“Thank you, sir.”
“No problem. Let Corporal Moore here know if you need anything,” he gestures to the man standing next to him who reaches out his hand for me to shake.
As we head back to the desk portion that is a smaller room connected to this large one, Lyncoln gives me a quick wink and smile before he is saying something to someone. I smile back at him knowing now is not the time to bother him. Asking him to stay here was one thing, asking him to sit with me and hold my hand while his men attack the drifter compound is another. I wouldn’t even ask him to; his men need him. We seem to communicate to one another with just a look that this is a serious day, and we will get through it together no matter what may go down.
As I shut the door to the smaller room and settle in with Moore, Jamie goes to get me drinks and food since I will be here a while. After we get settled, Knox pops in briefly and then leaves, saying he will return when they are close. He says he will sit and watch with me for the attack. I’m not sure if it’s because he wants to or because he is doing it so I have someone to sit with.
I have a hard time eating my breakfast since I am so nervous. I keep saying the same mantra in my head over and over and over: please let them be okay, please let them be okay, please let them be okay.
I’m not sure what’s worse, the nervousness I felt before those first voting results, or the nervousness I feel now. At least with the voting results no one’s life was really on the line.
I take off my black jacket and put it on the back of Taggert’s chair. I make myself at home and fire up his computer to check my new email. I don’t expect there to be anything, but it gives me something to do. In opening the inbox, I am surprised to find a message from Samson already waiting. It was dated at 0513 this morning.
Claudette,
Here goes. Thank you for everything.
N.S.
This short and simple little email reminds me of all the countless hours I have spent in interrogation with Samson and how much I have come to like him as a person. I say a silent prayer to a God who may or may not be there that Samson can be spared in all of this. Drifter, State, it doesn’t matter. Samson is a good man and he doesn’t deserve to die at our hands or theirs. It isn’t a matter of us versus them, it’s a matter of who he is… someone that is intrinsically good.
Tears of responsibility fill my eyes and threaten to drown me, but I somehow shake them off. I can’t lose it before we even begin.
Having nothing more to do, I then listen in on the conversations over the radio. Tons of verbiage is being used that I don’t even understand. It’s times like these I’m reminded that although I may be a pet project of Taggert’s, I’m just getting my feet wet as far as this military thing goes.
While listening to the audio feed, I recognize voices. I know Taggert and Lyncoln’s obviously, but I often hear West and Langly too. Lyncoln’s voice over the radio sounds strong and true. The reverence with which the men talk to him makes me even more proud of him.
I wonder how many times he has had to put his life on the line in order to have that sort of respect. How many kill shots did he have to take? How many close calls? I don’t think I even want to know.
Seeing my interest in all things related to this mission, Corporal Moore helps me find and pull up the drone footage of their compound, along with all the other footage that is on the different monitors in the command center right outside my door.
The compound looks eerie and is the most disturbing thing of all the intel they have gathered thus far. It looks… like ruins. Like a multi-storied old bank that had a bomb dropped on half of it. And it appears abandoned, like there is hardly a person there alive, but I know better. The drones have only flown over once today, so I watch the same footage repeatedly, trying to see if I find anything out of place. I don’t.
Listening to all the plans and instructions being given to the team takes all morning. I get a notepad and start taking notes for something to do, switching between my notes and different screens as I follow the conversations. I look at my watch when Knox returns and find that it’s already almost noon, and the snipers are moving into place.
I wonder if Henry can listen in like I am over at Mile High. I hope so. I know he would want to be. Hopefully the President has similar footage like I do, thus Henry too.
Shortly after Knox arrives, the team begins radio silence as they approach the compound trailing Samson and Grady. Knox and I exchange a serious look.
It’s go time. Everyone is in place and ready to move on the compound.
Now we just have to wait.
****
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, it’s go time to the go time. Knox has the screen to our computer split, showing several different screens like Taggert’s front wall in the other room. We can see the visual from the camera on West’s gear, the sound from Grady’s monitor, a sniper’s camera, and another camera on one of the men on the extraction team. The team is quiet but in place, continuing their radio silence, waiting on Taggert’s word to move. Once that word is given, things should happen quickly. Hopefully Grady and at least one of the targets will be in the same room making it a bit easier for the team. And if the snipers can help from afar through the windows, even better.
Samson and Grady arrive at the compound. There is a bit of confusion with someone Samson is talking to on what he is doing there and who he brought, and then silence as Samson tells the woman to get him Conors, referring to one of our targets. The man that brought them to the compound from the watch camp must stay with the woman because I can faintly hear them talking as Samson continues on.
This is it. We are in.
Knox and I exchange a look like “holy-freak-balls-this-is-it”. I mentally scold myself for not peeing earlier, as my nervousness is not helping me control my bladder any. I didn’t want to leave for any reason because I didn’t want to miss anything. Hopefully this goes well, or I very well might pee my pants. Add that to my slew of concerns.
There is mostly silence followed by a few questions of, “What do you think you are doing?” and, “Why would you bring him here?” Samson ignores it. I assume based on the jostling noises they still are on the way to see this Conors character.
My breathing is erratic, and my heart begins trying to pound its way out of my chest. Here we go.
“What the hell, Nolan?” A very angry and evil sounding voice comes over the speakers.
Well hello there, Conors. Nice to meet you.
Samson doesn’t have time to respond before we hear a loud smack. Someone gets hit. Hard.
Then there is silence.
Oh, crap. What. Just. Happened.
Neither Knox or I breathe, we just wait. Having only audio right now is torturing. I want to be able to see what’s going on.
Then Samson’s voice brings relief. “Before you beat him unconscious, you may want to hear him out.”
Okay, so Grady got punched, smacked, or beat over the head with something, but is still conscious. Okay. Could be better, could be worse. I know what’s coming next though, Samson is going to try to link Grady to Hadenfelt and sniff around about a deal between the two.
This is the tricky part.
“He broke me out,” Samson says in reference to Grady.
“Simple as that?” Conors asks cruelly, not believing it for a second.
“It is when you have inside help,” Samson fires right back.
This seems to get the other man’s attention as his voice goes from irritated, to mildly interested, “You don’t say?”
“And he hasn’t told me all of it because I was locked up while a lot went down, apparently,” Samson says harshly.
“Well don’t get caught next time,” Conors scolds.
“Well don’t send me on a suicide mission next time,” Samson again fires right back.
Conors snorts. “I see jail time has given you cajones.”
“Always had them, sir.” I imagine Samson is smiling his sarcastic sm
ile at this exchange. He then adds, “Should we call Rivera in to hear this?”
“Let me hear this load of crap first,” he says.
From what we hear, he walks toward Grady. Or so we assume since his footsteps get louder, “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’ve been working for Hadenfelt on the inside for the Culling. I have information on me that will change things. It may up the ante,” Grady says so venomously I can only imagine how hard he was hit.
I picture Grady in the same situation Samson was the first time I saw him… handcuffed, immobile, and completely unable to protect himself. Though at one point I would have loved to see justice given to Grady like that, given what I now know, I am not sure he totally deserves that. With Grady I go back and forth between wanting to give him a second chance and wanting to give him a swift kick to his man parts.
Conors swears in disbelief. “Isn’t the ante high enough?”
Ah-ha!!! So there is a deal. Now we have proof!
Freaking Hadenfelt! Lock him up. STAT.
“I wouldn’t know. I’m just the messenger,” Grady offers confused.
“At least the ass-hat did something right,” Conors says approvingly, maybe starting to believe them just a little.
“But he gave me direct orders to deal with this Rivera,” Grady adds.
I know he’s really just trying to get two of the targets in the same room so the team can move in. Smart.
“Fine.” Conors thinks a moment and then asks, “So why bring him?”
I know he is referring to Samson.
I imagine Grady shrugging, if he can. “Peace offering. He was there when I was able to finally find an out. Thought you guys needed all the manpower you could get. Impulse decision.”
Conors mumbles something and then talks to someone else in the room, telling them to get Rivera. I wonder how many people are in the room. I know that Grady’s use of specific words is a signal the team of how many people, but so far all I have heard is normal conversation.
As they wait, Conors addresses Samson again, skepticism returning, “So this one just broke you out, simple as that?”
“Well if I hadn’t been where he was at the time, I would still be a prisoner. We were both taken outside the grounds for our weekly walk. Some of the guards were taken away for something else and he had the opportunity for a one-on-one with his guard, so he took it,” Samson explains, making the story more believable. And it really isn’t that far from the truth either.
Smart thinking, Sam.
“None of this makes sense,” Conors says frustrated, “Neither of you should be here.”
“Well, I have no freaking clue what’s going on. One day I was in a cell, the next I was on the run with this guy,” Samson offers. “I only happened to be at the right place at the right time. And now I’m finding out that you guys are working with the same guy that was just torturing me. What am I missing here?”
Yes! Tell us the master plan, please!
Just when things are about to get juicy, juicy meaning Hadenfelt incriminating, a door opens and closes. Someone enters in interruption, I assume this Rivera fella. This means it’s time for the team to move in. We have three possible targets, and two of those are now in the same room.
“Is there a reason I was pulled from meaningful work for this?” the new voice snaps. He apparently sees Grady and then adds, “What the hell? He isn’t one of ours.”
“No,” Conors agrees.
“What’s going on here?” he demands. “We had nothing in play. How did he find us?”
“Our buddy apparently has a message for you,” Conors informs him, getting right to the point.
“Oh is that so?”
Something in his voice scares me, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Something isn’t right. But what?
“That’s why I’m here,” Grady says unwavering.
Where is the team!?
Come on. Get in there. Go!
“Well, this is very interesting indeed because we heard from him not even 48 hours ago. You would think he would have given us a little heads up about this,” he spits. “Since it would have taken you at least two days to get here.”
We hear what sounds like a gun cock.
OH CRAP.
“Choose your next words very carefully,” Rivera’s voice oozes evil.
“Hadenfelt’s eyes, ears, and communication line has been tampered with. They are on to him,” Grady says calmly.
He’s grasping at straws and trying to buy some more time. He is smart though. And what he says is as close to the whole truth as possible, so of course it seems not just plausible, but also believable.
“Then why communicate at all?” Rivera asks. “He had no qualms speaking freely a few days ago.”
“To deliver some new pertinent information,” Grady says like it’s obvious. Knowing he has a gun pointed at him, he doesn’t sound scared at all. I’m impressed. And impressed that he can talk circles like this buying more time for the team. He is lucky he isn’t already a dead man.
“I’m listening,” Rivera says but still sounds just as cruel as ever.
Grady has a very short timeframe here to keep his life. Rivera isn’t believing a word coming out of his mouth. He must be smarter than the Conors guy.
“There is some footage he wants you to see that only I had on my person,” Grady offers. “He wanted me to personally deliver it to him. I don’t know why he didn’t mention it or tell you what was going on. No idea because I myself was in jail for tampering with the Culling.”
I know at this point he has nothing; there is no footage. He’s just waiting it out, buying more time. Stalling.
Silence.
Though we can’t listen to two different audios at once, we can see the cameras on the team. They are moving in. They are close. Real close. Grady and Samson only have to hang on maybe a few minutes more.
“Footage of what exactly?” Rivera asks.
“It was put in place before I got caught. There is a file on a drive hidden in my pocket that has remained with me the whole time I was imprisoned. That was what I was supposed to deliver to him, which will aide in whatever this thing you all have going on is. I couldn’t get to him being an escaped prisoner and wanted man and all, so I deviated from the plan to bring it to you instead,” he offers though ignoring the original question.
Holy crap. Does he have a death wish? There is nothing in his pocket. No footage. Nothing. But even I almost believe him.
“And I am supposed to take this footage, and just let you go, even though you now know the location of our compound?” Rivera asks sarcastically.
“No. You’re supposed to take both of us to him, buying me more time while they aren’t actively looking for me. It’s not like you don’t have more than one compound anyway,” he offers sarcastically in return, adding a bit of cocky flair. “I’m just the delivery man.”
Wow. For him making up all of this on the fly, it’s actually pretty good. I’m not sure how the supposed footage wouldn’t have been confiscated by us when he was arrested, but for it being a crap story on the fly, it isn’t half bad.
“I have only one problem with this,” Rivera offers.
“What’s that?” Grady asks.
“Our method of communicating with him. You would already know exactly how it all works if you were really working for him. We don’t deal with his men. Only him directly, because that is how he demanded it. He would have told us about you before now,” Rivera says hatefully. “And he definitely would have given us a heads up because he knows we don’t do surprises. And we would have told him no to whatever exactly this is. We do not work for him. We do not do his errands. We do not babysit. So tell me, why is it you are really here?”
And that’s when all hell broke loose.
****
Knox and I are both standing looking at the screen. Neither of us can really see much because there is so much gunfire going on and with the dim lighting on the
cameras of the men, all we can really see are a bunch of shots going off via flashes of light. There is so much movement, we don’t know who is coming or going. We can barely tell who is one of us, and who is one of them. We can also hear loud voices in the room next to us as they communicate with the team.
I’m frantic and not breathing as I watch this craziness before me. Why did we think going in guns blazing would be a good idea anyway? I grab onto Knox’s arm for dear life.
The next words I hear make my skin crawl.
“Man down.”
I feel the blood drain from my head. Man down? How hurt are they? Or are they dead? Does “man down” mean dead?!
The craziness goes on for maybe five minutes and then from the team cams, we see they are leaving. At this point, Knox and I open the door to the command center, the other half of Taggert’s office, and listen to what is going on.
“No. I repeat, do not go back. Do not search for the third target. Head to rendezvous, NOW,” Lyncoln is practically yelling into the headset. His shoulder muscles and neck look tense, like he would pick up a gun and be with them in a millisecond if he could.
“Two out of three is a damn fine job, boys. Better than expected, now get your asses home,” Taggert booms.
Just then something happens and they take on more fire. There is more shooting, more shouting, and more movement. Then the shots die down and it’s eerily quiet again.
“Get on those rovers and get the hell out of there. Watch your six,” Taggert commands.
“Franz. Update on Langly, Grady, and Chester when you can,” Lyncoln commands.
A voice I recognize as the medic from his unit comes on, the same guy that looked at my neck after the whole Isabella thing. “Langly took a knife to the arm. Grady got knocked out cold and banged up. A bit concussed. Should be fine. Chester, gunshot to the abdomen with significant bleeding. We have it wrapped up for now, but he’s going to need surgery when we land. Prep medics for rendezvous.”
The Fracturing: Book 2 (The Culling Series) Page 29
