“Moving,” Jacob replied. “Meet me down the block.”
Find out which buses were readying for departure in that time frame.
“Trying to board a bus out of town? Do we know to where?”
He spent another thirty minutes interviewing several of the school staff. They were all aware of this Cameron Tan, who seemed by all indications a quiet boy who rarely spoke and never made problems. The teachers were shocked he was involved.
“Adonis,” one of his men reported. “Report of a submersible off the beach two hundred klicks south. Locals found a burning wreck and hauled it to shore. Timestamps match the events and paint a relatively clear scenario.”
Jacob spoke into his ear piece. “Confirmed. Get a body south immediately to search the wreckage. I want a black light on it immediately. Report back if you find a Seal of Shamesh. Let’s move.”
33 Free Prie
Timestamp: 3333
The passage through the western coast of the United States down to Mexico is one of the most-traveled in the Underground Railroad. What I initially thought was a cake job became one of the more difficult operations I’d ever had to work on for the Prophus. It was also one of the most rewarding.
At first, the stream of tired, desperate refugees from Asia was a deluge. So much so that it attracted the attention of the IXTF and became one of the Prophus’s most active regions. It was there I earned superhero status as the Rayban Ghost.
The farmhouse was gone. The entire damn thing. Gone. Roen stared at the satellite pictures, then back at the surveillance shots Hite took on the ground. There was nothing there; his entire life, as if it had never existed. The only thing in the now-empty field that even resembled any sign of his life was the buildings’ rough outlines, now filled with upturned earth and rubble. Tears flowed freely down his face. The life he had built, the first in a decade that had felt stable, safe, and happy, was now reduced to a mound of black soil.
Roen knew this had been par for the course ever since he became involved in this Quasing war. Even worse, he still had not spoken to his family. He had finally got ahold of Datlow and coaxed the truth out of her. Once she’d sent over the images, he realized it was worse than he had feared.
His only solace was that his family was all right. Jill had contacted Datlow early in the week and Cameron a few days later. If they were still missing, he would have hopped into the station wagon, wooden panels and all, and made a beeline back toward home, Prie and the Prophus and this catalyst facility be damned. If either of them had been injured or worse, he would have never forgiven himself.
He had sworn to stay by their side and to protect them forever, no matter what. It seemed no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t keep that promise. This was the first time in years he had been away from his family for this long, and some Genjix asshole demolished their house. Roen curled his fingers into fists and crushed the images in his hand.
Marco, sitting next to him, looked at the crumpled image. “You all right, mate?”
Roen shook his head. “Genjix attacked the farmhouse.”
Marco paled. “Your family?”
“They made it out, thank God, but everything else is gone.”
“Well, that’s all that’s bloody important. I need your head with you, man.” Marco held up a fist. Roen tapped it with his. He appreciated Marco’s concern. The two were operating much better together than last time in Egypt, partially because both of them were getting too damn old to fight over ego. More importantly, Marco seemed to have become less of an asshole as he got older. Two dust-ups were considered light for them.
“By the way, Roen,” Marco added. “If the operation goes wrong, I want you close to Prie. You’re taking Pri as a last resort.”
“Uh, no,” Roen made a face. “What am I, some sort of surrogate incubator? I’ve already done my tour of duty.”
Marco looked surprised. “I thought you would want it. You know, become a host and be somebody again.”
Be somebody again? Scratch that. Marco was still the biggest asshole ever.
“They’ve arrived at the hospital,” Sheck said. “Chase says convoy of three vehicles, including the Penetra van. Helen reporting an ambulance standing by as well.”
“Move out,” Marco said as the rest of the team ran through final preparations.
The chatter about Prie’s extraction began immediately after the team activated the bug under Kallis’s shoe. Against the advice of doctors, the team had decided to transport him as soon as possible, though he was barely well enough to be moved. Because of his delicate state, there were concerns that the long drive to Seattle would be too dangerous. Instead, they had arranged for a small plane to arrive at Ontario Airport, where he would be transferred by air to the regional IXTF headquarters in Seattle.
The team had originally thought the IXTF was going to move him down highway 84 by convoy and had planned accordingly. Activating the bug had saved them. It gave them just enough time to scramble and adjust their rescue plan. Now, they had a distance just over three klicks from the hospital to the plane to work with. It left very little room for them to maneuver. The only saving grace was that they knew the exact route the IXTF team was taking to the airport. Roen had to give it to Kallis; she left little to the imagination when it came to detailing their plans. Roen’s team had stayed up all night to implement a contingency plan, stealing a Plymouth Voyager minivan, an old pickup truck, and jerry-rigging a series of low-grade IEDs.
They buried the IEDs on the only stretch of gravel road and now the team was in position waiting for the convoy to arrive. Chase and Helen would tail the convoy in the minivan while Elias manned the pickup truck hidden behind the gas tanks a little off to the side. The rest of them had to hide in a barn way off from the ambush point, just far enough away from the Penetra van’s range.
Marco, Sheck and Roen waited just inside the door for their signal. While they had elected to be covered from head to toe in their standard-issue combat gear, Roen wore his typical hood and Rayban glasses, preferring to armor only his vital organs. He was also designated the tactical lead during this operation, simply because everyone else had an accent, which would give them away in a heartbeat. Well, everyone except for Chase, who was from Dallas, but that guy couldn’t lead children to an ice cream truck, let alone a last-minute multi-faceted ambush.
“They’re pulling onto 33 rd now,” Sheck said.
Marco pulled the ski mask down over his head while Roen knotted his hoodie tight to his face. He adjusted the Rayban sunglasses and shouldered his rifle. He caught Marco staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You look like the bloody Unabomber,” said Marco.
“That was kind of the point,” Roen said. “I think I look cool.”
“Look a bloody fool more like it.”
There was a long pause.
“You’re the fool,” Roen retorted lamely.
There was a sound of a crash, which was their cue. The three of them charged out of the barn, sprinting across the field. Elias had rammed the lead Penetra van with the pickup truck, effectively blocking the ambulance’s path. The IEDs, buried on the left side of the street, went off on the two rear vehicles. The trick more or less worked. One car was flipped onto its side, but the explosion missed the back car. Helen resolved that a second later by ramming the minivan into it.
“Try not to kill anyone,” Roen yelled through the comm, knowing he sounded like a broken record. He had told the team half a dozen times today already, but he especially meant it this time, because he had just met most of these IXTF guys a few days ago. He had shaken hands and drank beers with them. Killing them felt wrong.