Rebel Heart Page 4

  “Yes,” she responded without hesitation. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, but one of my men is down. We’re in a complicated situation, and we need a doctor.”

  “Send me your coords.”

  He withdrew his computer and did so, grateful for the woman that helped him out of blind faith. The enigmatic Tim’s request for a favor was readily granted after three generations of both their families working together towards the PMF’s goals of national unity. As Easterners, Brady and his brothers continued the legacy their father and grandfather had of serving as the military advisors to the politicians that Tim’s Western family bred. And yet, Tim said nothing of Angel except to take care of her.

  “I’m sending the coords for the nearest facility. I’ll tell them you’re coming,” she said. “They’ll need to verify who you are. When you arrive, pass them your micro. I’m uploading information to confirm the order for assistance.”

  Brady motioned for his men to ready themselves as he listened. His eyes took in their surroundings as more flares went up, this time only a street away in each direction.

  “Before I go, you doing all right?” he asked, tucking the computer away and pulling free his weapons. He loosened the knives at his hip and thighs before drawing on the protective gloves and tugging the protective hood and face combo over his head.

  “Just tired,” she replied. “You’re at the border of a restricted area, by the way. Keep to the eastern part of the city to reach the hospital.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Remember. We’re in this together. Call if you need me, but not for the next hour, because I’ve got to make it to the hospital.”

  “Thank you,” she said, a smile in her voice.

  “Guardian out.”

  The medic and another man placed the injured soldier on a portable litter and rose, ready. The others drew weapons and lowered their hoods, looking around with the same unease he felt. Brady started forward, and the others followed, falling into two teams.

  A long hour later, the team waited at gunpoint in front of a mega-secured facility. The first gate consisted of a few dozen men better armed than his team atop a thick steel wall with an iron core. Two well-armed guards stood outside the gate, flanking the slender fed in a blue medical uniform.

  Sweating and impatient after the slim escape from the ambush, Brady restrained his urge to thump the fed slowly checking Brady’s micro.

  He peered past the first gate. The biohazard elimination field was marked by pristine white fencing. Past the fencing was a sandy stretch where the landmines awaited those foolish enough to cross. Beyond the fencing was a second massive gate, where more guards awaited.

  He admired the security measures, noting that it was impossible for anyone to reach the landmines, unless the biohazard elimination field was down. The nasty field that dissolved any type of biological entity was one of the government’s latest controversial creations. Brady glanced over his shoulder at his team, whose chests heaved and guns were still at the ready. The medic was kneeling beside the injured man.

  “You’re permitted access. The injured may proceed immediately to the emergency station,” the fed said. He looked them over with a raised eyebrow. “We’ll proceed directly to the bio-decontam chamber.”

  Brady snatched his computer fast enough to surprise the fed in blue and strode towards the gates. They opened, and he led his team past the layers of security into the facility.

  “You have orders for lodging and supplies,” the fed said, hurrying to catch up to him. “Decontam chamber is that way.”

  Brady turned in the direction indicated and yanked open the door to a dark room with a glowing red floor. The medic gave him a worried look as he passed, and Brady’s gaze went again to the wounded soldier. The decontamination chamber sealed itself. Heat then red light washed over them. Faster than he expected, the door opposite them opened.

  “Where’s the med station?” Brady snapped. He stepped through to a massive atrium with a marble floor, pillars, and water fountain surrounded by small gardens. The facility was clean and elegant with crisp light emanating from glowing orbs on the walls.

  “This way,” the fed said, starting down a corridor lined with gilded mirrors and marble statues. “I’m Planey, in charge of security here at the hospital. Your communiqué—”

  “Is this real?” one of the men trailing asked in surprise. “Light, water, you have food, too?”

  Planey looked from Brady to the soldier before motioning them down another hallway and quickening his step. Two more men in blue appeared, trailed by two in pale red leading a self-propelled gurney. They paused a safe distance from Brady’s restless team.

  “These doctors will take care of the injured,” Planey explained.

  Brady stepped aside first, and the others followed his lead. The four men were clean, neatly dressed, and without the signs of lack of sleep or food that Brady’s men displayed. Brady watched the feds, irritated at the pockets of elite unaffected by the squalid conditions the non-elite were forced to live in.

  He looked over his team, whose mission was to protect both the elite and non-elite. They were hearty, dedicated men, but their gear was damaged, their protective suits sloppily stitched in many places, their boots in need of soles. There were circles under their eyes and strain in their features.

  The disparity disturbed him. This was why he’d followed in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps in running a militia to challenge the elite’s power and affluence while the rest of the people served the elites or went into the regular military, the only two reputable professions. The rest of the population lived on the streets or underground.

  “We don’t need lodging,” he said. “We’ve got other teams out there who need us. We’ll take the supplies and come back for our team member when he’s well.”

  Planey appeared surprised. He held out his arm towards a closed door leading to another corridor.

  “Your communiqué indicated you needed chocolate,” he said as they walked. “One of our chefs has been working to make some since the message came in.”

  Brady smiled, amused that Angel remembered his affinity for chocolate.

  “How did we get in here?” one of his men asked.

  “A friend,” Brady replied.

  “Your communiqué came directly from the Vice President’s staff,” Planey stated, giving him a long look.

  While he shouldn’t have been surprised to find Angel in such a position, Brady was still impressed.

  “You’ll have to stay for an hour to await the chocolate,” Planey continued. “We have uniforms and … showers for you in the meantime.”

  Brady checked the time and calculated how long it would take to reach the rendezvous point. With the hour, he may know the condition of his team member.

  “We’ll stay for the chocolate,” he decided. “I’d like to take enough supplies for our other team as well.”

  Planey led them to the barracks. After a quick shower, Brady dressed in a new protective suit. He replaced his weapons and pulled on new boots, pausing when the net beeped, indicating someone was trying to contact him. He tapped the subcutaneous button before returning to his boots.

  “Major Hanson?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Lieutenant George with the intel unit assigned to your command.”

  “Find anything?”

  “Well, yes, in a sense,” the lieutenant said, an odd note in his voice. “You’ll soon receive orders to report to a set of coords with the box. The feds want it back now.”

  “I have a real mission to execute hunting down insurgents. Can’t it wait?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know what that thing is, but I would say not to lose it. They went crazy when I read them the serial. Can you reconfirm?”

  Brady stretched a muscular arm across the table beside him to tug the box out of his other uniform. He opened it and looked at the small black keypad a quarter the size of his palm. It
appeared harmless despite the biohazard warnings. If it was an actual hazard, the sensors built into his uniform would have warned him. He read the numbers aloud again.

  “It’s the same,” the lieutenant said. “I’ll have the command submit your new orders.”

  “They can send someone else,” Brady replied. “I’m not going to deal with the slimy feds when I can kill bad guys.”

  “There isn’t anyone else to go right now, sir,” he responded. “The Twelfth Army is on its way back from Europe. We had two teams operational able to conduct a mission requiring well over a dozen teams and no supplies. Major Scroll’s team was hit with an ambush an hour ago. We haven’t heard back from them yet to know if there are any survivors, which means we have one team available: yours.”

  The words came as a blow. Brady had worked with Dan for fifteen years. Every mission overseas with the regular military, every PMF mission here. Dan had always been his second-in-command and most importantly, as good a friend as any of Brady’s brothers.

  “So the solution is to run away?” Brady snapped.

  “The solution is to survive until reinforcements arrive from overseas.”

  Brady rose and snatched his weapons, snapping them into place on his body armor. He stuffed the small box of fresh chocolate into his cargo pocket.

  “You’re leaving my team with luck to survive?” he growled.

  “Brade, it’s Larry. Stop harassing the intel guy,” Larry said. “We don’t have the people or supplies to sustain ourselves on the regular army side. Your team is being dispatched on a new mission.”

  “Where did Dan last report in?” Brady asked, concern for his closest friend making his chest tighten. “If you won’t help, I’ll go to him.”

  “We can’t help, Brade. Jesus, look around you! You may be accustomed to scraping by in some third world country, but this is our country. We can do nothing here without supplies and without more men to replace those that have died the past few weeks,” Larry said, frustration in his voice. “Regrouping is our only option right now.”

  “Sorry, Larry. Give me Dan’s last coords, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You have a new mission, one that’s got the feds screaming,” Larry reminded him. “If they don’t get it, they’ll start digging. This isn’t a good time to draw attention to your other activities.”

  Brady waited. Larry—and most other regular army soldiers—either joined or quietly supported the PMF. The people credited the PMF with saving them from the elite’s Civil War while the elites tried hard to stamp out the PMF’s existence.

  “Fine,” Larry said with a sigh. “I’ll send his coords. Get that box to the feds; they’re not far. Good luck to you. Larry out.”

  Larry was right. Brady had conducted many missions in austere conditions in other countries. Of course, no one had ever expected the nuke attacks to happen, even someone involved in the insurgent organization blamed for them. The regular military was in no position to help, not when the bulk of it was overseas.

  On impulse, Brady tapped his implant and breathed her name as he continued to ready himself. He didn’t realize how much he relied upon Angel’s soothing voice until he heard her answer. Brady hesitated to respond, feeling as though he should concentrate on supporting her, per Tim’s directions, rather than reach out to her when he needed her.

  “Hey, Angel,” he said at last.

  “Did you make it to the hospital?” she asked. Her soft voice was always calm. It stilled his nerves and helped him focus.

  “We did,” he confirmed. “You remembered the chocolate.”

  She chuckled, a sound he liked but rarely heard.

  “Thank you,” he said with warmth. “My friend wouldn’t have made it otherwise.”

  “You’re welcome. Is it still bad out?” she asked.

  “Depends on how you define bad,” he replied grimly. “This hospital is the only thing in a day’s walk with power. We haven’t seen any civilians in two days, though we’ve had some fierce battles with some sort of insurgency.”

  “We underestimated the PMF.”

  “I don’t think it’s them,” he said carefully. “The guys we’re facing don’t fit the bill.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “The guys we’re running into are wearing uniforms from the war era. I think someone wasn’t happy the war ended and has the power and money to reinvigorate it,” he said. He stopped, awaiting her response.

  “Interesting,” she said. “I’ve been researching this as well. I’m afraid there aren’t many people willing to look beyond the obvious in this circumstance.”

  “What do you think?” he responded.

  “You’re the second person to ask me for my opinion on something. I’m an analyst and skilled technician. I gather information and present findings, not give my opinions.”

  “C’mon, Angel. I’m not a politician. Tell me what you think.”

  She hesitated then said, “I think you’re right, but I can’t find proof of it anywhere.”

  He almost sighed. While he didn’t understand why Tim wanted this woman protected, he saw her appeal: intelligence, artlessness, and perceptiveness combined with a general good will. No, she was not at all the type of person Tim normally surrounded himself with.

  “Are you going out again for more bad guys?”

  “Yeah. Still trying to get killed,” he replied.

  “Don’t try too hard. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

  He chuckled.

  “The general is paging me. I’d better go,” she said.

  “Have a good one,” he responded. “Guardian out.”

  Brady strode from the private room into a common area, where two of his four remaining men waited.

  “We have a new mission,” he began.

  Chapter Four

  LANA SMILED AS SHE turned her attention from the conversation to the screens around her. The sector specialists were busy at their workstations while two guards loitered outside the damaged entrance. She sipped from a container of water and turned again to the wall behind the titanium glass, unable to pinpoint how one of the sensitive keypads had made it outside the compound or when.

  She strode to the wall again, quelling the urge to open it. The procedures for accessing the keypads were strict: only those authorized to do so were allowed to, and then only when no one unauthorized was in the room and the door sealed with the alarm activated.

  She rubbed her neck, agitated.

  “You figure out how to deal with the supply issue?” General Greene asked from his position at a small planning table in the corner.

  She was quiet for a moment. “Sir, it’s not been my experience to provide my opinion. I’m not really qualified.”

  “We discussed this already. You’re my advisor. Advise me.”

  “Very well,” she said. “We can access the emerops locations around here with Elise’s security forces. I can unlock them remotely, and you can send her in for supplies. But doing so will leave us vulnerable if something else happens.”

  “I understand. How does the infrastructure look?”

  “In general, we don’t have the people we need to permanently fix the East Coast. We can maintain the systems from here, but almost everyone has fled west.”

  “But the systems are up?” he asked skeptically.

  She gave a tired smile and responded with gentle sarcasm, “I have been working the past few weeks, sir.”

  “How are they downstairs?”

  “Impatient.”

  “Maybe it’s time for Arnie to visit and stay awhile. Will keep him out of our hair.”

  “Yes,” she said emphatically.

  “He still screaming at people up here?”

  She nodded.

  “And the keypad?”

  “On its way.”

  His gaze drifted to the wall of glass. “I’m not convinced this is the only keypad missing from beneath our noses,” he said with a frown. “Take a count this afternoon after the
hub’s clear. We’ll seal the vault the best we can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He glanced at his watch and rose. He had daily meetings he forbade her from attending. She waited for him to leave then checked her micro, which was still working on decrypting his encoded messages. She’d never seen it take this long. He was using coding more advanced than any she’d ever seen. It was the sign of someone with a secret he couldn’t risk anyone discovering. This was not a personal message to a companion.

  Lana waited until the others in the center left and stood before the titanium-reinforced glass in front of the keypads. She went through the multiple security procedures. At last, the glass slid open. Surrounded by keypads controlling the critical infrastructure nodes for the East Coast, the sensitive keys she needed to inventory were held within a small vault. It slid open, and she gazed at the keys that controlled sensitive military systems.

  And the Horsemen. There were twenty keys in the set, code-named Horsemen, after the biblical Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The keys were located all over the world, except for four of them, which were based here in the command center. The Horsemen controlled and activated space weapons with the capability to destroy a country. She’d never spoken of them to anyone, not since being granted access to a file only a handful of people in the country had access to.

  All four were there. Puzzled, she freed them one by one, studying them. It wasn’t possible for four of them to be there while one was on its way up the mountain. Lana glanced towards the door and sat at a small table nearby. She set one keypad on her micro, waiting for it to read the serial. The results were even more baffling. She tested the second, third, and fourth.

  None of them were the Horsemen! These were lesser keypads to other critical infrastructure functions that someone had swapped out. She rose and crossed to the keypad wall again.

  She began testing them quickly with her micro. After a long hour, she found one of the remaining sixteen Horsemen. In the second hour, she found the other fifteen. All of the weapons controllers had been taken from their positions all over the world and placed here, disguised as lesser systems.

  The reality of what someone had done made her feel sick. There were three people with access to the keypads, and one was sleeping in the barracks from too much drugs. This—combined with General Greene’s encrypted messages—made her instincts stronger.