by I. T. Lucas
An hour ago, Turner had called Andrew with the Doomers’ location. The old monastery in Ojai was almost certainly the Doomers’ base in California. There was of course a slight chance that it belonged to some other militant group, but it was highly unlikely.
Turner’s source worked for a large weapons supplier who sold mostly abroad. That’s why the large delivery to a local address was an anomaly he’d remembered.
Being the thorough and methodical SOB that he was, Turner had provided more than just the location. He’d researched when it had been purchased, included a map of the terrain, and even blueprints from fifteen years ago when the monks had pulled permits for renovating their twenties-era kitchen. The timing matched, and the place was perfect for a covert military base. Not only was it secluded with no other inhabitants for several miles around, but a tall block wall fence surrounded its perimeter.
Andrew had no doubt that surveillance cameras had been installed all over that fence, and probably along the road leading up to the monastery as well. Standard operating procedure to secure a facility against unwanted intruders and prying eyes.
That’s what he would have done.
Soon, he would find out if Kian had succeeded in pulling the impossible in the space of an hour—obtaining close-up satellite pictures of the place.
Good luck with that.
Then again, when enough money greased the wheels, they spun much faster.
The other option was to send out a drone. Problem was, it could potentially alert the Doomers to the fact that someone was on to them. Satellite was an invisible, undetectable eye in the sky.
When he got to Kian’s office, it was already bursting at the seams with burly immortals. Pausing for a moment in front of the glass doors, Andrew scanned the room. Aside from the Guardians he knew, there were five more he hadn’t met before.
The reserves.
Upon entering, Andrew clapped hands with Arwel, was pulled into a bro embrace by Anandur and then Bhathian, and then got introduced to the new guys—forgetting their names a moment later.
Not his fault that these Scots had strange, hard to pronounce names he’d never heard before.
A moment later, he was put to work rearranging the furniture. Arwel, Onegus and he each lifted two chairs, clearing one side of the conference table, while Anandur and Bhathian grabbed the heavy thing and pushed it all the way to the side. He helped the guys line up the chairs in three rows facing the big screen behind Kian’s desk.
Kian turned on the big screen and after a few clicks on his desktop an aerial picture of the compound appeared. He leaned against his desk and waited for everyone to hush down.
“Good evening.” Kian picked up a ruler and pointed at the screen. “The road leading up to the Doomers’ compound is almost a mile long, and there are cameras installed every two hundred feet or so. Twenty-seven in total. They are stationary.” He moved the ruler to the wall surrounding the grounds. “The wall, as you can see, is twelve to thirteen feet tall thanks to the barb wire added on top of it. Cameras are mounted in seventy-five feet intervals and they rotate. There are no blind spots in front of the wall.”
Kian took hold of the computer mouse and zoomed the picture in, then pointed again with the ruler at a big metal box attached to the side of the building. “They have an emergency power generator large enough to supply their entire facility in case of a power outage, so that option is out. If we want an element of surprise, we will need to parachute into the place, which, admittedly, isn’t the best way to go about it. First of all because as far as I know none of us has ever done it before. Second, if spotted, we will be easy and defenseless targets. They can just shoot the parachutes and have us splatter on the ground.”
Anandur humphed. “We can take them even if they know we’re coming. What do they have as far as weapons? Machine guns? We can bring portable rocket launchers to blow up their wall, launch smoke grenades to render them temporarily blind, and then charge ahead. Anyway, it’s going to be hand to hand combat in the end, with or without the element of surprise.”
He looked around seeking support for his plan, but encountered multiple raised brows instead.
“Where do you get ideas like that?” Arwel asked.
“What? I watch a lot of war movies.”
One of the new Guardians snorted. “If they can see us coming from a mile away, they can just blow us up on approach. They might have rocket launchers of their own.”
Anandur crossed his arms over his chest. “So we get armored vehicles. I’ve read somewhere that the Israelis developed a sophisticated shielding mechanism. They call it a wind jacket or coat or something like that.”
Kian shook his head. “We might get our hands on rocket launchers, but armored vehicles? It will take weeks if not months to arrange a purchase and delivery of something like that. I want to attack tomorrow.”
Murmurs of agreement sounded all around, the air thickening with tension.
Andrew wondered if testosterone could go airborne, and if it could, was there any way to test its levels in the air. If there were, this room full of warriors readying for battle would blow the top of the scale.
He could just imagine all these Scots charging ahead with a terrifying battle cry, brandishing swords and axes, their kilts flapping in the air… He chuckled.
“What’s funny?” Onegus asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just picturing all of you guys wearing kilts while attacking your enemies.”
Onegus cocked a brow. “And that is funny because?”
Andrew knew he should shut up, but he just couldn’t help it. “I heard that Scots wear nothing under those kilts. Everything must go flapping up and down and side to side as you run, and I’m not talking about the fabric.” He demonstrated with his arm.
Kri chuckled, some of the guys grunted, and Bhathian cast Andrew one of his more formidable scowls.
Anandur shrugged. “No sweaty balls, my friend, ponder this. And after the battle, with the lasses, no need to take anything off.”
He had a point.
Kian clapped his hands to get their attention. “People, this is not the time or place for horsing around. You’re all grown men, and woman.” He pointed his chin at Kri. “Not a bunch of horny teenagers. We are trying to plan an offensive that will hopefully result in as few casualties as possible for us and as many as possible for the enemy.”
The mention of horny teenagers reminded Andrew that there was another way of disabling the Doomers’ surveillance cameras. “May I offer an alternative?”
Kian grimaced. “Not to the kilts, I hope. We are kind of attached to them. They are like a good luck charm.”
What the hell? He’d been only joking. Did they really plan on wearing skirts to battle?
A snort escaped Kian’s throat, and the room erupted with laughter. “Got you.” He pointed at Andrew. “You should’ve seen the expression on your face.”
“I thought we were supposed to get serious.”
“You’re right. We are. I just couldn’t miss an opportunity like that to mess with you.” He waved his hand. “I’m sorry. Go ahead. You were saying?”
Sorry my ass.
“We can use Sylvia to disable the cameras.”
Kian frowned. “Isn’t her ability limited to only a few feet distance from the device?”
“It is. But that’s actually better than fritzing them all at once. Less suspicious. Sylvia and one of the Guardians could pretend to be hikers and walk up that road, while we follow in a vehicle close behind. A short glitch in just one camera at a time might go unnoticed.”
“I can improve on the plan,” Anandur said. “We send a group of all female hikers. They’ll spread out with about two hundred feet between them. The two or three up front will be hotties in short shorts, while Sylvia and perhaps Kri will drag behind and wear long pants. The Doomers in the control room will be watching the screen with the short shorts, and I bet they will not notice the other monitors glitch for a few second
s.”
“Brilliant.” Andrew high-fived Anandur.
Kian nodded. “I agree. It’s a plan.”
Chapter 12: Carol
Usually, Carol dreaded dinner.
Like clockwork, Sebastian would show up an hour and a half after her last meal, making sure she was done metabolizing her allotted calories for the day by the time he started her torture. For that reason, dinner never included meat or anything heavy.
The sadist didn’t want her puking all over him.
Today, though, she couldn’t wait for Robert to show up with her tray, and hopefully, a note with answers about Ben.
Fates, she was restless. Carol wished she could pace, or scribble nonsense in her notebook—anything to provide a distraction that would help pass the time. Except, that would’ve been out of character for her.
Like every day, she sat sideways on her bed with her back propped against the wall, gazing vacantly into space.
When the knock finally came, Carol gritted her teeth against the urge to jump up and… what? Kiss him? Hug him? Ask for the note?
Ask for the note. Definitely the note. Kissing and hugging belonged in the past. The old Carol used to love engaging in both, but not anymore. Now, she prayed to never be touched again. Not in cruelty and not in kindness. Her nerve ending were too raw and too frazzled to tolerate either.
“Good evening, Carol,” Robert said as he entered, pushing the door closed with his foot.
She didn’t answer, because she never did. But she looked up at him. She couldn’t help it.
Robert gave her a tentative smile as he lowered the tray to place it on her nightstand. “Since you’ve enjoyed the watermelon so much this morning, I brought you more." He lifted a wedge and extended his hand, angling his palm so she could see the three white pills and the folded note he had tucked under the fruit.
With a frown, she scooped his offering into her palm. He never brought her pills in the evening. He always did it in the morning, and she swallowed them after dinner. She still had the other two.
Did he know something she didn’t? Was Sebastian going to be even more cruel to her this evening?
Robert must’ve sensed her distress. “I know that fruit in the evening is unusual, but I thought the vitamins in it will help you sleep better at night.”
He was trying to tell her something, but she had no idea what. Lifting her eyes to his face, she searched his expression for clues.
Pointedly, he looked down at her hand. “When I come back to collect the tray, tell me if the fruit agreed with you. I heard that some people can’t digest it more than once a day. It upsets their stomach.”
Carol nodded and lifted the fist holding the pills and the note, pressing it against her heart. Robert should stop talking in riddles and making whoever listened suspicious. His note probably explained everything.
He got the message, thank the merciful fates.
“Well, enjoy your meal. I’ll see you later.”
After he left, Carol took a few bites from the watermelon, nibbled on a piece of dry toast, then figured enough time had passed and it was safe to go to the bathroom. With an effort, she shuffled the way she always did, crossing the distance in what seemed to her like slow motion.
Closing the door behind her, she tucked the new pills inside her robe’s pocket, sat down on the toilet, and unfolded Robert’s note.
He had neat handwriting, and managed to cram a lot into a piece of paper no larger than three by five inches.
Your cousin is not here. I don’t know if he lives, but he wasn’t a confirmed kill either.
As she sagged in relief, Carol let her hand drop by her side. Ben might be alive. She lifted the crumpled piece of paper and kept on reading.
Your note suggests that you like me, but even though I suspect you are only saying it to get me to help you, I want to anyway. I can’t do nothing while you’re tortured. But if I help you escape, there is no going back for me. I’m a dead man. To make my sacrifice worthwhile, I want your promise to stay with me for at least three months. If you agree to my terms, we have to move tonight. Sebastian is leaving tomorrow but he is probably coming back the same afternoon. Our best chance is to hide you in my car overnight and tomorrow morning, after he leaves, I’ll pretend to go for an errand in town and drive off. I know that when he is done with you you’re in too much pain to move or spend the night in my car. That is what the additional pills are for. After Sebastian brings you back to your room, turn off the lights completely and put on loud music—something annoying so the guys in the monitoring room will turn down the volume. Put pillows under the blanket in the shape of your body, get dressed, and wait for me. I’ll come in quietly and take your hand to lead you out in the dark. Don’t make a sound. When I come back for the tray, all I need is a nod from you to let me know you agree to my terms and to my plan. When you’re done reading, flush this note down the toilet.
Carol read over the thing three more times before she did as he asked, dropping the precious piece of paper into the toilet and watching it go down the drain. He could’ve asked for a year and she would’ve gladly agreed. Hell, a decade. And who knows? Maybe she would even like him enough to stay.
Later, when Robert came, she did more than nod. She grasped his hand and squeezed, mouthing a thank you.
His eyes were haunted as he nodded back.
Robert was terrified.
Even her limited sense of smell picked it up with no problem. Hell, she hoped the poor guy wouldn’t get himself killed while trying to help her. This was totally out of his comfort zone.
What a brave man.
Obviously, Robert wasn’t a commando. He was a mere assistant, a yes-man doing Sebastian’s bidding. And yet, he showed incredible courage where it counted the most.
If they made it, she would make sure Robert never regretted his decision to help her. She was going to make him the happiest male alive.
Chapter 13: Robert
Now that Robert had set things in motion, there was no turning back. Carol had agreed to his terms, and she would be waiting for him to deliver on his promise.
With a shaky hand, Robert poured himself a drink, cursing when more of it ended up on his desk than inside the glass. He took a sip and grimaced. Why the hell was he drinking this shit? His usual fare was beer, he rarely drank anything stronger than that, and this was really not the time to get drunk.
Problem was, the fear was paralyzing, and he was useless like this. There was no way Sebastian would believe this was anxiety over being left in charge for one day.
Robert groaned.
He was a warrior for Mortdh’s sake, and he’d held his shit together in numerous battles, under heavy artillery fire, and even air strikes. He was a good soldier, well trained. Even when covered in the blood and viscera of his enemies as well as his comrades, he’d remained on task, had done his duty.
Closing his eyes, Robert reached deep inside of him to the cold place that had allowed him to function during those times. If he wanted this mission to succeed, he had to achieve that emotionless state again.
An automaton needed to be set in motion.
Damn, Robert had hoped that by joining Sebastian’s crew he would never have to go there again. Sebastian was more of a covert operations guy, not a field commander. As his assistant, Robert had hoped that he would never again have to witness the atrocities of war, and that the soulless creature he’d been forced to become would be left behind for good.
He hated having to rely on that other persona of his, always afraid that this time he wouldn’t be able to come back, and that the other side would take over permanently. It was becoming more and more difficult to shed that hard shell, and each time it was taking him longer.
A long time had passed since he’d last summoned that other side of himself, and yet he slipped into that persona with relative ease. In moments, the disassociation was complete. The Robert everyone here was familiar with was gone, and the Robert who his previous commander had rel
ied on to do a superb job in the field was back.
His hands no longer shook as he took the half-full glass and emptied the whiskey in the sink, then wiped the counter clean.
He was ready.
The first part of his plan was to send as many of the guys as possible out on club patrols. Pulling the list of clubs up on his computer, he added four more locations to the roster by borrowing from tomorrow’s list.
Keeping the illusion of business as usual, he left the door to his pantry office open, and when Sebastian passed by it on his way down to the basement, Robert blocked thoughts of Carol and what his commander was about to do to her.
To pull this off, he was going to follow his plan to the letter and disregard all else. The teams had to be dispatched while Sebastian was otherwise occupied, and there was no better time than while the sadist was torturing Carol. Sebastian would not interrupt a session for anything less than a level one emergency.
Robert had an entire hour at his disposal, and he was going to use it wisely.
Most nights, the men were assigned thirty clubs, which meant sixty warriors were out of the base while twelve remained. Two were assigned to the control room, and the other ten were sent out on patrols around the grounds. A waste of time since no one ever came up there. Especially not at night.
But patrols were standard operating procedure for a military base, and Sebastian had seen no reason to deviate from protocol. It seemed to Robert that Sebastian was more interested in buying studios and radio stations than chasing immortal males in clubs. It was part of the mission he’d been assigned, and he couldn’t abandon it completely, but he wasn’t putting any pressure on the men to deliver results.
By adding four clubs to the list, Robert would be sending eight out of the ten out of base. Only four would remain; two in the control room, and two on patrol.
