Point of Crisis (26 page)

EVENT +15 Days

Porter, Maine

Alex stood in the shade of the two-story pavilion next to the Ossipee Valley Fairgrounds, hiding shamelessly from the late afternoon sun. Transitioning from the Matvee’s cool, crisp environment to the humid August air proved infinitely uncomfortable in full combat gear. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to pull this off in Iraq, where the temperatures routinely soared twenty degrees higher than the hottest day on record in Maine, made worse by a complete lack of air-conditioning in any of their vehicles.

“Guardian Four-Zero inbound with local contact. ETA one mike,” his squad Motorola crackled.

“Roger. Break. Guardian Two-Zero, this is Guardian Actual. What is your ETA with Guardian Three-Zero?” radioed Alex.

“This is Guardian Two-Zero. Five mikes. Over.”

“Copy. All units meet by the white pavilion inside the front gate.”

“Sounds like we might have a break,” said Staff Sergeant Evans, scanning deeper into the fairgrounds with binoculars.

“I hope so. Three days without a sniff of Russell is a little discouraging.”

“We’ve barely scratched the surface, sir. This is going to take time unless we get lucky.”

“Tell me about it,” Alex muttered.

They’d spent almost every daylight hour driving the three main roads heading north toward Route 25. Most of their effort had been focused on areas directly north or northwest of Eli’s previous headquarters, leading them to the towns of Porter and Cornish. Alex planned to stay south of Route 25 and sweep east, canvassing rural roads until they hit Standish. Canvass was the operative term. Each team of two vehicles set out to explore dozens of sites selected the night before using archived satellite imagery. If the team leader spotted an unmarked dirt road or trail, they radioed their position and took a closer look.

The process was slow and tedious, requiring an entire day to thoroughly investigate a fifteen-square-mile area. By his calculation, they had nine hundred square miles to search before reaching Route 302. Sixty days. Eli Russell wasn’t going to wait sixty days.

A tan Matvee appeared on Route 25, racing toward the fairgrounds’ entrance with a promising lead: a local claiming to have seen a few vehicles pull deep into the fairgrounds eleven days ago. Same day as the attack in Limerick. Alex highly doubted Eli Russell picked the fairgrounds as his headquarters, but he wasn’t discounting the possibility that a small cell had remained behind for surveillance or to serve as a radio relay. Jeffrey Brown’s notebook suggested the use of a mobile communications network, which made sense given the geographic separation between Sanford and points north of Limerick. They’d sweep the grounds and surrounding trees with all four vehicles just to be sure.

The most likely scenario here involved Eli using the fairgrounds as a staging area or rally point while a new base of operations was established. It suggested they would find Eli north of Route 25, but that wasn’t a guarantee. The Ossipee fairgrounds could have been established as a fallback point well before the Limerick raid. Unless the eyewitness saw the bulk of Eli’s vehicles headed in a particular direction, Alex couldn’t draw any conclusions or make any assumptions about the location of Eli’s hideout.

Alex walked into the scorching sun and met Sergeant Keeler’s tactical vehicle in front of the pavilion, noticing a mountain bike strapped to the side. Keeler hopped out of the front passenger seat and opened the door behind him. A stocky, gray-haired man wearing faded jeans and a yellow short-sleeve button-down shirt jumped down to the dirt road, kicking up a shallow cloud of dust.

“Perry Gerson. Hope I can be of some help with this, Captain,” said the man, extending a hand, which Alex gladly accepted.

“Alex Fletcher. Any help at this point is highly appreciated. Prior service?” said Alex, shaking his hand.

“Army staff sergeant. Infantry. Last tour was with 1
^st
battalion, 6
^th
Infantry. An IED sent me home with two broken legs and a permanent back injury.”

“Ramadi 2006?”

Gerson nodded with a confused look on his face.

“He’s like a walking encyclopedia of the Iraq War,” said Staff Sergeant Evans, shaking his hand.

“Insurgents took over Ramadi after the fall of Fallujah. Not a fun area of operations. They relieved 3
^rd
Battalion, 8
^th
Marines. One-Six had a rough go of it.”

“The good captain fought with Regimental Combat Team One in Iraq.”

“Now I’m really confused,” said Gerson. “I thought they eventually put officers out to pasture if they didn’t pick up major.”

“Apparently, if you wander too close to a group of Marines during a national crisis, they hand you a rifle and restore you to your old rank,” said Alex.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I see any army units. So, the sergeant here tells me you want to hear more about the vehicles I saw last week?”

“Yes, please. Why don’t we step behind the pavilion before I die of heat exhaustion,” Alex suggested.

Staff Sergeant Evans checked his watch.

“Yep. He’s been out of the air-conditioning for twelve minutes. Ten’s the limit.”

“That’s what happens when you strap sixty pounds of armor and gear to a forty-eight-year-old body,” said Alex.

“Point taken, sir. You are getting a little old,” retorted Taylor, flashing a smirk.

“See what I put up with?” said Alex, guiding them to the shade.

Getting out of the sun was only part of the reason Alex moved Perry Gerson behind the pavilion. If Eli had left a surveillance team behind, the less time Gerson spent in the open, the better.

“So, you’re sure about the day you saw vehicles here?”

“Definitely. I bike to Porter every day to check on my mom. Up until that day, I could count the number of running vehicles I’d seen on my two thumbs. All of a sudden, I got three pulling into the fairground.”

“They came from the west?”

“Definitely. Two SUVs and a smaller car. I took a side road off Route 25 to bypass the fairgrounds. Seeing three cars pull in at the same time made me nervous.”

“Good instinct. This is a particularly nasty group,” said Alex. “Were you able to see into the fairgrounds?”

“I stopped a little ways up the side road behind the Quick Mart and hoofed it over to those bushes. Watched them for about fifteen minutes through my rifle scope.”

“That’s why we stopped him,” said Sergeant Keeler. “Carrying a hunting rifle over his back.”

“And I really didn’t appreciate that. There’s a lot of talk about Homeland confiscating firearms. We’ve been hearing about it all over the HAM radio frequencies,” said Gerson.

“We’re not following that directive. I ordered my Marines to stop and question any civilians carrying firearms because anyone carrying a gun is more likely to observe their surroundings.”

“Either way, it’s a little unnerving being pulled over by an armored vehicle, though I have to admit, it’s good to see the military. Beyond a visit from the state police six days ago and a flight of Chinook helicopters headed north, we haven’t seen anyone in a position of authority since this whole thing started. What’s happening out there?”

Alex glanced at Taylor, who imperceptibly nodded. They had agreed to share details with the public on a case-by-case basis. Information regarding the battalion’s RRZ mission was strictly off-limits, but general information about the event was fair game. Neither of them felt this was a violation of information security, since most of it was conjecture and theory. Alex had scoured the information available through his link to the classified SIPRNet, trying to find an official release verifying some of Lieutenant Colonel Grady’s rumors. His search came up empty. Neither the government nor the military confirmed an EMP attack, or any of the follow-up action suggested by Grady.

“Here’s what I know for sure. An asteroid or large meteorite hit somewhere in the Gulf of Maine, causing significant blast and seismic damage up and down the New England coast. It triggered a tsunami, which did even more damage. Boston was hit the hardest by the blast effects, but the tsunami devastated the entire coastline. I saw Portland Harbor firsthand. It’s a mess.”

“Good God,” Gerson said incredulously.

“Obviously, we were hit by an EMP, but I have no official confirmation,” said Alex.

“This couldn’t be related to the asteroid?”

Alex shook his head. “No. The timing might suggest it, but I’ve researched EMPs pretty extensively. Atmospheric breach by a sizable near-Earth-object contains no scientific mechanism to create an electromagnetic pulse. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but the EMP effects are mostly confined to the United States. Evidence suggests a more localized, North American event.”

“Invasion? I have to admit, that’s the first thing that came to mind when I saw that vehicle.”

“I haven’t seen anything to suggest that. The soldiers and Marines are here to keep the peace and speed along the recovery,” said Alex. “Which brings me back to what you saw through your rifle scope. What are we looking at?”

“I couldn’t see the whole gathering without exposing my position, but you’re looking at maybe two dozen vehicles. All makes and models. I counted about twenty men in camouflage. MultiCam pattern with matching boonie hats.”

Alex shared a look with Evans. Luck had arrived in the form of a medically retired, army staff sergeant.

“Most of them were armed with AR-style rifles. A few shotguns. I spotted two hidden sentries at the entrance back there. I was pretty happy about my decision to take a side road. I would have ridden right by the sentries. God knows what might have happened.”

“I’d venture to say you made the right call. Did you see any of them leave?”

“A gray Suburban left a few minutes after the other cars arrived, headed east on 25. I didn’t stick around long after that. Had to get over to my mom’s place. She’s not handling the heat so well. When I made the return trip a few hours later, the fairgrounds were empty. They left at some point between 1:30 and 4 PM. You might want to head into Cornish and ask around. Be damn near impossible to drive twenty cars through town without attracting attention, and that’s really the only way to head east without getting really creative. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“This is fantastic, Mr. Gerson. One way or the other, we should be able to narrow our search focus. Would you mind accompanying us into town? Your presence would go a long way toward loosening tongues, if you catch my drift.”

Two Matvees sped into view from the east, roaring into the fairgrounds and skidding to a halt behind the other vehicles. A thick plume of dust followed and enveloped the entire group.

“Damn, I miss shit like that!” Gerson said and covered his eyes as the dust cloud intensified. “I suggest we park your fleet of armored trucks on the outskirts of town and walk it in. Might be a little less imposing.”

Alex coughed and let the dust pass before responding. “Probably a good idea. Crazy question for you. Can we help you move your mother, or is she hell-bent on staying in her own house?”

“Seriously? That would be fantastic. I’ve been making the trip because I didn’t have a way to get her from point A to point B. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do. We’ll head over to her place and let you break the news. Then we’ll make the rounds in Cornish. Sound like a plan?”

“Best plan I’ve heard so far. I think this officer might be a keeper, Staff Sergeant Evans.”

“The jury’s still out, Mr. Gerson.” Evans winked.

***

Alex wedged his rifle against the utilitarian dashboard and removed his helmet, bathing in the cool air pumped out of the Matvee’s vents. He was glad to be out of the stagnant, humid air, having spent the past hour and a half walking through Cornish.

“Guardian units, this is Guardian Actual. RTB via Route 5. Standard interval. 360-degree sector coverage. Good work out there. I think we have something. Guardian standing by this channel.”

Once each Matvee responded, Corporal Lianez pulled onto Route 25, headed toward the Route 5 bypass just west of downtown Cornish.

“What do you think, Staff Sergeant? Is it enough to focus the search north by northwest from Cornish?”

“It’s enough to justify starting our search north of Route 25 near the border, but I don’t think we can definitively clear the areas southeast of Cornish. Gerson spotted a gray Suburban heading east. Could have been a final scouting run.”

“But nothing passed through Cornish, including the back streets—unless they miraculously slipped through town with twenty-plus vehicles without anyone noticing. They either turned south on Route 5 and burrowed east into the zone we haven’t searched, or they headed west and turned north on Route 160.”

“They hit the correctional facility in Windham. That’s a helluva lot closer to the eastern side of our search grid than the west. They drove two correctional buses out of there. Hard to miss those. Not easy to hide either,” said Evans.

“I don’t want to spend three more days south of Route 25,” said Alex, shaking his head. “It doesn’t make sense for Eli to head back toward Limerick.”

“We can’t make any assumptions,” Evans countered. “For all we know, he has two or three locations. He’d be smart to split up the group. Less traffic in and out. Less exposure if one of his men was captured. Might explain how he was able to pull off the murder in Sanford. That’s a long-ass way from here.”

“Are you doing this to fuck with me?” said Alex.

“I’m just here to make sure you don’t try to jam the square peg in the round hole, sir.”

“All right. Pull out your tablet, and we’ll take a close look at the satellite imagery east of Route 5—mark off roads to hit tomorrow. I’ll give this one day; then we start looking north of Cornish.”

Chapter 25

EVENT +15 Days

Porter, Maine