Rise of the Phoenix: Act 3

by Dameon Gibbs

  Keeast clenched his fist and nearly causing the plastic phone to buckle beneath his grip. “I can finish this right here, right now...”

  “You have your orders soldier. Follow them only.”

  With the line going dead, Keeast slammed the phone into the chest of his communication guy.

  Hitoshi came over the radio. “Sir, I found the enemy. They’re escaping through the escape hatch. It has an encrypted lock on it, the only way to open it is to cut through it. Sending the men now.”

  “Negative. We need to wrap this up.”

  “They’re carrying their wounded man sir; it should slow them...” Hitoshi replied.

  “We've been given our orders,” Keeast snapped back. "Set this place to blow."

  “Yes, sir.”

  ۞۞۞۞

  Edge and his team arrived at the escape hatch, finding Tucker and Ramona waiting. Tucker had his sidearm up watching the hallways with Ramona crouched behind for cover. They both looked like they been through hell: Tucker’s clothes ripped clothes had seen better days and Ramona’s face was covered with dried blood. It was clear that this was way beyond anything either of them had been prepared for. Wait. Where’s Trident? Edge wondered.

  Ramona smiled and stood up when Edge and the others came into view. “Oh thank God you’re okay.”

  “Glad I can say the same about you two.” He looked around the corner. “Where is Trident? I have some wounded here for him to look at.”

  The look on Tucker and Ramona’s faces was enough to answer his question.

  “I’m sorry Edge. He, umm… He didn’t make it,” Tucker replied.

  Edge had been blasted, shot, stabbed, even hit by a car once. None of that compared to the pain he felt when hearing those words. He looked back at Doom and Pitch, who had recently arrived with the wounded Rice.

  “All right. Tell me what happened later. We need to get out of here now!” He turned to Rice. “Open that door.”

  Chapter 4

  Exhausted, worn, and sore, with a friend killed in action, Tucker, Edge and Ramona returned to Virginia. Pitch and Doom called in a favor or two and had Rice transported to a military base where he could get medical treatment and be safe until this mess got sorted out.

  Their flight back to Langley was relatively empty, so they were able to find seats close to each other, yet far enough for some needed private space. Tucker and Ramona sat towards the rear of the cabin in window seats across the aisle from one another while Edge took the window seat behind Tucker.

  Tucker still struggled to comprehend how in the space of a few days he had gone from being a bored, paper-chasing desk jockey, occasionally wishing for more excitement in his job, to going on three field missions and nearly getting his butt shot off in each of them. He was hip-deep in excitement now, with the prospect of more to come. He was not entirely sure he knew how to play the hand he’d been dealt, but he was determined to see it through, for the sake of those who had fallen at the very least.

  Tucker was struck by the somber silence of the team; few words were spoken and none about the mission. He wanted to talk to Edge, but he wondered if Edge would even respond: the Delta leader seemed to have gone to a distant and private place. Tucker, also familiar with the loss of someone close, wanted to help but not being a Delta, he felt that he had no place presuming to give Edge comfort.

  ۞۞۞۞

  Tucker was not looking forward to briefing the Director on how things went. Nearly two weeks into the investigation and all he could show his superior were two dead DHS agents, one dead Delta, a facility full of dead scientists and a truckload of missiles in the hands of terrorists.

  Edge did not want Tucker talking to Winford at all, believing he was a mole, and convincing Edge that he was wrong was not going to happen. Tucker decided to come at it from a different perspective.

  “Let’s say that Winford was involved somehow,” Tucker supposed, “We have to continue the ‘ruse’ that we still think he’s on our side. Now after what happened, I know I want to be right there if he tries to escape.”

  Much to his surprise, Edge agreed to the plan. Tucker did not know if he agreed with the logic, but his approval made Tucker feel better anyway. Now, he’ll see that he’s wrong about this.

  Knowing the airport did not provide many private locales to have a conversation, the bathroom stall became his cubicle. Tucker set his phone to a secure line and started texting the Director.

  The constant flow of men going in and out of the restroom area made it easy to blend in with the general public. Putting His ear-bud in, Tucker had the line set so that Winford could talk him, yet he could on respond via text; which prevented anyone from overhearing the conversation.

  Within seconds of sending a very brief report of what happened the director’s voice thundered in, “Tucker what the Hell went on out there? You were sent to investigate what part the warhead played in all of this, not to build up a higher body count. We have plenty of that in Miami.”

  Tucker did not enjoy hearing this side of the Director. There was nothing like being a grown man and being chewed out like his birthday was yesterday.

  “And what is this about Sergeant Pierce bringing his men into the case without my approval. Only to have one K.I.A! On top of that, the assailants got away with a truckload of missiles! You two are done with this case! All you’re doing is drawing more needless attention from above. For all intents and purposes, Sergeant Pierce’s career is over; he’ll probably be brought up on charges and spend the time he has left in Leavenworth. I still need to decide on whether to fire you or demote you to a janitor,” Winford railed Tucker until his tirade was cut short by a fit of uncontrollable hacking.

  Tucker’s thumbs flew over his onscreen keyboard writing the response. Tucker knew Winford was surely capable of doing all that he had just threatened, but Tucker had been through it before; he knew that all he had to do was give him something solid. He pressed ‘send’ and waited for Winford’s response. He snatched a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll and wiped beads of sweat forming on his forehead as the temperature in the restroom seem to rise.

  Sgt. Pierce brought his men along because we needed more support and without them aiding us I don’t believe we would have made it out of the facility alive. We were completely outmanned and outgunned. And the death of his team member should not be pinned on him.

  “Oh, then who?” Winford demanded.

  Agent Keeast!

  Winford went silent for several seconds. “You want me to believe that one of our top agents is involved in this? I’m having a hard time seeing that as anything more than you protecting your friend,” his tone more inquisitive yet mocking.

  One of the security details informed me that Keeast had been in charge of every inspection of the weapons during their development process. And during the attack, he was identified as leading the assault. When the place was breached the security team was screaming his name everywhere, Tucker continued to type.

  Another short silence. “Do you believe that Keeast is involved with this?”

  Without a pause, Tucker sent his reply: 100%.

  No response came back. Not even static. For a moment, Tucker wondered if he was put on hold, until Winford finally responded, “All right then, if you believe that security guard Rice is telling the truth, Keeast may have something to do with this. I’ll call him in, tell him he’s got a new mission. When he arrives, we’ll take him in for questioning. We’ll handle this in-house for now. It’s still a manner of National Security. ”

  Understood, sir.

  “I’m not at Langley; the President wants me close, so I’m working out the D.C office for who knows how long. So I want you to report to me here so we can further discuss how to handle Keeast. What’s your ETA?”

  ETA 8:30 am eastern.

  “We’re having some heavy thunderstorms this morning so you should expect some air traffic delays. They’re supposed to be gone by noon. Plan to meet here at 1700 hours. I’ll mak
e sure I’m free by the time you arrive.”

  Agreed…1700. Tucker sent his final message before he could hear Winford hang up the phone.

  An uneasy feeling came over Tucker as he thought back to the things the Director said and how he had said them. Tucker realized that he had not mentioned Rice as the source of the information. He also realized that he had not mentioned the truck full of missiles. How did he know about that? Tucker wondered suspicion creeping into his heart. Is Edge on to something? No, Winford must have parallel sources of information. But…Who? Do I not trust the director? Winford can’t be involved in this. The man made his career by stopping such corruption.

  Things were making less sense by the minute. With two slow deep breaths, he stood, opened the stall door and out the restroom. Proceeding back to where Edge and Ramona were waiting for him.

  The conversation with Winford had not gone as badly as he had feared; however it did not go as well as he’d hoped, either.

  ۞۞۞۞

  The thunderstorms had moved out quicker than forecasted and the flight landed only forty-five minutes late. After their arrival, they took a cab back to Tucker’s house, grabbed his car and drove Ramona to her place.

  Ramona wanted to start following up immediately on what she had found out, beginning with a friend of hers in D.C. that worked for the electronics company E-TRACE, a manufacturer of the guidance system found in the warheads. But first, she wanted to change.

  “That’s fine,” Edge agreed. “We’ll stop there before we go to the D.C. office. But you are not to be alone; either Tucker or I are to be with you at all times. In the eyes of the Order, you’re just as much of a loose end to be cleaned up as either of us. And I’m not putting it past them to take another shot at us, especially in D.C. Got it?” He ended, not leaving her much room to disagree.

  Soon Tucker and Edge found themselves waiting in Ramona’s kitchen while she changed upstairs. Tucker finally decided to address the elephant in the room. Contritely he began, “Look, Edge I’m sorry about Trident…”

  Edge put his hand up. “Thanks, but Michael knew what he signed up for. He wouldn’t have wanted to go out any other way. ”

  At that moment, Edge’s burner phone rang. Checking it, Edge told Tucker, “It’s Doom. I’ll be back.” He moved to step outside but stopped mid-stride, turning back Tucker, “You should probably talk with Ramona while I take this. She hasn’t said much since Oregon, and it looks like she could use a friend right now.” Edge gave a slight point upstairs. “Right,” Tucker answered. A few moments later Ramona came down stairs dressed in a casual work outfit. Her black hair draped over her shoulders like a silk waterfall. Tucker approached her as she entered the kitchen. They both stop within arm’s reach from each other.

  “How you holding up?” he asked. Funny how sharing the same experience of nearly getting killed makes it so much easier to talk.

  He could tell from the expression on her face that she was still unsettled as he had been after his first encounter with the Order. This one, though, was more intense and being it was her first-time experience, it had to be doubly overwhelming.

  “I’ve read the reports; I’ve seen the photos. Heck, I’ve seen the footage no one is supposed to see… but I never imagined it would be anything like that. The blood, the screams, the explosions…..and the way Trident’s body just…” She stopped, her shoulders slumped as she felt helpless to do anything.

  A part of her wanted to cry because she was human and the emotional impact of Trident’s bravery on their behalf was still very much fresh. The larger part of her struggled to surmount the confusion and reach a higher viewpoint that would provide understanding, but her brain would not focus. Like Tucker, she was at a loss on how to feel or think, bothering her to point that she could not intelligently express herself.

  She continued, “And on top of all of this, the men responsible could be leaders from our government. How do we know who to trust?” she exclaimed less out of paranoia and more of an attempt to get her mind back to thinking like the analyst she was.

  “Ramona, we can’t lose faith in what we stand for or in what we’re trying to uncover. We have to trust in the system even though it appears flawed. Even if you don’t trust anything else, you can trust Edge; I’m pretty sure of that,” he said, cracking a smile. “And me.”

  She replied with a faint smile. “Thank you, Danté.”

  The two realized that during the conversation Tucker had taken her hand in his. They gave a quick chuckle at how distracted they were, but neither one let go.

  Edge knocked as he opened the door, indicating that he thought he might be interrupting something. Tucker rolled his eyes. Subtle man, real subtle, why don’t you just tell her you had me talk to her?

  “Okay,” Edge updated them, “They got Rice to a secure location. Air Force buddy of Doom is out there; they’ve got the kid under a false name at one of the hospitals for now. Then they’ll meet up and be back here ASAP. It’ll probably be a day at the least because they’ve gotta keep low like us.”

  “Do you think the Order will find them?” Ramona asked.

  “We’ve done this stuff before, in more hostile countries and other areas where we had no support structure. The Order is not going to find them,” Edge reassured her. Though from what he had seen, the Order could find them easily enough. However, he was betting that the focus was more on the three of them.

  Wrapping up what needed to be done at Romona’s place they pressed onto more important matters. Edge took the wheel as they headed to D.C.; Tucker took the back seat to let Ramona ride shotgun. Both of them were asleep in minutes. Edge took the quiet time to contemplate what he dreaded most: writing the obituary for Michael Marshall Masters, a.k.a. Trident.

  ۞۞۞۞

  Before Edge knew it, he was approaching the D.C. ramp exit. Having no idea the location of E-TRACE, he went to ask directions from Ramona and Tucker, only to realize they were still passed out.

  Turning onto the ramp, he went to wake them up. “Hey guys, where am I going?” Edge conversationally asked the car. No response.

  “Time to wake up, y'all,” he said in a louder tone; still no response. Ok, I tried. With the radio off, he turned the volume up to its limits and switched the power on.

  Both of them jumped at the noise, looking lost and confused. With the desired effect achieved, Edge turned off the radio. “Evening folks. How you'll doing?”

  “Just peachy,” Ramona mumbled as she rubbed her face.

  Tucker kept his head on the headrest, but his eyes were wide open, his heart was probably beating a mile a minute. “That wasn’t cool by a longshot.”

  “Time is of the essence,” Edge intoned. “So where is this E-TRACE place I’m taking us to?”

  “I need to figure out where we are first,” Ramona said as she scanned the area. She gave directions as she regained her bearings, “Okay, you’re going to make a right at the next light and go a few blocks and then we’ll make a left. I’ll tell you when.”

  “Works for me,” Edge said, switching lanes. “Man, Tucker, this is a sweet ride. The handling is nice, and I felt some power in this engine. This is one of those nice German cars; I’ve just never seen this model type.”

  Edge could honestly say that this was probably the cleanest car he had seen in a long time with its detailed dashboard and new car smell. And if it was not for the number of miles on the odometer it could easily be placed back on the showroom floor.

  “It’s the 97mxi. Never sold officially in the US; had to have it sent over a little over a year ago,” Tucker admitted with a hint of pride. “It has a turbo engine, redline at 5,800 rpm, double overhead cam, and a tweaked air/fuel computer. It’s barely street legal, and one of the fastest cars on the road.” It surprised Edge that Tucker was able to throw out specs like that; he did not take Tucker for the grease monkey type. Maybe he’s not just a suit after all.

  “Yeah, she’s my baby,” Tucker stated proudly, gently patting the back se
at. “I don’t take her out much, but when I do, we have fun.”

  “I can see that,” said Edge, making the left-hand turn that Ramona had pointed out. “Must be nice being able to afford such a vehicle.”

  “Well when you have only yourself to support, one can easily get into some expensive pastimes.” They all chuckled, “Would be hard if I ever had to part with her.”

  “Oh, I think the right girl could persuade you,” Ramona stated, peeking over the seat.

  “There is always that possibility,” he responded, looking into her eyes.

  “Good, cause I could use a new car,” she replied as she spun around. Tucker just rolled his eyes.

  Evening rush hour was still a few hours away, which made Edge very happy. He knew they were playing defense against the Order, and this city was high risk: tall buildings gave too many spots to shoot down from, traffic patterns that could be manipulated to slow their progress and pedestrians everywhere. Edge still felt that they should keep Winford in the dark on how much they knew and Tucker having agreed to Winford’s meeting location was close to suicidal.

  Edge watched every car that followed them for more than two minutes as if they were a tail. Very few cars stayed behind long enough, but Edge also knew in this age of drones and traffic cams, there were other ways to maintain tracking surveillance of someone.

  They pulled in across the street from E-TRACE. It was a simple building, but according to Ramona the inside housed state of the art security and computers with technology, at least, ten years out from being given to the civilian population.

  “Tucker, you go in with her,” Edge ordered. “I’m going to stay out here and watch the roads. Anything goes wrong; you get back out here. I’ll keep the engine running.”

  “They’re not going to allow weapons. If we want to get in you can’t carry any in,” Ramona told Tucker.

  “Great,” he replied looking to Edge for what to do. Edge gestured saying, “she’s right.” Last month, I’d never even carried one. Now I feel naked without it.