Lights Out In Vegas (Book 4): Line of Fire

by Patten, Sean

  Lambert gestured to one of the folding chairs across from the desk before taking a seat.

  “So,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “Gotta say I’m curious why.”

  “Because,” he said. “I’ve been keeping a close eye on the refugees, seeing what kind of people we’re going to be taking under our wing.”

  He raised his palms. “Now, most of them are about what I’d expect—suburban types, tourists with the mother of all bad timing, and a few Vegas lowlifes. But every now and then you get someone who you can actually use. And after what I saw you pull, I’m thinking you just might be one of them. What’s your story, Justin?”

  I shook my head. “Not much to say,” I started. “Mechanical engineer by trade, degree from New Mexico State, no kids. That’s about the long and short of it.”

  “Man of few words, huh?” he asked with a small smile.

  “My dad always said it was rude to talk about yourself.”

  “Good way to be,” he said. “Because I’m not looking for a talker, I’m looking for a doer.”

  I sipped my drink again.

  “But no military experience?” Lambert asked.

  I drank again, this time more out of hesitance to speak than wanting to taste it.

  “Discharge?” he hedged. “Not a dishonorable, I hope?”

  “No, no,” I said. “Nothing like that. It’s, ah, kind of a sore subject for me.”

  “Let’s hear it,” he said. “Nothing goes beyond these walls.”

  In spite of the strangeness of the situation, I found myself feeling able to confide in Lambert. The whiskey didn’t hurt, sure, but more than that he had a way about him that couldn’t help but put a man at ease.

  “Just that I always wanted the be in the service. My old man, he was in it and I, you know, always looked up to him.”

  Lambert said nothing, his eyes on me as I went on. I had to hold back—the whole thing was something I didn’t really care to talk about. And I got the sense he could feel that. He didn’t push, only listening carefully and waiting for me to speak. Every now and then he would take a sip of his partially filled glass of whiskey.

  “Anyway,” I said. “Went to sign up the day I turned eighteen.”

  “What branch?”

  “Army,” I said. “Nothing I wanted more than to be a good old-fashioned ground pounder, you know?”

  “Good man,” said Lambert, flashing a brief, easy smile.

  “But when I took my physical they found something wrong.”

  Lambert’s expression turned grim, and I could sense he knew where I was going.

  “Shitty heart condition—arrhythmia. Nothing serious. I mean, it never really bothered me before. But enough to disqualify me.”

  “Damn,” he said. “That must’ve been a killer.”

  “You have no idea,” I said. “All my life I’d been waiting for the day to join, and I woke up on my birthday thinking that I’d be in the service by the end of the day. Instead, I remember lying awake, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do with my life now.”

  “How’d the old man take it?”

  “He got it,” I said. “At least, as much as he could. Not like I washed out or anything, you know? But I always got the impression that he’d been just a little disappointed, like wondering what he’d done wrong to have a son who couldn’t follow in his footsteps.”

  I glanced down at the whiskey, realizing I’d finished the glass without thinking. That explained my oversharing.

  “My brother joined up, though,” I said. “Dad was all too happy about that. So happy that he didn’t really seem to care when I got accepted into a pretty prestigious engineering program.”

  I waved my hand through the air, dismissing the topic.

  “Anyway,” I said. “Enough about me.”

  “No,” Lambert said. “It’s good to hear. Makes me more certain about what I’ve got in mind.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m—forgive the cliché—looking for a few good men,” he said, crossing his arms over his stout chest. “Men or women. People among the refugee population who I can trust with jobs of a little more importance.”

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  “Good, because I think you’ll like what I have to offer. You won’t be operating in an official military capacity, but damn near close to it.”

  “What kind of jobs you got in mind?”

  “Planning, logistics, maybe a few supervisory positions among the refugees. The specifics I can keep you posted about. But for right now, I think you’re what I’m looking for.”

  As he spoke I caught sight of something on his desk that I hadn’t noticed before, something behind one of the stacks of papers. I craned my head to get a better look, and realized that it was a hand grenade.

  “Expecting an invasion?” I asked, nodding towards it.

  The general appeared confused at first, but the easy smile returned to his face when he realized what I was talking about.

  “This thing,” he said, reaching over and setting down the glass before picking up the grenade. “Good luck charm. Long story, but I got it back in Afghanistan a little after the invasion started. If you’re worried, don’t be—this thing’s as harmless as a paperweight. Which is more or less what I use it for.”

  He regarded the grenade for a few moments in his hands, as if it had taken him back years in time.

  As he turned to set it back on the desk, I realized I’d gotten so caught up in the offer that I’d forgotten about Steve. After all, there right in front of me was the man I needed to be speaking to about the matter.

  “There’s something else,” I said. “Something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Oh?” asked Lambert. “What’s that?”

  “My brother,” I said. “The one I mentioned. He was separated from me and my wife before we came here—separated by your men.”

  It felt odd to matter-of-factly refer to Kelly as “my wife,” but I figured I might as well run with the lie. At this point, it wouldn’t do to have anyone picking holes in our story.

  “He should be here somewhere,” said Lambert. “Just a matter of asking around.”

  “He was injured,” I said. “Had a big gash along his leg. I figured maybe he might be in one of the med stations.”

  Lambert looked away, as if considering something.

  “Injured, huh?” he asked. “If that’s the case, it might be the reason for the separation. Depending on the severity of his injury, he’ll either be in one of the med stations, or my men will have taken him to a hospital we commandeered outside of the city, about twenty minutes from here. It’s hard to say—I’m sure you can imagine how difficult it is to keep track of a single person with no electricity.”

  “What about the rest of the military?” I asked. “Any word from them?”

  “Just bits and pieces from scouts about how nearly every city nearby is in same boat we are—no information, barely any supplies, and hundreds of thousands of people all looking to us for protection. Damn mess.”

  “If there’s anything you could tell me,” I said. “I just need to find my brother.”

  He shook his head. “Best bet would be to stick around, put yourself to good use and keep an eye out for him. Good chance he’ll show up here before too long and you’ll be able to find him. And if you work with my boys that’ll give you the fast track on whatever info we get about the new refugees.”

  He had a point. I could see that Lambert was doing his damnedest to keep track of things with paperwork and all that—might end up being the best chance I had to find Steve.

  “One more thing before we both get back to work,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You said you were in Vegas, right? What were you getting up to when my troops found you? Just seeing if there’s any intel I need to know about.”

  “Funny you should ask,” I said. “I’d been at the Troika with my wife and we’d gotten
on the bad side of Oleg Azarof.”

  Lambert’s eyes lit up.

  “That right?” he said.

  “Right,” I confirmed. “Long story short, we got the Oleg’s bad side in a big way. One of your boys took him out at just the right time.”

  “They’re good like that,” he said.

  “I met with another general in the city—”

  “Donahue,” said Lambert. “General Donahue. He’s heading up operations near the Strip.”

  “Had the military been involved with the Troika?”

  I realized right after asking the question that it was likely some non-civilian-access info.

  “Normally I’d tell you that was a military concern,” Lambert said. “But since you seem to have gotten yourself caught up in all that I don’t mind breaking protocol a little bit.”

  He reached back, grabbed a bottle of water, twisted of the cap and took a sip.

  “There’d been a major operation in the works to take down Oleg and his crew at the Troika. City had been working with state who’d been working with Feds and even a few military advisors were involved. If the EMP hadn’t hit, Oleg might’ve been around for another week, tops, before we’d gotten to him.”

  “Good to hear,” I said.

  “And good to hear you made it out of that alive,” Lambert said. “I’d heard enough about Oleg to know that he didn’t screw around when it came to people who’d gotten on his bad side.”

  He took another sip.

  “And I’m sure I’d love to heard about what all went down,” he went on. “But for now, why don’t you take some time to think about my offer. Bet you’ll find it worth—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish. Mid-sentence, a man in military fatigues burst into the office, a pair of bars on his shoulders signaling his rank as lieutenant.

  The man was shorter and stockier than Lambert, all muscles and hard features. His hair was short and red, his complexion ruddy, and his eyes narrowed into hard slits. Along his neck was a long, mean-looking scar that traveled up to the front of his ear. Whatever warmth and congeniality Lambert had, this man was the opposite.

  “Sir,” he said. “We’ve got a situation.”

  Chapter 7

  “Lieutenant Mason,” said Lambert, his voice taking on a stern tone of authority. “At ease. What is it?”

  Mason opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as his eyes landed on me.

  “In front of the civilian, sir?”

  Lambert nodded.

  “We’re having issues with some of the soldiers,” Mason said. “Over in sector seven.”

  “What kind of issues?”

  “They’re refusing to follow orders,” Mason said. “Said that they need some rest.”

  “Them and every other damn soldier here,” Lambert said. “Myself included.”

  “Your orders, sir?”

  “Go back there and put the whip to them. I know we’re all on our last legs, but we don’t have time for this kind of nonsense.”

  “And if they refuse?”

  “Then I’ll see to it myself,” said Lambert. “Dismissed.”

  Mason turned to leave, his hard eyes lingering on me for a second before he stepped back out.

  “Damn,” said Lambert under his breath.

  Then he turned his attention back to me, the easy expression returning.

  “Might as well join up now,” he said. “Already hearing all the behind-the-scenes info.”

  I decided to push my luck, see what I could find out.

  “General Lambert,” I said. “What…what’s the plan here?”

  A conflicted expression took hold of his features.

  “The plan?” he asked. “That’s a big question for a civvie.”

  “I get that it’s a little out of my need-to-know realm of information,” I said. “But I’ve got my wife here, and maybe my brother, and…”

  Again with the “wife” lie. I wasn’t lying about my intention, however—I was desperate to keep Kelly safe.

  He sighed, as if knowing he was about to do something he ought not to do.

  “Maybe the half shot of whiskey’s hit me harder than I thought, or maybe I’m just out of my mind,” he said. “Shouldn’t be telling you a damn thing.”

  I said nothing, waiting to see where he was going with this.

  “But I suppose you have a right to know,” he said. “The plan is, well, you’re looking at it. Donahue put me in charge of the operation here at Esperanza, and my objective is to get as many people to safety as I can.”

  He looked away for a moment.

  “You know what that word means?” he asked. “Esperanza?”

  I shook my head. “High school Spanish was a long time ago.”

  “Hope,” Lambert said. “That’s what I want this place to be. Everyone here is scared and hungry and tired and everything else that you’d expect from a situation like this. And I don’t blame them—it’s rough here, and only getting worse the more people that show up.”

  He went on. “I know things need to improve, and fast. That’s why I need people like you, Justin. Men and women who are willing to put in the work to make this place a shelter in the storm.”

  “And it’s a hell of a storm,” I said. “I saw the worst it had to offer.”

  “Maybe you didn’t,” he said. “Believe it or not. I’ve heard stories from some of these refugees that’d turn your hair white. And it’s only been a few days since the power went out. Imagine what’s going to happen when supplies start running low, people can’t just go to grocery stores and scavenge canned goods, when all the bottled water’s gone down the hatch?”

  “It’s going to get even worse.”

  “You’re damn right about that,” he said. “I’ve been in war—I know what people are capable of when they get desperate and they’re willing to do anything it takes for them and their loved ones to survive. It’s slow going here getting everything set up, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that once the hard work’s been done, Esperanza’s going to be exactly what the name says it is. Who knows? Maybe in a few months this’ll look something like the civilization that just turned off. Maybe kids’ll be splashing around in Lake Mead, not a care in the world.”

  He shook his head, as if snapping himself out of it.

  “Anyway,” he said. “Justin, I want you on board for this. You’ve got skills, you’ve got initiative, and you’ve got experience dealing with the sort of difficulties we’ve got ahead of us. Think about what I’m offering—you could be in at the ground floor of something really important.”

  “I will,” I said. “But…”

  “Right,” he said. “Time to get back to it. You decide you want in, come speak to one of my men out front. I’ll have a place for you.”

  “Thank you, General,” I said.

  He nodded, and that was that. I turned and stepped out of the tent, shielding my eyes against the bright sun.

  As I stepped back to the work site, Lambert’s words weighed heavily on my mind. The man had a vision, I had to give him that. And there was something about him, something that made me want to believe he knew what he was doing.

  Because if there was one thing the world ahead was going to need, it was what Lambert was offering.

  Hope. And a lot of it.

  Chapter 8

  The rest of the day was slow going. By the time we called it quits, around six in the evening, I was so damn beat that looking for Steve seemed almost impossible to even consider.

  But I wasn’t going to give up. I needed to learn what I could.

  I decided to follow Lambert’s advice and check the medical stations nearby, since all the work had been happening in that part of Esperanza. Each one was packed full of people with all manner of injury or sickness, the staff running around so much it made my workday look like a nap in the shade.

  So asking was out of the question—no doubt as to what their reaction would be if I were to be stupid and selfish enough to ask them if
they happened to know where one person was. Instead of asking, I did some looking, going through all the med stations nearby one by one, seeing if I could find Steve and trying my best to stay the hell out of the way as I did.

  But I didn’t find him. By the time it was dark out, my legs were done and I decided it was time to head back to the tent. The camp had grown even more during the work day, refugees now starting to bleed out of the gates and into the surrounding areas. God, I wanted to believe Lambert, but it was hard not to think something really bad was in the works.

  My gut was tight as I stepped up to the tent—I had nightmare visions of opening it up and seeing no one, or some family that had taken it over and sent Kelly packing. I hated letting her out of my sight for even a minute, let alone a whole day. But there wasn’t anything else to do about it. We both had to work.

  And more than that, I needed to tell her about my conversation with Lambert.

  I pulled open the flap, relief hitting me as I saw Kelly on the bed, a book in her hands. Her eyes lit up as I entered, and for a brief moment as I let the smile on her face wash over me, everything was just fine.

  “Hey!” she said, setting the book down and coming over to greet me. “There you are. I was getting worried.”

  I set the food down and took a seat on the mattress, my muscles crying out in thanks for the first bit of rest they’d had in hours.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Was out looking for Steve.”

  “You find anything out?” she asked.

  “Nope,” I said. “Only that he’s not in any of the med stations around where I was working.”

  I handed the rations kit over—one of the line cooks had sent me away with a little extra—and Kelly took it and set it on her lap.

  “Shit,” she said. “I could’ve told you that.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “They had me working in one of the med stations on the east end of the camp. I’ve been in and out of them all day—if Steve had been in one, I’d have seen him.”

  “What?” I asked. “You’ve been working in the med stations? I thought they were going to have you do interpretation or something?”