by Powers, AJ
But there was no way to know how smoothly such an escape attempt would be until it was go-time. The regime was already rattled with everything that had happened over the last month, and it was about to get a whole lot worse. There was no way to know for sure how the Council would respond to the events that were about to transpire, but Hagan suspected it wasn’t going to make their escape any easier. Nevertheless, the operation needed to move forward. They would not get this window of opportunity again.
“Heads up, Matt,” Solomon said over the radio. “I’ve got eyes on the principle and two members of his detail.” There was a brief pause and then, “They’re on foot and heading to the east. Looks like they’re about to head out for a hunt.”
Hagan laughed at the irony. “Copy that, Saul. Moving.”
Taking one last glance at the stunning sunrise, Hagan moved off the rock face and followed a long, winding trail down to the valley below. The air was still and relatively warm for the time of year. A few insects and songbirds, believing Spring had finally arrived, disrupted the otherwise quiet morning. It seemed far too peaceful a place for such violence to occur, but violence was exactly what was about to happen.
Advancing to the west, Hagan slowed his pace, keeping his head on swivel. He took careful, methodical steps, ensuring that he was neither seen nor heard. He crossed through a stream, shivering as the icy water soaked through his boots and stung at his feet with thousands of tiny pins and needles. Focusing on his objective, Hagan ignored the painful sensation in his toes and trudged up a small embankment and out of the creek.
A loud crack from the north echoed through the woods, causing Hagan to spin on the ball of his foot and snapping his rifle’s optics to his face. On the other side of the convex glass was a solitary buck; a solid seven-pointer. Hagan’s gut told him this was where he needed to be, and, slowly, he crept down to his stomach, inching his way over to a large rock next to a tangled mess of shrubs and overgrowth.
Setting the barrel of his rifle on a sharp cut in the rock, Hagan, like a lion stalking its prey, waited for his moment to pounce.
Chapter 35
Gray stepped out onto the porch of the old hunting cabin and drew in a deep breath through his nose, taking in all the magnificent fragrances that came with such beautiful scenery. The cabin had been in his family for several generations, stretching back to his great grandfather who used it to hunt and trap game to keep his family afloat during the Great Depression. As a boy, Gray often came there with his father to hunt and fish. He cherished those days, but never fully appreciated the cabin, and the tranquility it offered, until after he inherited it from his father. When his father passed away, just a few months after graduating from Quantico, Gray had taken his first trip to the family hunting grounds and just… existed. He didn’t hunt. He didn’t hike. He didn’t do anything but spend time alone with his thoughts. To recover from one of the busiest and most emotional seasons of his life.
And it worked.
Leaving the cabin and returning to the hectic and dangerous job as a rookie FBI agent, Gray felt as if he was stronger and more capable than he thought possible. And, throughout the years, his getaways always had a profound impact on him. Each time he left, watching the cabin slowly blend in with the thick trees of the forest through the mirror, he felt like he was leaving a better man.
Well, all but one time.
Gray thought of Shravya and wondered if he could stomach bringing her to such sacred grounds, again. She was right. It was okay for him to move on. He had punished himself long enough for his infidelity. And he had meant what he said to her, that it would be nice to spend a few weeks out there with her once things calmed down. But now that he was there, that he slept in the bed that he and his wife shared over so many long weekends, he second-guessed his ability to follow through.
“You ready to go, Mr. Gray?” a man wearing hunting camo and a brown ski hat asked as he came out onto the porch. Unlike Gray, he didn’t have a hunting rifle slung over his back but, instead, an AK-47 over his chest.
“You have no idea, Marco,” Gray said with a fond smile. “It’s been far too long.”
A second guard, Levine, who was similarly outfitted as Marco, also came out of the cabin, and the three of them quickly headed out into the woods, their eyes and ears open. Gray smiled warmly at the sound of the birds caroling their morning glee as he stepped lightly across the forest floor, his security detail, at his request, trailing about ten yards behind. The main reason he came to the cabin was to get some alone time—some distance from the daily stresses of his work so that he could clear his mind. But that wouldn’t happen sandwiched between two bodyguards. And since the risks of being attacked by Bambi was quite low, the men agreed to lag behind, giving Gray the space he craved.
Gray had a few days ahead of him at the cabin, and he tried to use this first morning hunt to think about nothing. To just take in and enjoy the beauty nature had to offer. To watch as rays of sun vibrantly cut through the towering trees around him and soak in the sounds of the babbling stream nearby. It was always the first things he did when he arrived. It helped him purge worrisome thoughts from his head and give him complete and total clarity of mind. And this time was no different. Gray, enveloped in the beauty and majesty of the earth around him, felt a weight lift from his shoulders. The perpetual fog in his mind began to clear, coercing a smile and a sigh of relief.
Thirty minutes into their careful, slow walk, Gray heard a cracking branch from up ahead. This worried his detail, but Gray knew that sound like his own voice. That was a stick breaking under the weight of a deer. With a jolt of excitement mixed with the familiar adrenaline that came with the hunt, Gray’s body livened up, feeling as if he was eighteen all over again. Moving faster, but staying equally as quiet, Gray moved toward the sound, stopping every few moments to listen for other clues. His decades of experience as a hunter soon paid off, and he spotted the buck lapping water from the creek.
“There you are,” he whispered to himself, a growing smile on his face.
Gray came to a stop, the two men following him doing the same. Slowly, he pulled the Marlin 336 off his shoulder and eased the hammer back with his thumb. Slowly. Quietly. The stifled click of the hammer locking into place was enough to cause the deer to take a cautious look around. It was startled enough to move on, but not spooked enough to do it in a hurry.
As the deer climbed out from the creek bed and up onto flat ground, Gray steadied the rifle in the crook of a young sapling and took aim. Using iron sights alone, he lined up his shot and rested his finger on the trigger. He exhaled slowly until his lungs were just about out of air, then held his breath.
The sharp crack of the 30-30 cartridge tore through the still, morning air, echoing off the rolling hills miles away. Blue smoke whooshed from the barrel, obscuring his view of the target. Working the lever on the rifle, Gray spit the empty shell from the rifle and chambered a new round. By the time the smoke dissipated enough to see the antlers sticking up from the forest floor, he heard a voice call from behind.
“Great shot, Mr. Gray!”
Gray’s pulse spiked, as it did with every kill. He laughed quietly to himself as he pulled his rifle away from the young tree and advanced on the deer, approaching with caution. Experience reminded him that a wounded deer was not a foe he wanted to battle, so he kept the muzzle of the rifle aimed at the animal’s head. He stepped up to its back and drove the toe of his boot into the spine. The body shook from the impact, but the kick elicited no further response.
“She’s a beauty,” Marco said, his jubilant voice showing how happy he was for his boss’ success.
Gray looked at the kill, a wide smile on his face as he slung the lever action rifle back over his shoulder. “Well, fellas,” Gray said, kneeling next to the beast and running his hand over its stiff, bristly fur, “looks like we’re eating well tonight.”
A loud thwack suddenly sounded from behind, startling Gray. Then there was a panicked gasp of air.
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The delayed report of the suppressed rifle reached Gray’s ears just fractions of a second later. His mind raced to process what was happening, but, by the time he realized what he’d just heard, Marco had grabbed Gray’s vest and was pulling him up to his feet, nearly dragging him away from the kill.
“Move!” Marco shouted.
As Gray stumbled to his feet, he saw Levine on the ground, his jacket saturated in blood as he wheezed loudly, his hands shakily reaching for his rifle. After another muffled crack from behind, Levine’s wheezing stopped.
Feeling the strength and urgency of Marco’s grip again, Gray was pushed forward, his bodyguard placing himself between Gray and the shooter.
“Here!” Marco said, pointing at the thick trunk of a Cottonwood.
Gasping for a breath, Gray asked, “Where’d the shot come from?”
Marco shook his head. “I don’t know.”
A loud THUNK rocked the sturdy tree’s base, followed by another vicious, muffled pop in the distance.
Marco frantically retrieved the radio inside his pocket. “This is Marco! This is Marco!” he said, tossing out the formality of callsigns. “We’re under fire and pinned down. Levine is dead. Need assistance now!” He let off the transmit button and waited for a response, but it didn’t come. “I repeat, Eagle One is under attack. Need backup immediately!” But more silence. Growling through obscenities and trying to maintain his cool as more lead slapped off the other side of the tree, Marco retrieved an emergency sat phone from his pack. He punched in the number he’d long since memorized and pressed the phone up to his ear. “Come on! Come on!” he said under his breath as the phone on the other side rang.
“Command!” Marco finally shouted into the phone. “This is Eagle Two, we are under attack at the Nest. Unknown number of shooters. We need assistance now, dammit!”
Gray could hear a muted voice on the phone but couldn’t make out what was being said.
“He’s right here next to me. We’ve established cover be—”
Another shot cut Marco off, this time, the bullet grazed the side of the bark, hissing its deadly speed as it ricocheted away. Marco flinched down for a moment before, with one hand, blindly firing a few rounds in the general direction of the attacker with his AK-47. He then brought the sat phone back up to his ear. “We need help, Command!”
More voices.
“We don’t have twenty minutes!” Marco said, shaking his head. There were more voices then Marco hung up, finally conceding they were on their own. Marco then turned to Gray. “I’m going to cover you. When I say go, run to the cabin.”
Gray nodded, his hand clutching tightly to his hunting rifle.
“Don’t shoot back unless you have no choice. Turning to fire will only slow you down,” he said soberly. “Run in zig-zag patterns and keep moving toward the cabin. We’re probably just a half mile away.”
Gray knew the area well enough to know that the man’s guess was off. They were even closer than that.
“On my mark,” Marco said, swapping magazines to ensure he was at max capacity. Pressing his back against the tree, Marco held the rifle up close to his face and looked at Gray. “Stay safe, sir,” he said before shouting, “Go!” as he spun around the tree and mashed down on the trigger, his AK barking loudly through the forest.
Gray broke into a sprint, moving as fast as his body would allow. He was no more than twenty feet away when Marco’s weapon fell silent, the quiet crack of the assassin’s weapon having the last say in the conversation.
“Dammit!” Gray snarled, stumbling and tripping over the uneven terrain as he tried to maintain the zig-zag pattern Marco advised. But he was quickly tiring. For every hundred feet he traveled, he was probably only fifty feet closer to the cabin. Quickly abandoning the plan, Gray aligned himself in the direction of the cabin and just ran, ignoring the ache and pains in his muscles.
Suddenly, his foot tangled with a root hidden beneath some leaves, and Gray lost his balance, causing his tired body to crash into the ground. He cried out in pain as he crawled over to the Marlin lying on the dirt and picked it up. He pressed through the pain and climbed to his feet.
Turning around, Gray saw the shooter approaching with a calm and steady gate. “Get back!” Gray shouted, raising the rifle and firing off a shot, but his aim was wide.
The man quickly returned fire, barely breaking his stride.
“Ahhhhh!” Gray yelled as a bullet tore through his shoulder, forcing him to drop the old hunting rifle and retreat.
Clutching at the wound in his shoulder, dark, sticky liquid oozed between Gray’s fingers, the intense throb pulsating down the entirety of his arm. His pace slowed. The radiating ache in his knee from the fall only adding to his defeat. Chancing another look over his shoulder, the figure was now jogging, keeping the rifle down in front of him.
Breathless, and nearly out of energy, Gray dug deep and started up the small incline separating him from the cabin. As he reached the top, he looked back once more. The man was at the base of the hill.
Turning to face the cabin, Gray shouted for his security team. “Help!” he cried, limping his way toward the cabin. The shouting continued as he climbed up the porch steps and burst through the front door.
“What the…” Gray muttered under his breath as his body wrenched to a stop.
They were dead. All of them.
“Morning,” a deep, booming voice called out as a tall, black man walked out of the kitchen, holding a suppressed pistol in his hand and a suppressed rifle across his chest.
Gray gasped in terror as he did an about-face and ran back out onto the porch. But the sniper was waiting for him, walking with purpose and devotion in each step. He raised his pistol and calmly leveled it on Gray.
“Mr. Gray,” the man said with a friendly smile. “Matthew Hagan. It’s great to finally make your acquaintance.”
Hagan’s smiling face was the last thing Gray saw before the world went black.
Chapter 36
Mason’s phone buzzed again, causing both he and Kayla to tense with anticipation, but it was just another message from Sergeant Winters.
Call me. I really need to go over some details about the case. It’s important, the message read.
Mason had called in sick for the past couple of days, and, as such, wasn’t responding to any inquiries over work matters. In his years of his service, he only called off once before being wounded at the apartment, and that was for the birth of his daughter. With orders to take off at least four weeks to recover from his injuries, Mason was home for just a few days before going back to work in a limited capacity, usually at the request of Secretary Gray. So, once Gray left for his cabin for a few days, no one questioned Mason’s request for sick leave. But, evidently, his sergeant did not get the memo.
Mason had spent the past two days preparing for their departure. Since he didn’t know when he might get that call, he wanted to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. They wouldn’t be able to bring much, so he and Kayla painstakingly prioritized the most important things to them and packed them away in a small carrying pack. At the end of the day, it was all just things, and all that truly mattered was that they had each other. Items were replaceable. People weren’t. But there were a few keepsakes that carried with them a great deal of sentiment, especially for Kayla, such as her father’s bronze star, and Robyn’s first pair of booties. They were small and lightweight, allowing them more space to store gear that would potentially be lifesaving for their journey ahead, such as an extra pistol and ammunition, some food, water and medical supplies.
Kayla looked at him, her eyes wrought with trouble as she waited just as anxiously for the call as Mason. He reached across the small, round table and squeezed her clammy hand, offering a reassuring smile. He mouthed out, “It’s going to be okay,” to her, trying to avoid the way-too-smart two-year-old at the table from picking up on their stress.
She feigned a smile, but the weight of the circumstances was crush
ing her, and Mason knew it.
Keeping up the appearance that everything was normal, Mason scooped up another helping of his wife’s scalloped potatoes and slopped it down onto his plate. He hadn’t had much of an appetite since Hagan nearly killed him, but after finally confronting the man and asking for his help, Mason’s appetite grew steadily, as if he needed to gain a few extra pounds to prepare for the long journey ahead.
“This is delicious,” Mason said as he chewed, tossing all form of table manners out the window. “I think this might be your best batch yet, honey,” he added with a wink.
“They’re pretty okay, I think,” Robyn chimed in with her take, eliciting a chuckle from Kayla. The first in many days.
“Just okay?” Mason asked, acting as if she was crazy. “I don’t think so. These are amazing. They are…” he paused for effect, “the bomb!”
The little girl giggled at her father’s exaggerated voice, shoveling another bite into her mouth. “Ohhh, Daddy,” she said sarcastically.
The lighthearted moment was good for everyone at the table, but when Mason’s phone buzzed again—this time the encrypted burner—the palpable silence returned.
It’s Done.
We’re a go.
Wednesday.
Mason smiled, relief flushing through his body. He looked up at Kayla and simply said, “Wednesday.”
She nodded, visible tension leaving her body as her shoulders lowered.
Mason took what felt like his first breath in days. Wednesday was still almost four days away, which meant they were far from out of the woods, but knowing that the wheels were in motion allowed him to relax some. Something he hadn’t done since Kayla told him she was pregnant. It was as if the vice that gripped his chest since that moment finally released. If all went according to plan, they would be in Austin sometime late next week, debriefing with the Texas Guard. Of course, Mason didn’t plan to stay for long. Once Kayla and Robyn were situated in a safe home, Mason had every intention to return to this fight. Though their circumstances required him to take a brief hiatus, Mason’s fight with the regime wasn’t done yet. Not until after they wave the white flag and surrendered all of Alexandria so that America could finally be reunited.
