by Powers, AJ
Mason, again, reached into his jacket pocket. This time Hagan was a little less edgy. Mason pulled his hand out of the pocket, pinching a patch between his thumb and two fingers. He looked at it for a moment, a brief, nostalgic smile flashing across his face before he held it out for Hagan to take.
Hagan grabbed the patch from Mason. His eyes lingered on the relic as he dragged his thumb over the embossed words GROUND DIVISION arcing over the hat-wearing skull at the center. He could almost feel the weight of history through it, as if there were stories recorded within, waiting to come out. “Where… Where did you get this?” he asked, almost accusatorily.
“My father was a U.S. Marine stationed at Camp David. The earliest memories I have are of that base. It was my home. It was all I knew. But one day, after the grid went down on the east coast, there was an attack on the base. I didn’t know it at the time, but they were after President MacLeod.”
“Yeah. I heard what happened there,” Hagan replied, being reminded once again that it was a battle he should have fought in.
“Yeah. The Apollo Group, or I guess Alexandria, however you want to look at it now, sent Vortex in to take MacLeod out to try and kickstart the civil war they were counting on happening,” Mason said, the soft glow of the window next to him shimmering off his glassy eyes. “My father stayed behind to fight—to defend the President—while my mother and I were evacuated with other family members living in the camp. As a group of Marines escorted us to a helicopter, I…” Mason laughed, “I don’t even know what I was thinking, but I took off running toward the gunfire. Running as if I was somehow going to be able to help my dad. I remember hearing my mom scream for me, but I didn’t stop. I kept running. Believing I was going to fight the enemy. But then, I felt a big, strong arm wrap me up. A large man with a beard carried me back to the helicopter. Back to my frantic mother.
“I kept trying to break free from his grip, but he was too strong. I screamed at him. I cried and sobbed, but the man wouldn’t let go. When we got to the helicopter, he sat me down on the edge of the cabin and looked me straight in the eyes. He removed that patch from his arm and handed it to me. He told me that everyone who wore it was brave, no matter the circumstances. He told me I needed to be brave and take care of my mom. Even at such a young age, I knew he was lying. But still, when he handed me the patch, I felt braver. I felt stronger,” Mason said with a smile. “After that, they flew us to Dover Air Force Base. My dad never came to meet us.”
Hagan lowered his head. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Over the last twelve months I’ve scanned through hundreds, if not thousands of pictures of you. You were always good about keeping your face hidden, giving us no way to positively identify you. But there was one picture where you had that exact same patch on your chest. It was then that I knew you were one of the good guys, Matt. Not because you were attacking Alexandrian interests, or stealing from the regime—God knows there are plenty of bad guys who also do that—but because the man that gave me that patch,” he said, nodding at Hagan’s hand, “that man fought alongside my father. He battled against the traitors of Vortex to not only protect the President, but to defend his brothers in arms and to preserve freedom. On that day, he and my father fought against the very people that I’m fighting against today. I know what that patch means; it’s so much more than just the group you were with. I trust you because you still choose to wear it. Still believe what it stands for.”
Hagan was silent, absorbing the heavy words the kid just spoke. He lowered his pistol, signaling his own trust in Mason, and took a deep breath.
“Ever since I came across that photograph of you,” Mason continued, “I’ve been working with Aileen to get you to join the insurgency. I knew from day one that you would play a key role in defeating these tyrants, and quite frankly, you’ve already done just that.
“This pregnancy… It was obviously not part of the plan. I was supposed to keep climbing the ranks and feed Aileen bigger and better intel with each new promotion. I was supposed to help weaken the regime from within, and, once they were good and shaky, leave them a nice parting gift as I joined the fight from the other side. But, I suppose God has a different plan in mind, which is why I’m here talking to you.”
Hagan stared into Mason’s eyes, finding no deception. Either Mason was an exceptional actor, or he was telling Hagan the truth. In either case, he had removed all doubt from Hagan’s skeptical mind. Without saying a word, Hagan holstered his pistol and stuck his hand out, agreeing to Mason’s request with a dip of the chin. “All right, kid. We’ll get you and your family safely on the other side.”
“Thank you,” Mason said, his voice breaking with relief.
“We’ll link up next week and I’ll go over the plan with you.”
Mason shook his head. “No way. We need to move tomorrow. Gray will be at the cabin for at least four days. You can go get him after we’re safely over the border.”
“That’s not how this works, kid. It takes time. You of all people should know they’ve beefed up security along the borders. Are you really wanting to risk your family’s lives because we rushed into this?”
Mason sighed. “No,” he said, giving a slight shake of his head.
“Listen,” Hagan replied, trying to give Mason some assurance with his tone. “we have some options. We’ll get this done, but we’re going to get it done the right way. If we rush into it—if we don’t stay one step ahead of the enemy—then things go sour. When that happens, mistakes get made. And mistakes in situations like that mean someone dies. I have enough weighing me down, I don’t need the loss of your family piled on top of my conscience, too.”
Mason conceded. He reached into his pocket and gave him a piece of paper, a phone number scratched down on it. “That’s the number to my encrypted phone. Contact me once you’re ready for the next steps.”
Hagan took the paper, stared at it for a moment before tearing it up into multiple pieces and tossing it into the dumpster.
“What are you doing?” Mason asked.
“I can still remember some of the 256-bit keys I had to memorize twenty years ago. I think I can handle a phone number,” Hagan said confidently. “It’s safer this way. For you.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Mason said nervously.
“By the way,” Hagan said, nodding at Mason’s chest. “Sorry about the, uh… You know, I didn’t realize you were working for the good guys.”
Mason absentmindedly touched the scarring wounds on his chest. He offered up an ironic smile. “Comes with the territory of being a spy, I suppose.”
The kid had guts, which made Hagan trust him even more. “I’ll be in touch,” Hagan said, turning around to leave.
“Matt,” Mason said, causing Hagan to stop and spin around. Mason was holding out his hand, but not for a shake.
“Oh,” Hagan replied, looking down at the patch still in his hand. “Sorry about that,” he added, stepping back over to Mason and passing off the old war memorabilia. “By the way, did you ever get a name for who gave you the patch?”
“He never told me his name, but there was one stitched across his vest.”
“Yeah?”
Mason slowly returned the patch to his pocket before he looked back up, a fond smile on his face.
“Donovan.”
Chapter 33
Winters had been in a deep sleep when his phone dragged him out of bed. One of the members of Internal Securities claimed he had just found something that needed his attention, and it couldn’t wait until morning. When questioning the man on why he didn’t directly take the issue up with Lieutenant Mason if it was so important, the man simply responded with, “I think you just better come in, sir.”
That woke Winters up.
He quickly got dressed and rushed out the door, his old Beagle sleeping on the couch barely registering his departure. Winters speculated what this was about the whole drive to the office. But when the analyst refused to speak about the details over the phone,
Winters grew nervous. Something was wrong, and it had to do with his lieutenant.
Having an official Trident vehicle, Winters blasted through every stop sign and traffic light that separated him from the office. Not that it mattered much, it was 0300 and he didn’t pass a single car along the drive.
He made it to the office in record time and hurried inside, signing in at the lobby before taking the elevators up to the sixteenth floor. Rushing past his own office, Winters moved to the far end of the floor, signing in at yet another security station. After completing another signature and thumb scan, Winters walked into a large room at a brisk pace, a sea of cubicles in front of him. He headed to the opposite side, toward the only glowing lights in the otherwise darkened space. As he approached, a tall, blond man stood up from one of the cubicles beneath the lights.
“Sergeant Winters,” he said, waving his hand.
Winters looked around, noticing that the other cubicles were empty before he stepped into the blond man’s cubicle.
“Thank you for coming at such a dreadful hour, Sergeant,” the man said apologetically. “But… I’m really not sure what to do with this information.”
“What information?” Winters asked, irritated by the dramatic segue.
“Well,” the man said, seemingly reluctant to start. “After the ambush at the bar, IS was tasked with rooting out any potential moles we might have, and one of the measures we took was to start monitoring transmission signals inside the office—both incoming and outgoing. In that time, I’ve discovered seven unauthorized encrypted transmissions being sent or received from within the property,” the man said, pulling up spreadsheet with the approximate time and location the transmission took place.
“Well,” Winters barked, “what did the person say?”
“I have no idea, sir. We’re still trying to crack the encryption. But what I can tell you is that it’s some pretty sophisticated stuff. I’ve never seen anything like it, which is saying a lot given what I do and who I work for.”
Winters sighed out his frustration. “All right, then do we at least know who was sending it?” he asked, wishing he didn’t have to.
“Well, the first six transmissions seemed to follow a pattern, as the device was always somewhere free of crowds and surveillance when they came through. But the seventh…” the man said, tapping on his keyboard to bring up a CCTV shot of the parking garage, “the seventh seemed to be unexpected. It was an incoming transmission from early yesterday morning.”
Winters leaned closer to the monitor, observing a blurry silhouette of a tall male walking across the parking garage. “There’s no way we can get an ID off that image.”
“Correct. I applied every image filter we have—even tried a few of my own, but his face only takes up a few pixels on the screen. Even the smartest AI can’t fill in those gaps. But,” he added, almost remorsefully, tabbing from the video screen to a spreadsheet. “This is a record of the biometric scanner activity used on the garage entry to the building. The transmission came in at 0537. Then, at 0539, the biometric scanner was used,” the analyst stated, double clicking on the name to highlight it.
Lt. Andrew Mason.
Winters shook his head. “No. It’s gotta be a mistake.”
“I wish it were, Sergeant, but I… I don’t think it is. The next scan wasn’t until 0623, and the one previous to it was 2345. I’m…” the man paused, again there was almost regret in his voice, “I’m fairly certain that the transmission came from Lieutenant Mason.”
Staring vacantly at the screen, Winters puffed his cheeks as he let out a deep breath. “Have you shared this with anyone else, yet?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“Okay. Do me a favor and sit on this for a bit. Let me try and see if there’s something else going on. I know the man well—he’s no traitor. There’s gotta be some sort of explanation here,” Winters rationalized, “He’s been working pretty closely with Secretary Gray lately. Perhaps Gray authorized him to have an encoded device for direct communication. You said the software is not something you recognize, but that doesn’t mean our boys at the Parthenon didn’t cook up something fresh, right?”
The man pursed his lips and shrugged. “Well, I suppose that’s possible, but my team is usually made aware of advances like that before they’re deployed to the field…”
The evidence was mounting up against his lieutenant, and it drove a pit deep into his stomach.
“I’m getting ready to leave now. I’ll hold off on my report until I return at 1500. But unless you give me the all clear before then, I can’t sit on this any longer or I’ll be facing disciplinary action.”
“Understood. Thank you, uh…” Winters paused, embarrassment on his face.
“Jens,” he replied.
“Jens. Thank you, Jens. There’s an explanation for this. I’ll have it sorted out by the time you get back tomorrow.”
Jens nodded. “I hope so, Sergeant. I don’t know Lieutenant Mason all that well, but I know his history; it’s impeccable. And, in the few times I’ve interacted with him, he’s seemed like a good and honest man. I’ve never once felt like he would betray the Council in such a terrible way. So,” the man said, giving a hopeful nod, “I do hope you are right.”
“Me, too,” Winters replied. “Do me a favor. Call me when you get in. If I don’t have anything for you, or… Or if I don’t answer, go ahead and send it up the chain.”
Jens nodded his agreement. “I will. Thank you. Good luck, Sergeant.”
Winters left the room and headed for his office on the other side of the floor. He wanted to believe that this was somehow a big misunderstanding—that Mason had a very logical explanation as to why he was sending and receiving encrypted transmissions. Maybe he’s being set up, Winters thought, but he knew better than that. There was only one explanation as to why Lieutenant Andrew Mason would be sending and receiving unauthorized transmissions.
He’s the rat.
Chapter 34
The sun had just escaped the clutches of the horizon, bathing the hills of shortleaf pine and scraggly branches of naked sycamores in a warm, orange glow. He stood atop a rock face, overlooking one of the most beautiful expanses of the Ozarks he’d ever seen. It was peaceful. Serene. As if the ugliness of war and tyrants had left it undefiled, ready to be enjoyed by anyone fortunate enough to wander out so far.
A sense of tranquility slowly descended upon him, as if he’d just had a brush with an angel. After two long years of vengeance dictating his every decision, Matthew Hagan finally felt freed from that bondage. The sensation was strange, almost unnerving, but for the first time in a long time, he finally felt certain of the path he was on.
Hagan walked up to the cliff’s edge and stared out into the valley below, in the direction of Anthony Gray’s hunting cabin just a half mile or so to the west. He and Solomon arrived late last night and quickly formulated a plan after scouting out the area under the greenish glow night vision. The location was about as secluded as one could get. Miles away from the nearest paved road with a series of overgrown dirt paths leading to that. The cabin offered all the solitude a man could ever ask for, even before the bulk of the population in the area relocated to within the borders of the Texas Alliance.
The cabin was within Alexandria’s borders, but only by a few miles. But it didn’t matter. Even if it were in the Outlands, Hagan had learned firsthand that the regime wasn’t afraid of venturing outside their borders to protect their interests, especially for someone as important as Gray. If their response time was anything like his trip with Carrick, they would probably have a Vulture dropping troops off within half an hour of being alerted. Tops.
Plenty of time, Hagan thought to himself.
Double and triple checking his gear, Hagan remained at the top of the rock, awaiting Solomon’s call. Being so close to Gray caused his mind to drift back to Benjamin, but his thoughts soon shifted to the man he met the other night.
Andrew Mason.
Ha
gan had almost killed Mason. Twice, if he included the near trigger pull in the alley. And even though Hagan couldn’t have possibly known who he actually was, remorse gnawed at his psyche for nearly snuffing out the life of such a brave warrior. Not many men could tussle with the Grim Reaper like that and come out the other side casually saying, “It just comes with the job,” but that’s exactly what Mason did.
Mason was the kind of man that America would need once reunification came. If it ever came. A man willing to risk it all to help good defeat evil. Yet, at the same time, do everything in his power to make sure those he loved were protected. It was a lot to ask of a young man, but such was his dedication to the cause. And, whether his motivation to fight the regime was to satiate his own quest for vengeance, or just the desire to see his children experience a life devoid of oppression, it was clear to Hagan that Mason was up to the challenge.
Though he’d just met the man, and truly knew very little about him, Hagan already felt confident that Mason was the type of guy he’d want watching his back in battle. Tommy Donovan might have given that patch to calm a scared, little boy—to make him feel brave in a moment of terror—but as a man, Andrew Mason had more than earned the right to own such a symbol.
Hagan frowned at the thought of being in Mason’s shoes, especially at his age. His career of espionage had been anything but easy on him, and his greatest challenge was yet to come. A month ago, the task of sneaking a family across the border would have been laughably easy. Hagan had done it many times in the past. But things were quite a bit more complicated now. They weren’t going to just be able to drive to the other side and traveling such a long distance on foot would be hard enough on a grown man, much less a pregnant woman and a toddler.
Hagan had a friend that owed him a favor; a boat captain that routinely hauled seafood up the Mississippi from Baton Rouge. Getting Mason and his family through security at the ports would likely be easier than trying to sneak them across the border on the road, though he wasn’t sure how much security might have been tightened at the ports. Once they were on the boat, however, they’d reach Memphis in about a day, and from there it was just a few day’s hike to Little Rock. Or, if they managed to find a working vehicle, a few hours’ drive.
