Reggie
No stranger to bad roads, Reggie was impressed with this one. There was barely enough room for two vehicles and Scotty's wheels were
slipping constantly as he hugged the edge. Every time he expected to get stuck and have to get out and use the winch.
Nah, I'll call and tell'em to come get me.
If he didn't get hit by another vehicle while waiting. The curves were so tight and close together there were only milliseconds to react
to an oncoming vehicle. At least the potholes weren't as bad as some he'd seen. And felt.
He reflected that he road might be wide enough to accomodate a small fighting vehicle if not a tank but it would still be tricky. Well,
the McCormick clan valued their privacy. Not that they could avoid observation by helicopters or drones. Or satellites. Anything that needed hiding
had to be underground.
Not that he'd seen any indication it was getting special attention. But he hadn't seen the government satellite images. Anyway John
McCormick was no fool.
Judging by altitude he must be close. The highest point on Crowleys Ridge was only about five hundred feet and he was getting close to that.
"Turn right in 500 feet," his phone instructed.
Finally. Dunno how much longer that trick gonna work.
In his younger days Reggie had driven all over the country using road maps and wondered how many people could to it if they had to. If Operation
Midnight Cyclone was ever launched...
When it's launched. Things aren't gonna turn around and we're gonna have to do it.
There it is.
The right turn was just a break in the seemingly endless vegetation lining the road. The ridge was heavily forested in this region, the narrow road
darkened by overhanging branches. A gap had been cut and a culvert installed. He turned onto a crushed rock surface.
The road ran into a large open area with tree stumps and brush piles indicating its recent clearing. Ahead was a small group of buildings, all
apparently of recent construction. The sheet metal took a while to begin showing age but this was not over a year or two old if that.
A chain-link fence surrounded the acrage around the buildings. Two actually, about twenty feet apart. The gates were open and several men were
standing near them. He drove forward.
All were young, none seemed to be much over thirty. With short haircuts and matching uniforms they all looked alike, the way soldiers do.
All were wearing holstered pistols but no long guns were present.
Nice looking bunch.
He eased Scotty forwared and stopped just short of the outer fence. The men were between the fences and two of them came out to meet him. He
cranked the window down.
"Dr. Livingston?" one enquired.
"No, Dr. Frankenstein," Reggie replied.
"Welcome to Emerald Ridge, Mr. Maxwell. I'm Bill McCormick, this is my brother Don."
"Reggie," Reggie replied. "Don't remind me how old I am."
"Sure thing, Reggie. Drive on up to the main building there. Someone will be out to meet you by the time you get there."
"Thanks. See you later."
Bill and Don were in their twenties. Reggie figured that would make them old man McCormick's grandsons. He'd met Harold McCormick at the confab
in Amarillo in June. The League of Freeholds had sent a committee to coordinate operations with the provisional governments of both the Republic
and the Alliance. Since they had operations in thirty-something states they were bumping into each other from day one of the war. And their
members in hostile territory were proving quite useful.
The main building was the only one of its size. Reggie estimated it at a fifty or sixty by a hundred or more. Seven or eight thousand square
feet on each of two floors. The top floor a lot of windows while the ground floor had a few large ones. He could see double glass doors in the
center of the front side.
There were plenty of spaces near the door and he parked Scotty in one. A group of people were approaching.
Harold McCormick looked younger than the sixty-six his dossier indicated. Slim and about Reggie's height of six-four, balding and with a short
neat white beard.
"Glad you made it," he said. "Looks like you were prepared."
"Couple of dicey turns," Reggie replied.
"Maybe a couple that aren't dicey for most folks. These here guys are my first and second born sons, Bryan and Dan."
He nodded to his left and then right as he spoke, so Reggie guessed that indicated which was which. He made a note that
Bryan was the one that looked older and was taller. Taller than his old man, stockier too, while Dan was about average. Both were dressed like
their father - forest green chamois shirts and well-worn jeans and hiking boots - and had modest beards. Bryan had more in the
mustache department, both downward and outward. None looked as if they had been working outdoors today.
Guess he'll introduce the other four when he's ready.
"Let's get indoors and get a drink," Harold said.
"Don't twist my arm," Reggie replied and followed Harold and his sons. The others didn't acccompany them.
Scotty's clock had shown 1220-something when he arrived so it wasn't early for a nip.
Harold and the one who was probably Bryan opened the doors and he followed Harold inside. The room they were in was about twenty by twenty. The floor was
stained concrete, good finish but nothing fancy. Directly across from the entrance were two doors, with one on each side of the room. Big as the room was
it was just a small part of the building. Several small tables, each with six chairs, were the only furnishings.
Harold led the way to the door on the right side of the room and opened it to reveal a stairway. It about six feet wide, the sort one would find in an
office building. At the top of the stairs another door opened into an enormous room that appeared to cover the entire upper floor.
"Sixty by a hundred and twenty," Harold said. "There's a row of cubes around the sides, about ten by ten. This is the backup nerve center."
The room was broken up by sections of wall here and there making a view of the entire area impossible from any position. Here and there were tables and
desks and some large cabinets.
"Once we get it all set up there'll be about two dozen of us here most of the time," he continued. "The rooms on the ground floor will be used for various things.
We have a hundred or so on the grounds all the time. If we have to use it there'll probably be that many more come in."
"Is there an easier way than the road?" Reggie asked.
"Nope," Harold said with grin. "Except by helicopter, for now. We're building a good road from headquarters, about a half mile. Contained completely inside the
freehold. The road you came up on runs outside a good ways. It never had much traffic before and almost none now. We monitor the whole way, and can deal with any
intruders before they get here."
"Looks good," said Reggie.
"Let's get that drink," Harold said. "This way."
Reggie followed him into the interior to an area partially enclosed by two walls at ninety degrees. The corner was set up like a break room in an office building,
a counter running along each wall, a sink with cabinets above. A refrigerator, microwave, coffee-maker and other kitchen appliances occupied some of the counter space.
"Grab a seat," Harold said. He opened a cabinet. "Brandy good?"
"Sounds good," Reggie replied. Bryan and Dan joined their father and poured glasses. Dan brought two to the table and handed one to Reggie.
Once they were all seated Reggie took a sip.
"Vanilla," he said. "Nice."
"Yeah, E&J. We've got a pretty good stash of liquor. Way things look supply issues are only going to get worse."
"I know quite a few folks have done that," said Reggie. "We're hooked up with a couple of outfits that are set for the long haul on luxury stuff. Liquor and tobacco
especially. You know Arthur Corbett?"
"Yeah, met him a few times at the regional confabs. Big distributor."
"Yep. He's one of those been putting stuff away since the '90s. One of his warehouses is at Brushy Lake."
Harold took a sip, put his glass down.
"We just might make it through this then."
He took a cigar case out of a shirt pocket.
"Smoke?"
"Don't mind if I do."
He took one of the slim cigarillos and they lit up. Bryan and Donald also produced smokes and lit them.
"Reggie, how much did they tell you about this deal?" asked Harold.
"You want another pair of eyes on a project," replied Reggie.
"Nothing about the nature of the project?"
"None at all."
"I didn't tell them much," Harold said. "The fewer people know details the better. Some think we're a little too independent as it is. But Phil knows the whole deal,
so he sent you with no briefing.
"We don't know - anyone says they do is a fool - how this is going to go. You know there are secrets we keep even from each other. You've got stuff at Brushy we and
probably no one outside knows about. So if we - or some other cell - is compromised there's a limit to what we can tell about the others.
"Got something new that only you and we should know about?" asked Reggie.
"Yep. Phil said he'd send you over, see what you thought. It's late to start anything today, it'll hold 'til tomorrow. You haven't been here since we finished this place,
I'll give you a tour."
As he spoke four more people entered. Three men and a woman, all close to if not in the under thirty category.
Two of the men were dressed like Harold and his sons, the woman was wearing a tan suede moto jacket over a black turtleneck with tight jeans tucked into calf-high boots that
matched the jacket. The third man was wearing what looked like a USAF MA-1 and jeans, with moderately expensive-looking cowboy boots. Aviators, thick frames instead of the
usual wire.
She got the figure for it, but a little dressy for out here.
She was almost as tall as Reggie and had long black hair tied back with a silver ring at the collar.
Not family, unless by marriage. See some Hispanic, maybe middle east or asian back there somewhere. Or Indian, American Indian.
"Reg, this is Blake Copeland," Harold indicated one guy with his a nod, "and Alex Duncan and Cassandra."
He didn't elaborate, but the name Alex rang a bell. Somewhere.
"Blake and Bill - you met him at the gate - are the security honchos. Usually one or the other is here and the other is on Wintertop."
He didn't mention Cassandra. Reggie saw she was packing, the black rig blended with the sweater but there was a nice-sized piece of artillery under the jacket.
A bulge on the top of a boot betrayed a knife.
Both boots. Reggie was intrigued.
Young woman, a real knockout, and armed to the teeth.
He figured if he needed to know something Harold would tell him.
"I'm gonna show Reggie around. You guys want to tag along?"
"No, we've got to get down to Kilo sector before dark," Blake replied. "I came up to let you know, we got an alarm that looks a little dodgy. I'll update
you later."
They left, taking Alex and Cassandra with them.
They drained their glasses and Daniel and Bryan departed on some business. Reggie followed Harold.
The tour of the maze took an hour or so and the sun was down to a small slice. Darkness would come quickly this time of year. He followed Harold downstairs.
"Time to call it a day," Harold said when they reached the entrance. "If you'll follow me I'll show you where your quarters are."
Harold was driving an old Dodge Power Wagon that Reggie estimated at mid-eighties. Like Scotty it had oversized tires and some dents and scratches.
Reggie followed him a short distance to another cluster of buildings about a quarter of a mile away.
"I've got you in the guest wing of my house," Harold said. "We've got time for another drink or two and some preliminary chatter."
Harold's house was big but not fancy. Reggie doubted he lived here full-time, as new as the setup was. It was sheathed in the same sheet metal as almost
all the other buildings. Reggie parked Scotty beside Harold's Power Wagon and followed him to the door.
Inside Reggie found himself in a large room with a stained concrete floor. To one side was a couple of couches accompanied by a half dozen chairs, the other
adjoined a partially open kitchen and dining area. Directly ahead was were two hallways about twenty feet apart.
"Let's grab a snort," Harold said, heading to a bar in the dining area.
Without asking he poured brandy into two glasses and handed one to Reggie. Reggie took it and followed him to the seating area.
Harold sat down in one of four chairs surrounding a coffee table and Reggie took one on the opposite side.
Harold took a sip of brandy and set his glass down. He picked up a small radio and pressed a button.
"What's up boss?" someone said.
"Could you get Mr. Maxwell's luggage to his quarters? It's in the green Chevy parked beside mine."
"Sure thing."
A woman appeared behind Harold. Reggie guessed she was in her early forties, pretty but not too pretty as he called it.
A large Persian-Siamese cat padded along behind her.
"Who's our guest, Harry?" she asked, sitting down in the chair beside him. The cat hopped into her lap and regarded Reggie with perhaps a mild interest. Or not.
"This is Reggie," Harold replied. "Reg, this is Julie. She's cleared for anything we talk about."
"Chivas is cleared too," Julie said, stroking the cat. "Nice to meet you at last, Harry's told me quite a bit about you."
Chivas must be the cat. Guess he's not likely to talk.
"Nothing good I hope," Reggie replied.
"Not a bit," she replied with a smile. "I'd be disappointed if Harry had any reputable acquaintences."
"I do my best."
Harold's wife had died a few years back and he hadn't remarried. Evidently Julie was something special to be cleared to the top.
"You haven't asked about Alex," Harold said, "so I'll save you the trouble. He's a holy terror like you. I asked him to come have a look-see at the
same time as you, in case you two feel like cooking up some extra meanness."
"Name rings a bell," Reggie said, "but I forget where from."
"You hear it some in Amarillo," said Harold. "If you're in the right places, which you usually are. He's a troubleshooter, gets around pretty good. I'm not surprised
you haven't met. Guys like you are in short supply."
"How'd you get the two of us here?" Reggie asked.
"Better you don't know," replied Harold. "Nah, first time in a while I've caught you both not tied up at once, wanted to get you together. Pulled some strings and
had some stuff rescheduled."
"He looks about my age," Reggie said.
"Yeah, about," Harold replied. "I noticed you eyeballing the young lady, maybe wondering how she figures in. I was about to fill you in, so you know what's up with
them.
"Her name is Cassandra, she's sixteen. I know she looks older. Being tall for a girl helps with that. She can't speak, and won't be separated from Alex.
"About two years ago Alex was on a raid on a black site - second in command to Gordon Williams. Nasty from what I understand - political prisoners, special ones
being held in a facility staffed by a Zulu battalion. You know how that works."
The Zulus were rejects even the ordinary rejects couldn't stomach. Most were barely functional mentally but some were diabolically intelligent. None had a shred of
conscience, remorse or any other human emotion. They were barely controllable at the best of times.
"There were about two dozen civilian types, doing the interrogations and the rest - about four hundred - were Zulus. Somehow we got enough good intelligence to plan
a raid. Place was in a patch of forest, a hundred acres or so. They hit them hard and fast with a dozen or so Rhinos and locked it down. Killed half the Zulus right
off and the rest gave up quick. Rounded up all the civilian types, the commander and some officers, and trussed them up for transport.
"The prisoners were another matter. About a hundred, little over, all in bad shape. Alex was helping get them out and into transport and found a girl, I don't want to
describe the shape she was in. Chained to a wall, when he freed her she clung like a spider on a bug and wouldn't let go. He got in his Rhino and took her to his place.
Cleaned her up and got some food in her and clean clothes on her. She calmed down but wouldn't talk. Or couldn't.
"She doesn't have any apparent injuries, physically, that would impair speech. She wrote her name and age. Fourteen.
"We believe she may be the daughter of a couple picked up during one of the sweeps they were doing after the Stilson affair. Guy named Gary Stevenson, involved with a small group in Kentucky
that was rounded up. He had a girlfriend believed to be Cassandra's mother. They both disappeared, her with them, into the gulags. We didn't find Stevenson or his
squeeze among the living. If they were buried on site they're still there - the Thunderclaw unit had to get out before they got a relief force there - so she's a bit
of a mystery.
"She may have told Alex more since then, but he's not too talkative about their relationship and that's all right all around."
Fourteen year old girl beaten, starved, gang-raped. To put pressure on her parents. Surprising she's even somewhat sane.
"Anyway, as I said, she refuses to be separated from him. Lives with him wherever he happens to be, goes on operations with him. And she can kill without batting an eye."
Who wouldn't be like that? If they didn't go catatonic.
"Shortly after Thunderclaw, Alex was exfiltrating and was stopped by the highway patrol. He'e been burned and knew it, which gave him an edge. Two cops in two cars
pulled him over just after he left the safe house. One of the cops had him out ready for a pat-down, but before he could make his move Cassandra got out of the car and
started walking back towards the other cop.
"Where it gets funny, the other cop hollered at her to stop. Alex says 'she can't hear you, she's deaf' and the cop hesitates and she gets close enough and jumps on
him and shoves a knife clear through his neck. Alex easily disabled the other one and they went on their way."
"That is funny," Reggie said. "She's not deaf, just can't talk?"
"Yeah. Anyway that's the story on that. I told Alex I'd apprise you of the essentials. Whatever else he wants to talk about is up to him."
"Got it. I'd heard some bits of it, didn't make the connection."
"Tomorrow," Harold said, "we'll go back over to Wintertop. Alex and Cassandra will go with us, and Bill will be going back as well. Meanwhile let me give you a quick
sketch of what we're looking at doing.
"We're building a small special ops force, eventually we plan for two hundred or so. Some seasoned specialists in various work, usually operate in small cells. Depending
on the mission the cells could be as small as two or three men, but average is likely to be four to six, call it five average. We've got about two dozen candidates so far, all
committed to move up here when I give the word.
"I'd like to get you and Alex go put in your two cents. Of course it'll be available for anything you might want to use it for, so if you have any suggestions along those lines
put'em in. Tomorrow I'll take you over to look at the site."
"Who all is in on this?" Reggie asked.
"For now just us and Silent Sands," Harold replied. "You've been over there, know Steve Harris. They're small and tight like us, no leaks."
"Just you and Steve and Alex and me?"
"Steve's honcho - Derek Sullivan - is the only other one over there that's privy. Here all of my boys and Blake are it. And Julie and Chivas."
"That serious?" Reggie asked.
"Potentially, I'd say. Why I asked you both in. For now there's no need for anyone else to know. Eventually there will be more people involved but that's for later."
"I expect dinner will be ready in about an hour," Julie said. "If you guys want to have a look around before dark, I'll check on it and make sure your room is ready. Did you
have his luggage brought in?"
"Yeah, I told Al to see to it," Harold replied.
"Cool," Julie said. "I'll check on it and see how dinner is coming."
"Let's take a walk around," Harold said.
Reggie followed him outside. There were a couple of cottages about twenty yards behind the house, with brick sidewalks leading to the patio at the back of the house.
"Al and his wife live in one and Mrs. Bittinger and her daughter live in the other. They live here and take care of the house. There's always a couple dozen guys around to help
and provide security. At least one of my boys is always over here."
Further back was a row of three identical buildings, newer than the others. A jeep of Vietnam-era vintage was parked in front of the wide rollup door on one.
"Just finished those a few months ago," Harold said. "Once we get the road over to Wintertop finished we've got a lot of stuff to move. Let me show you."
The edge of the clearing was a few yards behind the buildings. Through an open gate Reggie saw a road running through the trees, downhill. Wintertop was over a quarter mile
in that direction.
"It's in decent condition," Harold said, "and we can drive back and forth when it's dry. We're still a long way from it being all-weather. I'll show you tomorrow."
Back in the house dinner for three was on the table. Big boneless pork chops, broccoli, new potatoes with a cheese sauce, yeast rolls. Big pitcher of strong sweet tea.
Delicious as usual.
"Breakfast at 0600," Harold said as they finished. "See you."
After dinner Reggie spent a couple of hours working before going to bed. Harold had given him a password to access their internal network so he could communicate with his home base.
Or wherever else he needed to. He pinged Carol first.
hi love how you doin
good you
hafta ask wywh
me too
hows it look
dunno yet maybe 2 days
stay safe lovu
roger wilco you too
He and Carol had both tried to forestall the inevitable for as long as they could but their efforts were doomed from the start. He knew it when she jumped off Bill Sawyer's jeep
before it was completely stopped. Vintage MA-1 jacket over khaki BDUs, Ray-Bans with black frames just like his and a headband with a southwest native American design holding a mane of ink-black hair under a modicum of control.
Denims and ostrich boots completed the getup.
Each pretended to not be fascinated by the other for a while but before long gave it up. Failure had never felt so good.
He opened the small fridge and found the expected. He popped the top on a cold one and returned to his computer.
He checked the bulletin boards of several outfits and found nothing major, then looked over a summary of the day's news according to the
government.
A firefight between government agents and a domestic terrorists group in Pennsylvania interested him. The location suggested it might be a group he was familiar with.
If so it would be interesting to compare the news reports with what was on the boards once it was sorted out.
Finishing his beer he brushed his teeth and took a shower before bed. He fell asleep almost immediately.
He had set the alarm for 0400 and was dressed and ready for action by 0500. He plugged a coffee cart into the machine and turned it on, then opened the outside door.
The room had a small porch with a couple of patio chairs and a table. Looking down the side of the wing he saw that each of the other three rooms had a similar patio.
Eight guest rooms. Alex didn't join us for dinner, wonder where he's staying.
Him and Cassandra.
The coffee finished, he poured a cup and sat down at he table and lit a cigar. At 0540 he put on his rig. The pair of Glock G40s in 10mm were in nylon vertical shoulder
holsters, a dual magazine holder on each side of the belt. Being attacked inside one of the Aurora enclaves was about as unlikely as just about every other thing that
could go wrong but he was never unarmed. He went to the living area. Harold was in he dining area drinking coffee.
"Alex should be here in a few minutes," he said. "I put him and Cassandra in one of the cabins."
Reggie poured another cup of coffee and sat down just in time to hear the chime that announced an entry at the front door. Bill had arrived, dressed much like Reggie.
The dual pistol rig was common for everyday wear.
"Alex and Cassandra are on the way," he announced and went to the counter to get a cup of coffee.
"Are Alex and Cassandra riding with you?" Harold asked.
"Yeah," Bill replied. "We don't have a fixed flight plan."
"You want to ride with me or drive your rig?" Harold asked Reggie.
"I'm good riding," Reggie replied.
The door monitor sounded and a couple of minutes Alex and Cassandra arrived. They were dressed the same as they had been the day before. Most of the people
Reggie encountered had a favorite outfit that seldom varied. Alex poured coffee for him and Cassandra and they joined Harold and Reggie at the table.
"They should be getting up about now over at Wintertop," Harold said. "It's about twenty minutes, so as soon as everybody's juiced good we'll go."
After finishing their coffee they went outside. Bill had a Ford F-350, an early 2020s model. Newer than most vehicles in use by the underground.
Alex and Cassandra got in with Bill and Reggie got in with Harold. Harold fired up the big diesel and backed out of the parking slot. The road to the edge of the clearing
descended just past the gate. Ahead Reggie could see it covered a series of hills, some rather steep.
"Still can't drive after a rain," Harold said. "It'll be another month before we get the dips smoothed out. All right when it' dry."
At the bottom of the second hill some construction equipment was at work. A big excavator and bulldozer, a couple of dump trucks.
"We're having to raise it ten feet in places, anything over ten we build a bridge. There'll be a couple."
The approach to Wintertop was a gradual rise of about a quarter mile. The developed area was about forty acres, several dozen buildings occupied the center area, a network
connecting them. The center was dominated by a three story building surrouded by several smaller ones. The parking lot had quite a few vehicles.
HQ I reckon. Must be close to two hundred feet long. Wonder what all is in there?
Some of the resistance enclaves had a lot of money, and this seemed to be one. And obviously they kept secrets.
Harold parked in front of the big building and they got out and waited for the others to join them and walked to the entrance.
Inside they followed Harold up the stairs to the third floor. Reggie had never seen a building constructed by any of the rebels with an elevator. It made sense,
anyone worth having should be able to climb stairs once in a while and it was one less thing to worry about needing maintenance or becoming non-functional in a time
when repairs might not be readily available.
From the third floor landing they traversed a long corridor to a glass double door, like those used in office buildings. A young man and woman stood inside, green shirts and
khaki pants and black wellingtons. Big auto pistols in hip holsters.
"Welcome back," the woman said as she held the left-hand door. The man held the other.
"Thanks Sandy, Matt," Harold said. "Got some guests. Reggie, Alex, Cassandra these folks are Sandra and Matthew Mitchell. Herbert's two oldest, you know him I believe.
Reggie does anyway. Don't know if Alex has. Herb's in Amarillo a lot, usually here when he isn't."
Answers that question, siblings or married.
"We haven't met," Alex said. "But I hear the name occasionally down there. Good to know you."
"Likewise," Matt said.
Sandy giving Cassandra an examination. Women do that more than men, some reason.
He wondered if she and Matt had been apprised of the situation.
"Will you be needing anything?" Sandy asked.
"Probably not," Harold replied. "Unless someone raided the bar. You might have someone scare up some lunch about 1100, we'll be working here most of the day."
"Got it," Sandy said. "We'll be next door if you need us."
"Thanks. Holler if we come under attack."
Sandy and Matt exited and Harold showed them to another pair of doors. Inside was a large table with about twenty chairs - Reggie didn't bother counting. A functional
buffet along one wall terminated in a decent sized wet bar.
"Might as well get set up," Harold said heading to the bar. "Self-service, wine and beer in the fridge."
The fridge was conveniently a few feet away from the liquor shelves, and Alex opened the door. He took a bottle of Arbor Mist peach chardonnay and held it up. Cassandra nodded
and he poured her a glass. The others were finished by then and he poured a glass of E&J peach brandy for himself.
Harold took the end seat and Bill sat on the first seat on his right. Reggie took the next one while Alex and Cassandra sat on the other side. They put their tablets
table and turned them on.
"All right guys," Harold said. "Here's what we have. Emerald Ridge covers one of four sections of land. The other three, two are down in the flood plain. McCormick Farms,
the edges just touching the ridge. The other two sections are up here in the hills. The one to the south is almost completely undeveloped, just a hunting camp on Kennon Lake,
about two dozen members hunt and fish up there. Over half of them are part of our Emerald Ridge or other freeholds. This sector we keep under close watch.
"As you can see, it's pretty easy to hide things here and damned hard for them to be found by outsiders. About six months ago I was over at Silent Sands. Steve had a visitor,
Bill Garrison. You know him?"
"Can't say I do," Reggie replied. "Alex?"
"Heard of him," Alex replied. "Never met him."
"He keeps a low profile," Harold said. "Silver Lake freehold. He's fabulously rich, billions. And he's not on any billionaire list. How he manages that is a long story,
and complex. On top of that he has more connections than probably anyone. I'm talking about connections useful for acquiring things and getting things done.
"He has a lot of international connections and can get stuff across borders undetected, including people. Especially people."
"Seems like a handy fellow to know," Reggie said. "Especially if you're planning some kind of special ops force."
"Exactly," Harold said. "He's putting up a lot of money - not that that much is needed - and we'll be using his ability to move people and things quickly on short notice
and without being detected."
"You figure on doing a bit of that?" Alex asked.
"Quite a bit. You know about Bill's operation?"
"Not much. Supposed to be big."
"It is. His personal guard is two platoons of special forces, very special forces. He calls them the Ninja and Rangers. Fifty-four men in each, each man worth at least
a handful of most of what the government can send against them. Even military."
"Impressive," Alex said. "I suppose the names suggest their capabilities."
"They do. The Rangers are ex-military, all special forces - Seals, Rangers, Marine Raiders - and the Ninjas are all of Japanese ancestry. Most have some military experience
but it's not required for them. They're all Sojum Kache adepts."
Alex looked at Reggie, who shrugged.
"Sojim Kache is some exotic martial art I hadn't heard of either," Harold said, "until recently. And I'm still not sure I understand it. In fact I'm pretty sure I don't.
Bill has been into that stuff about all his life, and knows a lot of people. Essentially ninjutsu to the next level. They train agents, prepare them for special missions.
Some of the guys working out of here will be, some already are, training there. Anyway they're supposed to be some holy terrors.
"As I said, we're looking to set up small cells for missions, have the equipment and supplies they need here ready to go, and do insertions and extractions."
"By air?" Alex asked.
"Most missions will require some air support," Harold replied. "We'll have some aircraft here and access to more. Helicopters will almost certainly be essential in some
operations."
"You're going to have a couple hundred personnel here?" Reggie asked.
"At least, but eventually a lot of them will be out on missions. One of the reasons we're fixing the road over to Redtop. Where you saw the equipment, we're building a road
off to the west. There's a good place for a resident training facility there, out of sight if you don't know to look for it."
"Looks pretty good to me," Alex said. "What kind of input are you looking for from us?"
"If I could get you to help with training," Harold said, "I'd like that. But I know you guys are in demand elsewhere. What I would like is some recommendations if you have
any handy, and have you look over the plans."
He handed one each of two folders to Alex and Reggie.
"Take a look at these and see what you think."
Reggie opened his, noticing that Alex positioned his so that Cassandra could see it. They spent the next fifteen minutes or so studying the contents while Harold worked on his
computer. When they were finished they waited for Harold to continue.
"A major problem," Harold said, "and you already know this, is that there is not much of a plan for what some of us call the Firelance option. We want to put together an organization capable
of carrying out its objectives. If it comes to that, and the High Council decides to implement it we'll want to have something ready."
"Infiltration and assassination," said Reggie. "They're already doing it to us, trying to anyway. I can see it coming to that."
"There seems to be some reluctance," Alex said. "I don't know what it will take to get them to make that leap."
"Neither do I," said Harold. "There are some realists on both sides that get it, but committing to getting their hands dirty, bloody..."
"No more Mr. Nice Guy time is coming," Alex said. "Being ready to move well before then is a good idea."
"No doubts here, obviously," said Harold. "I don't know how much to involve anyone else right off. We want to keep it tight as possible.
| Matthew (Matt) Mitchell | Herb Mitchell's son |
| Sandra (Sandy) Mitchell | Herb Mitchell's daughter |
| Derek Sullivan | Silent Sands SIC |
| Steve Harris | Silent Sands chief |
| Reggie Maxwell | |
| John McCormick | Harold's father |
| Harold McCormick | |
| Julie | Harold's mistress |
| William (Bill) McCormick | security co-chief |
| Donald (Don) McCormick | |
| Daniel (Dan) McCormick | with Harold and Reggie |
| Michael (Mike) McCormick | |
| Bryan (Bry) McCormick | with Harold and Reggie |
| Emerald Ridge | the McCormick freehold |
| Cassandra | Alex's sidekick |
| Alex Duncan | badass troubleshooter |
| BSojim Kache | martial art |