Eagle shot the last probe into the ground and checked his display. A continuous flashing red light surrounded Senators Club: a Wall that the Fireflies could not breach. They never ventured that far from their entry point anyway, the record being just short of two miles, but the Wall was an extra measure, and the Nightstalkers excelled at extra measures.
Nada was peering out a front window, hidden by luxurious curtains. All the lights in the house had been turned off and Doc was at work with his laptop and transmitter, the FireWire having been preconnected this time. This Rift was stable so far, but he worked with an appropriate sense of urgency.
Mac had the rear of the house covered and Roland was still clearing the first floor, with Kirk’s assistance.
It was a damn big house.
There was no sign of anything possessed by a Firefly, but sometimes the little bastards were on the down low, waiting for the exact right moment to attack.
“No one else in here,” Roland finally reported.
Moms switched freqs to talk to Ms. Jones.
“We have containment. The community is Walled. One witness here with us. One scientist through the Rift. Six Fireflies out.”
“Support is six minutes out from a Forward Operating Base,” Ms. Jones replied. “They will take over the civilian security for Senators Club. Six hundred and forty-four people live in there. Six forty-three now. Let’s keep this quiet. Support will keep things looking normal.”
“I’ve got it,” Doc announced.
Moms looked over as the golden glow from the Rift snapped out of existence. Doc went to the laptop and shut the lid, wrapping it in a thermal blanket.
“Rift is closed,” she reported to Ms. Jones, thankful they weren’t having a repeat of the Fun Outside Tucson.
“Good luck and good hunting,” Ms. Jones said, then clicked off the net.
Moms joined Nada by the front window. “What do you think?”
“Clusterfuck,” Nada said. “There’re eyes everywhere in a place like this. Eagle or I walk down the street, they’d call security on us. We don’t fit in.”
“You think the rest of us fit in?” Moms indicated her camos, body armor, combat vest, and weapon.
“You got a point.” Nada frowned. He looked over his shoulder at Doc securing the Rift computer. “Even Doc don’t fit in here. We could use an Asset who understands a place like this.”
“I’ll ask Ms. Jones. This will be our base of operations for the duration. Have Doc Wall it off so we don’t have to worry about a Firefly coming in.”
“Unless one stayed,” Nada warned.
“That might be the case,” Moms said, “but I feel better with a Wall up. And Roland said he saw six going out of the house. Doc?”
“I’ll have it up in two minutes.”
“Good.”
Nada looked around. “I don’t like this house.”
The room was a mess from the dinner party. Moms took a whiff and wrinkled her nose. “We’re going to have to clean this up.”
She noticed that Nada was glancing around with more disgust than she would have preferred.
“It’s just a house, people,” Moms announced over the net. “I don’t care if there’s a baby grand by the front door or two grand staircases. It’s another close and burn. Just like the others. We’ve already accomplished the close.”
Nada shook his head slightly, indicating he thought otherwise, but he didn’t say anything.
There were indeed two huge staircases that twisted down and around into the foyer like parentheses and Nada didn’t understand the redundancy. They both got you to roughly the same place on the same floor. It just made either floor a bit harder to defend if the other floor were breached. In fact, the whole place was going to be a nightmare to secure against infiltration, although they would have the Wall in place to protect against the Fireflies.
“I don’t think the architect was thinking urban defense or room clearing when he drew up the plans,” Moms said, seeing him look about.
The huge, open windows made Nada nervous as he always envisioned a sniper was out there, tracking his every movement. Before they turned them off, the bulbs in the table lamps had been so dim they made tiny circles of feeble lights under their heavy shades while the overhead recessed lighting had been so bright that any sniper within a mile could have seen them scratch their asses.
Moms cocked her head, which meant Ms. Jones’s voice was in her ear. She was nodding, receiving new instructions.
While she was listening, Doc announced: “I’ve placed four probes on the corners. We’ve got a Wall extending five meters square from the house.”
As he was speaking, Doc walked over to the computer and pulled out his small set of instruments, much like a thief had lock picks.
After a minute, Moms turned on the team net. “Support has the Forward Operating Base being set up around ten miles from here in a secure location. They’ve got civilian vehicles for us and we can offload our gear from the Snake. Roland and Kirk and Doc will stay here and clean the place up and keep the house secure. Mac, Nada, and I will STABO out to the FOB and drive back in with the gear. Questions?”
There were none. There rarely were.
“Eagle?” Moms asked. “Time to pick up?”
“I’m en route. Be on the roof, please. Three mikes out.”
“Here,” Doc said, holding out the hard drive. “Ms. Jones would want that.”
Moms stuffed it in one of the pockets on her combat vest.
Moms, Nada, and Mac took the stairs two at a time. Mac pulled on the rope leading to the attic, and the trap door opened and a set of wooden stairs unfolded. They went into the dark, hot space, night-vision goggles active. Mac searched about, then led them over to a window that looked over the backyard. He opened and leaned out. He reached into his butt pack and retrieved a short length of rope.
Moms and Nada checked the snap links on the front of their combat vests, because Protocol said they should check their snap links before a STABO. Mac looped the rope over a cornice on the roof and scooted out. He quickly climbed the rope to the roof.
“Two mikes,” Eagle reported over the net.
Moms followed, then Nada brought up the rear. They gathered on the top of the roof.
“Check your snap link, Mac,” Nada reminded.
Mac pressed the gate, made sure it was looped through the proper part of his vest and not a part that would tear off. “Roger.”
“One mike,” Eagle reported.
Nada was looking about. Huge houses in all directions, otherwise quiet. He could see quite a ways up here, two stories up plus being on top of the steeply peaked roof. He saw the rolling greens of the golf course not far away. Excellent fields of fire there. But overalclass="underline" “This is gonna suck.”
“Yep,” Moms said.
“Gonna be hard to keep concealment.”
“We will,” Moms said.
“Yeah.” But Nada didn’t sound very confident. Then again, he never sounded very confident.
“Thirty seconds, from the east,” Eagle informed them.
They turned in that direction. In their goggles they spotted the bulk of the Snake coming toward them, wings vertical. A single hundred-foot-long rope dangled from the belly of the beast. The rope had a series of small loops in it, each fifteen feet apart. Eagle brought the Snake to a hover overhead and the rope slid along the roof. Mac clipped in first to the third attachment point from the end. Moms went farther along the rope and clipped to the second attachment point. Nada was last on the final attachment point. As his snap link closed he radioed Eagle.
“We’re on.”
The Snake lifted straight up.
Mac was drawn up from the roof, followed by Moms, then Nada.
Looking down, Nada was startled. He could swear there was someone on the roof of the garage attached to the house across the street from their new base of operations. But then he was airborne, twisting and turning at the end of the rope as Eagle banked the Snake to head to the FOB, the three figures dangling below the craft.