Discarded

by Mark A. Ciccone

  ‘I’ll alert the outposts, have them on watch for anything bigger than a hawk crossing the CZ,’ Leah added. ‘The weather’s clear, and the radlevels at a minimum for now – easy viewing in all directions.’ She turned to Jorge. ‘What’s the timeline for cracking the canister drive?’

  Jorge looked unhappy. ‘As I told you, I have no idea. If I had access to the original specs, even part of them, it might be possible. Until that or some other miracle happens, I’m restricted to trial and error.’

  Leah sighed. ‘Fine. Once we decide on a plan, stick with it. Sooner we break the encryption, the sooner we know exactly what’s on the damn drive, and maybe who’s after it.’

  Jorge dipped his chin. ‘Right. We’ll also need to—’

  The rumbling sound of engines cut through the conversation. Looking to the lobby entrance, Greg saw two Humvees come to a halt, bare inches from the doors. The occupants began piling out before both vehicles had completely stopped. Their clingers and weapons were soaked and mud-spattered.

  One of the lead vehicle’s riders pulled back his hood, revealing Megan’s face. She spoke and gestured at the other patrol members; one by one they peeled off, XMs and other weapons at the ready. After the last had gone, she pushed through to the lobby, moving at a swift walk toward the three of them. Her face and hair were sweaty and dishevelled, and her breathing came in sharp puffs, as if she had run all the way to campus instead of driving. In one hand she held her XM by the muzzle. The other held some sort of helmet, one Greg didn’t recognise. He trotted up to her, Leah and Jorge following. ‘What is it?’

  Megan halted. ‘We have a serious problem,’ she growled. She lifted the helmet up for all to see. On closer inspection, Greg saw it was the same headgear the Rangers had worn at Eatonville. There were several small, deep dents at the sides and rear, and a crack through the drop-down visor. A spatter of dried blood ran from the brow to just above the left ear. A name was inscribed on the right temple, in white block letters: DUNCAN.

  Jorge took the helmet, turning it over in both hands. ‘Where did you find this?’

  ‘Not where we left it,’ Megan slung the XMs over her arm. ‘We arrived at the site, as planned – no ambush. At first it looks like there’s nothing but the torched choppers, until we find marks from one, maybe two other craft, bigger than the two our Ranger guests arrived in. Then we find four sets of new footprints, moving to where we left the patrol and their pilots.’ She fished around in a belt pouch with her free hand, bringing forth a camera memory card. Activating her sleeve interface, she held the card against its surface. The screen blinked, then coalesced into a chain of miniature images. Megan pressed one, enlarging it to the entire screen. ‘That’s where things got messy.’

  Greg, Leah and Jorge crowded closer. The image was of a stretch of overgrown grass and weed, heavily trampled, and flattened in a rough circle in one area. Small bits of glinting metal were visible in one or two spots. Shell casings; Berettas and H&Ks, at a glance. Another zoom-in showed a few dark, glistening splotches here and there, splattered about the flattened areas. Nobody needed three guesses as to what it was.

  ‘That’s just the start,’ Megan warned. She skipped ahead several images. ‘There was a smaller blood trail, leading to a smaller clearing about a mile to the north. When we got there, the blood trail came to a stop in the heart of another quarry pit – but we didn’t find any bodies. Only thing we found was a couple of piles of ashes, along with a few scraps of what we soon determined to be military-issue fabric.’

  The three of them exchanged puzzled looks. ‘You’re saying someone found the patrol, then executed them and burned the bodies?’ Greg asked.

  Megan shook her head. ‘That was the obvious answer. Until we realised there weren’t pyres, and our clingers didn’t detect any accelerant present. What they did find was this.’

  She fished a tiny vial out of another pouch, holding it up to their eyes. ‘Best we can put together, somebody landed to pick up the Rangers, then jumped them all, bashed their heads in, dragged them off site – and dissolved the bodies with Tacitus powder.’

  Silence dropped over the little gathering. Leah’s strained voice broke it. ‘This kind of stuff was restricted to us alone – the Doctor designed it himself. The only remaining stocks are what we had on us before and during the Turmoil, and at the Facility; God knows where that is, or if it still exists. All the packs we carried are kept here, under five or six different locks. So unless one of our teams went rogue—’

  ‘Wasn’t one of ours,’ Megan replied at once. ‘I was in touch with all the outposts, and the few other patrols we had out starting at 0500. None of them came within miles of the site. And I’ve made a point of checking on the general stockpile almost on the hour since the two of you left. Every grain of the stuff’s accounted for. We even asked Cayden to hand over his, and he agreed. It might be possible that someone else got hold of a sample from what you say he used in Wisconsin, but—’ She trailed off, clearly not sure what to believe, then handed the vial to Greg.

  ‘Whoever it was, he’s a new player,’ Jorge said. He looked from Leah to Greg, and back again. ‘You say the teams sent after you all had similar qualities and skills to ours? ARC-like recovery, the upgraded blades, the AllSpec?’ They both nodded. ‘They were on you starting from D.C., with assistance from the Rangers – and the Fairchild garrison – only after your encounter in Chicago?’ They nodded once again. Their comrade stared pensively at the helmet, and the vial. ‘If these hit teams were based on ARC-related technology, then the best answer to all this is that somebody, well-placed within the covert ops branch, gained access to the Project, and buried the canister and its contents, long before the two of you volunteered to recover them. Maybe before the Bomb, or the Turmoil.’ His expression became longer, and grimmer. ‘Maybe even someone who was once part of the Project from the beginning.’

  Leah sucked in a breath. Megan’s mouth thinned even more, but she held herself to a nod. Greg felt coldness spread from his neck to his groin. It was all he could do to keep from crushing the vial into even finer powder than its contents. Once again Leah was first to speak. ‘Even… Even if that’s true, if it’s the same team after us, and they have the powder, why’d they waste it getting rid of a couple of Rangers? They could just as easily bundle them off to some out-of-the way post, separate from each other to avoid the word spreading. We saw plenty of that with some of the units we were attached to, if they happened to see us in action. It would’ve been pointless to eliminate anybody who did – and too noticeable.’

  That jarred Greg back into speech. ‘Whatever these things are, they can’t be completely on the level, with D.C. or whoever’s supposed to be running them.’ He took the helmet from Megan. ‘They’re not afraid of being seen on the job – we saw that at Monticello. What they are afraid of, or seem to be, is anybody learning too much about us. Our skills, our speed – most of all, our plans, whatever they think they are.’ He lifted the helmet to his eyes, staring at the cracked visor. ‘When the Rangers saw us in Eatonville, the main worry for the brains behind the chase wasn’t that we got away – but that we left witnesses. So they disposed of the patrol, probably with some suitable excuse for its commanders, and whatever families there might be. Now they’re either waiting for new orders, or watching the CZ, waiting for us.’

  Their eyes turned to the doors, staring through them to the square – and the wilderness beyond. Finally, Megan broke the silence. ‘Well, for the time being, we don’t have a way of finding out for sure. We have the canister, but the only person who can open it is dead. There’s somebody out there with ARC-enhanced fighters, and that’s a definite threat. But until whoever it is makes a move against the outposts, or the Sanctuary, we can’t even get an idea of how many there are, let alone who they answer to – or what they’re carrying.’

  ‘Then maybe we should,’ Greg answered. The others looked at him, confused. ‘We’ve got a Ranger officer and a covert agent sitting right he
re on campus. Types like that don’t disappear without somebody noticing, or signing off on his being part of any covert operations – that’s what they’re trained for, after all. And while the agent probably wasn’t kept in the loop about every aspect of the hunt for us and the files, he’ll have seen whoever’s really in charge, or gotten their name in passing. So if we show them this—’

  ‘They’ll be more inclined to open up about the specifics of their mission,’ Jorge said. ‘But if they’re already expecting that outcome for them and their counterparts, why should they tell us anything?’

  ‘There’s that,’ Greg allowed. ‘But we don’t have time to spend sitting around waiting for them to talk – or for their “friends” to drop in. So if there’s a chance they’ll talk now, once they know what happened, I say we take it.’

  Leah nodded. After a second or two, so did Megan. Jorge sighed. ‘All right. But we should wait till Hiroshi’s here, too. Then we can vote as a full body on our next course of action.’ At those words, his clinger interface lit up with a soft beep. Lifting it to his eyes, the engineer smiled. ‘Speak of the devil. He’s landing on Eld Beach right now. I’ll send word to meet at the Longhouse.’

  ‘Good.’ Greg called up his own interface, typing a quick message. ‘Cayden’ll bring our guests over shortly. Once everybody’s all together, we can at least try to get a handle on all this.’ The others nodded, their faces a mix of eagerness and apprehension. The group broke up: Jorge started back to the computer lab, to collect the drive and canister; Megan headed out the door and called over several men from her patrol. No doubt she was arranging extra security for the campus proper, and prepping reinforcements for the perimeter outposts.

  Leah moved to his side. She set a hand on his arm, gently. Her voice was low and concerned. ‘You sure about this?’

  ‘No,’ Greg confessed. ‘But like I said – there’s no other options. Not good ones, anyway.’ His grip closed over the vial. ‘We need a break, badly. And this – plus our two guests – might be the only chance we have at finding one.’

  Chapter 16

  FOB Yakima

  A vein throbbed in Flynn’s forehead. With great deliberation, he set the tablet down on the conference table, and walked to the window. Outside, last night’s clouds had nearly cleared, revealing a vivid, orange-yellow sunrise, tinged with rainbow colours: a regular sight in the region, courtesy of the Seattle Bomb.

  By the set of his body, Flynn was a hairsbreadth from matching that explosion. When he turned to face Hargrove again, his expression was still calm – but there was a murderous tint in his eyes. ‘You’re absolutely sure?’ he ground out.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Hargrove replied. He gestured to the two men who stood in silence by the door. The forest camo they wore was stained and rumpled from hard use outdoors. ‘My people found the wreckage a short while before heading back here – and the remains. They assumed at first that some critical system failed in both craft – a rad spike affecting the computers, maybe, or some other fault the maintenance crews didn’t find. When they didn’t find any bodies, they widened the search area – and found that.’

  He pointed to the tablet. Its screen showed a single picture: three piles of grey-white ash. On closer inspection, it was possible to see fragments of green and brown fabric, mixed into each mound. That had been a nice touch, he admitted to himself. ‘We’re still not certain when the team was brought down, or how – or what the hell was used to dissolve the bodies once that happened. But judging from this, it’s clear the targets didn’t want any survivors.’

  ‘Tracks?’ Flynn bit off the word.

  ‘A few, jumbled together. No clear idea how many attackers there were – maybe three or four, possibly counting the targets. There were tyre tracks by a quarry near the crash site: heavy-duty vehicles, no more than two. We weren’t able to tell how far out they went, or how long they might have been there.’

  A low growl rose in the colonel’s throat. His hand darted out, picking up the tablet again. He swept through each of the images Hargrove’s team had taken. When he had gone through all of them, he set the device back down, with exaggerated care. he looked to Hargrove again, his eyes hard and accusing. ‘Where was your team, exactly? They were supposed to be on station, ready to prevent this sort of catastrophe.’

  ‘They were,’ Hargrove answered. ‘They were also under orders to avoid the fallout as much as possible, in keeping with your warning at Fairchild. When the plume first became erratic, I ordered them to hole up at Packwood, but keep their Osprey hot, and head out at the slightest whisper of trouble. By the time we suspected a problem, the plume had already come down over Eatonville and the entire search area. My men are good, but they aren’t supermen.’

  ‘Then our targets damn well must be,’ Flynn shot back. He pointed to the tablet. ‘Obviously they had help. That’s clear from this, and the tracks; we’ll get to that. But if what your people say is true, they stayed out a while after the plume fell – and the rads were high enough to deep fry them inside of an hour. A lot sooner, if they headed west or north. If they did, and they’re still breathing… that argues for a much larger presence in the CZ. One whose goals are unknown, that’s hostile to this country – and has personnel with unheard-of enhancements or equipment, or both.’ His look became menacing. ‘And unless I’m mistaken, one whose existence you and maybe Mr Costa had an idea of, before you showed up in this diseased shithole part of the world.’

  How much had Costa passed on or hinted, to Patrick or Flynn? Not much, Hargrove assessed; otherwise the Air Force officer would have called him out directly. He met the threatening stare with a frosty one of his own. ‘You’re free to indulge whatever suspicions you like, Colonel. I can, however, break you of one of them: Agent Costa and I did speculate on there being some form of group behind the targets’ mission, but we had no proof – until now. The others… Having served out here as long and well as you have, I’m sure you know the many ways to avoid or recover from fallout. The targets and their backers may be using all of those, or some new method. If there’s anything “unheard-of” in this, that’s the likeliest answer.’

  Flynn didn’t seem convinced, but his anger appeared to be ratcheting down. Hargrove pressed his next point. ‘You’re correct on one thing. There is, or appears to be, an unknown, militant group headquartered somewhere in the CZ. That alone would warrant further investigation, regardless of the manhunt. Now, because of it, they have potential access to information and technology vital to this country – and are showing no qualms about holding onto that access.’ He pointed to the tablet. ‘Which, from where I’m standing, makes our next course of action crystal clear.’

  The Air Force colonel’s scowl deepened again. ‘True,’ he ground out. ‘It also makes clear what methods we use, this time around.’ He jerked his chin at the window. ‘We’ve held back on constant air patrols in the past: not enough funding, no obvious threats. The only regular sweeps were done from orbit, or along the borders of the less contaminated zones – the likeliest routes any smugglers would take. There wasn’t any reason for a more active stance – until now.’

  With that, Flynn moved to the door, brushing past Hargrove and the two guards as though they didn’t exist. Hargrove trailed after him, his men following. The officer strode toward the end of the corridor, where two guards in Air Force blue flanked a pair of metal doors. Both bore a simple black-white plaque: Comm Centre. Hargrove trotted up beside Flynn. ‘What are you doing?’

  Flynn didn’t look at him. ‘Calling in more satellite coverage and sending word back to Fairchild and the other bases. Counting my people, we can have half a dozen F-40 squadrons in the air in a matter of minutes, running patrols over the entire CZ. If there’s a blade of grass out of place, the bunker-busters come calling. D.C. can squawk all it wants about me pulling pilots off the line, once we’ve dealt with this steaming pile of—’

  Hargrove’s hand shot out, grabbing Flynn’s arm. A flex of his wrist, and the
officer spun around to face him. The other man froze, fist raised, his initial surprise giving way to fury. ‘You don’t want to do that,’ Hargrove said, firm as a teacher correcting a student’s error.

  Flynn’s glare would have melted steel. ‘Get your hand off me.’

  ‘Okay,’ Hargrove said. He released his grip. A twitch of his left hand told his men to stay back. ‘But I’d think you’d realise what you’re planning just adds to the pile.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Our targets still have the files stolen from D.C. Whether they’re in the hands of the target’s group now is irrelevant; it only adds more names to our list. My superiors are concerned only about keeping them intact, and undisclosed. Until I hear otherwise, that’s my concern as well.’

  ‘Good to know,’ Flynn replied curtly. ‘But the fact is, we are facing a clear military threat – one that’s already reared its head, twice. My duty is to neutralise it, by any means. If that includes destroying whatever capabilities or information they’ve acquired, then it does.’

  ‘No one’s questioning that,’ Hargrove said. ‘However, we both answer to the same boss. And I doubt he’d react as calmly to your cluster-bombing the CZ – and the files.’

  Flynn’s tone was mocking. ‘You really think the President worries more about some missing memos than a new insurg—’

  Hargrove pulled the folded slip of paper from his pocket, and thrust it at the colonel. If he felt like shoving the paper down the other man’s throat, nothing in his manner said so. Flynn took it, scanning the pardon rapidly. His mouth twisted, as at a bad taste. ‘I… suppose this answers that.’

  ‘Now you understand the pressure I’m under. That we’re all under.’ Hargrove took the paper back and put it away. ‘Once we’ve got the canister back – intact – you’ll have all the authorisation you need to scour the whole Sound clean; I promise you that. Until then, we need to keep this a low-key operation, the better to achieve our main objective, and keep the body count to a minimum.’