Liberty

by David Wood

  O’Meara met his gaze. Then in one motion he drew his Glock and fired a .40 caliber round into the center of Mason’s forehead.

  The G27 was a small gun, but at point blank range it blew open Mason’s head, leaving some traces of splatter on O’Meara’s shirt. Mason fell backwards and the thump of impact echoed off the hardwood floor.

  O’Meara took two steps back, cursing at the pain in his leg. A figure moved out of the shadows in the back of the room, stopping next to Mason’s body and gazing down at it. “Pity.”

  O’Meara limped back to his chair and looked up at the newcomer. The raspy voice betrayed no gender, nor did the baggy black pants and shirt. O’Meara knew her well enough to never feel completely comfortable around her.

  “It may be a pity, but he was an idiot. They’ll find the warehouse and they’ll trace the ownership soon enough.”

  “He wasn’t an idiot,” she said. “He was simply a man of action.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” O’Meara felt uncomfortable disagreeing with her.

  “I assume you’ve shredded all the documents at the warehouse.”

  “Yes. There wasn’t really anything there to find—if there was, we would have come across it. But at least that will be a complete dead-end. By now they know it’s us again, though.”

  “I agree. I wonder how they found Roberge so quickly?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “They must have someone who can get them information in a hurry. It was a dumb move to go after them, but now we have no choice. They need to be eliminated.”

  “Call our friend Long.”

  O’Meara flinched. “Are you sure that’s wise? Long is pretty competent, at least the best we have. But Long is. . . unpredictable.”

  “Do you doubt Long’s commitment to our cause?”

  “To our cause, no? To our group, absolutely. Long never bought into us being any better than anyone else. Plus, Long has a soft spot for men in the service.”

  “So we’ll say they’re traitors who shot several of us in Boston trying to protect the status quo. Unless you can think of someone better for the job?”

  “Isn’t Long following up on the other search?”

  “Yes, but that’s not a problem,” she said. Anyway, Long is a sniper, not a researcher. We’ll get Mark Cabrone to do the research.”

  “How much does he know?”

  “How much do any of us know? Have you told me everything you know?” Her eyes bored into him.

  O’Meara swallowed. “How about I plead the Fifth? And I know you haven’t shared everything.”

  “Precisely. Decentralization has its advantages, as the unfortunate Mr. Mason’s ancestor knew all too well. It doesn’t really matter. The whole point is to expose what the Constitution really says, not hide anything.”

  “Yeah, but what if it’s like what happened in Boston?” They’d uncovered enough of the collapsed chamber that had claimed their comrades’ lives to discover it wasn’t at all what they had expected. In fact, the discovery called their motives into question, so in some ways the fact that it had been destroyed was a blessing. All he sought were the tools to stop America’s decline.

  The shadow woman’s breathing grew louder, and for a few seconds she said nothing. Finally the breathing stopped. “I assure you O’Meara, it is not like what happened in Boston. I heard it from the lips of my grandfather himself, and his father was actually present that day in Gettysburg. In any case, we need proof, and neither you nor I can go poking around the Smithsonian’s archives.”

  O’Meara could recognize a battle no longer worth fighting. “Fine, I’ll contact Long right away. I bet Bones and Maddock will go by the warehouse, that’s as good a place as any to do it.”

  The woman nodded with the limited head movement common to the aged. Then she left the room without a word.

  O’Meara glanced around the office, a temporary place owned by a Delaware corporation with enough layers of ownership to make an onion jealous. It all traced back to one of the Sons of the Republic if you looked hard enough. The building was old, the floors pitted and creaky, but somehow it felt just right given what he was trying to do.

  His eyes landed on Mason’s corpse, and he sighed. One more headache to deal with. He suspected someone who invented a quick, easy, and untraceable way to dispose of a body would become rich beyond belief. Sadly, such a genius had yet to materialize.

  As he painfully got to his feet, he muttered to himself, “The things I do for my country.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The warehouse didn’t look like much from the outside. Just a monolithic gray structure a little over two stories high. It wasn’t as old as the textile mill buildings, but proximity to the Delaware River had almost certainly served as the motivation for its construction. In years past, the Port Richmond area of the city had boasted vibrant industry; now it was an up-and-coming residential area with reminders like this one still dotting the riverfront.

  Given the lack of lights in the area, Dane and Bones had considered donning all black, but in the end rejected it as potentially drawing more attention than it prevented. It would reduce the likelihood of someone spotting them, but if they were spotted, no one would be in any doubt about their intent. So they wore jeans and dark jackets, enough to stay in the shadows but not look too nefarious. The thirty-five degree temperatures also allowed them to wear black gloves without raising any eyebrows.

  “Looks like the door is locked. Time for a little breaking and entering?” Bones asked.

  “I prefer not to break when I enter, Bones. See those high windows. If we slide the dumpster over, we should be able to remove a few panes of glass and then reach through and open the window.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re no fun, Maddock?”

  “Mostly you, Bones.”

  Bones scrutinized the windows. “Okay, so what are the chances they’re alarmed?”

  Dane had worried about that very thing, but he figured they didn’t have many options. “No idea. That’s why we need to be in and out quickly.”

  They headed into the shadows and moved the dumpster. Up by the window, Dane’s Recon One knife made short work of the crumbling putty around the ancient planes of glass. Within a minute, Bones used his long arms to reach in and turn the latch so they could slide the window open.

  The window turned out to be about ten feet above the floor inside, and they managed the drop easily. Dane heard no alarm, nor saw any flashing lights, but he still worried about some sort of silent security system tied into the police. He switched on his light to get his bearings.

  The place was empty. Just hard concrete as far as the eye could see. Moving the light around, he finally saw a door about seventy-five feet away. Before Dane even said anything, Bones started moving towards it. Dane switched off the light, not wanting to take the slight risk that someone outside would see a light beam flickering. Enough light came in through the few windows that he could see a vague outline of the door as he got close.

  Bones reached for the knob and opened it. The much smaller room on the other side had a couple of wooden chairs and a desk, but no windows. Dane shut the door behind them and switched the light back on.

  “Dude, I think we found something.” Bones pointed to a huge pile of shredded papers in the corner. It rose at least six feet high, and spread a number of feet down the wall.

  “Well, it could be nothing—most companies destroy their old documents after a certain number of years.”

  “True, but we’re in an empty warehouse that we know is tied to the Sons of the Republic. Why store all these documents right in this old office. I bet—”

  Bones reached over to one side of the pile and started nudging it aside. A mass of the shredded confetti started moving and Bones had to jump back to avoid being buried in three feet of it. He pointed and laughed. “Yep, see the edge of that file cabinet. This stuff was in there.”

  Dane frowned. “Well it’s all we have. But it’s useless. I don’t care what yo
u see in the movies, no one pieces together information from stuff like this.”

  He picked up a handful and let it run through his fingers, trying to stave off the rising disappointment. He noticed Bones staring at the file cabinet with more concentration than he normally applied to anything.

  “What is it, Bones?”

  Bones didn’t say anything, just jumped into the pile of documents and started tossing them over his shoulder towards the other side of the room. Dane had to jump aside to avoid taking the flying debris in the face.

  “I’m afraid to ask what you’re doing now.”

  Bones looked up under his shoulder with the familiar grin. “Looking for buried treasure.”

  When Dane remained planted with a quizzical look on his face, Bones stood up. “Okay, we agree that these shredded documents are useless, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I want to look inside the file cabinet. With so many thousands to shred, maybe they missed one.”

  Dane pondered this for a moment. It seemed like the longest of long shots. But hell, they were here and this would only take a few minutes. He waded in and started helping Bones. Pretty soon they had the front of the cabinet clear so they could open the drawers. Opening each drawer, they felt all around the inside.

  “Nothing. Well that sucks. It was a good idea.”

  Then Bones started tossing papers further along the wall. This time Dane didn’t have to ask—probably there was one more filing cabinet buried even deeper. He put his back into it and papers started flying as if self-propelled. They uncovered another cabinet in less than ninety seconds.

  Unfortunately, this one was also empty. Bones let out a rare sigh. “Was worth a shot.”

  “Hey, I bet it’s the first time anyone could call you a paper pusher.”

  “All right, Maddock is riding the humor train! I guess we may as well take off and call this a bust.”

  Something tickled the edge of Dane’s mind, and he let his eyes go out of focus as he tried to get hold of it. Then he snapped his fingers.

  “Let’s move the cabinets.”

  “Move them? You mean because. . .” Bones didn’t finish, just leaped to the edge of a cabinet and started dragging one. Dane did the same with the other one, and both cabinets were a foot away from the wall in short order. Bones slapped Dane on the back. “Jackpot, dude!”

  Right in the farthest corner, behind where the inner cabinet had been, a single undamaged piece of paper was settling on the floor. Dane picked it up with care, amazed at how important one piece of paper could seem after finding nothing else of use in the room.

  He handed it to Bones. “You read it. Diving through this stuff was your idea.”

  “If you insist. Header says ‘Franklin’s Legacy.’ Then only one paragraph, and there’s a page number ninety-seven down at the bottom. Looks like a typewriter, not something printed like a normal book or anything. This was the end of a chapter or some other group of pages. The paragraph says:

  “Franklin didn’t agree about destroying them. But he wasn’t going to undermine everything at such a crucial time. And that’s where our knowledge ends. We know Randolph’s copy survived for a long time, and may not be lost as once feared. But with Franklin, all we have is the one clue: Seek the creator of the five hundred”

  Bones looked up. “You know what this means, Maddock?”

  “Yep. Not only are the Sons of the Republic after us again, but once again they’re also after something related to the history of the founding of America. What are the odds their motives are pure?”

  “About the same as the odds of finding intelligent life in Washington D.C.”

  Dane cleared his throat, glad that the lack of strong light was hiding his face. “Yeah, yeah. So who do we know who’s crazy enough to try to stop them again?”

  “Admit it, Maddock, you live for this. You wouldn’t pass this up even if they hadn’t tried to kill us. And I’m in because I figure I’ll get a chance to hammer a few more of the bad guys before we’re done.”

  Bones folded the paper and tucked it in a pocket. “We’ve been here much longer than we should have. Time to scram.”

  “Yeah, but if we stay, you might get to hammer the bad guys sooner.”

  “Oh, I have a feeling we’ll get that chance before you know it. Plus, it’s just as likely to be cops or some dumb security guard who comes here. That takes all the fun out of it. I vote for the front door.”

  Dane opened his mouth to argue but then realized that the approach made sense. They’d be exposed for a lot longer trying to get out of the high window than just walking out the front. He nodded and turned his light on low, pointing towards the floor. He followed Bones to the front door where Bones released the deadbolt and the two other locks. They stepped outside.

  The glare from the streetlight across the road made Dane unconsciously shift his head down and to the side. As he did, he felt something strike the back of his head and heard a loud crack right behind him. Almost at the same time, he heard the sound of a gun firing in the distance.

  Bones must have heard it, too, because he was moving even before Dane. Neither man wasted any time, sprinting twenty yards to the relative shelter of a large van parked on the street. As far as Dane could tell, no more shots had come.

  Bones nodded several times with a wicked grin directed at Dane.

  “I think we came to the right place.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Came to the right place? Bones, we just got shot at. Again.”

  “Hey bro, if they’re shooting at you, you must be doing something right. I don’t think the guy is that far away, because the shot came from the direction of the river and it’s only about fifty yards.”

  “He could be in a boat.”

  “We’re SEALS. That should work in our favor. One of us needs to try to find a boat to borrow, and the other needs to locate the guy.”

  “I’m game for locating the guy, but short of exposing myself to more fire, I’m a little shaky on how we’re gonna do that.”

  “As much humor as you exposing yourself would provide, I see your point.”

  “Wait, I have an idea on how to do it. You go back that way towards the shadows, wrap around down to the river and see if you can find a boat. Make your way upstream. If you can’t find one, just do it on foot.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Stay away from bullets.”

  With that, Bones disappeared and Dane set his mind to the task at hand. He had noticed two things that would make his plan possible. First, the van was unlocked. He eased the door open and leaned across the seat, hoping his actions weren’t visible to the shooter. Then he slipped the gearshift into neutral.

  The second assist for the plan came from the slight downward angle of the road. All he had to do was anchor his legs and push on the door frame and the van started moving. Silently apologizing to the owner of the van for what he was about to do, he jumped in the driver’s seat. He kept his hands on the wheel but leaned over enough that a clean shot at him from the river side would be close to impossible.

  The van began to pick up speed. The arc where the original shot could have come from spanned around a hundred yards of the river front, so he’d be out of the potential kill zone in just a few seconds. Unless of course, the shooter had moved.

  Dane had taken some rudimentary sniper training and knew the basic doctrine. Normally after firing a shot, a soldier would immediately move. There were exceptions, though, and one of them involved an urban warfare situation where you didn’t have a good choice of vantage points and moving would compromise any further shots. If this guy was a soldier, Dane figured he’d have stayed put. And if he was a civilian, the unexpected move with the van should be enough to throw him off.

  In any case, seventy five yards away, the road started to rise. By a hundred-fifty feet, his speed had slowed to a crawl and Dane jumped out. He made the trees by the river in three seconds, and for the first time since leaving the warehouse he felt like th
e hunter as opposed to the hunted.

  He gave his eyes sixty seconds to adjust to the darkness. Then he scanned what he could see of the river. No boats were obvious except a couple of lights far in the distance where the angle wasn’t right for the shot. He slowly made his way back along the riverbank, moving with what he hoped was maximum stealth.

  Bones was the real master of silent tracking, something he liked to claim all his people had but which Dane knew was Bones’ own natural talent. While Dane would endeavor to make as little noise as possible, Bones took it one step further and made noise that blended in with the ambient sounds. More than one veteran instructor had undoubtedly needed a fresh pair of underwear after Bones had stalked and disabled him without a sound. In any case, Dane could move quietly enough to get by.

  His main concern was the possibility that the sniper had slipped on a set of night vision goggles. The trees would protect him up to a point, but he might walk right past the guy and be dead without ever hearing the shot. His only defense was silence.

  Minutes passed where he would only cover a few steps. He stopped often, using all of his senses to seek his quarry. Smell was the unsung ally during this sort of work, and even the taste of the air underwent subtle changes with each human presence. Dane didn’t pick up anything, though. Eventually he found himself downstream of the warehouse, just beyond the range of where the shot could have originated.

  He considered the possibilities. The shooter could have used a boat and long since left the area. The shooter could have started near where Dane stood now and left while Dane worked his way downstream. Or, he could have passed the shooter without realizing it, both of them so silent that neither picked up the other. Although he couldn’t have explained why, Dane’s gut told him this last one was how it went down.

  Which meant the shooter still lurked out there somewhere.

  Dane heard a change in the rhythmic sound of the river lapping against the bank, and whirled. He made out what seemed like a boat, then a dark form rose from the shadows of the water onto the bank.