State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2

by Steve P Vincent

  Richard’s lips peeled back into a smile. He glanced up at the man doomed to die, pleased that the process had started. But his attention was now elsewhere, on Elena Winston and Jack Emery. Richard had thought she’d gone rogue, but it sounded like she was just where he needed her. He was glad that the room to witness the execution was empty. This was the opportunity to put the final piece in the puzzle. He dialed her number and waited until she picked up, then waited again while the encryption technology on his phone did its thing.

  Finally able to speak, he took a deep breath. “Elena? It’s Richard Hall. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  To her credit, she didn’t hide from his accusation. “I’ve been held up. When the two you sent failed to do the job, I was worried you’d blame me. But I know where Jack Emery is.”

  Emery was the last piece in a very large puzzle. “Tell me.”

  “He’s at a house. It’s just a regular, suburban place. He’s sitting on a mountain of information that was leaked by one of your staff. Mariposa Esposito?”

  Richard’s eyes widened and his mind screamed. Somehow Emery had got his hands on the Holy Grail. Elena couldn’t be lying because she had no way of knowing. In the blink of an eye Emery had graduated from washed-up minor annoyance to the most dangerous man on the planet. With the information that Mariposa had trawled, Emery would have all he needed to put the pieces together on nearly everything Richard had been doing. As much as those actions had been necessary, they wouldn’t resonate well with the broader public. Crucially, Emery had shown through the saga with the Foundation for a New America that he had the ingenuity to get the word out. He had to be dealt with.

  “Give me the address, Elena.”

  She paused. It betrayed her nerves. “For a price, sure.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Name it.”

  “You release my fiancé.” Her voice was angry. He couldn’t blame her, given how badly he’d played her. He regretted it, slightly, but it had been necessary. “And leave us alone.”

  “Done.” Richard knew the deal even before she’d asked for it. The release of one man was a trifling matter. “Your information better be good.”

  “The release first.”

  Richard sighed. “The address first. You’ve got precious little credit left with me, Elena. You can be smart and alive or dumb and dead. Make your decision.”

  She gave him the address and Richard hung up the call. He sent out a message to have Elena’s fiancé released, then quickly dialed another number. Time was of the essence. As he waited, he watched as drugs were pumped into the man on the gurney. Where he might have expected spectacular convulsions, blood – something – instead the man’s heart slowed, betrayed only by the heart rate monitor that showed it was done. As he watched the priest close the man’s eyes, Richard considered that his work in fixing America was nearly done. There was only one more thing to do.

  Jack Emery had to die.

  ***

  One felt a sense of closure. Barring a major surprise, this would be her last mission for Richard Hall – the assassination of Jack Emery, the man responsible for the resistance that had kept her busy for months. She’d thought the attack on the President’s convoy would signal the end of their arrangement, but Hall had contacted her with blunt instructions: kill Jack Emery, no matter how loud or costly. Loud and costly her team could do, especially for a large pile of cash.

  She nodded at Two. “Go.”

  The small ram that Two swung at the door took just a couple of hard strikes to send the flimsy wooden thing swinging back on its hinges. As he backed away and threw the ram onto the lawn, the rest of her team surged inside. She’d left nobody on guard, this job was going to be done quickly, brutally and by the numbers. She let her team move inside before following, with Two bringing up the rear to keep their exit clear.

  She moved through the house with the rest of her team. With each room they reached, a member of the team split off to make sure it was clear. She kept her weapon raised as she entered the kitchen when it came to her turn. The flash light on the end of her weapon illuminated the room. As the rest of the team started to report in, she scanned the kitchen a few times back and forth, then added her call to the mix.

  The house was small, so it didn’t take long. She’d made a decision to enter with maximum aggression, one member of her team per room, given it was unlikely that Emery was expecting an assault. He also probably didn’t have the capacity to fight back, even if he was. While she wouldn’t usually go in so loud, she hadn’t had time to plan properly or get hold of the floor plans. That meant speed was their best protection.

  As the last member of her team reported in, having checked the yard, she paused near the entrance to the basement, the only possible place for Emery to be hiding. Either that or Hall’s information was incorrect and Emery wasn’t here. But Hall had been right about nearly everything else since she’d been working with him, so she figured the likelihood of bad intelligence was fairly low.

  She keyed her mic. “Okay, basement it is.”

  The order was confirmed in her headset. Three and Four reached for the handle, opened the door and then moved down the stairs. One followed, leaving the others upstairs. She reached the bottom of the stairs and her eyes widened as she saw the mountains of paper stacked in the middle of the room. She walked over to it as Three and Four stood alert. She gave the material a cursory glance. She’d found the information, but not Emery.

  “Fucking hell, guys.” She scoffed. The shock at finding so much information and the frustration at not finding Emery struck home. “Would you look at all of this?”

  Three broke into a broad grin. “I wonder if there’s—”

  A single thud from upstairs interrupted him mid-sentence. It was a sound akin to a sack of potatoes hitting the floor. They looked to the ceiling and raised their weapons. One’s mind screamed with possibilities as she froze, waiting for another sound or for one of her team to open the door, stick their heads in the basement and tell her it was okay – that someone had made a mistake. Her team didn’t make mistakes. There were two more thuds.

  “Move guys.” She took one step toward the stairs, weapon raised, when the door at the top opened. A pair of small metal canisters bounced down the stairs and she heard the distinctive rattle of metal on concrete. She knew the green canisters well. “Oh, fuck.”

  The flash bangs exploded with light and noise. One tried to shield her eyes, but it was far too late. She staggered and dropped to one knee. She was blinded and couldn’t hear anything around her. A few seconds later she felt a blow against her temple. She fell to the ground and screamed in pain as a boot found her midsection, again and again, until she was against something – a wall or some sort of furniture. Then she felt a barrel press against her skull.

  It took some time for her vision to clear. When it did, she was lying on her side, able to see the brutal consequences of Richard Hall’s miscalculation in full technicolor. It burned in her vision worse than the stun grenades. Three and Four were splayed out in front of her, a pair of corpses who minutes ago had been highly skilled men she’d considered friends and colleagues. The story would be the same upstairs.

  After another moment, someone ducked down to her level and tried to speak with her, she couldn’t shift her eyes from the bodies, but nor would she show emotion. She’d taken hundreds of lives, but the human mind – no matter how hard and conditioned to the trade of death – had no answer for grief when loved ones were taken. Like the finest sports stars and musicians, she’d fallen for the classic trap: trying to stay on top for a little bit too long.

  She glanced at the man in front of her for just a moment, then back at her dead team members. In the recesses of her mind, the fact that the man was in uniform registered. It was a strange development, but she had neither the time nor the mental capacity to fully process the information before a hard blow hit her in the back of the head. She barely stayed conscious, then a second blow hit home.


  “Hey.” The voice sounded like it was underwater. Underwater. And far away. “Hey, shitbag.”

  She blacked out again.

  “Who do you work for?” The same voice. Deep underwater.

  More questions followed, but she registered only every second word and couldn’t follow. Her head felt light and she had a pounding headache. She tried to sit up, but failed and retched. The two standing in front of her as she lay on the ground stepped backward as she puked and then blacked out again. She woke a few more times and briefly resisted their questioning. Then she blacked out for good.

  CHAPTER 20

  Authorities are no closer to identifying or locating the six terrorists responsible for the attack on President Helen Morris, though it appears to be the same group that previously attacked the Hoover Dam. Also released today, FEMA polling data shows that, broadly, the public supports the emergency measures that are in place and that 79.2% of Americans feel safer than they did six months ago.

  Federal Emergency Management Agency

  News Release

  Jack looked at his watch and wondered again how the Marines did this every day. It was early and the sun hadn’t come up, yet as Jack stood and waited for the caffeine to kick in Fort Sheridan was a hive of activity. All around him soldiers readied their equipment and vehicles as he slurped down the last of his coffee. Truth be told, he felt a bit useless, watching as the men and women on the base worked.

  Ortiz and his officer colleagues had delivered. The two battalions of the 24th Marine Regiment had made their way to Chicago under the guise of exercises, but now approximately 2000 men and women were gathered and ready to move. It wasn’t an overwhelming force – a drop in the ocean against what Hall could command between the military and the State Guard – but Jack had to hope it would be enough to get the job done.

  “Time to go?” He smiled as Ortiz approached in his combat fatigues. “Guess I don’t have time for a second coffee?”

  Ortiz nodded. “Our scouts are reporting that there’s very little between us and the target. We’re lucky. If they knew its importance it’d be fortified further.”

  “Will it work?”

  “It might.” Ortiz ran a hand through his hair and scratched his head. “We’ll surprise them, and we’ll have decoy attacks going on all over the city during the main push.”

  “Just have to hope we’re in business before they realize what’s happening, I guess.” Jack shrugged. “Shame we don’t have that terrorist bitch to parade around though.”

  Ortiz grunted. Both Jack and Ortiz had been furious at the marine who’d hit the woman in the back of the head with his carbine. The blow had concussed her and rendered her useless. Though Jack had some cell phone footage of her mentioning Richard Hall and the other attacks, he hadn’t managed to get to the bottom of who she was or why she’d cooperated with Hall before she’d died. The ambush hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped, but at least Elena’s fiancé had been freed. If nothing else, if the plan failed, Jack would die knowing that he’d stopped a nasty woman and her friends from further acts of terror. He’d wanted more information to hang Hall with, but anything she could have given him would have been a cherry on top of the greatest cake ever made. He had enough to crucify Hall, if he could get the word out.

  “Showtime.” Ortiz walked toward the main vehicle convoy. “Let’s go.”

  Jack passed dozens of men and women hard at work as he approached the Humvee he’d been assigned to. Some nodded, some stared, some ignored him – but all of them had a crazy day ahead. He was glad that Mariposa’s information had apparently convinced enough of Ortiz’s fellow officers to mobilize the entire regiment. So much force didn’t guarantee success, but it was more than he’d hoped for.

  “This is where I leave you, Jack. You got everything you need?” Ortiz looked at him with some skepticism.

  Jack couldn’t blame Ortiz for any doubt he harbored. Jack had been through a lot and was about to ride into a firestorm once again. From Afghanistan to the battle against the Foundation for a New America to Syria to the struggle against FEMA, he’d seen more conflict and experienced more pain than most. Now he was asking Ortiz and his comrades to risk their lives. Ortiz wasn’t saying anything, but Jack knew he had doubts.

  He patted the satchel that he carried on his shoulder. “Mariposa Esposito made sure of it. I’m ready, Omega.”

  “Okay.” Ortiz slapped him on the back. “See you on the other side, Jack. You stay frosty, buddy.”

  Jack nodded. His mouth was dry and he wanted more than anything to turn around, but the time for second thoughts had passed. He put his hand on the door, opened it and smiled when he saw who was inside. The shapeless combat fatigues and her combat vest did nothing to hide her attractiveness. From the flame-colored hair downward, she was a sight he was grateful to have back in his life. He smiled and climbed in.

  “Howdy stranger.” Celeste smiled at him. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

  “Hey.”

  “You alright?” She could clearly read his concern. When he was seated and settled, she placed a hand on his knee and squeezed it. “It’s going to be okay.”

  He nodded, smiled as bravely as he could and placed his hand on top of hers. As the driver gunned the engine, he shifted slightly in his seat to face her. “One for the road?”

  Celeste beamed. They held each other as tightly as they could in the confines of the armored vehicle and kissed deeply. His hands started to explore her body, despite the unflattering battle gear, until the driver of the vehicle turned around and cleared his throat. It was as if a trance was broken. They separated and straightened themselves out. The driver turned back to the front, focused on getting the vehicle ready.

  Jack smiled. “Sorry, got carried away.”

  Celeste gave him one more peck on the lips. “Until later.”

  The driver looked at him in the mirror and laughed. Jack flushed red. He wasn’t usually easy to embarrass, but the thought of career soldiers seeing his flirtations was a little much. They settled in, ready for the ride, their clasped hands the only sign that they’d shared such an embrace just a moment earlier. If he’d had his way, she wouldn’t be here at all, but they all had a role to play. Jack turned and watched as the convoy prepared to head toward his assignment and his destiny.

  “Comms check.” He heard Ortiz’s voice over the radio network.

  For the next few minutes, he was distracted by vehicles checking in and diesel engines starting. It was funny, the last time he’d been inside a Humvee he’d nearly died, but now all this hardware was on his side, the crews were fighting for the same thing he was and he was alongside the woman he thought he might love. He just hoped he made it to the other side of the firestorm that was to come.

  He hoped they’d all make it.

  ***

  “Fucking hell.” Callum raised his binoculars. “Fucking hell.”

  He’d thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but the powerful binoculars showed him the truth: there was a convoy of a dozen or so US Marine Corps vehicles rolling down the street. He lowered his binoculars, gripped his carbine and then gave a quick shout for his men to get ready. He had ten men to defend the position. Nowhere near enough.

  Callum keyed his headset. “Command, this is post 457, we’ve got a situation here.”

  There was a long pause. In the time it took for a response to come in, the convoy grew from a speck in the distance to being highly visible. He could count at least twelve Humvees, enough to carry more men than he could handle. He nearly considered keying the radio again and repeating the report when, finally, it chirped in his ear.

  “Be advised, 457, the entire 24th Marine Regiment has entered Chicago and elements are approaching a dozen different targets. You’re to hold your position and await orders.”

  “Understood.” The radio went silent and Callum shook his head. He called out to one of his men. “Bring me the horn!”

  He gripped his carbine tightly as one of
his men ran over with the megaphone. He had no idea what the 24th Marines were up to, but doubted they were on a tour of the city. He was astonished that they hadn’t learned from Hall’s response to Indianapolis, which had involved a far larger unit than a few thousand Marines. But he had to deal with the situation.

  He waited until they closed to within a block, then lifted the megaphone. “This is Sergeant Callum Watkins, Illinois State Guard. Stand down!”

  The response was swift. Callum instinctively ducked as the machine gunners on the Humvees all zeroed in on his position, but held their fire. He knew the difficult truth, that his men would lose a fire fight against the approaching convoy. They had no heavy equipment and were staring down the barrel of armored vehicles and better armed Marines.

  He keyed the megaphone again. “Last chance before I have to order my men to open fire. Please, brothers.”

  He doubted they’d comply. Even if they stood down, their march on this building made them outlaws. They’d taken up arms against FEMA and the guard, which meant Richard Hall would crush them. Callum knew they had reasons to be concerned: the executions, the imprisonments, the squeezing of average Americans. But he didn’t think this was the way to bring about change.

  When his second plea achieved nothing he put down the megaphone, raised his carbine and ordered his men to do the same. Certain that fighting would erupt at any second, he was astounded when a flame-haired woman pushed her way past the Marines and held her hands up. His eyes widened as he made the connection in his mind. It was the woman he’d freed. Celeste Adams.

  “Don’t shoot.” Her plea was laced with fear and doubt. “Please, I’m coming up the stairs.”

  Callum kept his weapon trained on her, even as she advanced on their defensive position and as the doubts ricocheted around his head. If he’d lacked the resolve to shoot her in the detention center, there was next to no chance he was going to do it now and spark a fire fight between the State Guard and the US Marine Corps. He gave a guttural growl and lowered his weapon.