“Would you ignore it?”
“Nah. The whole thing seems strange is all.”
“Tell me about it. I can’t wait to meet this Starkes.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s invested heavily in resources and strategy to do this in today’s shattered world. That is, if a President of the United States still exists.”
“I dunno, Mac. Makes no sense that someone, some team, probably with at least one operating ’copter, would invest that much energy into finding you and not be the president or someone speaking for the president”
“I hear that. Does seem like an enormous commitment on their part. Damn, I wish I had more proof.”
“You know, it’s the same for the rest of the crew. They can’t wait to meet her.”
“Tell ’em we move from the factory to that three-story warehouse southeast of the Hall of Fame across Highway #2. We’ll do this at midnight on the nose. We’ll have Snuff and Surf Boy set up a recon post in the factory two hours prior. In the meantime, let’s see what we can discover from their scouting.”
“Alright.”
“Radio out and tell both of ’em to provide sit-rep status on the AO when feasible.”
“AO?”
“Sorry John. Area of Operation. Sometimes I forget you were a civilian.”
“Okay. Got it. Doing it now,” said McLeod.
CHAPTER 6.4-Imminent Threat
“Big Eye, Surf Boy here, you copy?”
“I copy, go,” said Connor.
“The top floor, white-bricked, back section of the Hall of Fame is the CP for some well-organized military team, possibly POTUS, over,” whispered Marty across the radio. He swung his riflescope slowly to the left one more time before continuing.
“Roger that assessment. Over.”
“I see six men on the top floor of the glass pyramid structure entering and exiting an open door into the brick building. Well organized. Competent. Over.”
“Continue with your read, Surf Boy. Over.”
“Affirmative. And, if you can believe it, there’s a damn H-92 Superhawk on a circular platform next to the brick structure. A second floor causeway connects it. The Superhawk fits with what you suggested during strategy sessions. Has a definite payload, over.”
“Yeah? I like it. What else, over?”
“Well, I see the Presidential Seal on the side, big as day. We have Marine One over there. Over.”
“Flight ready?”
“It appears operational. And, what a pretty sight that ’copter is, over.”
“Roger that.”
“The bird itself is under heavy guard by five armed men that I can spot. Over.”
“Continue. What else? Over.”
“Three snipers in place atop the main roof structure attached to the pyramid. They’re definitely scoping the tactical area below, including this warehouse. Over.”
“Elevated surveillance?”
“Affirmative. Snuff and I had some difficulty setting up—only with some serious luck. Over.”
“Understood. Over.”
“I have a small problem to report here, over.”
“Go.”
“I… ah, slipped on a piece of metal and went down… hard. On my right knee, over.”
“You okay?”
“I’ll live. Provided Snuff quits with the laughing. The problem is, I think I bruised the kneecap or meniscus, something like that, over.”
“You mobile? Over.”
“Some. Swollen pretty bad, dammit! But, don’t worry. I can do what it takes, over.”
“Never in doubt, Surf Boy. Copy that.”
“Just wanted you to know it might take a second or so off my one hundred yard dash, over.”
“Understood. Would you suggest POTUS’s aggressive vigilance is elevated more than your typical experience? Over.”
“Affirmative. I’d say there’s a lot more men on guard than necessary for any standard security protocol. Over.”
“You think that’s POTUS waiting for us?”
“Present assessment leans in that direction, yeah. Over.”
“Understood. Anything else? Over.”
The communication went silent for a moment. Both sides considered the tactical status.
“Big Eye, it took an extra thirty minutes to settle in to our nest on the third floor here. We were delayed a half-hour! Don’t like it. The place over there’s too well guarded. Over.”
“Glad you’re extra cautious, over.”
“Not extra cautious… just had to use every trick I know not to get scoped by the roof snipers. They’re good. Excellent cross-coverage, overlapping. Don’t want a bullet in my back. Over.”
“Roger that. Switch to Beta.”
“Acknowledged.”
Connor switched to channel eleven as a standard precaution. In seconds, Marty picked up where he’d left off.
“I dunno, this seems big. Over.”
“Big? How so?”
“There’s a hyper vigilance hitting’ my gut hard, over.”
“Continue… extrapolate.”
“Seems, to me, like that team in the Hall of Fame, damn, maybe it is POTUS, might be expecting something tonight, maybe even from this warehouse. Over.”
“Go on.”
“They’re alert ten-fold, Mac. Like they’re expecting some shit to go down.”
“Go on. Speculate. Over.”
“This can’t be the usual security level, too much manpower for such a limited team. Be too hard to maintain day-in and day-out, over.”
“Like what? Again, speculate. Over.”
“We’re gonna have to be extra careful here… I’m thinkin’ we might have to go in unarmed and advertised to see this POTUS. These guys have a nice, defensible set up. In fact, it’s a pretty sight if you don’t mind me saying. Over.”
“Define tactical status in more detail… over.”
“Lake to their backs. Open space killing ground out front… and mostly on both sides. Good visual fields ’cept the hard angle directly beneath the building. The Superhawk’s on an actual raised platform, well guarded by five men from any direct ground attack. And through the windows, I see another five armed men making staggered, non-patterned rounds within the glass pyramid structure.”
“You sure, five on active rounds inside? Over.”
“Yeah, at least five and they’re good, too. Steady, staggered movements. Can’t hold a true bead on any one of them for more than a sec, over.”
Marty clicked off. He enjoyed the radio, pleased to have it. Surprisingly, he experienced a certain calm when it rested in his hand; the radio was an extension of his prior military life.
“Nice recon, Surf Boy. That’s why we pay you the big bucks. How’re the NVG by the way? Over.”
“Hell yeah! I can see like its high noon. Over.”
“Good. Save the batteries if you can, over.”
“I will.”
“You can thank the Aussie’s when they become a country again.”
“Copy that. How’d you end up with ’em?”
“Long story. But, let me say, the Aussies were big on nighttime assaults hitting hard targets. I’ll fill you in. When can the team advance? Over.”
The inquiry met no response. Connor and the team nearby waited, listening. After a few seconds, they heard a double squelch.
“Someone’s near,” said McLeod, “and Marty’s keeping quiet.”
Connor rolled his eyes. Sometimes, McLeod was such a civilian. “You think?”
Connor stood next to a small door of the old factory, housing a room full of printing presses and broken machinery. At this point, the team spread across the first floor covering all possible entry points. Watching them, a confidence built in the way they were settling into a fine, working unit. A whisper came across the radio.