The Fog of Dreams

by Justin Bell

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  Three days ago. Day eight of the Strickland experiment.

  The motel wasn't exactly the Four Seasons, but it worked well enough for Irizarry and his crew. Unfolded on his kitchen table was a hand-drawn map of the Strickland residence with tactical groupings at each angle. Rolled up just to the right was a street map of downtown Norwood, with scattered blueprints of local buildings. His experience as an ESU field commander was paying him tribute here as his tactically-themed mind worked in every direction. There was an even rotation of two guys per night, alternating through four nights before the first crew was back on duty. They would perform the Night Watch every night, keeping an eye on the Strickland house, while also keeping one eye on the surrounding woods, with not a small feeling of apprehension throughout the group. Whichever two guys were on the night shift slid their report under Irizarry's door when they arrived back at the motel, and then hit the sack to get some pillow time. One nice thing about working for the government in general and the National Security Agency specifically was that they didn't pinch pennies, and each member of Gary's crew had their own motel room. Granted, there weren't many frills, but they each had a bed to sleep in and their own space for some privacy, and in this life, sometimes that was enough.

  Gary had picked up last night's report as soon as he'd peeled himself out of bed, and read it briefly, noting that it was pretty much like every other report throughout these early days. Gary starting to think this was the easiest assignment he had ever had, but he knew if his group was called in, there was a reason. He and his guys would be forever on edge.

  Irizarry glanced at his watch and noted the time, then pulled out his phone and punched in the number for Agent Burndock, wanting to connect with him for a quick minute before passing the word onto the rest of his crew at their ten o'clock meeting.

  "Burndock," came the quick reply at the other end.

  "Irizarry."

  "Thing's copacetic?"

  "I'm starting to think we're over-allocating some resources here, Burns."

  "Not my call, Gary, you know that. Just rolling with it," Burndock whispered as he drew back a bit from the tree line. "And you know what went on with the last two guys."

  Irizarry sat at a chair near his kitchen table. "Yeah, yeah. How do things look this morning?"

  "So far so good. Same routine."

  "Look, man," Gary said into the phone, "far be it from me to turn away easy money, but you sure this is necessary?"

  Burndock squatted down next to a slim tree in the woods behind Strickland's house. "Grace knows his shit, man. He wanted it; there was a reason for it. Unfortunately he's off the grid for a bit, but I don't intend to dispute his orders behind his back."

  "Understood, boss," replied Irizarry. "All right, I gotta get my boys in this loop. We'll talk later."

  "You got it. Thanks for the update."

  Irizarry smirked and shook his head as he slid the phone back in his pocket. "Gotta love the gov'ment work."

  Burndock flipped off the phone and rejoined his two compatriots at the edge of the trees, watching the Strickland house. At the moment, he was inside beating the stuffing out of the heavy bag.

  "If nothing else, he'll be in great shape, I guess."

  "Who in Irizarry's crew is taking the Day Watch this weekend?" Mathis asked.

  "Gary is leading with Boyce. Two heavy hitters."

  "Hopefully it's nice and quiet," said Halifax.

  "If it's not," reminded Burndock, "we're on duty, no matter what day of the week it is."

  "Yeah, one of the perks of this gig, right?" asked Halifax rhetorically.