“What? You wanna use me as bait!”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. “No, I want to test what that man does with a ‘defenseless’ woman struggling to survive on her own.”
“You want to use me as fucking bait. I can’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head in dismay.
Connor decided to try another approach. “Okay, never mind. I guess we can just track him down and say ‘surprise.’ And see if he wants to join up. But, then we’ll never know what the man’s truly like. You know?”
“Bait. I can’t fucking believe you’d use me as bait,” mumbled Amanda.
“Forget it. We’ll just disappear tomorrow. Forget I said anything.” He gathered his gear and started through the soy field. Amanda followed and for several minutes they moved cautiously. They came to a break in the soy, suggesting an old access road. Connor began detailing potential assault plans in his mind for entering the subdivision.
“We’ll head into the subdivision by this route. It’s probably the least common entry and it has the best advantage of concealing cover,” said Connor.
Amanda was lost in thought and Connor studied her face for signs of acknowledgement. But she wasn’t thinking about the sub-hunting—she was thinking about being used as bait. “Okay,” said Amanda. “I’ll do it. But, I just better not get killed by that asshole.”
“Thanks, Amanda.”
“Screw you, Mac. I’m still a little pissed about you tossing me out there as bait.”
Connor kept his mouth shut, not pushing his luck and began walking soundlessly along the access road toward potential treasure.
CHAPTER 1.15-Casting a Narrow Net
Colonel Starkes slept with her head against the small side window of the helicopter. Waking with a start when the helicopter banked sharply, her head snapped rather hard against the window. Unbelievably, she’d fallen asleep while the helicopter flew onward in their night flight across Indiana. She grinned in the cabin darkness. It was true, she thought, that a good soldier learned to sleep anywhere. Granted, she considered herself among the best, but sleep on a ’copter was not something she’d ever achieved. She felt proud of this small, strange accomplishment, the thought dredging up images of her father who’d died nine years ago. She would’ve liked to have told him of her nap, knowing he would’ve laughed in understanding.
“Hey, Dad…” she whispered to herself.
Though trained mostly to be a military lab rat with a specialization in epidemiology, she had insisted on obtaining true combat experience. And it was one of the best decisions she’d ever made for several reasons. Nothing else would’ve satisfied her Master Chief father, a decorated Vietnam vet. Not her advanced degrees, not her impressive understanding of the blossoming field of genetics. Nothing. Nothing, but down-on-the-ground-in-your-face-combat would command such respect.
“I took a nap on a bird,” she thought.
The grin on her face disappeared, thinking of the men she’d lost under her command during a particular raid of a terrorist bunker in Iraq, courtesy of Desert Storm. Often, this particular mission came back to brutally remind her of the weight she carried when in charge of an operation. On that assignment, the bunker was supposed to be lightly guarded while scientists inside tinkered with their biological weapons-grade concoctions. Intel was scant on the activities inside the bunker, and afterwards, grossly inadequate. She’d lost two men that day, though the mission objective was completed with much success. Post-conflict briefings showed a kill ratio of fifteen to one. She remembered—
“Colonel?”
“Yes, major?”
“Ma’am, infrared has located a group of people on a farm about a mile back. Estimates are thirty-five to forty individuals, but there may be more. Their evasive maneuvers suggest a highly coordinated action and an elevated defensive preparation.”
“Anything else, major?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d suggest that such a well coordinated defensive response implies a broadened military assessment of the tactical environment.”
“Why is that important to us right now, major?”
“Topographical study of terrain southwest of Fort Wayne, overlaid with a roads and rivers map of 2010 shows the tactical response is based on defensive measures in reference to SR 14 and CR 68.”
“Nice move applying the overlay.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Major, switch to private channel. Our ears only.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve been napping.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ve conducted only one flyby?”
“Correct.”
Chomping at the bit, Major O’Malley was ready for some action. Perhaps, the colonel thought, he was antsy for something to do after the recon and acquisition of Nicole and CJ and the boring time spent since the success of the mission. Idly, she wondered if his testosterone levels were running high after exposure to Nicole. It was easy to see the beautiful woman had made quite an impression on the major, as well as the rest of the unit. On the other hand, maybe, he was just searching for a way to let off some steam.
“Is this another fishing expedition, major?”
“Ma’am?”
“Why the sudden interest? We’ve received nothing from the twenty-five men and women in Boulder, nothing from the dozen people in Lincoln, Nebraska, and nothing from the twenty in Springfield.”
“Well—”
“Are these fishing expeditions your proposed solution for locating Colonel MacMillen?”
Colonel Starkes was frustrated. She considered the daunting task of locating one man who had a twelve-month head start in an area as large as the continental United States. While it was true that Nicole had provided important guidance on habits, general direction, and possible goals, her knowledge did nothing more than downgrade the task from impossible to improbable. When she thought out her options, the colonel began to consider posting a large net of men west and south of Pittsburgh. It might be her only chance of finding him.
She needed to research why Connor MacMillen found it necessary to return to the Pittsburgh area. What was so damn interesting there? He had somehow crossed an expansive ocean from Australia to return to his homeland and he had undertaken the equally difficult task of crossing the country. She decided to assign Jimmy the task of finding out more about what tied Connor MacMillen to that part of the United States.
Major O’Malley had wrongfully perceived Colonel Starkes’ silence as disapproval and had racked his brain to clarify his thoughts to his commanding officer. “Shamus pointed out that the maximum window of travel based on the parameters you set forth places Connor MacMillen within a seventy-five mile radius of this general area, ma’am. Like you suggested, colonel, he developed his estimated location by assuming limited weather aberrations, avoidance of nuclear hotspots, preference for travel near highways and large bodies of water, and walking as the only form of travel.”
“I guess if Shamus said it, it must be true,” replied Colonel Starkes in a teasing fashion. She knew that the major’s relationship with Shamus was fast becoming one of an older brother mentoring a younger one.
Sensing the mild taunt, Major O’Malley squared his shoulders. “I trust his judgment, colonel. He’s thinking of nothing else since you first presented this scenario. That, and flying this bird, I guess. He says it reminds him of when he taught at MIT—he and some of his students completed an important probabilities study during his tenure there. He’s applied the results of that study to this specific problem.”