“We can’t be too careful with his type.”
“And we can’t disappear him on the eve of his son’s murder. We’ll have to use some discretion handling Jon Fisher.”
CHAPTER 22
Jon Fisher raised a pair of olive-drab binoculars and searched the tree line directly behind the house. Something had moved out there while he took a sip of coffee. He was sure of it. The wide-angle, magnified image yielded nothing, but he wasn’t convinced. He’d seen it from a distance a few times on hikes through the dense woods. He lowered the binoculars and let his eyes settle on a young fir tree nestled into a sea of mature giants populating the rising slope on the southern side of his property.
He stared at the sapling, letting his peripheral vision do the work—a trick he’d learned as a young Marine. Densely packed rod cells on the periphery of the retina were far more light-and movement-sensitive than the cone cells located in the center. In Iraq and Afghanistan, when the sun had just set, Marines at observation posts stared at fixed points in the distance, spotting movement for the unit’s dedicated snipers or mortar teams.
His patience was rewarded a few minutes later. He trained the binoculars on a thick stand of pine trunks twenty yards to the right of the sapling, finding a shaggy six-point bull elk partially concealed behind the thick trunks.
“There you are,” he whispered, as it emerged from the tree line.
The bull was on the big side of what he’d come to expect from mature elk, probably pushing eight hundred pounds. The antlers still had a fuzzy, velvety covering common to early-summer antlers. Elk shed their rack in the spring, quickly growing a new pair. From what he could see, this bull’s antlers would have a five-foot spread between main antlers—one of the biggest spreads he’d seen in person since they’d built the house.
He could only hope this big guy returned in the fall, after the rack’s velvety skin had peeled away to expose solid bone antlers. Actually, anytime after October 10—the start of B-tag rifle hunting season—would be nice. Of course, Leah would just as soon heave him over the deck’s railing than let him shoot from the deck. He’d have to pack a rucksack and hike his Remington 783 a few miles southwest. Out of sight and out of mind for his wife, who’d never taken to hunting—especially in her backyard.
The screen door behind him banged open, and he nearly dropped the binoculars onto the stone patio thirty feet below. Like a boot lieutenant, he’d neglected to secure a critical piece of gear with its conveniently attached strap. How many times had he yanked a young officer’s binoculars out of his hands by the neck strap to teach him just this valuable lesson? Too many to count by the end of a thirty-year career. After getting the binoculars back under control, he tried to the find the elk, catching a flash of its lightly colored hindquarters fur before it vanished into the forest.
“You scared him away,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Good. I hope he stays away,” his wife said, stepping onto the deck with their satphone. “Nate’s on the line. He doesn’t sound like himself.”
Jon stepped away from the railing and let the binoculars hang around his neck. “What’s going on?”
“He didn’t say.” Leah shrugged. “He was pretty insistent on talking to you.”
“I’ll bring the phone in when I’m done,” he said, accepting the device. “I’m sure he’ll have time to talk to his favorite mother.”
She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “Be nice.”
He rolled his eyes before putting the phone to his ear. “Nate,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” said his son. “But we’re heading your way for a visit.”
“Okay,” he said, hesitating. “Sure. Absolutely. We’ll be here. When can we expect you, and how long do you want to stay?”
“Sometime tomorrow. I don’t know how long we’ll stay.”
His son had always been cryptic with his answers, a habit that drove him crazy. “Are we talking one week, two weeks, three days?”
“Probably a lot longer than that,” said Nathan. “We’re packing up both cars this afternoon and driving out tonight.”
This didn’t sound good at all.
“Is this related to all of the craziness down there?” asked Jon. “Looks like the California Liberation Movement reared its ugly head again. Whatever happened in Sacramento was serious business.”
Nathan didn’t answer immediately, which Jon found unusual. His son wasn’t shy about sharing his opinions about the secession brouhaha.
“Nathan. Is everything all right?”
“Not really.” said Nathan, after once again hesitating to answer. “I don’t know how to explain it without sounding crazy, but the San Diego County Police have me under surveillance.”
“What? Nathan, you’re not making a lot of sense. Why would the police be watching you? Are you—wait. First things first. Can you borrow a phone in another office, or maybe one of your work colleague’s phones? Preferably someone in a different division.”
“I don’t—probably. Why?” asked his son, who then paused. “Oh shit.”
“Exactly,” said Jon. “And leave your phone in your office for now. They can listen to you using your own device.”
“All right. I’ll call you back as soon as I can,” said Nathan. “Thanks, Dad.”
“No problem, Nate,” said Jon. “We’ll get this sorted out. Find another phone, and whatever you do, don’t bring it back into your office. You’d be better off talking to me on a landline if possible, anyway. Some of the phone-intercept technology is scary.”
“Got it,” said his son, disconnecting the call.
Leah stood in the open doorway, concealing a worried face, a habit she’d perfected sending Jon Fisher on a dozen or so wartime deployments.
“Sounds serious,” she said.
He grimaced, wishing he could disagree. “Sounds like he got himself wrapped up in something big enough to leave the state—without looking back. I’m going to grab the encrypted satphone.”
She cocked her head, raising an eyebrow slightly.
“Yeah, I have a gut feeling it’s that serious.”
A few minutes later, the satphone in his hand buzzed, displaying a 619 area code prefix.
“Nate?” he answered.
“Yeah. I’m on an office phone.”
“Perfect. I want you to call me back at a different number,” said Jon. “Can you copy a number down?”
“Send it.”
He passed the encrypted number. “Give me about thirty seconds to get that phone operational.”
Jon opened a metal ammunition can on the workbench in his ready bunker and removed the satphone, pressing the “Power” button. When the phone illuminated, indicating a full charge, he dashed through the finished walk-out basement. Once outside, he jogged several yards into the backyard, extending the phone’s antennae. Within seconds, the device locked onto two low earth satellites hooked into the Department of Defense’s Distributed Tactical Communications System (DTCS). Shortly after that, the satphone rang, its display showing the same 619 number.
“All right,” said Jon. “Let’s keep this short. They shouldn’t be able to tap into this satphone, but I’m not sure what they can do on your end.”
“I’m on an office phone. I think it’s a cable line.”
“The police shouldn’t have access to that,” said Jon. “But we are talking about California. Are Owen and Leah safe?”
“Yeah. They’re fine. I’m probably overreacting, but we thought it would be a good idea to get out of the state.”
“Let’s back up a bit. Why do you think the police are watching you?”
“I went out yesterday morning to collect seawater for the desalinator,” said Nathan. “One of my favorite spots is a stretch of beach very close to the Del Mar Triad Station.”
“I see where this is going.”
“Yeah, they stopped by my office to ask some questions,” said Nathan. “I think my explanation made se
nse to them.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t drag you in and hold you.”
“They slapped a GEO restriction on me.”
“Shit,” said Jon, giving his son’s revelation some thought. “You’re not going back.”
“No. Once we cross the San Diego County border, there’s no going back.”
In a way, Jon was relieved. California was hurtling headlong into a wall—on nearly every front. He’d left tire tracks driving out of there after his retirement ceremony. Even Leah, a California native, couldn’t wait to put the state behind her. When Nate announced he was leaving Tucson, they were overjoyed—for the three seconds it took him to tell them they were headed to San Diego. Only Tijuana could have been a worse choice, and that was debatable. Your money went a lot further in Mexico, if you remained alive long enough to spend it.
He was happy to hear they’d be staying in Idaho for a while. He missed spending time with his son and grandson. Keira wasn’t bad either, even if she was a bit of a liberal. He’d just have to watch his scotch consumption. He tended to shoot off his mouth after a few belts of the good stuff, but he was getting ahead of himself.
“That’s fine. You guys are welcome to stay here as long as you like. Your mom and I would love to have you, even if you are sort of an outlaw.”
“Good news.”
“That GEO stuff is a bunch of unconstitutional bullshit, anyway,” Jon assured him. “Nobody outside of California gives a shit about it. When are you leaving?”
“Tonight. Probably around ten or so. Figured we’d keep our usual schedule today to minimize attention. I haven’t decided if we’ll head north to Vegas or drive due east to Arizona. Arizona would get us out of the state the quickest.”
“Head to Reno. It’s a longer stretch through California, but it’ll put a few counties and a bunch of bureaucracy between you and San Diego County. Heading due east dumps you into Imperial, which is more or less an extension of San Diego nowadays. Plus, the whole route is far safer. Arizona isn’t called the wasteland for nothing.”
“I’m tempted to book us on the next flight out of here.”
“If the police haven’t grabbed you yet, they’re probably in no hurry. Booking flights might trigger some kind of alert and expedite the process. They could grab you on the pretext of intending to flee, or some crap like that. Unless you have some compelling reason to take off right now, I think leaving at night is a smart call. You’ll probably set off a few alarms in the system when your car crosses the county border, but I doubt it’ll be flagged for immediate action.”
“Unless they’re following me around right now.” Nathan’s voice had tightened.
“If you’re under that kind of surveillance, you’re screwed. Sorry,” said Jon, “but they won’t let you leave. In fact, they’ll probably grab you as soon as the garage door opens.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” said Nathan. “I have no idea what the police are doing.”
“It sounds like your explanation for being at the beach would be easy to confirm. You’ve been doing this for almost two years, right?”
“Three.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. You were making regular early-morning visits to that beach long before they started building the station. Frankly, you could probably just wait this out in San Diego. They’ll get to the bottom of the reactor issue in a few days. Even if it was somehow sabotaged, there’s no link between you and the reactor, aside from easily explained visits to the beach.”
His son was silent for a few seconds, seeming to give the idea some serious thought. Fleeing California right now would land him in legal hot water, which could give him problems moving forward. He’d heard the song and dance about Nathan being able to find work anywhere in the world, even if they walked away from their mortgage and lost all creditworthiness. His daughter-in-law never failed to sing that tune, making it abundantly clear she wanted to leave California. And he didn’t blame her. In fact, he’d actively encouraged them to leave since the day they arrived, but this was different. There was no telling what might come of Nathan’s fugitive run, especially if the secession violence escalated.
“I don’t want to stay here. I saw something weird at the beach. I’m not sure how it fits into this, but I can’t stop thinking it might be connected to the reactor problem.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I could have sworn I saw two black boats pick up some divers just outside the surf zone,” Nathan said, lowering his voice. “Then a black SUV showed up and searched the beach area with a spotlight.”
This didn’t make any sense. What the hell was his son talking about? “Don’t take this the wrong way, Nathan, but are you sure you saw boats and divers? Could it have just been a fishing boat or something?”
“I’ve never seen a fishing boat on one of my trips. I’m not a hundred percent sure what I saw, but it looked military.”
“What does an SUV have to do with it?”
“That’s the strangest part,” said Nathan. “Right after the boats left, an SUV crept into the area, sweeping the beach preserve area with a spotlight.”
“Where were you during this?”
“In the beach preserve—hiding.”
“Jesus,” said Jon. “Though it’s probably nothing. Might have been security for the station conducting a routine sweep of the area, or maybe an added security measure because of the congresswoman’s assassination.
“The police never mentioned the boats or the SUV,” said Nathan. “I thought that was odd. I mean, they’d have the same GPS data on the SUV, right?”
“Why didn’t you tell the police? Either it’s a privately registered vehicle or it’s registered to an official state agency. Either way, the police would know you crossed paths with the SUV at the beach. They know you’re lying, Nate.”
“Unless it’s something else.”
“Like what?” asked Jon, exasperated.
“I did a little Internet digging at work before I called. Have you ever heard of the Sentinel Group? I saw a few theories—”
“I wouldn’t put too much stock in what you read on the Internet. Especially those conspiracy sites.”
“I know, but I kept coming across references to this Sentinel Group. It’s heavily invested in the industrial and energy sectors. Agribusiness, too—”
“According to the websites?” Now Jon was wondering if his son was blowing this entire situation out of proportion.
“Sentinel Group exists,” said Nathan, “but it’s a privately held, international company, so there’s not a ton of public data out there. The information about their holdings and business affiliations came from an internal leak.”
“Right,” said Jon. “I don’t suppose the sites posted any actual documents? Or is this all word-of-mouth?”
“I don’t know, Dad. It’s just a theory. The sites speculate that Sentinel is deeply vested in the success of the One Nation Coalition. Bad things happen when Sentinel’s interests are threatened. You should check it out. A lot of the hot spots you deployed to with the Marines have links to Sentinel.”
This crazy-ass Sentinel thing had his son genuinely spooked.
“Let me ask you a pointed question, sergeant-major style,” said Jon.
“Shoot.”
“Do you no shit think you’ll be better off leaving it all behind and getting out of Dodge?”
“If you’d asked me the same question yesterday, I would have said no. But I’m not so sure anymore. The more I think about the beach, the less it adds up.”
“Then get out of there,” said Jon. “Consider your tour of duty finished.”
“Do you still think I should wait until tonight?”
“I don’t think there’s anything to this Sentinel business. This may sound harsh, but you wouldn’t be trading on the world oxygen exchange right now if an organization like that existed.”
“Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”
“Your
biggest worry is the police, and it doesn’t sound like they’re paying much attention to you right now,” said Jon. “Tidy things up around the house, gather all of your important documents, pack up what you need—and drive out tonight. Call me when you get on the road, but don’t say anything over the phone about your intentions.”
“Shouldn’t I buy some prepaid phones or something?”
“What are you, a covert operative?” asked Jon, laughing. “There’s no such thing as a burner device anymore, unless you have an active fake license and matching credit card. One of the Homeland Security acts closed the burner-phone loophole to pretty much everyone but the real criminals. From what I understand, if the police have a standing surveillance warrant, you’ll get about a minute of unrecorded airtime, if you’re lucky.”
“All right, Dad,” his son said, taking a deep breath. “I’ll call you to let you know we’re on the road. We’ll probably take separate cars and travel apart until we get out of California. I don’t want them grabbing Leah on some BS aiding-and-abetting charge. Owen would end up in Child Protective Services.”
“And Sergeant Major Fisher would form a one-man hostage rescue team to get his grandson back. Not to mention your mother—that would be more like a hunter-killer team.”
They both laughed.
“Don’t split up, Nate,” said Jon. “You want to keep the team together for this one. Marines that fight together, survive together.”
“I’ll call you around ten, Dad. We’re looking forward to spending time with you and Mom.”
“Jesus, Keira must be really worried,” said Jon, causing them both to laugh again.
“That’s the first thing I said,” said Nathan, still chuckling.
“I bet. We’ll talk to you later, Nate.”
The call disconnected. Six minutes and twenty-two seconds. Jon lowered the phone and stared into the trees where he’d seen the elk.
“Sounds like Nate might be in trouble,” said his wife, startling him.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “Don’t you ever announce yourself?”
“I like to keep you on your toes,” she said, leaning over the railing above him.
Fractured State (Fractured State Series Book 1) Page 11
