by Jay Posey
There shouldn’t have been anyone anywhere in the facility at this time of night. Lincoln didn’t need any more information than that.
“Thumper, wrap it,” Lincoln said. “Close it all down, we’re pulling out.”
“On it,” Thumper said. “Thirty seconds.”
Lincoln crossed the room to a window, scanned what he could see from the vantage. He didn’t have an angle towards the office building, but he now saw two vehicles crawling up a service road, lights off. Blocking access.
“They’re coming your way,” Mike said. “They’re coming in. Omaha, you need get out of there. You gotta get out, right now.”
“Copy, Dakota,” Lincoln answered. “We’re wiping prints, and on our way out.”
“Vehicles on the main road,” Wright said. “No lights, no sirens.”
“Same on my side,” Lincoln said. “Thumper?”
“Ten seconds,” she answered.
“Sahil,” Wright said. “What’s your status?”
“Stair-steppin’,” Sahil said, referencing the technique for shaking a tail. “Got a funny feelin’ he ain’t the only one to worry about.”
“Got it,” Thumper said, and she was up, headed to the door. She cracked it open and waited there for Lincoln to join her. As he moved back across the room, he saw she had her pistol drawn, held tight against her body.
“Let’s try to ghost out,” Lincoln whispered as he drew in close behind her. “No contact, no shots fired.” He put a hand on her shoulder, but not for comfort or reassurance; the physical contact made it easier to read the intention of her movement and less likely they’d need verbal communication to avoid bumbling into each other.
“Understood,” she said. “Just saving myself a step, if it comes to that.”
Lincoln drew his weapon as well. The subsonic pistol Elliot had provided was apparently the standard firearm for local law enforcement. Twenty-five rounds. Lincoln got the distinct feeling that if he needed any of them, he was going to need all of them.
“You’ve got trouble, Omaha,” Mike said. “They’ve got the ground floor locked down. Pick a door, and say when. I’ll clear it for you.”
“Negative, Mike, hold fire,” Lincoln said. “Hold fire, do not shoot. They haven’t found us yet. I don’t want to leave a trail of bodies if we don’t have to.”
Lincoln thought back through all the contingencies they’d prepared. Roof was still possible, but that made them easy targets for the drones. The manufacturing building had a loading dock with an overhang. Maybe a compromise. If they could make it on top of that, there was a chance they could skirt around behind whoever these people were.
“Omaha’s going to the loading dock,” Lincoln said. “From the second floor.”
“I don’t have eyes on that,” Mike said. “That’s opposite of my position.”
“Understood Mikey,” Lincoln said, over comms. Then to Thumper by his side, “Let’s go Thumper, second floor, find us a window.”
She nodded and checked to make sure the corridor was still clear, then stepped out and led the way. Lincoln followed at a half-arm’s-length distance, holding off her left shoulder so their feet didn’t get tangled. It was pitch black in the first stairwell, and dead silent. Thumper switched on her light just long enough to get them down to the second floor, and then doused it before exiting the stairs. Once there, they made their way through the darkened corridors by way of the ambient light filtering in from the wide perimeter windows. Thumper found the way to an office overlooking the loading dock, and they ducked inside, quickly crossing to the exterior window.
They held there, both searching the grounds.
“There,” Lincoln whispered.
“I see ‘em,” Thumper answered.
Two figures walked the perimeter of the building, one shining a light along the exterior wall as they moved. They closed in on the loading dock and disappeared beneath the overhang. Looking for signs of entry, Lincoln guessed.
“Did we trip something on the way in?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not that I see. Nothing pinged any of my alerts. I must have missed something.”
“No,” Lincoln said. “I don’t think you did, Thumper.”
The approach, the vehicles, the way it was all going down, it was clear this was no police force, no standard security team. Whoever they were, they didn’t want to draw any more attention to what was going on at Guo Components than Lincoln and his team did. They were moving quickly, but not rushing, walking aggressively. They weren’t responding to an alarm. They were springing an ambush.
“Sun ray, sun ray, sun ray,” Lincoln said over team comms. “E&E is in effect. I say again E&E is in effect.”
The order for the team to escape and evade was one he’d never thought he’d have to give; it wasn’t just a mission abort, it meant the team would scatter, each relying on their own individual skill to disappear into the environment and rendezvous at a preplanned rally point later. But there was no doubt in his mind that it was the right call.
“I acknowledge sun ray,” Sahil said. “Goin’ to ground.”
“I’ll hold until you get clear of the building–” Mike said, but Lincoln cut him off.
“Negative, Mikey, pack it up and get out of there. Rally at Zulu.” If the bad guys had gotten eyes on Sahil that far out from the facility, there was no reason to think any of them were safe. And Mike was particularly vulnerable with his long rifle; as good as he was, he was still going to need a few extra minutes to ditch the weapon and clean up his roost before he could vanish into the night.
It took a moment before he responded, and he didn’t sound happy when he did.
“Understood,” he said. “I acknowledge sun ray. Stay safe.”
“Wright,” Lincoln said. “What’s your position?”
“Still in place, no static,” she said. “I’ll walk you out.”
Technically it was a violation of protocol, but Lincoln couldn’t bring himself to command her to leave just yet. Having her eyes out there might be the difference-maker in whether or not he and Thumper could get clear of the facility.
“Roger that,” he said. “We’ll make it as quick as we can. Can you see the loading dock?”
“Affirmative, I see the dock.”
“Two individuals moved under the overhang a minute ago. You see them?”
“I see them,” Wright answered. “They’re not under the overhang anymore, they’re continuing along the perimeter, moving towards the front of the compound.”
“Copy that, we’re second floor, above the overhang,” Lincoln said. “Look for my flash.”
Wright was tracking their position remotely, but he wanted to be sure she had actual visual before they tried to make their escape. He held his light flat against the window and quickly pulsed the red light three times.
“Roger, I have your flash.”
“Let me know when we’re clear to come out.”
“Stand by.”
The seconds ticked by. The silence in the hall was broken by a quiet hum; a moment later, Thumper’s skeeter chirped its warning. A drone, headed their way.
“Wright?” Lincoln said.
“Hold.”
“We’ve got trouble headed our way.”
“Hold.”
The hum sharpened into a buzz. The skeeter chirped again, three short bursts this time. The drone was close.
“Wright–”
“Go, go,” she answered.
“We’re coming out,” Lincoln said.
The windows opened from the inside, but had a thin protective mesh covering the exterior. Lincoln made quick work of that with the entry tool he’d used on the fence, cutting a rectangular hole for them to crawl through.
“You first Thump,” he said.
She didn’t argue. Thumper holstered her weapon, scrambled through the gap, and lowered herself as far as she could down the other side. The window was a good ten feet above the overhang, but Thumper pushed off the wall and tu
rned 180 degrees in the air, and dropped cat-like into a quiet crouch. Her weapon was out and up an instant later, as she scanned for targets.
Lincoln followed right after her and tried to mimic her graceful landing. He was thankful he didn’t break an ankle when he hit the roof. There was no way to know how the drone would react to the damaged window if it wandered into the office. Maybe it would just continue its patrol down the hall. They didn’t stick around to find out.
“I see you, I have you,” Wright said. “If you can get around to your entry point, that’s still your best bet. Couple sentries posted by the entryway, but doesn’t look like they know that’s how you went in.”
Lincoln took point, dodging the pools of light around the facility as they worked their way back to the hole they’d cut through the fence. After several tense minutes of hiding and dashing, with ample direction from Wright, they reached a place of marginal concealment within sight of their entry point, under a pair of dormant loading vehicles parked side by side. Two stacks of cubical shipping containers sat between them and the inner fence. They could make a dash for them, but once there, they’d be stranded on those lonely islands. It was a good forty meters from the containers to the fence. There was no way they could cross that open ground unseen and make it out. At least, not both of them.
“Wright,” Lincoln said. “Need a favor.”
“Yeah?”
“Keep an eye on Thumper for me.”
Her response didn’t come immediately, but when it did it was typical of the master sergeant.
“Roger that,” she said, her simple answer somehow managing to communicate that she understood everything he was saying, with all its implications.
Thumper was a different story. She looked at him, her eyes wide and full of concern.
“What do you mean keep an eye on me?” she said. “We’re going out together, sir.”
Lincoln shook his head quickly. “Too many eyes, Thump. Once they make us, I don’t like our chances of getting out of here. Either of us. And you’re the only one that can put all these pieces together.”
“Lincoln,” Thumper said.
“Not a discussion, sergeant,” he said. “But before you go, you think you can get me into one of these?” He flicked his head up at the loading vehicle they were hiding beneath.
She pressed her lips together, undoubtedly searching for some other way to make it work.
“It’s OK, Thumper. I’m just going to draw them off,” he said. “I’ll shake ‘em and meet you at Zulu.”
Finally, she relented; nodded, rolled onto her back, produced a small black device from her pocket, the same she’d used to unlock the door to the building. While she worked, Lincoln kept scanning the area. There were three figures standing guard at the door that Lincoln and Thumper had used to enter the building. No uniforms. Street clothes. Private security, possibly. But that didn’t seem likely. Lincoln’s gut told him it was much worse.
“Got it,” Thumper said. She handed him the device; a small touchpad and display, now a miniaturized version of the loader’s controls. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“No promises,” he answered. “What’s the range on this gadget?”
“Short. Five meters, ten maybe.”
“Traceable back to us?”
“Not us specifically. Probably don’t want to have to explain what it’s doing in your pocket, though.”
“Roger. Get to those containers. When I do my thing, get out.”
“What’s your thing going to be?”
“Not sure yet, exactly,” he said. “But good chance it’ll be loud.”
“Lincoln, I…” she said. And then, “Keep your head down.”
“See you soon, Thump.”
She nodded and crawled out from under the loader. Lincoln kept his eyes on the three individuals by the door, watching for the moment of opportunity. For the most part, they were more intent on the building than on their surroundings. Convinced they’d trapped their quarry inside, he guessed. Still, they were obviously professionals; the calm, casual way they maintained situational awareness made that apparent. Finally, the chance presented itself.
“Go, Thumper,” Lincoln said. “Go now.”
There was no response, no sound of movement. Maybe she hadn’t heard. When he glanced over to her position, he saw she was already three-quarters of the way to the crates. Apparently she’d seen the opportunity developing a little earlier than he had.
“In place,” Thumper said a few moments later over comms.
“Roger that,” Lincoln answered. “Wright, you got her?”
“I have her,” Wright responded.
“All right,” Lincoln said. “Here we go. Let me know what the sentries by the door do when I start moving.”
Lincoln slipped out from underneath the loader and clambered up onto the side of one, with the other between him and the people guarding the door. Chances were effectively zero that he’d escape unnoticed, but having that little bit of cover might buy him a few extra seconds. The loaders were irregularly shaped vehicles, a blessing and a curse. There was no easy place for him to cling to, but once he got himself positioned he found that he could minimize his silhouette by pressing his body into one of the depressions in the frame. The loaders weren’t really designed for people to ride in, or on. Fortunately, Lincoln found a handle on a maintenance hatch near the top that felt sturdy enough to keep him on board.
Not that there was any chance this was going to be a fast escape, no opportunity for a thrilling car chase. The loader was heavy and slow; it could probably outrun a human on foot, but not by much. Lincoln brought the vehicle online, its engine activating with a low rumbling hum.
“That perked them up,” Wright said. “Don’t think they’re on to you yet, though.”
“They will be in a second,” Lincoln answered.
He thumbed the controls and started forward, a slow roll at first with the lights off, just to see how far he could get.
“They’re fanning out,” Wright said. “Still looking.”
Lincoln eased the throttle higher a nudge at a time, gaining speed with each bump. He was moving at the equivalent of a fast jog when the guards at the door finally caught on.
“They’ve got you now,” Wright said. “Moving to the edge of the building… but they’re holding. Calling it in, looks like, but holding by the door. They’re watching you. Thumper, go. Go, go, go.”
Once he had their attention, Lincoln pushed to full throttle and steered off the main paved path out onto a long, grassy patch, cutting across the complex. He steered around the thin trees with one hand, while with the other he death-gripped the handhold he’d put so much faith in. Bouncing across that softer ground, it was starting to feel like maybe he’d put too much faith in that handle.
He drove the loader towards the service road he’d seen earlier, where two vehicles had formed a blockade. There was no way for him to know exactly what was happening on the other side of his ride, but the fact that the guards hadn’t left their positions at the door gave him mild hope that no one was running to intercept him. That likely meant they didn’t have a large force on the ground, which was good. It also likely meant they were confident they had all the entrances and exits covered, which wasn’t.
The service road came into view up ahead, with about sixty meters between him and the blockade. The vehicles were parked at angles to each other, noses opposite directions, forming a staggered wedge as a barrier, but still positioned so that either could quickly turn and navigate around the other if necessary.
Lincoln found his spot; a narrow channel of shadow where the lighting failed to overlap, no more than thirty meters from the service road. As he got nearer to the blockade, the doors to the vehicles opened, and figures emerged, two from each. They moved quickly behind the vehicles, using them as cover.
Five meters until his drop point.
Three.
Lincoln locked the controls to full throttle and straight and hoped t
he loader would be able to hold its course across the remaining uneven terrain. As he crossed the line of shadow he turned the loader’s forward lights on full blast, wedged the controller into a tight space in the frame, and then dropped to the ground on his belly. He laid there still until the loader was halfway to the blockade. As it continued towards its imminent disaster, Lincoln crawled diagonally towards the fence, away from the blockade, following the seam of darkness. A series of pops and pings signaled the people at the blockade had turned to shooting at the loader as it advanced. Strong as it was, Lincoln ignored the urge to watch what came next.
The loader impacted the first car with an underwhelming crunch, followed by a second even less impressive sound of metal crushing as the first vehicle in the blockade slid into the next in line.
Lincoln reached the inner fence and scythed it open. Once he was through the first, he didn’t waste any time trying to sneak. He made a break for it, sprinting the thirty meters to the outer fence. The instant he was through that, he dashed up to the nearest road, and then slowed to a brisk walk, scanning for threats. There was a small park not far away. He’d make his way there first.
“I’m out,” he said. “Going dark now.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He peeled the adhesive communicator from behind his ear, palmed it, and then dropped it over the rail of a footbridge as he crossed. A quick, casual glance over his shoulder didn’t turn up any obvious pursuit. There was more traffic at this time of night than there would have been in most places; the MPCR’s night-life was vibrant, and it was hard to tell whether the people out at this hour were up late or early. That was good for Lincoln’s chances of blending in, but the advantage was one he shared with whoever was after him and his teammates.
Wright exited the building and headed down the sidewalk, trying to keep her pace casually brisk. She folded her arms, hunched her shoulders, kept her head down; just a woman huddled in on herself against the cold, in a hurry to get home. Certainly not a soldier in a non-permissive environment, concealing a pistol and ready to drop the first individual that showed any signs of causing her trouble.
