“Damn it, Marco. Think for yourself, man. What does your pea brain tell you? Hell, what does Ahngr say about it? Why would you even consider following through with an attack when you know that,” he held up a finger, “we don’t have the firepower to take it, and,” he held up two fingers, “they know we’re coming. We have no chance. It’s suicide. If we’re going to do our mission right, we should be doing everything in our power to convince the Keeper not to go through with this.”
“See. That’s always been your problem. You decide something, and then everyone else can piss off if they don’t agree with you.” Marco stomped forward, shaking a finger, the towel flirting with disaster as the knot around his waist held on for dear life. “That’s why you can’t play nice, and no one likes you.”
“Thank you, you didactic asshole,” Roen said, purposely chewing through the plate of bacon as fast as he could. That fact wasn’t lost on Marco, who looked like he was seconds away from diving onto the bed to snatch the plate away. Thank God he didn’t, because Elias burst into the room a second later. With only a towel around Marco’s waist, that would have been awkward.
To his credit, Elias didn’t bat an eye. “We’ve got a problem.” He closed the door behind him and looked out the window.
Roen sat up in bed and put the plate aside. He wiped his hands and joined Elias at the window. “Crap,” he exclaimed.
Two white vans had pulled into the parking lot. The top of one of the vans had the familiar shark fins of the IXTF Penetra vans. Twelve fully-geared men stepped out. One of them walked into the office, and another took position at the driveway out to the street. The rest spread out and disappeared from view. At least two of the agents carried portable Penetra scanners.
“Rouse the men,” Marco ordered, running for some clothes. “I want us packed in three and ready to move.”
Roen went next door and kicked the napping Chase awake. “Got agents canvasing the motel. Get moving.”
Like all good soldiers, Chase was up and throwing on his shirt five seconds later. Within a minute, he was dressed and loading a magazine into his pistol. Within two, the both of them were fully packed and ready to go. In another minute, the entire team was ready to move. Roen looked out of the window and watched as the six or seven agents made a beeline toward their end of the balcony hall.
Roen took a quick inventory from the window and spoke into his comm. “Multiple armed moving toward us. One at the driveway. One on the far edge of the lot. I have sights on him. Remember people, these are federal agents. Lethal force only if necessary.”
Marco added. “They must have detected me in the room. We’ll use that knowledge to our advantage. Take them out after they’ve passed Elias’s door. Hoods over your heads, people. Helen, get the car. Everyone else, move the gear down. Roen, clear the lot.”
Roen looked to his right, where the lone agent stood guard at the driveway. The safe option would just be to riddle him with bullets, but Roen preferred not to, if possible. That left one option. The next few seconds were anxious as the agents walking down the balcony got closer and closer.
“Opening in three, two, one…” Roen heard through the comm.
All three of their doors opened at the same time, and the team charged the federal agents from all directions. Roen, aiming through the window, plugged the guy at the far end of the parking lot twice in the shoulder. He ran out of the room and sped to the end of the balcony hall. He caught sight of the guard in the driveway below him and aimed low, shooting him in both legs. The guard fell to the ground, writhing. As the rest of his team disarmed the surprised federal agents, Roen jumped off the balcony and landed heavily on the ground.
He grunted as he rolled to his feet, tweaking his left foot in the process. He was definitely not a young buck anymore. That drop was a five at best. Roen limped just a little as he ran to the downed agent, who was still writhing in pain. Roen kicked his rifle away from him and pinned him down to the ground. The poor kid must have been eighteen; he looked like he belonged more in the chess club in high school than he did in a SWAT uniform. To be fair, though, everyone younger than Roen looked eighteen to him these days.
“Sorry, son,” he muttered as he brought the butt of his rifle down on the kid’s head.
He turned around and saw another agent charging from the back of the motel. He rolled to his left just as the guy opened fire. Landing flat on his stomach, Roen hit him in the thigh and once more in his side, spinning him around. This guy was going to be seriously injured. His armor had saved his life, but he probably had some broken ribs from the slug in the chest. Again, he felt guilty, but there was little he could do.
Roen picked himself up and ran to the body. The agent, also looking like a teenager, was clutching his thigh and rolling around in agony. He grabbed the rifle before the guy could reach it and flung it into the parking lot next door. He took one look at the bloody injury and thought better than to knock him unconscious. If he did, the kid was going to bleed out.
He pulled out a cord he always kept on him – usually reserved for strangling someone – and tossed it to him. “Put that around your injury and squeeze it tight.”
Roen sprinted back to the parking lot and saw the rest of his team moving their gear down the stairs to the station wagon. He rushed back to them and kept watch as they loaded it up. “One more still loose,” he said, scanning the perimeter. They were sitting ducks out here.
He caught sight of the guy creeping around the corner. He ran forward and put one hand on the agent’s rifle barrel and the other under his armpit. Then Roen lowered his weight and twisted, driving him into the ground. The agent tried to reach for his pistol.
“Don’t even think about it,” Roen said.
The stubborn fool continued to draw.
Roen put his foot on the guy’s wrist. “Seriously? What part of ‘don’t’ do you not understand?”
Still the kid squirmed. He just didn’t know when to give up, which, while usually an admirable trait, was exceptionally stupid when someone had a rifle inches from your face while stepping on you. For a second, he considered whacking him alongside the head to teach him a lesson, but decided on a gentler approach.
“You got a girlfriend, kid?”
The agent, surprised by this line of questioning, stopped squirming and nodded.
“You want to see her again, right?”
He nodded again.
“I want you to, too but that’s not going to happen if you move another inch. Got it?”
Third nod.
Roen heard a honk behind him and nudged the kid in the face with the rifle’s muzzle. “Stay still. Live another day. The most important lesson you can ever learn is when to know you’ve lost. Don’t make this mistake again, pal.” He flung the rifle off to the side and ran to the waiting station wagon. They pulled out and were cruising toward highway 84 within seconds.
“How did they find us?” he asked.
“Random patrol?” said Elias. “Or they would have come down harder.”
“Most likely they’ve been getting blips of me over the past few days and finally decided to do a sweep,” Marco said. “Happens quite a bit back in London. They probably have a few scanners stationed at intersections, and we’ve been tripping them just enough for them to isolate this location.”
“Where to, boss?” Helen asked.
“Crap,” Roen growled, pointing at a Penetra van near the on-ramp in the distance. They made a U-turn and headed north down Olds-Ferry Ontario Highway, running into another van at the intersection of 201. Fortunately, this one was parked with no one inside.
“We have to get off the road,” Roen said as they made another U-turn. “Someone’s bound to notice us and get suspicious.”