“That’s fine,” said Alison, shifting the roll into her right hand and tucking it into one of her cargo pockets. “I thought I had to go, but it was sort of a false alarm. I pee a lot when I’m nervous, or at least I think I have to pee a lot.”
Keira wished she’d left her own roll back in the tent. She could have asked to borrow Alison’s, putting Quinn’s wife in an awkward position. There was nothing left to do, except act normal.
“Me, too,” said Keira. “I’ve tried to hold back on the water, but I don’t want to get dehydrated. It’s kind of a losing battle.”
“I’ve been drinking as much as possible,” said Alison. “David always stresses how important it is to stay hydrated in the field. I’m paying the price.”
And lying. She’s definitely hiding something. Could it be a phone? Keira hadn’t heard her talking, but maybe she hadn’t been as quiet as she thought sneaking down the draw. Jesus. She could get all of them killed.
“Well, it breaks up the routine,” said Keira. “Look at it that way. This is pretty much the grand total of my entertainment for the day.”
They shared a strained laugh.
“I’ll get out of your way,” said Alison. “See you up top.”
“Yep,” said Keira, continuing down the draw until Alison disappeared.
She crouched behind a dense bush and waited a few minutes before heading toward the tent. At the campsite, she nodded at Alison and ducked into the tent, nestling next to her husband.
“Well?” whispered Nathan. “Is she smoking meth?”
“Worse,” she whispered. “I think she’s using some kind of mobile device.”
Nathan tensed and turned to face her. “Really? Did you see her talking on one?”
“No. But she wasn’t out there to go to the bathroom, and I swear I saw something stuffed inside her toilet roll. She was pretty flustered,” said Keira. “If she’s using a mobile device, we could be in serious trouble.”
Nathan sat up. “Maybe we should spend the rest of the day outside of the tent so we can keep a better eye on her.”
“We need to do more than that.”
“Unless you plan on confronting her, there’s not much we can do besides keep a close eye on her,” he said, grabbing the MP-20. “I’ll work my way to the top of the draw so nobody can sneak up on us. You’ll be her new bathroom buddy.”
“This is crazy,” she said. “We’re letting a little social anxiety get in the way of our safety.”
“What are you saying? What do you suggest?”
“Why don’t you say something to her?”
“If she had a phone stashed in the toilet paper roll, I guarantee she moved it,” said Nathan. “I’m not about to shake her down at gunpoint. Her husband is the only reason we’re alive.”
Owen stirred on the other side of Keira. Their son had long ago given up trying to keep himself busy. Like the rest of them, he slept most of the day.
“What’s going on?” asked Owen.
Keira held her index finger to her lips and whispered, “Nothing to worry about, sweetie.”
“Everything’s fine, buddy,” added Nathan.
“I heard you talking about Alison’s phone,” whispered Owen.
“Well, we don’t know if she has one,” said Keira.
“She has one,” said Owen. “I saw her texting with it before you woke up.”
“Are you sure?” asked Nathan.
“Pretty sure,” he said. “I peeked out of the back of the tent. She was looking at something that glowed. It was still a little dark.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” asked Keira.
“What do you mean?” asked Owen. “What’s the big deal?”
“Nothing, sweetie,” said Keira. “We don’t get any mobile reception up here, so I thought it was a strange that she could use a device. It’s not a big deal.”
“Then why was Dad talking about shaking her down at gunpoint?”
“Your father was joking. We’re all kind of desperate to make a call, but our phones don’t work.”
“What about the satphones?” pressed Owen.
“Those are for emergencies, and they’re really expensive to use,” she said.
“Then why don’t you ask to borrow hers?” asked her son. “She seems like a friendly person.”
He’d been a lot easier to lie to when he was little. Now he was a little logic-driven machine. Smirking at Nathan, Keira said, “I think that’s a great idea, Owen.”
CHAPTER 69
Quinn stood next to one of the AL-TAC vehicles assigned to tonight’s convoy, overseeing the final inspection by one of the motor transport section’s staff sergeants. Motor transport had pulled four AL-TACs out of the battalion’s “used car lot” early in the morning, working feverishly to prepare the vehicles for a 1300-hour appointment with regiment to receive an upgraded electronic countermeasures package. The installation took two to three hours, followed immediately by the ammunition onload, which had to be inspected by the battalion commanding officer.
Quinn’s involvement in the day’s preparation had been limited to the motor transport garage, where the bay doors remained closed to keep him hidden from view. Every function related to the launch of the convoy would be handled by members of the Enhanced Counterinsurgency Platoon, spearheaded by Second Lieutenant Zachary Karr—under the watchful eye of Staff Sergeant Cantrell.
ECI platoon had been the logical choice to run the convoy for several reasons, the most important being that most of ECI already knew about Quinn’s unusual predicament. The fewer Marines involved, the better—for everyone. The last thing the battalion commander or Quinn needed was a visit by base security, with actionable intelligence. He’d lay low and let his Marines run the show, keeping his fingers crossed that the provost marshal had bigger things to worry about than the increasingly elusive Captain Quinn. Things like dead bodies and explosions.
The improvised explosive device he’d rigged behind Cerberus team’s SUV had detonated during the midmorning, putting the base under indefinite lockdown. Cantrell’s Marines had created a simple pressure-cooker bomb filled with black powder and ball bearings—a painfully simple task that every counterinsurgency-trained Marine learns during ECI specialty school. Quinn had taken a huge risk leaving the IED unattended. Anyone could have stumbled across the SUV. He’d attached the trigger wire to the trunk, figuring only another Cerberus team would get that curious. Still a gamble, but apparently worth the risk.
Responding security teams found two men dead behind the Echo-team vehicle—one with a curious stab wound to the back of the neck. They also discovered a shrapnel-riddled, government-contractor-registered SUV in a parking lot at Las Pulgas. Needless to say, the base was in full lockdown at the moment, which suited Quinn fine. Nobody gets in, nobody gets out—except for regularly scheduled convoys to Marine Corps Air Station Yuma. By this time tomorrow, he’d be two-hundred-plus miles away, with nobody the wiser.
His satphone chirped from a shelf on the other side of the garage. Since the phone couldn’t be used inside, his Marines had run a cable from the phone’s network port to a compact communications array located outside the back of the garage. The phone was only as portable as the length of the cable, which extended no farther than the opposite side of the garage. Quinn walked between tactical vehicles and retrieved the phone, following the cable into a small office. He didn’t recognize the satellite number, though he could tell that the call did not originate from another DTSC phone, but from a commercial satellite network. He pressed the phone’s screen, accepting the call.
“Aurelio’s Pizza,” said Quinn.
“Shitty pizza,” said his wife. “I have a problem.”
“What’s going on?” asked Quinn. “Make it quick. Your phone is on the clock.”
“I’ll make this as quick as possible. Your new friend, a.k.a. Nathan Fisher, insists I have a mobile device. He’s demanding to search my stuff. Our stuff. What the hell is up with this guy?”
“He’s been through a lot. I’m sure he’s just being a little paranoid,” said Quinn. “Let me talk to him.”
“He’s not the only one who’s been ripped out of his house and summarily banished from life,” she said. “We’re all equally screwed here.”
“I know. I know. We just need to keep it together until we get to Yuma.”
“It was a bad idea putting me out here with them,” said Alison. “They watch me go to the bathroom. The kid spies on me. It’s really weird, David.”
“We only have a few more hours to go. You have to make it work. I can’t drive out and pick you up. I’m kind of trapped myself. Let me talk to Nathan.”
“Fine,” said Alison. “Make sure he backs the fuck off or I’ll walk to San Mateo. I’m not joking.”
A few seconds later, Nathan’s voice came through.
“David, I’m sorry, but my wife and son swear she’s hiding something. They think she’s texting. I understand the temptation, and I apologize for shaking her down, but this is my family’s safety at stake.”
“Nathan, she understands the stakes. Trust me on that. I guarantee you she doesn’t have a phone. She had one burner device left when my Marines extracted her from the barracks, and she happily gave that to me. She knows exactly what happens when you use a phone. They almost nabbed her at the barracks after she called me.”
“Can you talk her into letting us search her stuff?” asked Nathan, lowering his voice to continue. “Look. I don’t know what my wife thinks she saw, or my son. I just know that Keira isn’t going to let this go. Alison’s not the only one who suggested we walk out of here. If your wife’s not hiding anything, I can’t see why she’d be opposed to letting us take a look. I know it’s intrusive, but I think it’s important.”
“She’ll never talk to me again.”
“If she’s using a device, you run that same risk. I guarantee they can get people on base if they want to. We’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg. Base security can’t monitor the entire base perimeter at once.”
“Can you back off this? Just until tonight?”
“What if they come for us before tonight?”
“I can have four armored vehicles up there in five minutes,” said Quinn, stretching the truth. While he could undoubtedly deploy the vehicles immediately at any point this afternoon, he wouldn’t have ammunition until much later in the day.
“I hope we can last five minutes,” said Nathan. “I’ll take the heat on this one.”
“Thank you, Nathan,” said Quinn. “Let me talk to Alison. We’re cutting it close on the phone.”
“Hold on.”
“Thank you,” said Alison when she came back on. “I appreciate not being thrown under the bus, but if they want to search my stuff that bad, they can help themselves.”
He wanted to scream at her. Why the hell hadn’t she just let them look, then? It took him a moment to reach the point where he could respond rationally.
“All right. Thank you,” he said, pausing again. “Once it’s dark, I’ll take them on a test run through your area. We’ll pick you up and bring you back to the garage for dinner. Play nice until then.”
“I love you,” she said. “I’ll be good. They seem like nice people. I just got a little frazzled.”
“Under the circumstances, I think you’re holding up just fine,” said Quinn. “I love you, too. I’m signing off.”
“See you later.”
Quinn disconnected the call and stepped into the garage. The staff sergeant and his handpicked team of mechanics stood together behind the four vehicles.
“Captain,” said the staff sergeant, “you got four squared-away AL-TACs.”
He headed in their direction. “Thank you, Staff Sergeant. I appreciate your help—and discretion.”
“Not a problem, sir. Sounds like we’re supporting a good cause,” he said. “We’ll be here until you step off for Yuma.”
Quinn nodded, forcing back his emotions. Every Marine in the battalion was like a close relative or friend. Eager to help, with no questions asked, and nothing expected in return. He’d miss this. For a brief moment he resented Fisher for taking this away, before remembering the bigger picture.
Nathan’s father had faithfully served with Quinn’s dad years ago, supporting his command and even saving his life—more than once. Nathan was part of that family, too, and Quinn was doing exactly what was expected of him as a Marine. Faithfully serving the family, or the Marine Corps motto, Semper fidelis.
CHAPTER 70
Mason Flagg entered the elaborately decorated elevator, wishing he’d received the good news about an hour earlier. He could have ordered the jet to return to San Diego and avoided this hastily assembled inquisition. Flagg despised these face-to-face meetings, both astonished and angry that some people still felt the necessity. Of course, if the operation had recovered smoothly after Almeda’s assassination, none of them would feel compelled to “drive home the importance of the mission’s success” with a personal gathering. He had himself to blame for this waste of time and money. He hoped it would go quickly. Given the news that had just arrived, he expected to be back in the air within ninety minutes.
His escort pressed the button labeled “Upper” and stepped out, leaving him alone in the elevator.
“They’re expecting you,” said the thick-necked man as the door closed. “You’ll see them gathered in front of the fieldstone fireplace.”
Flagg barely acknowledged him. He found it odd that the Cerberus executive committee allowed their clients to run security at these gatherings. Their clients paid hundreds of millions of dollars for Cerberus to field small armies around the world, but they didn’t feel comfortable employing the same operatives to protect them for a few hours in Aspen, Colorado.
He turned and checked his appearance in the elevator’s mirrored wall. A dark-gray suit with black turtleneck was standard dress for a meeting like this. Functional, yet formal enough without the tie to project a professional, stylish appearance. The only thing missing was his pistol. He hadn’t bothered to bring it, knowing that Burridge’s security team wouldn’t let him leave the airport with a weapon. In fact, he’d traveled alone tonight because they refused to let Cerberus executive security guards off the jet.
Flagg hardly felt the elevator move, the motion so smooth, and he could barely tell whether the trip had started or ended. When the doors didn’t open within the next few seconds, he assumed the car had just left the garage level, transporting him to his destination. The digital elevator display instantly changed to “UPPER,” and the door smoothly slid open, revealing a world beyond the reach of nearly every person on the planet.
Elegant woodwork, inlaid granite, and intricately carved marble covered every surface, horizontal and vertical, easily making this the most richly appointed room he’d ever seen. The furnishings matched the exquisite setting, completing the scene, but nothing could match what he saw beyond the floor-to-cathedral-ceiling windows. Aspen Mountain, still snowcapped in June, stood magnificent in the fading light of the evening. The majestic mountain and the surrounding peaks reflected a deep-blue color rarely seen outside the Rockies. For a brief moment, Flagg stood motionless, thoroughly impressed by what money could buy. He let go of the thought and stepped onto the wide pine-planked floor, ready to go to war.
“Mason!” called Saul Prichard, his immediate boss at Cerberus. “We’re over here.”
Flagg nodded and headed in Prichard’s direction, taking in the crowd gathered with drinks around chairs and couches facing a massive two-sided fireplace. A crackling fire blazed from one end of the hearth to the other. The fireplace looked large enough to accommodate a spit-cooked buffalo—or eight of the wealthiest men and women in the United States.
Prichard wasn’t one of their number. He was merely a midlevel executive who served as a liaison between the operation leader (OL) and the company’s clients
. Executive liaisons were typically sourced from the operational leader ranks. Flagg had twice turned down a promotion headed for this position, preferring to stay in the field. Prichard was a glorified politician, balancing the unrealistic expectations of their clients with the reality of field operations. He spent most of his time babysitting.
Gary Silva stood next to Prichard, raising a martini glass in salute of Flagg’s arrival. Silva represented Sentinel Group, Cerberus International’s parent company and a significant contributor to the One Nation Coalition. He was harmless enough, his role at meetings like this confined mainly to stressing the “importance” of meeting client expectations. Like these meetings themselves, Silva essentially served no purpose that Flagg could discern.
The usual suspects were all in place. In fact, every last one of them had flown in for the meeting, which didn’t bode well for his early departure. Tyler Wegman, fifth-term congressman from Kansas, and Nancy Mailer, fourth-term senator from Colorado, sat together on one of the couches facing away from the view. He’d have to work hard to get out of here on schedule with this self-important duo sipping free booze. There was nothing worse or more time-consuming than enduring the prattle of people who thought they mattered.
Graduating upward in the hierarchy, he glanced toward Jack Bernal, head of Cal Farms United, the agricultural aggregate that controlled a sizable chunk of California’s produce and livestock business. Jack’s influence would be crucial in the upcoming fight to keep California in the union. Without a unified agricultural business front in California, secessionists would have a hard time selling state self-sufficiency to the public. The state could produce enough food to feed itself, but not without CFU’s support.
Next came Alexei Petrov. The Russian oligarch turned Texan had bought AgraTex Industries in 2017, singlehandedly triggering the New Dust Bowl a few years later. Years of corrupt water-rights mismanagement had already drained the southern Ogallala Aquifer to the point of collapse by the time Petrov arrived. The Russian wasted no time in tipping the scale by purchasing thousands of acres located above the aquifer in northern Texas, and pumping it dry to irrigate his poorly timed investment. With the Rio Grande already running at critically low levels, drought-racked fields outside of Petrov’s domain in the south and central areas dried up within a few seasons. Massive dust storms swept across most of Texas, spreading to Oklahoma as the southern basin of Ogallala Aquifer quit giving water.
Fractured State (Fractured State Series Book 1) Page 29
