by Brian Parker
“Unless they were worried about this thing being airborne,” the Brit interjected.
He felt his skin crawl as he unconsciously held his breath, thankful for the mask that he’d insisted everyone wear inside the complex. “I don’t think we can risk taking one of those bodies out of here. We can get a tissue sample and seal it up in a couple of Ziploc baggies for the docs back in the States to look at, but we can’t haul an entire body out of here.” He paused and looked at the major. “For that matter, I don’t think we can risk removing Seong’s body either.”
He saw Alcock’s eyebrows dart upward and then lower in a scowl. “Lieutenant Seong was an officer of Her Majesty’s Special Air Service. A decorated hero. We cannot leave his body to be desecrated by these heathens.”
“I know that, Ralph, and I’m truly sorry. What if bringing his body out of here spreads the disease and causes the death of thousands of people?”
The major deliberated with himself for a moment before finally saying, “Alright. We leave him, but we’re sealing this place good. It will be his tomb.”
“Agreed,” Grady replied without hesitation. He waited for an answer, when none came, he said, “Let’s get out of here so we can do a hasty decon at our assembly area, then EXFIL this shithole.”
“Oh joy,” Bazan grumbled, stumping up the hallway toward the last body. Grady watched as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves from his med kit and then seemed to consider his options before putting another pair over the first.
“That patrol is coming back,” Knasovich said over the radio. “Estimate seven minutes based on the speed of the group last time.”
Grady cursed and rushed to assist the demolitions man. It took less than a minute to saw away skin and muscle tissue for their sample bag, and then they were moving toward the exit. He looked at his watch. They’d been inside for over an hour. It made sense that the patrol would be by on a regular schedule.
“Okay, let’s go!” he growled, pushing himself to his feet.
They ran to the exit and closed the door, spinning the wheel to lock it into place. Bazan prepared some type of compound that he made by mixing liquids from three different tubes.
“Four minutes,” the sniper announced. “Six men.”
The Brit picked up the chain and weaved it through the wheel as it had been before. He held it in place while Grady hooked the lock back through the links and Bazan used his compound to glue the severed pieces of metal together.
“They’re at the first guard shack.”
The compound worked quickly and after a count of thirty, the Iraqi instructed them to drop the chain carefully. He repositioned the lock so the most obvious part of the field weld was hidden by one of the massive chain links, and then they were running for the field, sweeping away their footsteps as they went.
“You’re not going to make it,” Knasovich said. “Authorization to take the shot?”
“They’re going to make it,” Hannah’s voice came over the radio. It was the first time she’d spoken since going into the overwatch position with the sniper.
“Harper?” Knasovich asked.
“Give them a chance,” Hannah implored. She knew the deal as much as any of them. If they began shooting, there was an entire battalion of soldiers ringing the facility, and another seventy miles to the Sea of Japan where their EXFIL point was located.
Grady dove into the snow as an errant beam of light swept by at shoulder height. They were only fifteen feet from the guard shack—half as far as he’d been earlier when he was sure he was going to be discovered. He pushed his rifle forward and put the crosshairs on the lead man.
“If this goes anywhere, I’ve got the leader. Baz, you hit the number two man, Ralph, you get one of the two guys walking side-by-side. Alex, you’ve got the guys in the rear. Do not, I say again, do not fire unless you have a positive ID that they’ve seen us or that they notice something about the door.”
The patrol went into the nearby guard shack, once again giving it a cursory glance before making their way to the facility entrance. Grady’s rifle barrel followed them the entire way and he felt his teammates doing the same.
At the entrance, the lead patrol man picked up the lock and tugged on it. “You sure that shit is gonna hold, Baz?” he whispered.
“It should. Get ready if it doesn’t.”
The lock clanked loudly as the Korean dropped it and the metal hit against the doorway. He leaned close, cupping his hand over his ear to listen. The others laughed and watched him nervously. After a moment, the man shrugged and said something to the others. They turned to walk back up the road.
One of the men looked at the ground where they’d entered the snow and called out. The others halted, turning toward him.
“Harper?” Knasovich repeated.
“I see it,” he replied.
The soldier who’d called out for his companions to stop lifted up his jacket and pulled his waistband down. His dick appeared in his hand and he began pissing on the snow. The others watched lazily until he was done. When he heaved his pants back up, the rest of the men turned back down the road and left.
Grady exhaled. “See, I told you they’d make it,” Hannah said. He grinned in spite of his mood. That woman was too much of an optimist to be in this line of work.
TWENTY-ONE
* * *
CRESCENT CITY, CALIFORNIA
MARCH 23RD
The old guard’s knees popped as he sat down at the corner table of his regular diner. He’d worked overtime again last night, pulling a double. His scheduled first shift had extended completely through the second shift at Pelican Bay. He rarely worked less than sixty-five hours a week, and had to burn vacation days just to make that happen. It was standard in his line of work here in California. They didn’t want to pay healthcare benefits or provide a pension plan to more folks than they had to, so they hired about a third less people than they really needed and just paid the overtime to everyone else. Ram didn’t mind it any longer. The first four or five years, it’d driven him crazy. Now, nearly a quarter of a century later, he just added all the overtime to his retirement accounts.
And Rick “Ram” Ramacher was absolutely ready to retire. Eleven more days and he was hanging it up to spend some much-needed quality time with his daughter. Both he and his wife, Louise, had sacrificed far too many birthdays, graduations, and other important family events to keep the inmates at that damn prison locked away from the rest of the world. Life wasn’t fair, but the Ramachers had tried to make the most of it and somehow, against the odds, they were still together as a family. Louise had five more years in that hellhole until she was eligible to retire, but Ram? Ram was gonna get through these next eleven days and then hang it all up—forever.
He didn’t have any plans other than retirement. He was half a year shy of fifty, so he had plenty of good years ahead of him, he just didn’t know what he wanted to do with those years yet. Maybe he’d go back to school and finish the degree he started back when he was in the Air Force. Yeah, right, he chuckled to himself. Not a chance in hell he’d subject himself to that bullshit. He’d probably do what he was doing right now for the first few months and then figure it out.
He perused the menu out of habit while he waited; he already knew what he would order. He ordered the same thing every damn time: two eggs, over easy, side of bacon, the garden vegetable medley, two pieces of toast—with white bread, not those other low carb, Paleo, seed-filled, seaweed-infused hippie breads that they offered—a glass of orange juice, and a coffee.
“Hey, Old Man,” a woman called out from near the doorway.
He turned, recognizing the sound of the voice. “Hey, Jesse,” he replied.
“You alone?” she asked, indicating the vacant seat across from him.
He glanced at his watch. His wife was an hour overdue from work, which meant she’d probably been held over. “Yeah, I guess so. I was waiting to see if Louise was going to come off shift early enough to join me, but it looks like she’s not g
onna make it today.”
Jesse sat without being invited to do so. “Ah, the luxurious life of a prison guard.”
Ram laughed. “You’re too wet behind the ears to be that cynical, kiddo. You’ve been at The Bay, what, a year?”
“Two,” Jesse Moreno corrected him. “Two long years.”
Ram grunted. “Talk to me in twenty years.” He pushed the menu across the table to her. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
He watched her over the rim of his coffee cup as she read the menu. He wondered why she’d chosen to sit with him. They were friendly at work, she was nice—and nice to look at—but he barely knew the woman. Their shifts and assignments rarely synched up as far as he could remember.
“How’s the steak and eggs here?” she asked.
“Uh, I don’t know,” he admitted. “I always get the same thing.” He told her what his standard order was.
“Yeah, I’m over all the Keto-friendly, kale smoothie, unicorn frappe bullshit,” Jesse agreed. “Why is California so weird?”
Ram leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s a subject that I could go on for days about.”
“Oh really? You’ve got some pretty strong feelings about this state?” she teased.
“Too many,” he sighed. “I don’t have my blood pressure medication with me, so I probably should just leave it be. Let’s just say that I’m moving as soon as Louise retires.”
“Lucky bastard.” She paused when the waitress came over and ordered the chicken fried steak with white gravy and hash browns.
Ram started to say something about that kind of food ruining her figure, then in his mind he switched to saying that she was a real woman for eating that kind of hearty meal. In the end, he just chose to remain silent so he didn’t stick his foot in his mouth. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d let some off duty incident with a coworker ruin his retirement plans.
“So,” Jesse began. “You on shift today?”
“Yeah. I know it’ll probably be another double, so I’m just trying to get my fill of real food before I have to eat that shitty vending machine stuff during my second shift.”
“Why don’t they just schedule us for doubles and let us know? I mean, it’s not like they can’t look at the schedule ahead of time and realize they’re down ten or fifteen officers. That’s probably the most annoying part of our job, y’know?”
He smirked. “Really? I would have thought the full body cavity searches were the worst part. Or getting bitten by one of them diseased assholes during a cell sweep, or maybe getting shit thrown on you by the loonies in the psych ward.”
“Okay, you’re right.” It was her turn to lean back from the table. “I guess our job just sucks all around, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “It ain’t all sunshine and rainbows like the brochure promised it would be.”
The rest of breakfast passed quickly as Ram spent the better part of an hour telling Jesse some of his worst prison stories. The tables around them cleared quickly as other patrons left in disgust at the graphic nature of prison life. For her part, Jesse ate it up, loving the tales like only a fellow officer could.
Finally, the time came when Ram had to leave to get ready for his shift. He stood and reached his hand across the table to shake the woman’s hand. “Hey, I know we don’t know each other very well—”
“Better now, I think,” she injected.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Listen, if I don’t see you at the Bay again, you take care of yourself, okay? Don’t let any of those fuckers get away with anything.”
“I’m a tough girl, Ram.”
He nodded. “I know. Here’s a little bit of unsolicited advice. Don’t ever, ever let anyone get away with even a minor infraction. Once you do, that infraction becomes the norm and then the inmates are looking for new rules to bend and ignore. Pretty soon, it’s chaos. I’ve seen it, a decade ago, before the warden came in and clamped everything down tighter than a nun’s asshole. That old saying about giving them an inch and they’ll take a mile.”
“Give a moose a muffin, right?”
“Huh?”
She laughed. “It’s a kids’ book along the same lines. Give him a muffin, he’ll want jam, give him jam and he’ll want a glass of milk. The moose will ask for more and more until he’s eaten all your food.”
“You have kids?” Ram asked, surprised.
“No, but I’ve got four nieces and a nephew.”
“Ah. Okay,” he said, then chuckled as he thought of a moose eating muffins. “So don’t give the inmates any muffins, alright?”
She laughed. “No feeding the animals.”
“Exactly,” Ram muttered. “That’s exactly right.”
EASTERN COAST OF NORTH KOREA, SEA OF JAPAN
The nose of the old fishing boat rose on the wave and then tipped downward, crashing into the trough of water. Sea spray splashed against the windows of the tiny boat’s pilot house. Rob Carmike, the team’s communications expert, twisted knobs and pushed buttons until the decrepit wiper blades unfolded and wiped away the water enough for him to see.
Grady clutched at the doorjamb, trying to stay upright on the pitching deck. He was half in the small sheltered cabin and half out. “How the fuck do Navy guys do this all the time?” he groaned.
“This is pretty bad,” Carmike agreed as he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. He’d grown up in Minnesota and was the only one of Grady’s men who’d ever driven a boat, so the task had fallen to him to take their stolen boat out into the ocean. Somewhere off shore the Brits allegedly had a submarine waiting for them at a preplanned GPS location. “Way worse than anything I’ve ever driven through out on Lake Superior. Should get better as we get further from shore.”
“Just keep us on track, Rob,” Grady replied. “It’s only ten miles.”
“Yeah, no problem if you dumb fucks would have stolen something even remotely modern. I think this thing was built before my grandfather was born.”
“Probably was,” Grady said. He frowned and put a hand on Carmike’s shoulder. “Ralph needs you to get him to that sub, Rob. He’s not doing good, and whatever he’s got is beyond Baz’s ability to treat. We need to get him to Japan as soon as possible.”
He grimaced. The decision not to bring a medic fell directly on his shoulders and it had cost Seong his life. Now, Ralph Alcock was sick with some sort of shit that had him bleeding from his eyes and nose. His mental capacity seemed to have regressed, and he complained of constant thirst. Whatever illness he’d caught was so far beyond Bazan’s basic lifesaving skills, that it was almost criminal.
The commo man nodded sternly. “I’m doing my best, Grady. We’ll get there as long as the damn Koreans don’t kill us with a Harpoon missile.”
“Do they have that kind of tech?” he asked, focusing on the task at hand once more. His team had been able to sneak into the country, infiltrate their target, and EXFIL without discovery. It would be incredibly ironic if they got blown out of the water by some overzealous coastal artillery battery.
Carmike shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I’m just grumbling.”
Grady looked out the windows to the sea around them. The sky above was lightening into a dark gray from what it had been the previous night. It looked like rain was coming in, which could help with their escape—or it could hinder it if they couldn’t find the rendezvous site.
He turned to go check on the team and then remembered the manual they’d found in the facility. “Hey,” he said. “Any word back from Havoc about what’s in that journal we found?” They’d taken pictures of every page and emailed them back to Havoc headquarters for analysis.
“I haven’t checked in about an hour,” Carmike replied. “Been kind of busy here.”
“Mind if I check?” Grady asked.
The communications man reached down to a pocket on his trousers beside his calf muscle and unbuttoned it without taking his eyes off of the seas ahead
. He pulled a phone from the pocket and spared enough of a glance to input a series of numbers onto the display. When it was unlocked, he navigated a few screens, then whistled low.
“What is it?”
“That little book was a goldmine.” He handed the phone over and Grady read the email.
When he was finished, he looked up at Carmike, who grunted, “Brazil, huh?”
“That’s what it says.”
“Ain’t that some shit? All I packed was cold weather gear,” Rob chuckled.
Grady groaned. Their payday had just been pushed back and Carmike was right. South America would be pretty damn hot this time of year.
“Better go round everyone up,” he said. “You stay here and drive the damn boat. You already know what it says.”
“I’m glad I’m not you, man,” Carmike said. “Those dudes are gonna straight up murder your ass.”
“That’s one of the perks of being in charge, right?”
It took the team several minutes to assemble on the fishing boat’s decks from wherever they’d stowed themselves to get out of the sea spray and the impending storm. Grady counted everyone, making sure they were all there, minus Ralph, who was laying in the ship’s only bed below decks.
“Alright,” he started. “First off, good job getting in and out of North Korea without being discovered. We’re not out of the woods yet, but we’re almost to international waters, so keep your damn fingers and toes crossed. Each of you earned your pay over the past few days.” He waited as a couple of the guys high-fived one another and Hannah laughed aloud. They were all thinking that they were halfway to being millionaires now. Then, he soured their mood.
“Unfortunately, Uncle Sam and the Brits—do they have something like Uncle Sam?” he asked.
“The queen,” Chris McCormick replied loudly, likely sensing that their payday was in jeopardy.
“Yeah,” Grady agreed. “Unfortunately, they say we aren’t done yet.” He waited for the cries of protest to fade away before beginning anew. “They need viable evidence that there was human experimentation going on in North Korea.”
