The Seraphim Sequence: The Fifth Column 2 (32 page)

‘And that’s the first and last time I BASE-jump into the UN headquarters,’ Jay muttered to himself. He was sitting, pantless, in a windowless interview room with hands cuffed behind his body. The UN soldiers had taken his pants.

Damien had been detained too, likely next door, although Jay couldn’t know for certain. The advantage of posing as peaceful protesters was that they didn’t present enough of a threat to receive a full body search, which would have revealed most if not all of their concealed items. Instead, only Jay’s boots and pants had been removed.

On the way into the building, Jay had blabbered endlessly about his rights as a US citizen and a representative of free speech while analyzing every detail of the building’s interior. There was a room to the west of the atrium with an external roller door that seemed to be housing quite a lot of crates and pallets. He couldn’t tell if they were the same pallets from the Antonov, but the room had no security. Once something was inside the base, it was probably a waste of resources to separately secure everything. The armory would be locked up, but the kitchen or food storage would be free for the taking.

The UN headquarters wasn’t exactly set up for detaining military arrests. It wasn’t even set up to house UN soldiers. During the civil unrest of 2012, the UN had unintentionally become the umbrella catch-all for law and order, with portions of the army and marines serving under UN command and control. Then again, maybe that was the Fifth Column’s plan all along: a scenario that would have New World Order conspiracy theorists frothing at the mouth.

Jay had only spent a short time in the interview room but had already been visited by a smurf to make sure he wasn’t suffering injuries and didn’t require any medication. Another smurf had popped in a moment later with a checklist of his property to sign. He’d signed with his fake signature and the smurf took a photo of him. The door was locked again when he left. Now that the initial queries were out of the way and he’d been able to produce a passport that lacked a criminal record, the next phase of detainment was the interview. Jay didn’t have much time, maybe ten to fifteen minutes at most before the interview began. He needed to get ready.

The smurfs weren’t stupid. He’d offered his wrists inward but they’d still cuffed him how they wanted—behind his back, wrists out, keyhole up, spaced and double-locked. This was as difficult as it could be. There wasn’t enough room to pull his wrists inward, and the keyhole faced outward in such a way that you couldn’t pick the lock by hand.

He stood up, pulled his cuffed hands down to his legs, then lay down and got them under his feet. Fortunately, there were no cameras or one-way glass so no one was going to catch him doing this. While he was on the ground, he pulled the bobby pin from his hair and placed it between his teeth. Holding his wrists up to his face, he placed the bobby pin in the lock and got to work, only to drop it a moment later. He swore, a little louder than he should’ve. Down on both knees, he collected the bobby pin and started again. It was tedious work, and his nose kept getting in the way, but he finally seated the pin. From there, it only took a moment to unlock the cuffs one way and then the other. Finally, he released his right hand. After that, he picked the other side with his right hand instead of his teeth, which was a hell of a lot faster. He kept the cuffs loosely over his wrists and put his hands behind his back again.

Now he waited.

Five or six minutes later, two smurfs entered the interview room. One had papers and a pen in hand. Their holsters were empty. No firearms. That would make things fractionally easier. He waited for them to sit at the other side of the table. One smurf watched him with barely concealed boredom while the other rifled through his papers.

‘Jay is your name. Is that correct?’ he said.

‘Yeah. Guys, I don’t think they put these on properly.’ Jay jumped to his feet and showed his handcuffs dangling from one wrist. He did his best to look harmless and clumsy.

The smurf with the papers seemed surprised, then annoyed. With a sigh, he stood and walked around the table, reached out to grab the handcuffs. Jay slapped a cuff on the smurf’s wrist and pulled the arm down, bringing the smurf’s chin directly into his knee.

The other smurf launched to his feet, drawing a taser. The electrode barbs pierced Jay’s T-shirt and formed a circuit between him and the taser. He felt the charge surge through him, but it didn’t seize his muscles up like it should have. Instead it flowed through him in strange, unsettling pulses.

‘Huh,’ he said.

The smurf stared at him in disbelief. ‘What the—’

Jay lunged forward and grabbed the smurf’s arms. He shuddered, his body rigid and uneven, caught by the electrical current running through Jay’s body. Jay let him go and watched him collapse. He wouldn’t be stunned for long, so Jay quickly took the taser and radio, then shoved the table against the door. The electrocuted smurf was still conscious so he pressed the taser to his neck and triggered the close-range electrodes for another go, then hauled him up onto the chair, removed his utility belt and found another pair of handcuffs. He cuffed him, then unlaced and removed his boots and then his pants.

Someone tried to open the door. The table wasn’t enough to keep it closed, but it gave him the warning he needed.

‘Jay,’ Damien said through the gap.

Jay pulled the table away so Damien could get inside. He was already dressed as a UN soldier. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Jay taking the pants off the cuffed, dazed smurf.

‘If you like, I can give you some privacy,’ he said.

Jay ignored him. ‘Where are our belongings? We need those passports.’

‘Just outside, in a locker,’ Damien said.

Once Jay had finished his disguise, he took some plasticuffs from the smurf’s utility belt—
his
utility belt now—and fastened the soldiers’ ankles to the chair legs. That would make escape particularly difficult. He reached for the tasered smurf’s boots and slipped one on, only to discover it was several sizes too small.

‘Great, why do I get the soldier with girl feet?’

Damien pulled a boot off the other smurf and tossed it to Jay. He inspected inside. Size 13. Perfect.

Damien made Jay remain in the room a moment longer so they could check each other’s uniform, making sure every little thing looked right, even the placement of their radios. It wouldn’t take much to arouse suspicion among the other UN soldiers. Only once Damien was satisfied was Jay allowed to set foot outside.

There was a locker outside of the rooms, just as Damien had described. They were locked but Damien already had the key. That saved time picking the lock. Inside, Jay found a tray with all his possessions: boots, jeans, screwdriver, passport, a small portion of his US bank notes, all the faux protester stuff like spraypaint and chocolate bars. He went to open one of the chocolate bars but Damien slapped his hand away.

‘Can’t you wait five minutes?’ Damien said, handing him the satphone.

Jay took the satphone and pocketed the chocolate anyway. He didn’t bother with the belt or boots; he had the smurf’s now. He collected a pale blue helmet, UN-issue Canadian carbine and a Glock pistol, along with two magazines for each, which the smurfs had deposited in the locker before interviewing their prisoners.

They retraced their steps through the building toward the west side. Jay kept eye contact with other soldiers and civilians to a minimum and made an effort to shift his walking from the more efficient hip-based movements he’d learnt from Nasira back to the rigid, knee-based military march that had been drilled into him during his early Project GATE training. Damien automatically matched his step and together they maintained an unhurried but brisk walk to the room where Jay suspected the rations were stored.

As soon as he saw the pallets, still intact and roped up, he knew they were from the Antonov. Problem was, the pallets were far too wide to fit into a vehicle.

‘There are 4WDs on the southeast corner,’ Damien said.

Jay reached into his pocket, making sure his screwdriver was still there. If he couldn’t find any keys in the vehicles—and that was quite likely—he’d need to start the engine himself. He left Damien to untie the rations and restack a transportable pile inside plastic crates while he made his way outside the building and walked to the south end. He passed another pair of smurfs and returned their curt nods. He hoped their suspicions weren’t aroused by an unfamiliar face beneath the blue helmet. There might not be quite enough smurfs around here to get away with being new, but as long as he played the part and didn’t appear lost or out of place, he should get by.

He reached a row of three Nissan Patrol 4WDs in signature white and inspected the third vehicle first. He checked the ignition, the glove box and even the compartment behind the gearbox and came up dry, although he did find a packet of cigarettes and the Nissan manual. He moved to the middle 4WD and was pleased to find keys already in the ignition. It looked like he wouldn’t need the screwdriver after all.

He fired the engine up and brought the Patrol around to Damien, who was waiting tensely inside the roller door. Jay backed the Patrol up for easy loading, then got out to help. As he did so, he gave a cursory glance around. They were only partly in the open, but it still offered plenty of opportunity for a questioning eye to become suspicious. He tried to act like this was just another dull part of his job and, with Damien, loaded the rations in crate by crate.

‘We won’t be able to fit all of these in,’ Damien said, loading his tenth crate in the back.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Jay said. ‘We fill the car and move on.’

‘That’s not even half. They wanted it all.’

‘Any more and we’ll never make it out,’ Jay said. ‘I think one carload is fucking plenty. They should be grateful.’

Damien didn’t say anything further so Jay figured he agreed.

Once the Patrol was full—but not too full that it would attract suspicion—they loaded a few extra crates into the back seat and jumped in the front.

‘I’m hoping our exit is a little … cleaner this time around,’ Damien said, fastening his seatbelt.

Jay laughed, mostly to relieve his nerves, then realized he should probably fasten his seatbelt too. They had to look the part.

He steered away from the closest guardhouse; it was the same one they’d shot their way out of during their last warmly received visit. He continued down into the underground parking lot and emerged through the other end. They found themselves at the entrance near the fountain, the same entrance they’d crash-landed a helicopter into last year.

‘They fixed the gate up nicely,’ Jay commented as he pulled the Patrol in beside the guardhouse. ‘Let’s hope they don’t remember us.’

‘This is the tricky part,’ Damien said. ‘Just play it cool.’

Jay shot him his best look. ‘That’s like telling a fish to swim.’

Damien stared vacantly out the window. ‘A dead fish.’

The guard didn’t bother leaving his box. The gate opened and he gave Jay a single nod. Jay nodded in return.

Through clenched teeth, he said, ‘Shit, I think he just let us through.’

‘I know, dude. Just drive.’

‘What a fucking idiot!’ Jay said.

‘Get the hell out of here,’ Damien said. ‘Go.’

Jay accelerated slowly and, once there was break in traffic, indicated right. In his peripheral vision he watched the gate close behind them. As soon as they were clear of the headquarters and further down First Avenue, he turned to Damien and yelled, ‘Wooo!’

Damien almost jumped from fright. ‘Don’t … don’t do that.’

Jay drifted toward the wrong lane. An irate driver honked and pulled in front of them, yelling something. But Jay wasn’t listening. He straightened the Patrol up and reflected on their successful job.

‘We could do this for a living,’ he said.

‘Trespassing on international soil and assaulting United Nations soldiers in the middle of a state of emergency?’ Damien said.

‘I know, it sounds boring, but there were some fun bits.’

Damien looked at him. ‘Like the BASE-jump?’

Jay’s hands tightened over the steering wheel. ‘Don’t … don’t do that.’

Damien was smiling now, but it was short-lived. ‘They’ll track this vehicle,’ he said. ‘We need to switch fast.’

He pulled his satphone from his pocket and dialed the number he’d memorized: Aviary’s. The call connected and she answered.

‘Boy am I glad to hear your voice,’ Aviary said. ‘Tell me it’s good news.’

‘It’s good news,’ he said. ‘We’ll be there in thirty.’

Damien opened the Patrol’s rear hatch inside the Queens warehouse so Aviary could inspect the crates stacked snugly inside. She picked up a ration pack and weighed it in her hands.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I mean, I didn’t think you’d get this much.’

‘Amazing,’ Jay said. ‘We know.’

‘I have someone you need to meet,’ she said. ‘Come inside.’

Cars thrummed on a freeway overhead. Grace was standing deeper inside the factory, beside Calvin. Damien thought he spotted a flicker of relief on her face when she saw them. Had they not returned, she’d probably have made her own exit. She was quite capable of doing so.

Jay was checking his watch. ‘Clock’s ticking. Where’s your so-called army?’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet at last,’ a new voice said. It was warm and rich like strong coffee.

A man emerged from behind the jaguar knights, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders perfectly squared. He was older than Aviary and the others, seemingly in his mid-fifties. Under his overcoat and over his gray windbreaker he wore a shoulder holster, a Glock 26 sleeping under one arm. He appeared in good physical condition, his shoulders round and taut, the windbreaker pulling around his chest and not his stomach. His eyebrows were thick and silver, contrasting against freckled toffee skin. He had the slightest trace of a silvering mustache under a wide, porous nose.

‘Colonel Abraham Harland. Retired,’ he said, unsmiling.

Damien noticed other men, also armed, standing nearby.

‘What brings you here, Colonel?’ he asked as the man approached.

‘Certainly not the lifestyle,’ Harland said. ‘I wanted to thank you personally for retrieving those rations.’

‘We didn’t really have all that much of a choice,’ Jay said.

‘But we’re happy to help,’ Damien quickly added. ‘I’m guessing you’ve been filled in on why we’re here, Colonel.’

‘Yes. Please, call me Abraham.’ He frowned. ‘And while it’s not my place to judge, I’m afraid I don’t think we can help you.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jay snapped.

Abraham looked directly at Jay, his gaze piercing. ‘I mean that we know you are collaborators of terrorists. And we’re looking to distance ourselves from such activities.’

‘Which terrorists are you talking about?’ Jay said. ‘It’s a bit crowded these days.’

‘I’m talking about Sophia,’ Abraham said.

Damien felt frustration build inside him. He glanced at his watch: thirty-three hours left. ‘If you still think terrorists are real, we don’t have time for this.’

‘Listen, son, whether she’s a terrorist or not is beside the point. The point is, she’s been labelled one. And I’m afraid to say you are painted with the same brush.’

‘Yeah well, painted or not, these terrorists are gonna save your country tonight,’ Jay said. ‘If you don’t want to help us, fine. Don’t waste any more of our time.’

Abraham surveyed them for a moment longer. ‘Unfortunately, you’re dangerous. And we have enough danger to contend with. I hope you understand,’ he said, and walked past them, his men in tow.

‘That went well,’ Damien said as he heard their car leave the warehouse.

Aviary’s four jaguar knights and Calvin remained fixed where they stood.

‘Your boys here,’ Jay said to Calvin, ‘are they with them or you? Aren’t you all together?’

‘Abraham’s resistance is voluntary,’ Calvin said. ‘He means well. He wants to keep his people safe.’

‘If we fail, no one’s safe,’ Damien said.

‘If we help you, we could be taken to another country and tortured, probably killed,’ Calvin said.

‘Fine,’ Jay said. ‘We’ve wasted enough time.’ He turned to Damien. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Wait,’ Aviary said.

‘I said if we help you we could be tortured and killed,’ Calvin said. ‘Doesn’t mean we’re not going to help.’

‘Who’s we?’ Jay said.

‘Second Recon, North Carolina,’ Calvin said. ‘Iraq, Haiti, Afghanistan. We might only be one squad but we can take on whatever you dish out.’

‘But first we, you know, want to know—’ Aviary began.

‘What kind of shitstorm we’re getting into,’ Calvin finished.

‘Depends,’ Jay said. ‘What’s your specialty?’

‘We’re adaptable,’ Calvin said.

‘We were supposed to recon the area last night,’ Damien said.

Aviary looked disappointed. ‘You don’t know anything about it?’

‘Just GPS coordinates,’ Jay said. ‘You guys have been keeping us busy.’

‘Actually, I know a little,’ Grace said. ‘I did a bit the night before last.’

Everyone’s eyes were on Grace now.

‘Are you joining us?’ Damien said.

‘I work better alone,’ she said. ‘But if you’re going after the Seraphim transmitters, I don’t want you screwing things up for me. As soon as you hit one, or even two, they’ll be expecting you at the other stations. Then it gets harder.’

‘What were you planning on doing?’ Damien asked.

‘Sabotage. Something that wouldn’t be detected right away. I needed to buy myself enough time to hit them all. Unless you have a better plan.’

‘Yeah,’ Damien said. ‘Use the transmitter to send an electromagnetic pulse over the other transmitters, then initiate a pulse on the transmitter itself.’

‘Electronic suicide,’ Aviary said.

Grace looked surprised. ‘Actually that might just be crazy enough to work.’

‘And if it doesn’t?’ Calvin asked.

‘Then things get a little tricky,’ Damien said.

‘Right, so what did you pick up on your recon?’ Jay asked.

‘I need some paper,’ Grace said.

Aviary turned to Calvin, who walked over to the jaguar knights. One of them handed over a notebook. Calvin placed it on a stack of crates and gave Grace a pencil. Damien watched over her shoulder as she drew a rough map for everyone to see.

‘This isn’t a military base,’ she said. ‘It’s a transmitting station in the middle of the forest. The transmitter itself is underground.’ She drew it as a giant X. ‘Sitting directly above the intersection is the transmitter building. On the eastern end, near the coast, is the power plant.’

Damien inspected the map. She’d drawn a rectangular perimeter around the station. ‘What’s the best entry point?’ he asked.

‘From the back, the east end,’ Grace said.

Jay nodded his approval. ‘Shortest space between the forest and the fence line. The front of the station has a large open area. The guards will shoot us down before we even make it halfway.’

‘Actually there’s a tunnel that leads west under the station,’ Grace said. ‘It opens up inside.’

‘That’s convenient,’ Jay said. ‘Have you checked inside?’

‘It’s clear. But we’ll need to time it properly. Guards patrol inside the station on all sides, including the back. But the back has some distance to it; gives us a ten-minute window to cross a hundred feet of open ground without being seen.’

‘Saves us cutting through the fence,’ Damien said.

‘We still might have to, if we need to get out fast,’ Jay said.

‘What’s the security like?’ Damien asked.

‘Infrared cameras and motion sensors on each corner of the perimeter,’ Grace said. ‘One at the rear, right above the tunnel opening.’

‘How do you get through then?’ Aviary asked.

‘My squad will take care of that,’ Calvin said. ‘What about the guards? How many?’

‘I counted a dozen, but there could be a lot more inside,’ Grace said.

‘OK, that’s more than I expected,’ Jay said. ‘I thought you said this wasn’t a military base?’

‘It’s not. But it’s guarded like one. M4s, pistols, belt full of mags. Helmets, probably kevlar too. Hard to tell if they’re Blue Berets or mercs or just regular troops, but either way they mean business.’

‘Great,’ Damien said.

‘We’ll need weapons with some range then,’ Jay said.

‘Right this way,’ Calvin said.

He took Damien, Jay and Grace to a series of drab green-colored crates. When he lifted the lids, Jay whistled. An odd assortment of AR-15 carbines, civilian models with various scopes and flashlights mounted to their rails.

‘How many mags do you have?’ Damien said.

Calvin blinked. ‘How many do you need?’

‘All of them,’ Jay said.

Calvin kicked over another lid. The crate was packed full of 5.56mm thirty-round mags.

‘Whoa,’ Damien said. ‘What is that—fifty, a hundred mags?’

Jay looked excited. ‘It’s about time we had some decent supply. At this point I’m going with a maximum firepower strategy, American style.’

‘What’s that?’ Aviary asked.

‘We carry a shitload of mags and shoot everything that moves,’ Jay said.

‘And for those of us who can actually aim, do you have pistol magazines and 45s?’ Grace asked.

‘A couple,’ Calvin said. He opened another crate, this one full of gas masks. ‘We have plenty of these, do you need them?’

Jay shrugged. ‘I guess. Yeah, why not?’

‘When do the guards’ shifts change?’ Damien asked Grace.

‘Every four hours,’ she said. ‘Your best shot is 0300 hours.’

Damien nodded. ‘We’ll need to match it up with Sophia’s team. And we’ll need to do another recon, double-check this manhole.’

‘We can do that,’ Calvin said.

‘I’d like to do it myself,’ Damien said.

Calvin wasn’t impressed but he didn’t argue.

Jay tapped his watch. ‘We have one day left. If this EMP thing screws up and we have to blow it the old-fashioned way, then we need every hour we can get. Plus, Wonder Woman here already did the boring shit. Sophia’s waiting on us to be ready. I say we tell her we’re good to go. Let’s plan this shit now and do it tonight.’

‘I would’ve liked to check—’ Damien began.

‘We’re against the clock here, we don’t have time,’ Jay said.

‘Is there anything else you need?’ Aviary asked.

‘Yeah, actually,’ Damien said. He took the pencil from Grace, freed a blank page under the map and started scribbling. When he was done, he handed the paper to Aviary. ‘We need this shopping list as soon as possible.’

Aviary read the list, perplexed. ‘You want blankets?’

Damien nodded. ‘The darkest color you can get. Black would be ideal. Not shiny though.’

‘Do you want any bombs?’ Aviary said. ‘I’m good with explosives.’

Damien and Jay exchanged glances.

‘That’s a yes,’ Jay said. ‘And, Calvin, guns, all the guns.’

***

Sophia sat in the Honda’s driver’s seat peering through her night-vision goggles. Dark clouds had overtaken the sky in the east and she could make out a thick band of pale gray in the distance, which suggested heavy rain. It was slowly crawling inland and would probably hit the island while they were breaching the installation. At first she’d thought it might be a serious hindrance but now she was starting to wonder if it would work in their favor. Fewer guards outside, more noise to use as cover.

DC sat in the passenger seat, sketching the installation on a blank notes page inside the Honda manual.

‘You haven’t spoken a word since we got back to the car,’ Sophia said.

‘What if we’re making a mistake?’ DC said.

‘It’s not like you to get cold feet. Commitment phobic?’

He didn’t smile. ‘On suicide missions, yeah.’

She took his sketch and inspected it. ‘I disagree. I think we actually might have a chance.’

‘A chance is relative,’ he said.

She tossed the Honda manual into his lap. ‘Your doubts are relative.’

‘You haven’t spoken a word either. Are you doing OK?’

She knew he was talking about Benito and Freeman. But she’d pushed them from her mind for now. As much as she could anyway. She had to; her focus was the Seraphim transmitter. She cut the interior light, coating them in darkness.

‘I wasn’t finished,’ he said.

‘Those soldiers in there, they’re Blue Berets.’

‘I know,’ DC said.

‘They’re innocent.’ She watched the clouds through her window, without the goggles. ‘They follow their orders. And I’ll probably have to kill them tonight.’

‘If they try to kill you,’ he said.

‘Which they will.’ She chewed her lip.

DC chuckled softly in the darkness. ‘You were never very good at running away.’

‘I could draw my knife through Denton’s neck,’ she said. ‘Watch him bleed out. I wouldn’t enjoy it. But I wouldn’t be disgusted either.’

DC said nothing. She supposed that meant he agreed with her.

‘But at the bottom of the hierarchy, they all think they’re doing the right thing,’ she said.

‘In their ignorance,’ he said quickly. ‘They are still responsible.’

‘We were ignorant too. We all wake up from somewhere. I wasn’t born knowing this world was a scam.’ She laughed. ‘Hell, if I knew that I wouldn’t have wanted to be born.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ he said.

‘Maybe I do. I don’t have the right to take their lives.’

‘Why don’t you have the right?’ DC turned the interior light back on. He was leaning toward her, his jaws set hard. ‘Because their stupidity assures innocence or because you killed—’

He stopped.

Sophia swallowed. ‘Finish what you were about to say.’

‘I said what I wanted to say.’ He shifted his attention to the Honda manual in his lap, but he wasn’t actually reading.

‘Finish what you were thinking,’ she snapped.

He matched her stare. ‘Why are you doing this? Really? Is it because you killed those women with the Chimera vectors? Do you need to save another four hundred million people to balance your accounts, is that it?’

Her mind iced over. ‘Look at that, you hit the nail on the head,’ she said.

She needed some air. She stepped out of the car, goggles in hand, and walked around to the trunk. She could hear the crunch of sand on the asphalt. Nasira and Chickenhead were returning from their half of the recon. She confirmed their hunkered frames through her goggles, then turned back to the beachfront. The wind had picked up now, drying the sweat in her T-shirt and tangling her hair.

DC’s door opened. ‘Sophia, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean …’

He hesitated when he heard the others approach.

‘This weather might bite us in the ass,’ Nasira said, reaching the Honda.