Dane walked over and stood off of Freed's left shoulder. Two of the men wore faded red berets with an insignia pinned over the left eye: a set of jump wings surmounted with a maple leaf. From that Dane knew these men were formerly with the Canadian Parachute Regiment. He also knew that the Canadian Parachute Regiment had been disbanded a while ago amidst allegations of various atrocities during peace-keeping missions.
“Break a pile of shit apart and you never know where the flotsam will surface,” Freed said, which confirmed to Dane where the mercenaries had come from and their circumstances.
McKenzie popped a lightning quick jab with his right hand, but Freed was already moving, sliding under the punch and delivering four quick blows to McKenzie's ample gut. The larger man doubled over gasping for breath.
“Easy,” Dane said, holding the M-16 generally pointed in the direction of the other paratroopers. “I think the fight is one-sided enough as is.”
As McKenzie straightened, wheezing for breath, Freed hit him again, a stinging blow to his nose, bringing forth blood. Freed nimbly moved behind McKenzie and a hand snaked around his neck, the hold tightening, causing the Canadian to labor for breath.
“You're not a major anymore,” Freed hissed in his ear. “Clear?”
“Fuck you, nigger.”
“Mistake,” Freed said. He dug the knuckle of his free hand into McKenzie's temple, bringing a yelp of pain as he hit the nerve. Freed pressed down harder, bringing tears of agony from the Canadian's eyes.
Dane saw McKenzie’s left hand grasp the handle of his large knife. As McKenzie whipped the knife out, Freed let go of him and stepped back out of reach. McKenzie swung wildly twice, before settling down into a fighter’s crouch, eyeing his opponent with much more wariness.
“Now listen here!” Michelet started forward, but Dane swung his arm out, hitting the old man in his chest and holding him in place.
“Wait,” Dane said.
McKenzie slowly straightened out of his crouch. The point of the knife wavered, then went down. “Hey, I just didn’t like you coming in here trying to piss on me and my men.”
“You’ve already pissed on yourself,” Freed said.
McKenzie’s face got even redder, something Dane thought wasn’t possible.
“You're hired help,” Freed said. “Clear?”
McKenzie smiled, a twitch of his lips that no one in the hanger bought. “Sure. Just a misunderstanding.”
“My name is Freed. Mister Freed to you. That clear?”
“Clear.” McKenzie slid the knife back home in its sheath.
“Clear, what?”
McKenzie again twitched a grin. “Clear, Mister Freed.” McKenzie stared at the smaller man, the hand going up to his head and tenderly touching the spot where Freed had elicited such agony.
“You've been well paid up front,” Freed said. “You get the same when we return. You do exactly what I say when I say. Clear?”
All four men sullenly nodded.
“Any booze in your gear, you dump it now or I dump you out of the plane without a chute. Got it?” Freed stepped closer. “I can't hear heads shake. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Get the gear on board,” Freed ordered.
As the Canadians carried the footlockers to the C-123, Freed turned to Dane. “Thanks for the help at the warehouse.”
“Next time I tell you there’s an ambush,” Dane said, “I suggest you listen.” He gestured at the Canadians. “I'm not being paid to back you up.”
As Freed turned away, Dane froze both him and Michelet with his next words. “I want to know what happened to your first rescue team and I want to know what our plan is to get to the plane. I want to know who your enemy is that attacked us and I want to know who attacked them. Otherwise, I am not going anywhere.”
One entire wall in Patricia Conners office was covered with a mosaic of satellite imagery. She'd gone to the NSA Imaging Communications Center and pulled up all requests for imagery from Foreman for the past twenty-four hours. She wasn't surprised to discover that there had been other requests besides the two she had handled. What did surprise her was the nature of the requests: they were directed to a comrade of Conners, the ELINT or electronic intelligence specialist just down the hall from her. ELINT also included magnetic and radioactive data, so it covered a lot of ground.
She'd printed out the results gathered by the string of ELINT satellites the US had circling the globe and now she had a mosaic that encompassed the entire planet. She had no clue, of course, what the various colors and lines overlaid on top of the basic geo-data meant. She knew it represented various spectrums in the electromagnetic realm, but that was the extent of her knowledge in that area.
Conners walked down the hallway and stuck her head in a doorway. “Jimmy, dear,” she smiled.
A young man with long hair pulled back in a pony-tail looked up from his computer screen with a slightly unfocused stare. “Yes?”
“Jimmy, I need your help interpreting something.”
Jimmy blinked. He wore a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of jeans that had seen better days. His eyeglasses were thick, the metal frames holding the lens almost sagging under the weight.
“Interpreting? Interpreting what?”
“Come to my office, Jimmy. I'll fix you a cup of that special tea that you like.”
Conners led the way. Jimmy walked in the door to her office then paused. He whistled seeing the mosaic. “Whoa, Pat, when did you do that?”
“Just now.”
Jimmy walked over and started tracing lines with his fingertips, peering intently. “This data is new. I got the request this morning. Forwarded it all. You're not supposed to have this.”
“You didn't look at it?” Conners plugged in her small hot water heater.
Jimmy turned away from the wall in surprise. “We're not supposed to look at it unless directed to do so. We're supposed to forward and file.” He paused in thought. “Do you look at everything you're requested?”
“Of course, dear.”
Jimmy's bottom lip curled in as he chewed on it. He reached over and swung Conners' door shut. “Actually I look at everything too. I mean what's the point in doing this if you don't. Hell, I’m supposed to be the expert. It's not that-”
“Jim,” Conners gently interrupted, “you don't have to explain it to me. Remember-I do the same thing. The point is, that means you've looked at this data, right?”
Jimmy turned back to the wall. “Yeah. Foreman. I don't know who the hell that guy is, but he's into some weird shit-Uh, sorry, stuff.”
“What kind of weird shit?”
Jimmy's hands were back on the mosaic, tracing various colored lines as if his fingertips could feel what they represented. “These blue ones are electromagnetic flux lines. The reds ones are geomagnetic. The green ones show radioactivity.”
“And?” Conners prompted when Jimmy fell silent.
“Well,” Jimmy tapped the mosaic, “this isn't right.”
“What do you mean it isn't right?”
“It's not the normal patterns for any of those images. Something’s happening. On a global scale.”
“What kind of something?” Conners asked.
Jimmy shrugged. “Something is upsetting the natural flow of the earth's geo-and electro-magnetic fields. That something also carries a trace of radioactivity with it, although how that could be I have no idea.”
“Radioactivity?” Conners repeated.
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Really weird. Bizarre. In fact, downright impossible.”
Conners was startled by this information. “Have you told anyone about this?”
“Why?”
“Because according to what you just said, something abnormal is going on,” Conners said in exasperation.