Savages (8 page)

She laid her head back down. Her left hand went below my waistband and did some wonderful things. My hips began to move involuntarily.

“Is this how you plan to convince me?” I breathed.

“No,” she said. “I know you’ll go. What I’m doing now is getting you hard because I’ve had a very stressful couple of days, life is fleeting, and sometimes a girl just wants to get fucked.”

As usual, I could find no fault in her logic.

Captain Harlow was kind enough to send a Bradley to pick us up at the gate. A few salvos from the 25 millimeter guns cleared the infected long enough for Gabe and I to hop down from a shipping container and clamber into the armored vehicle. At Fort McCray, M-240s laid down cover fire as the Bradley drove into the courtyard. Or parade ground. Or whatever the hell it was called. I am familiar with some military terminology, but I am still a lifelong civilian and have only learned so much. Sometimes I listen to soldiers jabber at each other, and it’s like they’re speaking a foreign language. And don’t even get me started on all the damned acronyms.

The good captain was waiting for us as we exited the Bradley. He shook hands with Gabe and gave him a respectful nod. He did not offer me the same courtesy. He glanced at me briefly, then looked back to Gabe and said, “Glad you two could make it. We have a lot to discuss. If you’ll follow me, please.”

He led us to a golf cart and climbed in the passenger seat. Wally drove. Gabe took up most of the back seat, leaving me dangling from the little cushion mounted to the rear and trying not to fall off. Story of my life.

As we drove, a Blackhawk roared overhead and dropped slowly toward the helipad. I put on my goggles and scarf to ward off the swirling dust and looked to see who had arrived. A tall, familiar figure emerged. I did not need to see the star emblem on his uniform to know who he was. When a man sits in your living room and drinks tea with you, recognizing him is not difficult. Even from a distance.

“Methinks shit just got real,” I said to Gabe.

He glanced toward the chopper with an expression that would have looked blank to most people. The hard lines, angles, scars, and those cold gray eyes could hide a lot. But not from me. I knew him too well, and I knew Gabe was thinking something along the same lines I was. The finely-crafted gears of his finely-crafted mind were spinning, calculating, going through the permutations.

The golf cart stopped in front of headquarters and we all got out. Wally went ahead of us and unlocked the security door. When we were all in, he closed it, barred it, locked it, and informed the sentry to allow no one but General Jacobs and his entourage inside for the remainder of his watch. The sentry said, “Yes, Sergeant. No one but General Jacobs and the people he authorizes, Sergeant.” Wally nodded and said, “Good.” I was surprised he did not pat the kid on the head.

We tromped up the stairs to Harlow’s office. Wally stayed outside to make sure we were not disturbed. I doubted anything short of a Tyrannosaurus with a machine gun would be capable of getting past him.

“I hate to keep everyone waiting,” Harlow said, “But General Jacobs is on his way in. He has something very important to discuss.”

“And what would that be?” Gabe asked. He had been around the block. Marines, CIA, the works. He did not like to be kept waiting by mid-level officers.

“The General wants to give the briefing personally.”

Gabe frowned, but did not push.

A few minutes later I heard footsteps in the hall. Four sets of them. Words were exchanged between Wally and someone whose voice I did not recognize. Then the door opened and General Phillip Jacobs walked in.

He was a tall man, very lean, standing about six-foot-four. His silver hair was cut short and he was clean-shaven. He wore fatigues and boots polished to a high sheen. There was a scar over his right eye from a piece of shrapnel that had hit him during the early days of the Outbreak. There had been a bandage over the scar the first time I had seen him, which had been on CNN, viewed from my home in Charlotte, North Carolina. He had been a colonel then, and was leading a column of National Guard troops toward Atlanta. And here I was, three years later, about to be briefed by him on a secret military assassination mission to prevent another civil war. Strange are the paths life takes us.

“Gabriel. Eric,” he said and shook our hands in turn. “Good to see you again. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Gabe and I offered greetings and agreed the circumstances were less than desirable. The General acknowledged Captain Harlow, who behaved with more obeisance than I had ever seen him display. To me, the general was just a man. A powerful man, granted, but still just a man. I considered him a friend. Gabe was more reserved in his opinion, and had good reason to be. Captain Harlow, however, was looking at someone who could make or break his career with the stroke of a pen. He was being appropriately careful.

Jacobs sat down in a chair that had been wheeled in for the purpose and looked around the room. “You’re probably wondering what all this is about,” he said. “I won’t keep you in suspense. First of all, the expedition to Kentucky was a bluff.  Our analysts at Central have long suspected that the Alliance has been staging assets well inside Union territory. Their suspicion, which I share, is that the Alliance and the ROC are planning a series of coordinated attacks at a date as yet unknown with the intention of crippling the Union’s ability to prosecute a war. I also share the suspicion that they intend to inflict massive damage to as many secure Union communities as possible. Create chaos. Much like they’ve done here at Hollow Rock.”

“So the expedition was just a ruse to draw them out?” Gabe said. “Confirm your suspicions? Give you a little actionable data to please the suits in the Springs?”

“Yes. I sense you disapprove.”

“Forty-eight people are dead, General. Including three soldiers, one of them a friend of mine.”

The general’s hard gaze softened. When he spoke, he was either genuinely regretful, or the best actor I had ever seen. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett. I never intended for that to happen. I knew I was taking a risk-”

“A risk with other people’s lives,” Gabe growled.

“Yes. And I have to do it every day, Mr. Garrett. If you think I never feel the weight of it, you’re fooling yourself. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the people that were lost yesterday. But whether we like it or not, we are at war. And in war, people in positions like mine have to make difficult decisions.”

“Tell that to the families. To the kids without parents and the parents without kids and everyone else.”

Jacobs shook his head. “As I said, I’m sorry. I really am. And I’m here today to make sure their deaths were not in vain.”

“By risking more people’s lives.”

I spoke sharply. “Gabe.”

The blistering energy of his glare swung around and settled on me. Most people he inflicted The Look upon began sweating and stuttering and backing slowly away. Not me. I was used to it.

“What?” His voice sounded like a badly tuned diesel motor.

“Do you really think you’re helping right now?” I said. “You think arguing with the general is going to fix anything? Bring anyone back?”

Still the glare, but no answer.

“Didn’t think so. So maybe pipe down and let the man say what he has to say.”

The glare stayed a moment longer, then lowered. “Fine. General, let’s hear it.”

A sigh. “As I said, the expedition was intended to force the Alliance’s hand. Make them show their cards. And as you said, Mr. Garrett, it confirmed our suspicions. Now we have the information we need to act. That’s where the two of you come in.”

He paused for effect. I resisted the urge to wiggle my fingers in the air and say, “Oooooo, dramatic.”

After a moment, Jacobs said, “Task Force Falcon is still conducting operations along the Alliance border. They are in contact with an intelligence asset with access to the Alliance’s leaders.”

“When you say asset,” I said, “you mean a spy, right?”

“Precisely. And not someone we sent in. Someone who turned on their own and came to us.”

“And how do we know he or she is not just feeding us bogus intel to throw us off?”

“A lot of reasons, not all of which I can discuss just yet. Suffice it to say, they have very good reasons for wanting to bring the Alliance down. And everything they have told us thus far has turned out to be accurate. The asset has already helped us do severe damage to the Alliance’s leaders by helping us expose what they’re really up to. This has undermined their popularity among the Alliance citizenry, which is why the Alliance is on such shaky ground right now. And we have the asset to thank for most of it.”

I nodded, figuring that was as much answer as I was getting for the time being. “Fair enough,” I said. “Go on.”

“Our plan is to insert a strike team into Alliance territory and take out a number of high-value targets. The asset will feed us the locations of the people we’re after. If the mission succeeds, chances are very good the Alliance will crumble. If it fails, the asset will make sure the Alliance does not cover up the attempt, which will force them to acknowledge publicly that they have not normalized relations with the Union. Which, in turn, will likely have the same effect as if the mission succeeded, although to a lesser degree. Either way, the asset remains in place, and we have the leverage we need to continue exerting pressure on the Alliance.”

“A win-win for you,” I said.

“For all of us.”

“Sounds like a suicide mission,” Gabe said. “I never agreed to that.”

Jacobs pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before responding. “It is
not
a suicide mission. We have a plan to get you in and get you back out alive. That said, there are always dangers. You know this as well as I do.”

“Better,” Gabe said.

The general let the barb go. “What do you say?”

I looked at Gabe. I knew about his bargain with the general, and I knew why he had made it. But he was right; he never agreed to a suicide mission. My answer had already been decided, although Jacobs did not need to know that, but I wondered what Gabe would say.

“If you’re sending us as a sacrifice play,” Gabe said, “then you better make damn sure the Alliance kills me. Because if they don’t, I’m going to come looking for you, General. And sooner or later, I
will
find you.” 

General Jacobs’ expression did not alter, but I thought I saw something shift far back in the granite-colored eyes. One does not take a threat from someone like Gabriel lightly. Not if they like breathing.

“As I told you, Mr. Garrett, this is not a suicide mission. Whether you choose to believe me or not, losing people really does hurt me. Badly.” He looked in my direction. “Mr. Riordan, how old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. Mid-fifties, maybe?”

He chuckled sadly. “I’m forty-eight.”

My eyebrows went up. He was not much older than Gabriel, but looked like he could be his father. When I said mid-fifties, I was trying to spare Jacobs’ feelings. “Christ,” I said.

Back to Gabriel. “Does that satisfy you, Mr. Garrett?”

“No. But I’ll accept the mission. I owe you. But after this, we’re square.”

Jacobs nodded. “I may ask for your help again in the future, but you will be under no obligation to accept. If you do, you will be well compensated for any assistance you provide.”

“Understood.”

“And you, Mr. Riordan?”

I shrugged. “Got nothing better to do. Count me in.”

The corners of the general’s mouth creased into a smile. I could feel Gabe’s eyes boring into the side of my head. I glanced at him and said, “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Yes. We will.”

Jacobs said, “Now, on to the next matter. Task Force Falcon consists of eight operators. You two make ten. We have another man on the way from Central as we speak. I’d like at least one more. Do you have a recommendation?”

“I do, sir,” Captain Harlow said. I jumped a little. He had been so quiet throughout the conversation I had forgotten he was there.

“Yes?” Jacobs said.

He slid a manila folder across the desk. General Jacobs took it and opened it.

“The man you’re looking at, sir, is one of Lieutenant Jonas’ men. Specialist Caleb Hicks. His CO and his platoon sergeant both personally recommended him for promotion to sergeant. His service record is exemplary. He’s only been in the Army two years, but he already has a Bronze Star and multiple letters of commendation. Jonas thinks he would be a good fit for the mission.”

“Awfully young, isn’t he? Says here he just turned twenty-one.”

“He is young, but he’s very capable, sir. I’ve seen him in action myself. I would not want to be downrange of him.”

Jacobs scanned a few more pages. “It also says his service in the Army is compulsory. A judge in the Springs offered him a deal to avoid a prison sentence on felony assault charges.”

I had to strain very hard to keep my shock under control. Caleb was what one might call the strong, silent type. I had never asked him anything about his past, and he had never offered. Finding out he had a criminal record rocked me. Caleb was a friend. A friend I knew almost nothing about beyond what I had seen in combat and on salvage runs. He was dangerous, that was for certain. But he had always seemed so in control of himself. I wondered what could have happened to make him hurt someone badly enough to end up in front of a judge.

“I’ve spoken to him about that, sir” Harlow said. “Apparently it was a drunken dispute that got out of hand.”