Chris asked.
“I’m fine,” Locke shouted over the gunfire behind him.
“General, I need to get you out of here,” said Chris.
“No!” Locke shouted. “Get on the radio for backup. We can’t let the prisoners leave this facility.”
Kate burst through the office door, holding a pistol she’d stolen from the weapons cache the prisoners had raided. Locke opened fire and Kate jumped behind Locke’s desk. Bullets splintered holes into the wood as Locke emptied his clip.
Then Locke noticed the silence outside the room. The firing had ceased. Locke peeked over the wall through the window and saw a dozen soldiers dead on the ground. Twenty prisoners were making their way toward him.
“Chris, we’ve got-,”
Locke’s words halted when the cold steel of Chris’s 9mm pistol touched the side of his temple.
“Get up, General,” Chris ordered.
Locke rose slowly while the prisoners piled into Locke’s office, their guns pointed at him. Chris snatched the pistol out of Locke’s hand.
Kate jumped over Locke’s bullet-ridden desk. Strands of ragged hair fell across her face. Her pistol hung loosely at her side.
“I told you, General,” Kate said.
Locke pointed toward his desk and raised his eyebrows. “May I?”
Kate eyeballed a box of cigars that had fallen off Locke’s desk. A few of the Cubans had spilled out. She walked over to it and picked one up, running it under her nose and taking in the smell of the tobacco. “My grandfather smoked these until the day he died. Anytime I get a whiff of one, I always think of him.” She tossed one to Locke.
Locke pulled the cigar clip out of his front pocket and chopped off the end. He flicked his lighter and roasted the end of the cigar as he puffed long, slow drags of the Cuban. He let the fire fill him for one last time and then put the cigar into the corner of his mouth and took a good look around him. Murderers, traitors, terrorists – these would be the last sights he’d see on this earth.
The barrel of Kate’s pistol hovered inches from Locke’s face, her finger on the trigger. “This is what your faith in men get you, General. I told you it was a mistake.” Kate gritted her teeth.
Locke took the cigar out of his mouth. The smoke from the tip of the cigar made a curving line from his mouth to his side. He ashed the cigar on the floor. “The only mistake I made was not adding retinal scans to the cell doors.” He walked closer to her so that his forehead was pressed hard against the barrel of the pistol. “You think your idea protects you from those that try and oppose you. The only thing that does protect you is the piece of steel and composite that you’re holding in your hand. And we have better trained gunmen than you do.”
A slight smile twitched on Kate’s face. She squeezed the trigger and the bullet went right between Locke’s eyes and out the back of his skull. Bits of blood, bone, and brain matter sprayed across the office floor. The cigar rolled out of his hand once he hit the ground, and Kate bent down to pick it up. It was speckled with blood. She rolled it between her fingers and then took a long drag and blew the smoke straight up into the air.
“Let’s move.” The group filed out of the door, and Kate bent down and put out the cigar on Locke’s cheek. “I never liked my grandfather.” Afterwards, one of the prisoners took Locke’s phone out of his pocket and took a picture of him lying on the ground.
***
When Samantha pulled up to the building, she sat in her car for a moment before heading to the guarded door. The guard at the entrance let her in, and the small office she walked into was poorly maintained. The carpet was musty and worn. The wallpaper was peeling off in places around the walls and dust was caked onto the file cabinets that lined the walls.
Derrick and Chase looked incredibly out of place amongst the worn office with their fine suits and clean-cut appearance. Chase flashed Samantha a large smile as he approached, his hand extended.
“Mrs. Kearny, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his hand lingering in front of her.
Samantha looked at Chase’s hand, and her eyes followed the line from his arm, to his shoulder, to his neck, and rested on the whites of his eyes. His smile didn’t waver as Samantha stared him down. Her hand finally went into his and he clasped both hands over hers, his face fading into a sad, condoling expression.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” said Chase.
Samantha’s voice cracked from the dryness in her throat. “Thank you.”
Chase walked her to a seat at a table that was obviously brought in from somewhere else. The desk was the only clean thing in the office and looked like it belonged in the waiting room of a high-powered attorney. One of the guards from the entrance brought in a tray of drinks and sandwiches from the cars outside.
“Hungry?” Chase asked.