by Bobby Akart
“Sort of, I mean, not the public NSA.gov that you might expect. This is their encrypted interagency domain that can be accessed by the Defense Department and the FBI.”
“Hold up,” cautioned Blair. “Can they trace that back to here?”
“Their servers think I’m in the Dallas office of the FBI. I used a VPN, virtual private network, to mask my identity and location.”
“Did you hack in?”
“Oh, no. I have a user name and password, provided by my handlers.”
Blair shook her head in disbelief. This young-looking, still pimple-faced young man, who just a few years ago was flirting with teenage girls online, had access to the NSA’s databases and surveillance tools.
“What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to access their satellite footage. I’m hoping that, under the circumstances, they devoted more resources to the U.S. mainland in order to assist law enforcement and the National Guard as they deal with the uprisings.”
“Makes sense,” said Blair as she leaned over his shoulder to get a better look. For the first time, she holstered her pistol, but kept her hand resting on the grip, just in case.
“From what you guys just told me, there had to be at least four vehicles bringing the attackers and their ladders to the Haven. There may have been one or two on the other side of the river, but we won’t concern ourselves with that just yet.”
X-Ray began to navigate through the NSA’s subwebs in search of satellite footage from the last twenty-four hours. It took fifteen minutes, but he eventually found two feeds that covered North and South Carolina.
“All right, as we know, traffic from the interstate toward the Haven is sparse. Any cars or trucks coming down Henry River Road, especially with extension ladders strapped on the roof, are important. I’m gonna start the feeds on both of these monitors. You watch the left and I’ll watch the right.”
“Got it.”
X-Ray set the speed of the feed replays at 2x, fast enough to cut their viewing time in half, but also not so fast that they’d miss the approaching vehicles. After forty minutes, they had struck out.
“Do you have any other ideas?” asked Blair as she stood upright from her hunched-over position to crack her back.
“We have to stick with it,” replied X-Ray. “It’s possible they waited until the last minute to get set up. When exactly did the attack occur?”
“Right about the time the morning meeting was breaking up. The morning shift was coming—”
“That’s it!” exclaimed X-Ray. “They must’ve been watching us prior to the attack. Hang on.”
He adjusted the speed to 4x, causing the camera to zip along faster, but still allowing them to notice vehicles heading south toward the Haven.
The time stamp on the footage registered five in the morning when Blair pointed at her monitor. “There! There’s the first one. It was a white van. There were four ladders strapped to the top.”
X-Ray paused his monitor and focused entirely on the footage that Blair pointed out. The two of them watched as five trucks or vans, separated by five minutes, drove down the road and eventually turned off into the woods in various spots.
“That’s them,” X-Ray declared as he leaned back in his chair and clasped his fingers behind his head. “Now we have to follow them back to their nest after the fight’s over.”
Blair breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her radio off her jean’s waistband. “Ryan, you copy?”
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve got something.”
“On my way.”
Blair and X-Ray continued to watch the footage, which didn’t allow them to see any of the attack due to the extensive tree cover. However, when the battle was over, X-Ray zoomed in to see everyone gathering in the clearing in front of Haven Barn. He paused the camera replay until Ryan arrived.
Chapter 8
Armageddon Hospital
The Haven
Alpha stood vigil over Frankie’s body, much to the chagrin of the comatose man’s attending physician, Angela. The hulk-like man towered over the gurney and frequently got in the way as Angela was trying to attend to the other injured patients. Gradually, as the evening progressed, everyone was sent back to their cabins except for Tom, who remained under the watchful eye of Donna.
Angela had tried repeatedly to send Alpha out the door, encouraging him to get some rest, check on his team, and even attempted to fool him into running an errand. He didn’t fall for any of it.
Finally, an exhausted Angela rolled a gurney into her office and stretched out on it to catch a few winks. Before she did, she made sure Tom had a pistol tucked under his sheets. She instructed him to shoot Alpha if he tried to harm Frankie, although she wasn’t sure if he’d do it.
“You know,” Alpha began, breaking a long period of silence in the large open space within the hospital, “stupid people are like glow sticks. You just wanna snap them and shake the crap out of them until the light comes on. This guy, lying there in a coma, isn’t much different. Maybe if I jerk him around a little bit, he’ll magically wake up?”
The tone and tenor of Alpha’s voice concerned Tom enough to reach for the handgun for the first time. Before it came to threatening Alpha, Tom tried the diplomatic approach. “Hey, I get it, big guy. I could do it with one good arm, but I don’t think it will work.”
“So the doc says,” grumbled Alpha. “Still, we’ve got to do something to get this thing off dead center. Every hour that passes is bad news for the kid, you know?”
Donna stood and walked over to Alpha. She gave him a grandmotherly hug. “Why don’t you come sit with us?” she asked, encouraging the big man to stop being fixated on Frankie.
He dropped his head, revealing his mental and physical exhaustion for the first time. “Thanks, but I don’t wanna miss the opportunity to question this clown. He may only come alive for a second. I need to get the name of the place where those asshats hang out. Just one word. A street. Anything.”
Suddenly, the door opened, and Delta entered the hospital. He’d stayed away since the earlier encounter with Blair and Karen. Donna moved to stand between Delta and Frankie. If Will went into a rage and attacked Frankie, she wasn’t sure Alpha would stop him.
Delta gently closed the door behind him and stared in Frankie’s direction. His face was sullen and withdrawn. He’d been losing weight since he’d arrived at the Haven, a combination of more exercise and a leaner diet. His clothes hung on him, and the stress caused him to look many years older than he was.
“Anything new?” he asked calmly.
“Nada,” replied Alpha. “Hey, man, I’m sorry about what happened to your kid. I’ll be honest, I was kinda put out with him before. Today, he really stepped up.”
Delta smiled and acknowledged Alpha’s kind words. “He saved my life. By doing so, however, he put the other kids at risk when he left them alone.”
Donna moved to console Delta. “Things happen, and it doesn’t make any sense to point fingers of blame or take on the burden of guilt. It wasn’t Ethan’s job to protect the children. It was all of ours, and especially the two guards who left their post.”
“Yeah, but if Frankie hadn’t been here, and if I’d just taken everyone and left.” Delta’s voice trailed off.
“Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” said Tom in all seriousness. “There are a lot of things we’d like to have a do-over on, including the events of the last twenty-four hours. Now, we regroup, heal as a family, which is what we are now, and get Hannah home. Back to the Haven.”
Delta looked down to Donna and gave her a reassuring smile. He walked toward Frankie’s gurney, and Alpha hesitated before stepping aside. His baritone voice whispered to Delta, “You good, buddy?”
Delta nodded. He walked up to Frankie’s lifeless body. “He used to be my partner. We had each other’s backs, once.”
Alpha said, “Things change. People change.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Delta turned and rubbed his hands thr
ough his disheveled hair. “Has Ryan talked about what we’re gonna do with him when he gives up the location of his new friends?”
Tom answered, “We haven’t gotten that far yet. Our focus has been on keeping him alive.”
“I suppose they’ll call the police,” Donna suggested. “I mean, technically, he is a murderer and should be arrested.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” said Delta as he cast a steely glare at Frankie’s body. “I’ll kill him myself before he leaves the Haven.”
Donna tried to calm down the former law enforcement officer. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, you could be charged with murder.”
“I don’t trust the system anymore, Donna. I can’t have Frankie possibly walking free and coming back here. It’s better to be judged by twelve than carried by six.”
Delta’s words hung in the air when Alpha exclaimed, “Hey, I saw his fingers move. No doubt about it. His fingers just wiggled.”
“I’ll get Angela,” said Donna as she gently tapped on the office door and opened it.
“I want him to see my face first,” Delta insisted. “He needs to know he murdered Ethan.”
Chapter 9
George Trowbridge’s Residence
Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut
For patients suffering from end-stage renal disease, or ESRD, the most common cause of sudden death was hyperkalemia that resulted from missed dialysis or an improper diet. Overall, death for those on dialysis was caused by cardiovascular failure. Over time, George Trowbridge had progressively lost the function of his kidneys. Commensurate with his advance toward ESRD, his cardiovascular system weakened, making him susceptible to a heart attack, angina, and stroke.
Trowbridge was nearing the end of his life. The pumping power of his heart muscles was decreasing due to the fluid buildup around the most vital organ in the human body. In recent days, he’d begun to experience a persistent, chronic cough, nausea, and some swelling around his ankles that was diagnosed by his caregivers as edema.
The once healthy, virile man was approaching the end of his life on earth, and it became a cause of concern for Harris, the man who’d stood by Trowbridge’s side for years. He paced the floor as the medical professionals finished up their testing and made Trowbridge more comfortable. When they completed their examination, Harris followed them out of the master bedroom suite and closed the large solid wood door behind them.
“He’s getting worse, and now he’s slipping in and out of consciousness,” began Harris as he expressed his concern to the medical team.
The physician, who’d cared for Trowbridge from the beginning, was frank in his response. “He’s held on longer than most in his condition, a testament to the man’s inner strength and resolve. That said, however, the mortality rate for someone who is this advanced with ESRD is around seventy-five percent. Yes, he will most certainly die, as will we all.”
“When? Imminent?” asked Harris.
“No, not necessarily. To be sure, he is nearing the end of his life, but I believe what you have observed over the last day or so is as much a reaction to stress as a product of his condition.”
“Are you positive?” Harris was not convinced. Then he got to the crux of the matter. “Mr. Trowbridge, as you know, is a powerful man. Arrangements need to be made. Also, he has a daughter and a granddaughter. He’s very close to his son-in-law.”
“I am aware of his family,” the doctor interrupted.
“In the past, Mr. Trowbridge has instructed me to keep his daughter in the dark about the condition of his health. Only his son-in-law is fully aware, and he’s been asked to keep it confidential.”
“Yes. Again, I’m aware of his wishes.”
“It’ll be a travesty if he doesn’t have the opportunity to reconcile with his daughter before his death. Do I need to summon them to his bedside or not?”
The doctor wandered over to the large windows that looked out over the Trowbridge estate and beyond to Long Island Sound. Several patrol boats meandered along the shoreline, and a couple of two-man patrols traversed the soggy grounds.
Without taking his gaze away from the security team’s activities, the doctor finally responded, “No, not yet. Unless he requests it, of course. George and I have discussed this at length in the past, and I am very much aware of his wishes. I am also cognizant of the fact that a decision will need to be made at some point to gather the loved ones around the deathbed, to be blunt.”
He turned to Harris, smiled, and continued. “To ease your mind, we’re not at that point yet. The best thing you can do to help your boss is to take away his stressors. Mr. Harris, I know you well enough to say that you can handle just about anything, and George would give you his blessing. Give him good news if you have any. Deal with the bad on your own.”
Harris furrowed his brow as he considered the doctor’s advice. The doctor was suggesting that Harris undertake a course of action that was tantamount to treason in Trowbridge’s mind. But if it kept the old man alive a little longer, then treason it shall be.
Harris saw the doctor and his team to the door before stopping by the head of security’s temporary office on the main floor of the mansion. Trowbridge hadn’t entertained more than a couple of guests at a given time in the two years since his kidney disease had progressed. Just prior to the New Year’s Eve attacks, Harris had increased security with a handpicked team of operatives capable of both defending his boss and eliminating any threat through assassination or other means.
As a result of the increased security presence, the main floor more closely resembled the lobby of a major financial institution, heavily guarded with a constant influx of armed personnel. Gone were the days of entertaining politicians and foreign dignitaries. Now the only activity was related to Trowbridge’s protection and keeping him alive.
“What’s the latest on Briscoe’s whereabouts?” asked Harris as he marched into the security chief’s temporary office in the keeping room adjacent to the kitchen.
“His escape was inexcusable,” he began in response. “I’ve just learned that he murdered the caretaker of the property and his wife. We have a lead on a vehicle he stole, and ordinarily, I’d alert police in the tristate area.”
“No cops! We don’t want him alive,” Harris ordered. “The last thing we need is Hanson Briscoe trying to save his hide by snitching out all of his associates. There’s too much to lose.”
“I understand, and that’s why we’re monitoring all police frequencies. If they pick him up, we’ll take him out. Although, the last thing we want is any cops losing their lives in the process.”
Harris shook his head and shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “That’s regrettable, but it can’t be helped.”
“Yes, sir. I agree.” The security chief motioned for Harris to sit down, but he declined.
“What about Jonathan Schwartz? He never struck me as being very resourceful, but he is his father’s son.”
“He’s a ghost, sir,” replied the former U.S. Marshal hired by Harris many years ago. “At first, we relied upon the FBI to canvass the area around the airport and to seal off the Schwartz estate. Then we called upon our own resources to look under every rock.”
“Well, he certainly has resources of his own, but I suspect he’s quite paranoid under the circumstances,” said Harris.
“Sir, he could be holed up anywhere, hoping to weather the storm.”
Harris sighed. “Okay, keep me informed.”
He walked into the kitchen, retrieved a small bottle of Perrier, and then suddenly stopped.
The head of security noticed his abrupt turn back toward the keeping room. “Is there something else, sir?”
Harris thought for a moment and then replied, “Write this down. Hunger Games movie set. It’s in North Carolina. Find it on a map and then dispatch one of our choppers down that way, but not too close. I don’t want it to be seen.”
“Yes, sir. Will do, but it’ll take a couple of days to make the arran
gements.”
Harris added to his request. “That’s fine. Also, I want a trusted team. They need to be pilots, but also soldiers, understand?”
“Yessir. What else?”
“This op needs to be discreet,” replied Harris. “Let me think.” Harris paced the floor for a moment and then scrolled his smartphone, studying his contacts.
While he did so, the head of security placed a phone call. “Okay, day after tomorrow, I’ll have a crew ready.”
“I’ll need them to pick up two passengers along the way,” said Harris as he picked up a pad and pen off the desk. He began to write as he added, “Here are their names and location. Give them this note to deliver.” Harris continued to write and then exhaled.
“Will do, sir.”
“After they’ve touched down at a nearby, secure landing area, I want the men being picked up to deliver this message to Tom Shelton, who is residing at this location. They must only speak with Shelton.”
“Of course, sir. What’s the message?”
Harris backed toward the door. “Simply advise Shelton that the chopper and its crew are at his disposal if needed. It’s all explained in the note I gave you.”
“That’s it? How long will the crew be assigned to this operation?”
“As long as necessary, but if you’re worried about manpower, prepare to rotate another crew in and out.”
Harris loitered for a moment and then left without another word. He didn’t want to overstep his boss’s orders, but he wanted a helicopter available in the event he needed to rush the Cortland family to the estate. Shelton could be trusted to make levelheaded decisions, so he entrusted the keys to the chopper, so to speak, to him.
Trowbridge’s right-hand man made his way up the marble stairs toward the landing that overlooked the sound. He turned to take in the large ornate grand foyer, which had hosted so many rich and powerful people over the years. He wondered what would become of it after his boss’s death. Would it die along with the old man’s legacy?
