Jackson
Pinedale wasn't on any signs. Leaving Centerville the first sign indicated that Jonesboro was 92 miles away and it was 26 miles to Lewisbury. New Market was at 41 miles and
Munford was at 60. Pinedale was supposed to be about seven miles.
"There's a bypass coming off 42," Sam had told him. "Hard to see as you're going around a curve but it's right at seven miles. It goes through the town about a mile and a half and rejoins
42. What's left of the old town is on that bypass but you want to stay on 42. The coordinates are in your 'pad and it'll beep as you approach."
The Commpad beeped. Check mirror. Nothing. Slow and pull over.
He zoomed the image on the Commpad. The red dot was him and the green one was his destination. Ahead to the right.
Something that was aparently a gas station a long time ago was there. What was left of three gas pumps, so old they hadn't even been
worth scavenging. Building could fall in the next five minutes.
He looked a the map, centered his location. About two hundred yards right. A road was visible just ahead.
Jackson kept his vehicle on the shoulder and moved forward, took the turn.
There.
The average passerby woudn't pay any attention. Just a white shopping bag hanging on one of the ubiquitous
sumac trees but there was a yellow one on another nearby tree. The things grew like weeds everywhere.
He crossed a plank bridge over a ditch not much over ten feet wide. The open area ahead was probably about five or six
acres, surrounded by woods. Several old mobile homes, a couple of sheds, a couple of newer buildings of the common
sheet metal over post frames. Old vehicles here and there.
He scanned the area, looking for signs of activity. The Commpad buzzed.
'Just to the right of straight ahead'.
Just to the right of straight ahead was one of the old mobile homes. He tapped the button to acknowledge. The door of the mobile home opened.
He eased his vehicle forward through the grass and stopped in front of the mobile home. A man was standing on the crude porch.
The Commpad buzzed, he looked down.
'How are you?'
"About 31%", he typed and hit the SEND button.
The man on the porch gave a thumbs-up. He killed the engine and got out.
"Eric Barrett," his earpiece said. Minerva was watching through a drone. "We've got you covered."
Jackson unzipped his jacket to be safe, making the 1911 in the crossdraw holster acessible. He approached the porch.
"Hop aboard," the man said, turning towards the door.
Trusting. Or not - there's probably a couple of rifles aimed at me. At least.
He followed the guy who was apparently Eric Barrett through the door. Inside was a different world. Only sixteen feet wide - the limitation of
an old mobile home - but eighty feet long well-appointed. He'd seen million dollar penthouses that didn't look better.
"Nice," Jackson said.
"Better than some places I've been," the man said. "I'm Eric by the way. I imagine you've been in some less luxurious places."
"A few," Jackson replied.
"We bought the whole forty-something acres some years ago," Eric said. "When the trouble started we locked it down good - thirty or so operators around us,
keeping an eye on what comes and goes. This was an old trailer park. We gutted some of them and reinforced the shells, sprayed insulation, access to
the tunnels. There's twelve of them, look like junk on the outside, linked by tunnels to three big underground chambers. The rest is camouflage. Want
a drink?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
"C'mon back. This is my office and where I am to be found most of the time."
The place was mostly an open area about thirty by sixteen feet. There was a door at each end,
judging from the dimensions each led to another partitioned area. He followed Eric to the indicated door.
Another room, about twenty feet or so deep. Large table along one wall. Several computers and other equipment. Wet bar at one end.
"You good with Beam?" Eric asked
"Black?"
"Of course. Things ain't that bad. Grab a seat."
Most of the larger outfits and some smaller ones that had the money had laid in stocks of liquor and other desirable items. Jackson had a pretty good stash and knew a few
people who did.
There were only two seats - identical office chairs by the table. He sat down. Eric brought over a couple of glasses of whiskey.
"Smoke?"
"Got one," Jackson replied, taking out a cigar case. He wasn't surprised when Eric produced a cigarette case and lit up a gold-tipped cigarette.
Infused with cannabis, a lot of people smoked them sometimes to put an edge on. Jackson had tried it but hadn't decided on whether it was worthwhile. He lit
a Swisher mini and got it going before taking a sip of whiskey.
"You guys are hid pretty good here," Jackson said. "I didn't know about you until a few months ago and that was probably because somebody screwed up."
"Probably," Eric replied. "Until last week there was no need. Although I suspect in your position you know a lot of things you aren't supposed to."
"Part of my job. I filed it away to look into later and hadn't gotten around to it. Then a couple of days ago the Old Man called me up while I was taking a couple
of days off to recover from my last job. Said get up here and do it quietly."
"I heard about that," said Eric. "How's the arm? Seems to be working well enough."
"Twas but a flesh wound," Jackson replied, "albeit a deep one. They laid down a couple hundred rounds and all but one missed me but it took out a pretty
good chunk."
"Not that Syracuse wouldn't be happy to keep them," said Eric, "but they're burned. We've got a few days to work with but we need to get them out.
And this was the best thing anyone at the Council could come up with."
A window on the monitor behind Eric began flashing and the speakers emitted a series of beeps. Eric turned to look.
"Ellie," he said, clicking a button on the screen. "She's been eagerly anticipating your arrival."
Yeah. And they didn't tell me she was here. Old man must have known.
He had last seen Eleanor Montgomery a little over a year ago. Cartersville, little town in the middle of nowhere. Like Pinedale. And like Pinedale it
was near the location of a Mike Charlie unit. An affilliate anyway, a couple dozen hard-core types that had had a little too much success. Eleanor had
been with one of they squads they dropped in to cover the evacuation.
Of course he knew, dammit.
She strolled into the room.
"Howya doing, guys?"
Eleanor was as he remembered her. Taller than average, barely an inch shorter than him. Willowy figure not concealed by her outfit - a white satin MA-1 jacket
over a black turtleneck and olive cargo pants, moderately expensive-looking cowboy boots. Dark auburn hair now in a ponytail halfway down her back. Cool almost smile.
Not falling for it. Known you too long girl.
The almost smile became a complete one as she closed the distance and embraced him. He held her tightly, one of a few women he never
worried about hurting by holding her tight, even if he had cracked a couple of ribs when he hauled her out of a burning and collapsing
building as the Hickory Ridge joint became history.
"Later," he whispered. "We seem to have business."
She reluctantly disengaged.
"I need a drink anyway," Eleanor said and went to the bar. "You guys need anything?"
Eric and Jackson joined her and poured some more whiskey. Eleanor chose one of the Arbor Mist bottles.
"Grab a seat," Jackson said. "I'm tired of sitting."
"Always the gentleman," Eleanor said, sitting down.
"You know me better than that," said Jackson. "I didn't figure on Eric offering his seat."
"Didn't expect you so soon," Eric said. "Let's go out where it's comfortable."
The large open area had a group of chairs around a coffee table. Or a cocktail table. Glasses of whiskey and wine made it more of a
cocktail table.
If you consider Arbor Mist wine.
Eric lit a cigar. Jackson didn't feel the need just now. Eleanor took out a cigarette case and extracted one and lit up.
Gold tip. Why's she smoking a goldie, especially this early?
The gold-tipped cigarettes contained a mild blend of cannabis and tobacco. Jackson had tried it and was ambivalent - he experienced the sharpening
of senses and supposed it could be useful but had never tried it on an operation. Those were for keeps.
"Alright," Eric said. "Operation Yellow Rhino. Extract the members of Mike Charlie 17 and destroy anything that can't be moved.
There's eighteen personnel inside and they'll have already done most of the destruction - we make sure the place is sanitized. There are about a dozen
operators in the area that want to stay and we want them to - how much help they'll be is questionable but it is what it is."
Jackson looked questioningly at Eleanor.
"Eleanor will be with an observation unit. Sorry Ellie, we need you there. When they hit the place we'll have be on top of it - you'll be online with
Steelwind and Dancing Fox - if we have to call in an airstrike that will be your job."
"Got it," Eleanor replied. "You guys put on a good show. And..."
"Don't say it," Eric said. "No fun and games here. We need those guys out as clean and simple as we can, and I trust that the reasons are obvious."
"You know me better than that," Eleanor replied. "It shall be as you say."
Eric looked annoyed.
Eleanor does that to some people. Including me sometimes.
"Ellie will make sure that if there's any trouble our guys get in and out with the goods no matter what," Eric said. " Your job is to make sure they're prepared because you're not
gonna be in their either. You choose the squad leaders and make sure they're prepared."
"Anything else?" Jackson asked.
"Not at this time," Eric replied. "You have ten days to prepare. We're picking up chatter that indicates they be in for a shakeup of some kind. What kind we don't know
but we know that the situation is at present and would like to keep it that way. Ten days is pushing it but we don't want any fuckups."
"Keep us advised on that chatter," Jackson said. "We can do it in ten days but no surprises."
"There won't be. If necessary we'll scrub it before we'll risk losing you. Won't like it but that's the way it is."
Nice to know. And I believe him. I wouldn't want to be him having to make those decisions.
He looked at Eleanor. Two blinks, then one, then three.
Got it. Your place in fifteen.
She knows where my place is? I just got here. Somebody got some explaining to do.
"You're in Unit Three," Eric said. "I had your stuff moved in. Room 4."
"How'd Eleanor know where I am?" Jackson asked.
"She's there too.
What? Not gonna ask. Seems she has some explaining to do.
And he didn't ask why I asked.
Unit Three was a couple of hundred yards away. The tunnels were comfortably wide and tall - about six by eight feet, masonry block walls, concrete floor, well-lighted.
Openings at the base of the walls for drainage.
Dry too. Somebody did a pretty good job on this.
Unit Three had only four rooms. It looked to be about the same size as Eric's offices. A central room with a hall on either side. He went down the hall on the right.
The first door had a number.
3. Probably the next one is 4.
It was. The ones on the other side were probably numbered 1 and 2.
He moved on and opened the door to room 4. His luggage was there.
Maybe I should get in a habit of locking my vehicles even when I'm in friendly territory.
The room was about twelve by fifteen and set up like a bedroom but there was plenty of room for a desk
with a computer. He guessed that the computer was the standard unit for the operation. A door opened to
a bathroom shared with what was probably room 3.
Why do I suspect Eleanor is in #3?.
Take a nap? I need one.
Not that short.
He looked at his watch. Thirty minutes max. Get up and unlock the door.
Eleanor. He moved back to let her enter. She hugged him again and he held her for a long time.
She was wearing the same outfit - Jackson had been planning to take a shower and change clothes when he woke up.
Apparently Eleanor had the same idea.
"We're sharing a bathroom," she said. "I don't know how the hot water situation is - you want to go first?"
"We could save time and water," he said. "It seems big enough."
"Meet you there in a few minutes," Eleanor replied.
The rooms were luxurious. Jackson wondered who was paying the bills. Eleanor was still asleep. His Commpad hadn't made a noise
all night. Then it buzzed.
Shouldn't have thought about it.
He picked it up and checked the messages.
Breakfast 0700. Meeting 0800.
"Already?" Eleanor was awake.
Jackson held up the 'pad.
"What time.. nevermind."
The 'pad always had a time/date display in a corner of the screen no matter what else it was doing - knowing the time was always
important.
"We have time for another shower," Jackson said.
He brushed his teeth first and knew Eleanor would do the same. No sense in getting toothpaste or shaving cream on you after a shower.
They made it just before 0700. Jackson could fool around if he wanted - they were always coming to him and never the other way around - but
he respected Eric and didn't want to make any of the participants uneasy. And it was important. He knew a little about Unit 17 and they didn't
need any of them being taken. And sanitizing the place was as essential as getting the personnel out.
A buffet table outside Eric's office held a generous buffet considering that it was for three people. Jackson piled a half dozen sausage links
and a couple of slices of toast on a plate and set it on the table, then poured a cup of coffee. Eleanor provisioned a plate and joined him.
Eric came out as they were eating.
"I've got Harry MacArthur here in about an hour," Eric said. "He's in charge of your crew. Twelve men vetted by Darkstar but you have the final say on
all. I've got a stick with their dossiers for you to look at."
"Harry going with us?" asked Jackson.
"You, Harry, and Eleanor will be standing off while they `