Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2 (26 page)

Ch.39

Authorized Personnel

"I don't know who else," Commander Price said for what felt like the fiftieth time, "but we absolutely know Edwards is an enemy spy; everything fits. He came on board the maintenance staff just three months before the Blackout. The man he replaced had a random car accident that left him in an unresponsive coma, and within days this guy is shoved down the pipeline."

"Didn't you interview him when he came in?"  Marcus asked, pressing both palms on Commander Price's desk carefully. "You interviewed everyone hired here, right? You said so yourself, and now you're saying what, you were wrong then and you're right now?"

Commander Price leaned back in his chair and calmly met Marcus’ stare. "That's exactly what I'm saying, Lt. Commander. Either I was distracted that day or this guy is just that good at lying, but I didn't catch it. Look at his profile and tell me it's not a dead match to what you'd expect to find on someone with a fabricated back story!  He has no family, no next of kin, no emergency contact. He doesn't have any pets and doesn't own a house or a car, and never has. His application says he attended Georgia Tech, but the University's own files have no record of him, and neither does the Social Security Agency before about eighteen months ago. Not to mention he's on camera searching Hamilton's belongings and planting evidence."

Commander Price slid across the white printer access card they'd found taped to the back of the drawer in Hamilton's quarters. "And then there's Jacobs' printer card that he planted to frame Hamilton."

"I know all of that," Marcus shot back heatedly. He sat down heavily in the chair across the desk from Commander Price. "But if anything, that should mean we need to pick him up
now
before he can do any more damage. You want to just let him roam free!"

Commander Price shook his head. "You're missing the point, Marcus. This man likely looked me square in the eye and lied, and I didn't catch it. I'm extremely good at telling when someone is lying to me. It's one of the things I was known for at the Agency. If this guy was able to get past my defenses, it means he was trained, and trained extremely well. I doubt they'd send someone like that on a mission like this and send only one. There have to be more people here, inside the facility, working for the other side. I know it; I just have to find a way to prove it."

"And do you really think this guy will lead you to them?"  Marcus asked.

Commander Price shook his head. "Probably not," he replied without hesitation. "If anything, I'd say the operatives don't know if they're alone or not, and even if there are more of them, they won't know each others' identities. Anonymity insulates all of them from getting burned if one gets caught. Everyone breaks eventually, but if you don't have the information to give in the first place it doesn't matter. That's how I'd set it up, anyway."

"Then what are we even looking for?"  Marcus asked changing tactics. "Why let this guy run loose and put everyone else at risk if you don't even think he'll lead you to the other agents that may or may not be out there? What do you hope to gain?"

Commander Price ran a hand through his hair and breathed a heavy sigh. Finally, he shook his head slightly. "I don't know, to be honest," he said softly. "Anything, really—any information at all. How he communicates with his handler. How he gets information and transmits it. Where he goes, who he talks to, who he eats lunch with. I have no clue, but I'll take literally anything I can get at this point. We still don't even know who it is that we're up against, though that list is a lot shorter now."

"I still don't like it," Marcus said stubbornly, looking down at his shoes in defeat. "Someone could get killed if they stumble on this guy in the middle of an operation. We’ve already lost one life over this."

"Before this is over, Lt. Commander, a lot more people will lose their lives," Commander Price said. "I'm not asking you to like it. I'm not even really asking you to do it. I'm giving you an order, and I expect you to get it done. Edwards goes on second shift duty in four hours. During the shift change, we'll delay his bunk mate with his commanding officer for about thirty minutes. That will be your window to get audio and visual surveillance in his room. Understood?"

Marcus nodded and stood. "You know, Commander, one of the things that really made me sign on for this job years ago, aside from the pay, was the guarantee that we'd have complete privacy in our quarters."

Commander Price smiled. "Everyone knew there was going to be such pervasive surveillance in the rest of the facility. I wanted them all to feel safe and secure in their quarters; like it was their own private enclave."

"Why?"  Marcus asked, confused.

Commander Price's smile never wavered. "In case I ever needed to spy on them. With literally every other aspect of life here monitored, the promise of complete secrecy in your quarters is enough to make most people open up and not even think twice. You can learn a lot by listening to what people say when they don't know you can hear it."

"So you'd violate your principles, the Constitution, to get information?" Marcus asked. He shook his head. "I don't think I could do that. Isn't the Constitution the whole reason we're doing this? The whole reason we're fighting?"

Commander Price leaned forward and fixed Marcus with a cold, hard stare. "You'd better understand this, Lieutenant Commander," Price said. "We are at war. You've seen it, son. This ain't some watch it on TV, two thousand miles away war. It's happening right here at home. And whatever it takes, I mean to win. So if that means twisting the letter of the law a little bit here, or bending a principle there, so be it. If I had a judge and I could go to for a warrant, I would. But last time I checked, they were all unavailable on account of someone’s coup."

Commander Price stood and glared heatedly at Marcus, his irritation starting to show. "Now, you've made your objection known, and I've acknowledged it. If anyone gets hurt, maimed, or killed while this traitor walks free, I accept full responsibility for it. Will that help you sleep tonight?"

The Lieutenant Commander stood and met Commander Price’s cold glare with one of his own. "You can say all the pretty words you want, sir, but I'm still the one going along with this plan. I'm still the one who's participating, and that makes me responsible whether you like it or not. I just needed to make sure that if I'm going to bear that burden, it's worth it. And quite frankly, sir, you've known me long enough to know that I wouldn't just take someone's word on something that crucial—even yours."

Commander Price clenched his teeth for a moment, struggling to get a hold on his anger. He knew Marcus was right to question him if he had a concern this deep. He didn't want people who would just do things without pausing to think about them. That's how this atrocity occurred—people blindly following orders. Still, the man carried tenacious to the point of infuriatingly stubborn.

"You have your orders, Lt. Commander," Terry grated at last.

The Lt. Commander nodded, and turned on his heel. Without another word, he strode out of the room and closed the door behind him. Commander Price sat back down at his work station and called up Morgan Edwards' file again. He began reading from the beginning, slowly and carefully committing every detail to memory. Sun Tzu had written, "Know your Enemy," and it was a lesson that Commander Price took to heart. For now, Morgan Edwards
was
the enemy. He was the only enemy Commander Price could pinpoint, could look at face to face, the only one he could reach.

And the Commander meant to learn Morgan Edwards, inside and out.

Ch.40

Losing People

Alyssa stopped and listened again. The voice was definitely getting clearer. When she'd first heard it, she could barely make out that it was calling her name. Now that it sounded closer, it was getting clearer with every step. They were almost to one corner of the long fence that surrounded the refugee camp when the crowd before them parted and Alyssa caught sight of her. She froze and Mike ran into her so hard he nearly knocked her over.

A hundred yards down the fence, maybe less, stood Maria. She was watching the steady trickle of new arrivals coming down the avenue, calling out every few minutes in a loud but cracking voice, "Alyssa!  Mike!"

Alyssa let out a loud and unfamiliar sound—something between a cry and a groan. She was running before she realized her feet were moving, screaming her sister's name at the top of her lungs. Maria barely had time to turn and look for who was calling her before Alyssa broke through the crowd. Both sisters' eyes went wide, and they ran into each others' arms, laughing and crying in turn. They collapsed to their knees together, and Alyssa clung to her younger sister, tears streaming down her face.

She turned to Mike and mouthed, "Thank you," in silence.

Mike nodded and stepped back a little to give the sisters some measure of privacy, exposed as they were. The guard, an actual National Guardsman in the temporary tower that stood just outside the fence corner turned to say something to move them along. But as he took in the emotional reunion, he glanced at Mike and nodded, then turned back to patrol the incoming refugees. What he was watching for, Mike couldn't imagine, but he was vigilant in his watch, and that was oddly comforting and disconcerting at the same time.

The two sisters eventually dried their eyes and pulled each other to their feet. Just about that time a tall, broad shouldered young man emerged from the crowd, a sheen of sweat over his dark skin. He wielded a makeshift club that had once been part of a pool stick. "You okay, Ms. Maria?" he asked hesitantly.

Maria nodded and answered with a grin. "Yes Terrance, this is the sister I told you about. She's found me."

Terrence breathed a sigh and relaxed. "That's great!" he said honestly, as his face suddenly turned grim. "There's way too many people losing each other since the blackout. It's good to find someone."

Mike nodded and looked at the young man with a new appreciation. Youth was a luxury most could no longer afford. He stuck out his right hand. "Mike," he said as an introduction.

"Terrence," the young man said as he smiled and took Mike's hand in a firm, strong handshake. "Ms. Maria talked about you too."

"I taught Terrence in school three years ago," Maria said, patting the young man’s hand in a motherly fashion. "He saw me when I first came in, tired and scared out of my wits. Since then, he has looked out for me and kept me safe. I told him how you used to work with our mother and came to tell us how she died after the lights went out."

Mike, staggered by the unexpected memory, tried to squelch the images of that night—the explosion and concussion that followed it, the acrid smell of burning asphalt and the coppery scent of fresh blood, Claire’s expression as she fell to the ground. He swallowed hard and turned away to collect himself. When he turned back, Terrance looked at him as they began their walk along the fence. "That's a good thing you're doing, man." The young man’s voice turned serious again. "Ms. Maria said you saw some planes fly into the city, but they were all blacked out, right?"

"That's right," Mike answered."They came in the first evening after the Blackout, flying low just as the sun set over Lake Wylie. I'm pretty sure they headed for Charlotte Douglass."

Terrance nodded slowly. "I live in the north part of town and was down here visiting a friend. When we got in the bus with the Feds that came around our neighborhood, we passed the shipping runways at the airport. There were lines of airplanes and helicopters, all blacked out, along with hummers and things that looked like tanks. These guys in the blue and black uniforms were all over the place."

Mike thought about what Terrence had told him and looked around the perimeter fence again. When he and Eric had seen the camp in the early phases of its setup, it had been all National Guard troops and none of the FSS men. Now, looking at each of the guard towers, he could see clearly that at least two out of every three guards wore an FSS uniform.

Mike felt his hackles rise. "When did the FSS troops start showing up here?"  Mike asked, nodding toward one of the towers occupied by a blue and black clad guard. "They weren't here when the camp was first getting set up."

Terrance shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't know, Mr. Mike," he answered. "There were a few here when I got here, and like I said, I came in on one of the FSS patrols. I do know that every day some big armored transports come in and off load a few new FSS replacements. A few more names from the National Guard get called and more of the Guardsmen leave with the transports."

Mike stopped in his tracks. "Do any of the National Guard troops come back?"  Mike asked, his voice intense. "Is it all FSS, or do they bring Guardsmen back with them?"

Terrence frowned as he thought for a minute. "Every time I see them climbing out of the back, it's all the FSS uniforms."

Mike took a deep breath and started walking again. He shared a look with Alyssa, but he didn't say anything. Terrence led them to four tents that had been pitched among some fresh stumps where trees had been quickly cleared. The good coating of sawdust on the soft forest litter made walking comfortable compared to the hard ground and pavement they had pounded across for the past few days.

Four people met them as they walked up, and Terrance introduced them as his two neighbors, a cousin, and a stranger named Ian who just showed up one night, shivering from the cold and from fear. "I didn't know what to do," Maria said, patting the young man on the shoulder, "but it didn't seem right to send him back out alone in the night. Things can get rough in the dark, especially between the tents and down in the Rows."

"The rows?"  Alyssa asked.

"No, the Rows," her sister corrected her, the capital letter clear. Maria pointed back down the hillside at the neat rows of tents laid out in an orderly grid below them. The tents on the hillsides were more eclectically arranged in random groups of varying size or isolated patches, but in the flat clearing that had been the athletic fields of the park, they were a well-planned tent city.