Southlands
Page 12
Taylor frowned. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll just arrest you,” Carl said. “I think I’ve got plenty at this point to believe that you’re a Lincolnist, based on what you’ve told me.”
“I’m not!”
“Then you better start telling us what it is that you’re going to give us.” Carl’s voice stopped being friendly. “This isn’t the time to mess around, Ms. Sullivan. And I’m not the one to mess around with. You started this game, now it’s time to play ball.”
Taylor’s jaw worked silently for a few seconds. “Fine.” Her eyes flew back and forth again. “It’s Elsie Foster. I can give you Elsie Foster.”
***
“Don’t torpedo this,” Carl growled from across the desk.
Taylor Sullivan was now outside the office, watched by Kurt. Mitch and Logan were on their way up to retrieve her, and Rudy and Morrow were prepping to drive out to the Sullivan house, get Ben Sullivan—her son—and secure them at The Complex.
But Angela didn’t like it.
Carl wasn’t trying to intimidate Angela, but he was passionate about the subject at hand, and leaned across her desk, glowering at her for her resistance.
“The kid’s a rapist!” Angela hissed, not wanting to be heard through the office door. “No, not a kid. Let’s call it like it is, Carl. He’s a goddamned man, and he raped one of the girls! That’s not something you get a free pass on!”
Carl was not a man prone to losing his temper, but he would’ve liked to hurl everything off of Angela’s desk in that moment, just to get her attention. But, as always, Carl controlled himself.
He pushed himself upright again. Took a breath. “Angela, you want me to take these people down through legal means. Due process. All that horseshit. Well, this is it. This is how we get in. You wanted proof? Now you’ve got it. You can’t throw that away.”
“What if people find out that we’re harboring a rapist?”
“We won’t tell them. And I don’t think the Sullivan’s will either.”
“But Elsie Foster will!” Angela smacked the desktop. “She has proof! She’ll come out with it if we make a move!”
Carl nodded. “Then we’ll work quietly, and quickly. Before they have a chance to react. Let me secure the Sullivans, we’ll debrief the Benjamin kid, and we’ll take down everyone we need to take down before they can start muddying the waters.”
Angela raked a hand through her hair. “It’s not right.”
Carl hadn’t wanted to bring up the trump card here, but he had no other option. “Angela, they were trying to poison your daughter.”
Angela stared at him like he’d smacked her.
The two of them remained silent for a long moment.
Carl could see Angela struggling with this. She wanted to do the civilized thing—that was her big hang-up. She wanted them all to be so civilized. But they weren’t dealing with civilized people. They were dealing with people that would infect a young girl with plague-tainted tissue, just to get at her mother.
For a flash, Carl saw the same hatred in Angela’s eyes that he felt in his own soul.
The desire to throw civility to the wind and scorch the earth.
“Let me do my job,” Carl pressed. “I can dismantle them before they even know what’s going on. All I need is for you to let me do it. Let me off the leash, Angela. Let me handle this. You’ve got the proof you’ve been waiting for.”
Angela crossed her arms over her chest. Put one hand over her mouth. Looked off at nothing in particular. Her eyes showed the faintest glimmer of moisture, but all of the emotion had been stricken from her face. Save for the hint of tears in her eyes, she looked cold and dead.
Finally, her blue eyes met his gray ones.
Across the small span of desktop, and vastly different life experiences, they shared a moment of grim determination.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Angela said quietly. “This Sullivan man-child piece of shit. I won’t go back on my word to Taylor. But you put the fear of God into him, Carl. I want him to understand in no uncertain terms, that if he ever makes another slip, if he even so much as swipes an extra can of beans from a ration box, then him and his mother are both done here. I’ll kick their asses out of this Safe Zone so fast, the primals will be picking their bones clean before they can say the word ‘immunity.’ Is that understood?”
Carl nodded. “Perfectly.”
Angela leaned forward. “Do this quick and quiet, Carl. Before Elsie can catch wind of it.”
“Enough said.” Carl spun on his heels, not wanting to wait another moment. The leash had been removed. It was time to do work.
When he opened the door to Angela’s office, he stopped, staring at the scene outside.
Kurt was there, standing next to Taylor Sullivan.
But someone else was present as well.
Claire Staley stood across from them, staring at Taylor, while Taylor stared at the ground.
For a brief moment, Carl was concerned about discretion, and the security of the operation, but when Claire turned to look at him, he saw that there might be other problems at hand.
Claire’s face was pale, and her sharp, green eyes were bloodshot and puffy, like she’d been crying.
Carl didn’t know what else to do, so he stood aside, holding the door for Claire.
Claire stepped into the room and looked at Angela. Her mouth worked silently for a second or two. Fresh tears sprang into her eyes.
“It’s my father,” she choked out. “I think he committed suicide.”
TEN
─▬▬▬─
TARGETS
When Tex got back to the hideout, Lee could immediately see that he was excited.
The second that the big pickup truck rolled to a stop beneath the canopy of mesquite, the front passenger door opened and Tex slid out. He had a spring in his step as he walked towards the house, trailing Corporal Thompson. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but the corners of his mouth were quirked up.
Lee watched him from the window in the common area that looked into the back of the property. He glanced to his right, to where Julia and Abe sat in quiet conversation with two members of Tex’s crew, playing an inscrutable card game they called euchre. Deuce lay a pace away from Lee, his head on his paws, watching Lee carefully like he might spring up at any moment. Deuce was never relaxed around this many strangers.
Tex entered the back door and flowed into the living room, bringing with him a rush of activity. “We got word,” he announced to everyone in the room. He spied Lee as he pushed his Oakleys up onto his head and motioned Lee over. “Come join us in the war room.”
The “war room” turned out to be the dining room, situated just off the living room. It had a table that was large enough for everyone to huddle over. There was enough seating, but everyone chose to stand.
Tex placed his rifle on the table and started shucking off his armor. “Just got back from a meeting with several of our satellite groups, as well as some new allies.” He looked at Lee and Abe. “Y’all remember Cheech and Tully?”
“No shit?” Lee’s eyebrows went up. “You’ve been in contact with them?”
Cheech and Tully were both Coordinators. Oklahoma and New Mexico, respectively.
Cheech was not his actual name. It was Trzetrzelewska, but nobody could pronounce it. When they’d met at Project Hometown selection, he’d introduced himself as “Captain cheh-cheh-LEV-ska,” which he quickly followed with a knowing smile and “just call me Cheech.”
Tully was just Captain Tully.
Tex nodded. “They’ve been busy. Cheech in particular. He’s got Greeley breathing down his neck, but he’s managed to keep a low profile. From what I can tell from our source in Greeley, Briggs still doesn’t know whether Cheech and Tully are non-viable, or simply dead. Which will work to our advantage.”
Lee frowned, and felt old memories washing up on him. “How are they?”
Tex eyed Lee. “Well. They’re still al
ive. But they don’t have near the infrastructure you have.” Tex favored him with a small smile. “I don’t know if you know this, Lee. But amongst our friends from Project Hometown, there’s really only two categories: Those that have gone to Briggs, and those that are barely surviving. What you accomplished in North Carolina…well, you’re the only one that’s done it.”
“Texas seems to be doing okay,” Lee pointed out.
Tex snorted. “Us? We’re just a bunch of guerillas in the hills, my friend. And right now we’re sandwiched between two very big threats—three, if you count the teepios. But that brings me back to Oklahoma and New Mexico. I’ve been in talks with them for a while, but since they learned that I’ve got the great Lee Harden in my midst, they’re in with both feet. They don’t have a lot to commit to the fight, but we know that we’ve got allies on two sides of us, so that’s good. And Cheech can offer a buffer between us and Colorado. Against ground mobilization, anyways...”
As Tex spoke, Lee glanced to his right, looking to get a gauge on Julia’s reaction to what she was hearing. But when his eyes fell on her, he saw her lips were tight, and she was staring daggers across the table. For a second, Lee thought this rancor was directed at Tex, which seemed odd, but when he followed her gaze he saw one of Tex’s troops on the far end of the table, smiling back at Julia.
It was a young guy with sunburned skin, and Lee didn’t know his name. But Lee saw that his right hand was deep in the pocket of his pants, moving slowly back and forth over his crotch as he looked at Julia. He parted his lips, and his pink tongue flashed around inside.
Lee’s first instinct was to call the guy out. But the second he considered it, he could almost hear Julia’s angry voice: “If I wanted to make a scene, I would have made the scene!”
So Lee kept his mouth shut.
In the background, Tex’s voice.
And somewhere under Lee’s skin, right along his spine, a cold, steel thread drew tight. He didn’t feel enraged. It wasn’t hot and unthinking. It was a chilly sort of scientific curiosity that wondered how long could this guy keep his erection if I cut him open and spilled his guts on his feet?
“Lee.”
Lee blinked and looked at Tex.
Tex’s eyebrows were up. “You with me, brother?”
Lee gave him a perfunctory smile. “Yeah. I’m with you. Just…thinking.”
“So? Can you get your Marines over here?”
Lee hadn’t been tracking what Tex was saying. That was out of character for him, but then again, maybe he felt a little out of character lately. Regardless, it didn’t change Lee’s mental calculations. “I don’t know,” he said.
Tex looked like he was trying hard not to appear crestfallen. “Okay…what’s the problem?”
Someone off to the side let out a weird little titter.
Lee glanced over and saw that it was Jackoff himself.
The guy still had his hand in his pocket, but he wasn’t rubbing himself anymore. He’d turned his smile on Lee now. “I thought this guy was supposed to be in charge of…like…the military or something.”
Lee stared at him. Pictured that look of amusement changing to shock as he felt his intestines pile up at his feet…
Tex made a noise in the back of his throat. Something between a groan and a throat clear. “Thank you, Pikes. As usual, you add so much to the conversation. Don’t you have watch tonight? Shouldn’t you be catching up on sleep?”
A few of the soldiers around Pikes gave him derisive snickers, and one of them prodded his shoulder the way you would to get an annoying child to go back to their toys and leave the adults alone.
Pikes just kept smiling that idiot smile of his. “Yeah, alright.”
He turned with one last lecherous gaze at Julia, and departed from the table, hand still in his pocket.
Tex watched him go with irritation scribbled across his features. Then he turned his gaze to Lee. “What’s up?”
“First off,” Lee said. “I don’t control the military. We have an elected civilian that makes the decisions. Commander and chief shit.”
Tex nodded. “Sure. But she pretty much does what you tell her to, right?”
Lee shook his head. “Not necessarily. And we don’t want to plan around an assumption.” Lee took a breath. “The second thing is that the Marines are currently stationed in Georgia, waiting for orders. Which means they’ve got three states of hostile territory to cross.”
“The I-20 corridor is mostly clear,” Tex pointed out. “Could have them here within a day.”
Lee folded his arms across his chest. “What are we talking about here, Tex? You trying to retake Texas?”
His fellow Coordinator shook his head. “Eventually, yes. But not right now. Right now, we need the same thing we’ve always needed: A big target. Something that will weaken Nuevas Fronteras and Greeley at the same time. Ideally, it would also strengthen us.”
“So a fuel depot?” Abe offered. “Again?”
“Nah,” Tex replied. “We need something bigger. Something like one of their refineries. Or a transfer station. Something that damages their production capability.”
Abe and Lee exchanged a look. Lee nodded to encourage Abe to go on. Lee didn’t always want to be the nay-sayer.
Abe looked to Tex. “Listen. Even if we could time it perfectly and get all the Marines from Georgia to Texas safely and when we need them, there’s still a big issue here.”
“What’s that?”
“You want a prime target, right?”
“Right.”
Abe nodded. “Well, what do you think Nuevas Fronteras is gonna think when they see a contingent of Marines hightailing it towards Texas? And they will see it. That’s the problem. Even if they cross those three states without getting ambushed, they’re guaranteed to get noticed. And once they’re noticed, Nuevas Fronteras is gonna go on high alert and double down on any strategically valuable locations they have. Which means any attack we have planned is going to be exponentially harder.”
Lee listened, and nodded his head.
Tex frowned but didn’t disagree. It was simple enough that Tex should have seen it, but at the same time, Lee could appreciate that sometimes positive momentum could blind you to the weak points in a plan. You needed someone to play devil’s advocate and deliberately poke holes to see the weak points.
“Alright,” Tex rubbed his mouth. “I won’t argue that point. Element of surprise. That’s our biggest advantage. And we shit it out the window if they see all those Marines coming.”
Abe nodded.
“Where are we getting this target?” Lee inquired.
“I’m scheduled to talk to our guy in Greeley tomorrow afternoon. I’ll let him know we’re ready to make a move. He’ll probe around for something juicy, and pass it on.”
Lee was aware that their “guy in Greeley” was Major John Bellamy. Tex had confided that to him, but for purposes of opsec, they referred to him in general terms. Tex didn’t expect any of his guys to be in Briggs’s pocket, but you could never be too careful.
Lee chose his words carefully, because he was aware that he’d poked away at Tex’s plan in front of his men, and he didn’t want to appear like he was undermining Tex’s authority. “That’s why I’m hesitant to call the Marines in right now. But…if I can make a suggestion?”
Tex leaned back and gave Lee a go ahead wave.
“You work your magic with your guy in Greeley,” Lee said. “Get the target. Once we have a plan, we start moving on it. Send one tanker of diesel from the convoy earlier today over to the Marines in Georgia. I’ll have them bolster up an even bigger force out of Fort Bragg. When we’re ready to make the hit on the target, we can start them moving in our direction. We’ll hopefully have the target hit before Nuevas Fronteras gets word of the Marines coming, and then once they’re here, we can use them to bolster our defenses against a counter-attack. Which we’re going to need. Because both Greeley and Nuevas Fronteras are going to be pissed if we pull th
is off.” Lee held up his hands. “Your guys—your call. I’m simply offering my advice.”
Tex eyed him, but Lee couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He could tell that he was being gauged, but other than that, Tex kept a pretty good poker face.
Finally, he nodded. “Well, like you said: Why don’t we get the target first and go from there?”
***
The two-engine Cessna landed at the airport in Greeley, Colorado at about midday.
The Greeley-Webb County Airport had recently been annexed into the official Greeley Green Zone, which meant that all the military birds—mostly helicopters—that had been clustered in a large shopping mall parking lot, now had a little elbow room.
The Cessna, however, was an unwelcome guest.
It had not responded to any transmissions, and it was not on any official schedule.
As its tires chirped on the tarmac and the flaps slowed it down, a pair of pickup trucks with an ample amount of soldiers in the bed and on the running boards, tore after it.
The Cessna buzzed to a stop about halfway down the airfield. The props still spun, but whoever was in the pilot’s seat had at least noticed the pickup trucks approaching and wasn’t taxiing away from them.
A soldier on a bullhorn shouted commands that may or may not have been audible to the pilot.
The two pickups came roaring to a stop, about twenty yards off the right wing.
“You are not authorized to use this airfield!” the soldier with the bullhorn repeated for the third time. “Shut down the engines! Exit the plane with your hands over your head! If you do not comply, we will fire on you!”
The soldiers pointed their rifles, ready and more than willing to demolish the little Cessna at the slightest provocation. Airport security was one of the more boring assignments. Everyone was starving for some entertainment, and shredding a small aircraft seemed like just the thing to scour their doldrums away.
The soldier with the bullhorn waited, glaring at the Cessna, and right about the time when he took a breath to blare out a final warning, he heard a car horn behind him.