Fractured State: Rogue State Part 18

Jon stared at the words. Stuart was right, but it was going to make some noise.

CHAPTER 26.

Concealed from the street by a squat evergreen hedge, Riggs watched Tex manipulate the front door's locks. They were up against a simple doork.n.o.b lock and a dead bolt, and the dead bolt appeared to be a standard installation. They should have access to the town house in a matter of moments.

"Riggs, this is Oz," he heard through his right earphone. "Back door is unlocked. No interior locks detected."

"Copy," said Riggs, tapping Tex's arm. "Back door is unlocked. Give us a few more seconds."

"Working on it," grumbled Tex.

Nissie's voice broke onto the net. "I have noise on the ground floor."

"Probably us working the locks," said Riggs.

Tex gave him a thumbs-up, pocketing the tool he had been using to disable the dead bolt.

"No," she said. "I filtered that out. It's something else." She paused. "s.h.i.t. I don't hear it anymore. It was two distinct mechanical clicks. Kind of loud."

"Like someone readying a rifle?"

"Different. More hollow."

"Back door," said Riggs. "Did you hear anything?"

"Negative," said Oz.

He knew they couldn't see inside. Like Tex and him, the back door team was crouched below window level to avoid casting any kind of shadow detectable from the interior.

"Talk to me, Nissie," said Riggs.

"It's dead quiet inside now."

"Should we pull back?" said Oz. "We can leave the door open for later."

"Negative. Stand by to breach. Nissie. Confirm that the home alarm system is deactivated."

"For the third time: I have hacked into the system. It will make no sounds, nor will it send a signal to the security call center."

"Just answer the question next time. Is your driver ready to pick us up?"

"Yes."

Riggs hated using Nissie's techs to do anything but type at a keyboard, but he needed everyone on the a.s.sault team to hit the town house-and all that gangly-looking nerd had to do was drive a few blocks without crashing off the road.

"I have the SUV running. Just waiting for your signal," added the tech.

"Copy that," he said, forgetting the tech's name. "Nissie. Monitor police frequencies."

"Frequencies are quiet. We'll know if your team draws any attention."

He didn't need her s.h.i.t right now, or ever. Her responses sounded innocent enough, but Riggs had cracked that b.i.t.c.h's pa.s.sive-aggressive code. When this mission was done, she was going to pay.

"All stations. Prep for breach," said Riggs.

Tex moved to the right side of the door, crouching low on the granite stoop. He twisted the doork.n.o.b with his left hand, pushing the door far enough for the latch to clear the strike plate, then nodded at Riggs.

Gunfire exploded inside the town house, dropping Riggs and Tex to the cold stone. Staccato bursts continued as the two operatives slithered off the porch, their rifles pointed at the door. Riggs stayed low, expecting holes to punch through the wood at any moment.

"Back door, report," he said.

"Oz is down hard," said Ross. "I returned fire, but have no targets."

"How bad is Oz?"

"Missing half of his head."

Nissie interrupted. "I have a nine-one-one call reporting gunfire. Nearest police unit is six minutes away."

"Copy that. Start the clock," said Riggs. "Nissie. Are you getting any sounds inside the town house?"

"A low humming sound that started when you gave the breach order."

"I'm going in," said Riggs. "Back me up."

Tex nodded, his face unreadable behind night-vision goggles.

"Ross, I'm breaching the front door. Do not open fire."

"Understood."

Riggs pushed the door with his left hand, keeping the rifle steady as it opened. A light haze hampered his view, millions of suspended drywall particles wreaking havoc with the synthetic image. He tapped his night-vision goggles, switching to the traditional green-scale view, and the image cleared, revealing extensive damage to the back door and the walls surrounding it. Much of the damage looked like it came from the outside, compliments of Ross's extended burst of gunfire.

He moved down the hallway, sensing Tex close behind. They worked in tandem, shifting and clearing the threat angles with their rifles as they moved deeper into the s.p.a.ce. The humming grew louder. Riggs approached the foot of the stairs and knelt next to the wall framing the staircase. Two jagged holes above his head reminded him that the drywall provided zero cover. Residential walls and furniture served one purpose in a close-quarters gun battle-concealment.

A nod at the wall told Tex that Riggs was ready to check the stairs. Riggs took a few short breaths before peeking up the stairs with his rifle. Clear to the landing.

The sound from the kitchen stopped, followed by several beeps that identified the source of the humming. A microwave.

"Riggs. I think we're clear," whispered Tex. "Body in the kitchen."

"Watch the stairs."

"Got it," said Tex, shifting to cover the stairs.

Riggs flashed to the other side of the stairwell and looked into the kitchen, seeing a pair of legs splayed on the floor between the refrigerator and the eat-in counter. Jon Fisher, no doubt, but he had to be sure before exposing himself.

"Did Oz enter the house before he went down?" he whispered over the radio net.

"No," Ross replied. "He's out on the patio."

Riggs slid farther to the right, craning his neck beyond the corner of the refrigerator. s.h.i.t. Ross had killed Fisher when he returned fire. The man's lifeless eyes stared at the kitchen ceiling, a small bullet hole evident in his right temple.

"Fisher's KIA. Bring the SUV to the street behind the town house."

"OK," the tech responded in a squeaky voice that didn't inspire confidence.

"Ross. I need you in here," said Riggs, stepping into the kitchen with his rifle aimed at the body.

"Closest police unit is four minutes away," announced Nissie.

A light flickered inside the microwave next to the stove. Something had caught fire. He fired a single bullet into Fisher's unprotected groin to be sure the old man wasn't playing dead. His body didn't stir. A thin stream of smoke poured out of the microwave as Riggs stepped over Fisher to take a closer look at the machine. What he found didn't surprise him at all. A melted satphone. His hopes of salvaging any useful information from this colossal screwup were fading by the second.

"Entering the back door," said Ross, appearing a few seconds later. "What the f.u.c.k is that smell?"

"He cooked his satphone," said Riggs, kneeling on the kitchen tile next to Fisher. "Tex. Ross. Find a bag or a suitcase. I don't care what you use, but start loading up any files, letters, paperwork. Anything. We need to be out of here in like two minutes."

Riggs searched Fisher's body, finding nothing useful. He had to give the guy credit. Fisher could have done a lot more damage if he hadn't been preoccupied in the kitchen, but cooking the phone had severed any traceable connections to his son, his wife, Stuart Quinn, and this secret compound Flagg suspected.

Tex rushed down the stairs. "I got everything I could find in the closets and dressers-which isn't much. Fisher had a bag full of goodies upstairs. Some kind of survival kit. I got that, too."

"There's nothing down here," said Ross, stepping out of the empty office.

Nissie's smug voice filled his ear. "You just hit the two-minute mark. My guy should be there with the SUV any second."

The hum of a powerful car engine vibrated the house. Riggs lifted his night-vision goggles an instant before a bright light bathed the backyard.

"Mr. Riggs. I'm out back," said the driver.

"We can see you, and so can the rest of the neighborhood. Kill the lights and open the back lift gate." He turned to his team. "We need to move Oz into the Yukon."

While Ross and Tex filed by, Riggs noticed a thin stack of letters on the counter next to the wall, mostly buried under a jagged chunk of drywall. He brushed the mess aside and stuffed the mail in one of his cargo pockets. The dying flame in the microwave beckoned him as he turned to step out of the town house. Not this time, my friend-but soon. He envisioned feeding a screaming Nissie Keane to a much bigger, hungrier fire than that one. Something bright and hot and beautiful enough to make up for his long hiatus. No, merely setting some building on fire wouldn't be enough to satisfy his friend.

CHAPTER 27.

Keira stared at the glowing, twisted wrecks through her window as their SUV turned off the highway into the sand. Chunks of blackened debris covered the pavement around the smoking heaps, and David wasn't taking any chances on a flat tire.

A flat tire, she thought. It seemed like such a homely, minor concern.

She turned her eyes to the star-filled northern sky. "So much for the rules of engagement," she whispered, not wanting to wake Owen. "Recent attack, right? A few of the tires are still burning."

"Takes them a while to burn," David said. "Besides, lightning rarely strikes twice in the same place."

"Yeah?" she said. "Well, let's just set up camp here for the duration, then."

A low chuckle. Then, after a moment: "I'm willing to bet this was a targeted strike based on confirmed intelligence. The vehicles were headed to Sonoyta."

"We're headed to Sonoyta," Keira pointed out, squinting into the dark above them. Not that she had any chance of detecting a stealth drone or, more importantly, ever seeing the missile it fired. They'd be here one second, gone the next.

There was no point in worrying about it, though how in h.e.l.l were you supposed to do anything else? From the armed drones circling overhead all the way down to the MP-20 she cradled in her lap, it all made her sick-and angry. It was obscene how these machines of war could erase people and families with the pull of a trigger or a mouse click. The thought of some indifferent drone pilot, sipping coffee with one hand and deciding her family's fate with the other, filled her with rage. If she could press a b.u.t.ton right now and instantly kill every drone pilot in existence, she wouldn't hesitate, which made her even angrier. She was no different than them now, consumed by the circle of violence that spared none.

"We'll be fine," said David.

"You're stealing my husband's line," she said, noticing that he'd grown strangely quiet since they'd first spotted the destroyed vehicles.

"We can't turn back," Nathan said quietly.

"We can do whatever we want," she said.

"We're less than five miles from Sonoyta. The closest road behind us is two hours back."

"Aren't you a little concerned we might end up like that?" she said, fighting the urge to raise her voice.

Nathan twisted in his seat to look at her. "I'm very concerned, but turning back guarantees we end up like that. We have better odds out here."

"I know you're right. I just can't stand the thought of not being somewhat in control of our fate," she said, peering skyward again. "Somewhere in Yuma, someone not happy about pulling the night shift holds our fate in his delicate fingers."

"Actually, the night shift is highly coveted," said David. "The air-conditioning can't keep up during the day. Night flights go to the senior drone operators this time of the year."

"Terrific," she said.

The SUV drifted left, sc.r.a.ping over and through a field of low-lying bushes before emerging on the highway beyond the wreckage.

"We'll be fine once we get past Sonoyta," said Nathan.

"Oh yeah," she muttered. "Smooth sailing all the way."

"I liked it better when you were sleeping."

"I was never sleeping," said Keira. "Just pretending so I could eavesdrop on you two."

"Probably not the best use of your downtime," David said drily.

"No kidding," she said, stifling a laugh. "How the h.e.l.l can the two of you drive that long without saying more than five words to each other?"

"We were keeping quiet so you could sleep," said Nathan.