Chasing Fire

by Brandt Legg

  “We’ve got company!” he yelled, tripping over Tarsoni’s body.

  “I can see that,” Ryker shouted as he kicked Daisy again and then tossed her over his shoulder.

  “You’re going to bring her?” Damon asked incredulously as Ryker joined him in the foyer, both heading to the back door.

  “She’s the damn mission!”

  In Training Fields, Gunner awoke with the sun, and already a full day’s events had been packed into the thirty minutes since his jam and cheese omelette breakfast. Fallout from Austin continued, updates were pouring in from Phoenix, tonight’s plan—the most important yet—was being altered by a continuing stream of last-minute data, and the prior evening two FBI agents had checked into a motel in Clokeysville—the closest town to the training fields and the compound where he now stood, giving the order to prioritize the kill order on Chase Malone.

  The man with the mission took his leave, and would soon be on a plane to California.

  “Fight or flight?” his second-in-command asked Gunner once they were alone.

  “The Feds don’t know about us yet,” Gunner said, sipping coffee and pacing the edge of a stream, inhaling the coolness of the morning.

  “Two agents in a cheap motel definitely isn’t what they’d send against this,” the man said, sweeping his arms to encompass the heavily fortified training field compound that at any given time could include more than one thousand well-trained, well-armed men.

  “That, and our source assures me we are still clear.”

  “Still, it’s only a matter of time. And those agents are certainly going to pay us a visit today.”

  “After tonight, it will matter less,” Gunner said, staring out above the tree-line as if he could see the drama unfolding out west. “And before we have to decide whether to fight or disappear into the underground, they’ll have their hands full.”

  The second in command nodded and warmed his hands on his own paper coffee cup. He knew of the many contingencies Gunner had in place, knew what was at stake, that the enemy had to be stopped. They were trying to save the country they loved and nothing had been left to chance. Gunner, a smart and thorough strategic planner, had spent years preparing for this war.

  “We’re ready . . . ” Gunner said, pausing as if the words caused him physical pain, “. . . ready to burn Washington if necessary.”

  Forty-Five

  A security woman from the next shift crouched, waiting in the backyard behind a small stone retaining wall that Chase’s mother had built when her two boys were still in elementary school, which now held a wildflower garden that always delighted visitors. The woman was ready to fire until she spotted Daisy Malone in the silhouetted light from the open doorway. Her training told her the shot was too risky with the presence of Daisy.

  Speaking quietly into a radio, she relayed the information. “Two intruders, armed, carrying hostage, coming out the back door.”

  Ryker, tired of wrestling with Daisy, bashed her head with the stock of his submachine gun. Her squirming, which had prevented him from hearing the woman behind the retaining wall, ceased immediately.

  In the silent predawn stillness, Damon heard the last crackle of static from the radio and pointed. Ryker tossed a smoke canister into the flowers as both of Westfield’s men advanced toward the wall. The smoke had its effect—just as Damon reached the house-side of the flower garden, the female officer emerged, coughing and apparently still afraid to shoot, more so with her stinging, watering eyes.

  As she waved her gun in their direction, Damon fired multiple shots, and the woman folded into the flowers, dead. Damon and Ryker never slowed as they made for the back of the property.

  A second security officer reached the back gate as Damon and Ryker entered a stand of trees about seventy feet away. He fired repeatedly, forcing Damon and Ryker to dive for cover.

  “Damn,” Damon said, catching a glimpse of blue flashing lights shining through the windows of the house. “Westfield isn’t going to like us killing a bunch of cops.”

  “Too bad he’s not here,” Ryker said, struggling to his feet with Daisy still on his shoulder.

  “Leave the woman,” Damon said.

  Ryker, as much as he hated to admit it, knew he was right. Depending on how many law enforcement officers were responding, they might not make it out of there at all, but without Daisy, at least they had a chance. She could have been used as a shield, or a hostage if they’d been run-of-the-mill burglars or kidnappers.

  “Too much at stake,” Ryker said. “We’re on our own. Westfield can’t save us on this one. We’ve got to escape or die trying, brother!” He dumped Daisy on the ground as if discarding a load of garbage. At the same time, Damon launched another smoke canister and the two men sprinted through the trees. An unlucky Cotati Policeman, who was actually a close friend of Zack Malone, crossed paths with the two thugs.

  “Stop! Drop your weapo—” he tried.

  Ryker, in full stride, squeezed the trigger of his submachine gun. The man’s body, mangled by bullets, hit the ground as Damon passed without a glance. The two men doubled back to their vehicle and completed their escape.

  After being reamed by Westfield, they headed toward San Francisco for an unscheduled meeting at Balance Engineering. Their boss made sure that a wave of confusing tips and sightings slowed the police enough to let his men slip through. Furious that his A-team had botched another mission, leaving a bloody trail that included four dead—one of his own people, Malone's father, a security guard, and a police officer—while not even achieving their objective, Westfield was forced to consider more drastic measures to protect horUS.

  Tess and Flint’s phones rang simultaneously. The sun had barely risen in Austin, but they’d been up since receiving word, three hours earlier, about the Phoenix bombing. “Must be more bad news,” Flint said as they each reached for their devices.

  Both calls were about the same thing—Chase’s father was dead, his mother was in the ICU at Stanford Hospital.

  Afterwards, Tess and Flint shared details, including the death of one of his security people.

  “I let Chase down again,” Flint said remorsefully.

  “His mother will live,” Tess reminded him. “It’s the same as us having people inside the MatterTech building in Austin. Four IT-Squad members. The best.” Her voice was rising, referring to why Austin had been different from the others, on why the “war” was looking so bleak. They’d discussed it well into the night. Tess, in command of herself at all times and in charge of one of the most powerful CIA divisions, was experiencing more worry than she’d ever known. The Fire Bomber was winning, and it appeared they wanted more than just to stop horUS. “Four of them trained in every counter-intelligence and military technique we have,” she continued her rant, dressed in one of Flint’s shirts, loosely buttoned at the top, showing her shapely legs and tanned skin. Flint loved this woman, her rage, her softness, her uncaring attitude toward him most times, but savage passion in fleeting moments like this one. “And they couldn’t even stop him. They were there waiting. Waiting! And just like with your person in Cotati, we lost an agent and let the suspects escape!”

  “I know.” Flint had been shocked that CISS had been able to anticipate the Bomber’s next target in advance and put people into the building, knowingly risking their lives.

  He handed her a mug of coffee. He’d pressed Tess on how they’d figured it out, but she’d waved him off. She hadn’t any warning on Phoenix, or where the bomber would be next.

  None of that mattered to Flint at the moment. He had to call his client and tell him his father was dead.

  Forty-Six

  SEER’s servers hummed almost silently as Wen, two submachine guns still hanging across her body, pointed to one of the large monitors. “It’s as if the Astronaut can see this,” she said as data rolled across the screen.

  “What did the Astronaut say?” Chase asked, noticing the guns and knowing she had a couple of pistols and extra cartridg
es in her pack. One of them was a Glock 19 that one of the security people had managed to find for her after hearing it was her favorite pistol.

  “The Astronaut knows why he and SEER got it wrong about last night.”

  “And?”

  “The Bombers are definitely pursuing parallel tracks—two missions—and Balance is in the second one.”

  “SEER was wrong,” Chase said, still hardly believing it.

  “What’s it say now?” Wen asked.

  “Still the same,” Dez replied. “Now the Fire Bomber will strike here tonight.”

  “Maybe our show of force scared them away,” Chase said.

  “SEER had Phoenix in three days, but it happened last night.”

  “What do we do?” Dez asked.

  “The Astronaut told me that there is a pattern of patterns,” Wen said, looking deliberately at Chase. “That the Fire Bombers are trying to stop technology.”

  “Which technology?” Chase asked, well aware of the common goal. He and Wen were working for a similar objective—to make sure technology benefited humanity instead of polarizing it, or even destroying civilization. Chase and Dez had remade Balance Engineering, and its ultra-secret SEER, to predict the future and anticipate how technology could spin out of control and get ahead of society. According to Wen, WOLF was pursuing paths that would use technology to wrestle control of the world away from the one-percent—the global elites who had risen to dominance by manipulating the masses with technology.

  “The irony isn’t lost on me,” Chase said. “The Fire Bomber, Balance Engineering, WOLF, us . . . we’re on the same side.”

  “What is WOLF?” Dez asked.

  “A subversive group,” Chase replied.

  “They are only subversive to the corrupt governments that they are fighting,” Wen argued.

  “Why haven’t I ever heard of them?” Dez asked.

  “They want it that way. WOLF believes what you do,” she said, pointing to Dez and Chase.

  “I don’t want to be a part of a revolution,” Chase said.

  “You have created one of the most revolutionary programs in the world! What do you mean you don’t want to be part of the revolution? You are the revolution. One day we will all have to choose sides,” Wen said coolly.

  “Okay,” Dez interrupted. “Enough of that. We can worry about someday another time. Right now we’ve got to deal with tonight. Do you still not want to move SEER?”

  “Look around. It’s an armed camp here. We’ll bring in even more forces today. The Bomber won’t get near the place.”

  “Okay,” Dez said reluctantly.

  “It’s one thing for the Astronaut and SEER to find these patterns and predict things,” Chase pressed, “but it shouldn’t be that hard. We’ve been looking at this from the beginning. What do all the target companies share? How are they connected? If we sort them into two groups, there must be a common denominator.”

  “Possibly just as important,” Dez began, “is how are they bringing down these buildings? Almost complete destruction. The Pentagon insists even they don’t have explosives that compact and powerful.”

  “They claim there’s nothing yet in development,” Chase said.

  “Don’t believe the Pentagon,” Wen said. “If we find the method the Fire Bomber is using, we’ll find the people behind the Bomber.”

  “Let’s look at the list of bombings again and overlay all the products each company makes.”

  “With the new data from CrownSight . . . ” Dez began. “Look at that, CrownSight sells almost exclusively to the federal government.”

  “Why didn’t I think of this before . . . ” Chase said. “Pull out all the companies that sell to the government.”

  A few seconds later they were looking at two lists—one with government contracts, and one without.

  “Could it be that simple?” Wen asked, studying the seventeen companies.

  “Maybe,” Dez answered. “Let me just have SEER break out what they sell to the government.”

  “And parse that out to Defense and Intelligence agencies,” Chase added as his phone rang. “Hold on, it’s Flint, I have to take this. Keep going. It shouldn’t take long.”

  He headed to the hall, but never made it. Wen turned as Chase wailed and dropped to his knees.

  Forty-Seven

  Chase didn’t feel Wen’s arms wrap around him, but he instinctively collapsed into her.

  “What?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

  “They killed my dad!” His voice cracked, as if hearing the words from his own mouth switched on a full thrust of fury and rage. He stood up, still tightly clutching the phone like a weapon. “Where’s my mom?”

  Flint had begun the call with the news that she was alive, but in the hospital. “Stanford.”

  Chase headed for the elevator.

  Wen and Dez, speechless and stunned, followed.

  “Chase, you cannot go there!” Flint shouted from the phone. “It’s too risky!”

  He put the phone back to his ear. “No one is going to stop me from going to that hospital!”

  “I am,” Wen said from behind him.

  Chase turned and shot her a wounded, disbelieving look.

  “Whoever did this was after you,” Wen said. “They’ll be waiting there for you.”

  “I hope so,” Chase said, holding up the HK MP5/10 submachine gun.

  “No!” Flint shouted again from the phone. “This is classic walking into a trap.”

  “You’ll never see them,” Wen said. “And they won’t miss.”

  “Flint, we’ve got more than a hundred security guys here,” Chase argued back into the phone. “I’ll take them all to the hospital with me, and—”

  “You don’t understand,” Flint interrupted. “These people, whoever they are, will not play this like you think. They’ve already proven that by going to your parents’ house. Remember the Denver airport? And there’s some real evidence now the fire in Shasta was deliberately set.”

  “This is different,” Chase growled. “I have to—”

  “What if they wait until you’re in that hospital and then they blow it up?” Flint asked. “Your mother, you, and everyone else in that building will die—thousands dead.”

  “Damn it!”

  “Look, I know you’re destroyed by what happened,” Flint said. “But don’t help them make it worse. Don’t go on a suicide run. Your mother needs you alive.”

  Chase turned to Wen, his desperate, tortured expression searching for answers.

  “I promise you,” she said, taking his hand and staring directly into his eyes, “we will find the people who did this, and we will kill them.”

  Chase stared back silently for a moment. “I’m sorry. I still have to go,” he said, turning away. “I need to go to her. Don’t you see? She would come for me. Through fire and hell, she would come.”

  Wen took a deep breath, knowing his mind was made up, she began to do what she always did—make a back-up plan.

  Chase told Flint he’d call him from the hospital and continued his march toward the elevator, not pausing as he called the man in charge of security for the building and asked him to assemble a team of fifty. By the time he reached the lobby it was a chaotic scene, with dozens of security personnel assembled and different leaders attempting to decide the best way to continue to secure the premises with less staff. Chase spent more than ten minutes helping his head of security work out a plan.

  Dez caught up with him and argued that if Chase took half their force to the hospital, Balance’s headquarters would be at risk. “This could all be an elaborate diversion to strip our defenses,” Dez said. “We’re doing just what the Fire Bomber wants.”

  Chase nodded. “Maybe you’re right. I should go alone. They won’t be expecting that. I’ll slip in and—”

  “No,” Wen said, appearing out of the crowd. “Here.” She handed him a phone.

  “Who is it?”

  “The one person who you might
listen to. Your mother.”

  Tess kept busy on her flight back to Washington. She dispatched a CISS IT-Squad to the Stanford Hospital, took a call from the President about Phoenix, and spoke to the FBI Director about the status of the hunt for Fire Bomber suspects and backing their organization. The Director expressed optimism that they were closing in and told her about several organizations they were probing in Training Fields, Idaho and Texas.

  Concerned that the FBI was going to find the Bombers first and unravel the entire horUS project, she phoned Travis. “Where are we?” Tess asked. “The FBI is close.”

  “We’re not,” Travis said. “The decision to put IT-Squads in all these potential targets has spread us too thin to effectively pursue other leads.”

  “That decision was yours.”

  “And you agreed with it,” Travis said tersely. “We thought we could catch the Bomber in the act and follow him up the food chain.”

  “I know what the plan was, but we’re out of time. What about the investigation into the source of their Doomsday?”

  “It’s a dead end.”

  “How could they walk out with one of our military’s greatest weapon’s secret?”

  “And make it substantially more powerful,” Travis added.

  “The same way they got their hands on the list! It’s time to do another check on every one of us.”

  “By ‘us’ you are referring to the nine of us on horUS?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t have the manpower for that.”

  “Then pull an IT-Squad out of the field and examine every one of us, including anyone close enough to have access.”

  “That’ll take at least four IT-Squads, maybe five.”

  “Do it!”

  “You’re going to leave an awful lot of prime targets exposed.”

  “I’d rather those buildings be exposed than horUS.”