by R. A. McGee
“Yes, but we still have to be careful. Going room to room was a bad plan, and now it’s an even worse one. Kevon could be anywhere in the compound. We can’t risk him being hit by a stray round through a wall. We stick to the plan,” Badway said.
“Good,” Amy said. “Got a good plan for the diversion?”
“I do,” Badway said. “It’s a good one.”
Something about the way Badway said it didn’t sit right with Porter. His cousin was a little too excited.
In short order, the group was at the armory, Badway punching the keycard to open the gate. He pulled behind Porter’s SUV. Cat’s BMW was still there.
No one in the truck mentioned it.
“Is that a dick on your car?” Amy said, stifling a laugh.
“It was a package option I went with,” Porter said. “I think it says a lot about me.”
“I’m sure. Listen, I have to ride with you now. How could I not ride in the Weinermobile?” Amy got out of Badway’s truck and stood next to Porter’s Yukon.
Porter saw the disappointment in his cousin's face, but Badway played it off. “Who can blame you? I called it the same thing.”
Porter fired up the SUV. He unlocked the door and Amy climbed in with him. “You have the matching tits on the other side? Whatever they charged you for that paint job wasn’t enough. It’s a work of art.”
“I appreciate the female form,” Porter said.
He pulled out of the space and squeezed the Yukon next to Badway’s truck. “I’ll throw the address in my GPS. You follow me. Good?”
“Perfect,” Badway said. “Call if you come up with something else on the way.”
Porter pulled out of the armory and the exit gate opened automatically. Following the directions, he was soon on the highway and moving at a good clip.
The sun was bright, and Porter pulled down his sunglasses. The staples in his head hurt, and he had the beginnings of a headache. Still, the shower had done wonders for his mindset, and he was glad to be moving toward Vance. There was an unresolved conflict that he couldn’t wait to finish.
Amy broke into his thoughts. “So, what do you guys want me to do when we get to Vance’s?”
“We haven’t figured it out yet, but we’ll need something. Can you shoot a pistol?”
Amy looked offended. “I’m from Minnesota,” she said, as if that answered everything.
“How about a rifle?”
“I went hunting with my father every year. He leased big tracts of land for us to hunt on. He would take each of us kids a couple times every year so he could spend time with us. His daughter was no exception. I can shoot.”
“Do you want to? That’s what I should be asking.”
“It’s not like I woke up this morning wanting to kill people, if that’s what you want to know. But I told you, I’m all the way in. If it comes down to it, I won’t let people hurt you guys,” Amy said.
“Especially Badway,” Porter said.
“And including you,” Amy said.
“Good enough for me.”
The cabin of the Yukon was quiet for the rest of the drive, with only small bits of information passed back and forth and the occasional direction by the GPS. Porter followed these, and was told to turn off the highway at a nondescript exit. The only thing there was a closed-down, boarded-up gas station.
Porter pulled off and came to a T intersection, and followed the directions to turn right.
“This is a big road, considering there isn't anyone using it,” Amy said.
“I’m sure they needed four lanes when the concrete plant was busy. Once it closed, no more traffic. There’s no reason for anyone to be on the road to a place that isn't in business,” Porter said.
On both sides, dense forest rose high into the air. Thick, full woods that were hard to see through and impossible to drive through.
Amy picked up the phone. “GPS says the destination is half a mile up on the left.”
“I don’t want to get that close,” Porter said. He slowed the Yukon to a crawl.
“What are you looking for?” Amy said.
“It’s Virginia. People gotta hunt, right?”
Amy raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Porter went several hundred feet until he saw what he was looking for: a small turn-off with old tire tracks. He followed the tracks, pulling the Yukon off the road until a thick piece of braided metal wire blocked the way.
“Be right back,” Porter said.
He walked over to the wire, checked both ends of it, then lifted the left side up and off the metal hook it sat on. Porter pulled it out of the way to the right and left it coiled in the overgrown grass.
He shut the door and pulled the Yukon into drive again.
“How did you know that was there?” Amy said.
“You told me you hunted with your dad on a lease, right? They do that everywhere. Guys pay for the rights to hunt land that nobody’s doing anything with. They use old logging roads as ways to get in and out. Why blaze a new path in these thick-ass woods? We should be able to use this to get a good ways in. I want to see if something’s still there.”
“What?”
“You’ll see,” Porter said.
Behind them, Badway passed the entryway, replaced the metal rope, and followed Porter.
“How can you even see where you’re going?” Amy said. The forest had reclaimed the driving path.
“As long as I don’t hit anything bigger than a cow, I should be okay,” Porter said.
The bumps jostled the pair around in their seats. Twice, Porter hit his head on the headliner. “Dammit.” His staples hurt again.
The trail snaked around until it emptied out into a small clearing.
“That’s what you were looking for?” Amy said.
“I remembered seeing it from the overhead view.”
Ahead of them was an enormous, rusty column. Following the column vertically one hundred feet led to a large sphere on top. It looked like a massive golf ball on a tee.
“A water tower?” Amy said.
“Yep. Makes sense. When the factory was busy, they would have used thousands of gallons a day. There’s no city water to draw from out here.”
“Why would they put it on the other side of the road? Logistically, it seems like things would be much more difficult.”
“Maybe there were better wells on this side or something. Maybe there’s a stream we can’t see. Either way, that’s where we’ll get the best overwatch on the plant.”
“Up there?” Amy said.
“All the way. You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?”
Thirty-Four
“I’ll go first,” Badway said, upon joining the group. “I don’t mind a climb.”
“We figured you wouldn’t,” Porter said.
“You guys aren’t leaving me down here by myself,” Amy said.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Badway said. He dug around in his back seat and pulled out his large rifle and the backpack. “Which do you want?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Porter said, taking the backpack and slipping it on his shoulders.
“You guys ready?” Badway said.
“Born ready,” Amy said.
Porter laughed.
“What? I’m excited.”
The group walked to the back side of the water tower. Approximately ten feet off the ground were the ladder’s metal rungs. The ladder was newer than the water tower, likely renovated when Vance bought the place. Around the ladder, a metal enclosure formed a sort of shell.
“At least we won't fall off if we lean backward,” Badway said. He took two steps and jumped, grabbing on to the bottom rung. He did a pull-up and when his chin was close to the bottom rung, he walked his hands up several more rungs, arms flexed the entire time. When his feet were on the bottom rung, he began climbing.
“Showoff,” Amy said.
Porter leaned his back against the cool metal of the column and laced his fingers together, held out in f
ront of him. “I got you.”
Amy placed her right foot into the cradle Porter’s hands formed.
“One, two, three,” she said. Simultaneously, she stepped up, and Porter lifted his hands to eye level. He pressed Amy to the full extension of his arms. His height coupled with hers, and she was already grabbing the tenth or twelfth rung as she stepped onto the ladder.
“Holy shit, you’re strong,” Amy said.
“I wouldn’t call you heavy. Must be your metabolism.” Stepping away from the column, Porter eyed the distance between the ground and the ladder. He took a couple more steps than Badway had, but jumped and grabbed the second rung. He placed the soles of his Chuck Taylors on the column, using it for a boost, and scrambled his way up until his feet were on the ladder.
Porter climbed.
Getting above the forest, he soon lost the cover of the trees and a stiff, chilly wind hit him. The midday sun was deceptive. Halfway up, he heard Amy call out above him.
“Hey, Baddie? From this angle, it looks like you have a pretty good ass,” she said.
“See? This is why I always take the stairs,” Badway called down to Porter.
“Keep your nice ass,” Porter said. “Give me the elevator.”
The group continued climbing. Before long, they reached a small landing and a metal platform that encircled the perimeter of the big water tank.
Badway stepped to the right, reaching down and offering a hand to Amy, pulling her up the rest of the way. They both moved and let Porter finish the climb.
Keeping the tank in front of them as cover, the group moved counterclockwise until they could just see around the orb. Badway got down on his stomach and crawled forward. Amy knelt above him, and Porter ducked his head down.
The water tower was further up the road than the factory, so they had to turn left, looking down the road they’d driven in on to see it.
In person, the defunct factory was more massive than it appeared on the computer. Five structures with metal roofs and no sides lined up in the middle of the open space. To the right of them were smaller buildings, with proper walls. Above them, farthest from the water tower, were two rows of trailers, five on each side with a walkway in between.
The entire complex was below the grade of the road, as if it were sunken into the bottom of a shallow fishbowl.
Closest to the street was the main entrance. A small branch led off the main road, to what looked to be a guard house.
“You guys seeing this?” Badway pointed with his left hand.
To the left of the first open-sided building sat a large airplane on a runway that disappeared into the distance. The plane was enormous; whatever color it had started its life as, it was now painted dark blue and emblazoned with the Parabellum logo.
“I thought he only flew little planes,” Porter said. “That’s like take-your-ass-to-Paris big.”
“He’s going to Costa Rica, remember?” Amy said. “He needs something with some range. I think that’s a seven forty-seven.”
Behind the guard house were several black vehicles of assorted sizes.
“Looks like he has a full house,” Porter said.
“Is this bad?” Amy said.
“It was already bad. This didn’t make it much worse,” Porter answered. “We just might need a bigger diversion to draw that much attention.”
“What do you guys want me to do? I’m ready, honest.”
Badway pushed up to his knees, then stood. “I’m not letting you go into that place. Too many things that could go sideways.”
“Isn’t it a little early in our relationship for you to be telling me what to do?” Amy said, no hint of sarcasm in her voice.
Badway stammered out a response and Porter jumped in to help his cousin.
“I think what he means is, down there may turn into a kill zone. What will give us the best chance of success is having someone on overwatch. If you can keep your eyes peeled, I agree the best spot for you is right here.”
“On the water tower?” Amy said.
“You can watch everything and let us know what’s happening. Worst-case scenario, you can shoot at some guys if we need it. It’s about four hundred yards to the trailers over there. That’s a long shot, so you might not hit anything, but just the fact you’re laying down rounds will help us out.”
Amy looked at the men. “Is that what’s going to help the most?”
“Honestly,” Porter said.
“Yes,” Badway said.
“If that’s what my boys need, that’s what I’ll do,” she said. She pointed to the SCAR. “Make sure I know how to work this thing. It’s fancier than Dad’s deer rifle.”
Badway set the rifle down, extending the bipod legs and giving Amy a quick lesson.
Porter eyed the factory again, lamenting the fact that there was so much open area.
When Badway finished, he handed Amy a pair of binoculars from his bag and gave her a radio. “Just tell us what you see, okay? We’ll let you know where we are.”
Amy nodded. “Be safe, guys. I would hate to think that on our only date, Baddie ordered fish and chips and Porter didn’t eat a bun. When this is over, you guys have to let me take us for some real food.” She gave a thin smile.
Porter started down the ladder. It was much quicker than climbing up, but his fingers were stiff and cold by the time he got down. He hung from the bottom rung, arms extended, and dropped a short way.
He moved over to his Yukon, his cousin materializing next to him.
“I was thinking,” Badway said.
“We need a bigger diversion,” Porter said.
“Yeah. The factory is enormous and we need to attract all the attention we can.”
“I agree,” Porter said.
“Good. I have an idea. I’m not sure if you’ll like it, but it makes me happy as hell.” Badway explained his plan.
“What do you expect me to say to that?”
“Say yes. You know it’s the move.”
“It’s one way to go. It doesn’t have to be the way we go,” Porter said. He popped open the trunk on his Yukon and pulled his rifle from the trunk.
Badway went to his own rifle case and pulled off a layer of black foam padding, revealing another, smaller rifle. He adjusted the sling and checked the Aimpoint red dot.
Porter looked at him for a moment. “I really hate your mustache. Have I told you how bad you look? I might die in this plant and I’d have to be next to you while you look like that.”
“You don’t mean that. You’re just mad about my plan.”
“Hell yeah, I’m mad.”
“Are you saying you don’t agree with it?” Badway moved to his truck, pulling his bag out.
“I agree with it. That’s why I’m mad. It would be nicer if it was your truck.”
“The bed has more utility,” Badway said.
“I know.”
“So I can do it?” Badway said.
Porter nodded and patted his Yukon. “Just let me get my shit out first.”
An enormous smile ate up Badway’s face. He sat in the driver's seat, pulling what looked like gray bricks from his bag. “Big boom.”
Thirty-Five
Once Badway finished working underneath Porter’s Yukon, the cousins put in the ear canal radio receivers and checked that Amy could hear them.
“Yes, I can hear you. What the hell is taking you two so long? It’s cold as a witch’s tit up here.”
“Is that some Minnesota stuff?” Porter said.
“Yeah it is, and it feels like I’m back home right now. You guys ready?”
Porter looked at Badway and shrugged. “Not the best plan, but I’m ready.”
Badway was stretching his legs, like an athlete getting ready for a sprint.
“Yeah, he’s ready too,” Porter said.
The men piled into Porter’s Yukon, careful not to jostle anything. Badway drove. When they reached the entrance to the logging path, the factory was to their right, and they were hidden
from the factory’s view. Badway pulled to the woods across the street and Porter got out, both rifles in his hands.
“You hustle back,” Porter said. “I’d hate to kick this off without you.”
“You don’t get to have all the fun. I’ll be right back.” Badway reversed out of the spot and pulled back onto the road. Porter headed deeper into the woods. He pushed his way through the thick growth until he reached the tree line. Still hidden from any eyes that might be looking, he now had a brand-new angle of the compound.
Directly in front of him was the runway. The plane was to his left, about fifty yards up the tarmac. It was even larger now that he was at its level, and it loomed, enormous, overhead.
In the distance, he could see the five big buildings. He could just make out the guardhouse, and while he couldn’t see them, he knew the cluster of trailers was on the other side of the warehouses. He knelt down.
There was no movement.
He pushed the radio. “Amy? You got eyes on Badway?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s pulling up the road, almost driving in the grass on the opposite side of the street.”
“He’s trying to make sure they don’t see him. I don’t think they will. Everything is set low; we’re in a depression. I can’t see the street from down here, just the rise of the hill,” Porter said.
“Okay, now he’s turning left onto the road to the guardhouse,” Amy said.
“He should park it at the top,” Porter said.
“He did. Your Yukon is on top of the hill. Now he’s out; he’s running away from the truck. Look at him go—shit, he’s fast,” Amy said.
“He doesn’t need any more reason to have a big head,” Porter said.
Badway’s voice crackled through the receivers. “You know I can hear you both, right?”
“So?” Amy said. There was silence for a minute. “Okay, he’s about halfway back to where he dropped you off.”
Porter was listening to Amy’s play-by-play, but he was watching the compound. The plan hinged on getting Vance when he was trying to board the airplane. They didn’t need him ducking back into a building.
A few moments later, Amy got on the radio again. “Now he’s dipping into the woods. You should see him soon.”
