Bringer Unleashed (Logan Bringer Series Book 2) Page 20

  I felt both productive and more at ease by the time I met the tactical team that would work with Sanders and me.

  When Sanders finally showed up, our team and I were still in an underground armory, one level beneath the building’s public parking garage, inspecting the variety of weaponry assigned to the group.

  The armory hosted not only weapons, but also an assortment of transportation options. There were the traditional black cars and SUVs with tinted glass that were frequently depicted in Hollywood films and on television, as well as some military-grade vehicles, including armored troop transports, each emblazoned with the FBI insignia.

  I had never even realized that the FBI had anything quite like the armory I was standing in. Suffice to say, it impressed me.

  “Hey, Sanders, over here,” I said, waving to her.

  She stopped short of us and took a moment to observe the array of weapons laid out on tables.

  “All of these are for the team?” she asked, handing me a cold bottled sports drink.

  “Thanks. And are you kidding?” I countered, opening the bottle. “Those are just mine. You guys have to go get your own.”

  “Figured as much,” she said.

  “Bringer, you’ve got the best arsenal in town, my friend,” said one of our team members. “Fireballs? Hell, yeah.”

  “Sanders, welcome to team Alpha,” I said.

  “Team Alpha?” she asked. “Oh, that’s original. Did you come up with that, Bringer?”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie teams. The military wanted to keep the naming simple, and since we’re merely ‘assisting’ them in responding to the EMP matter, they had the final say,” I replied. “Apparently, they’re still as much against creativity as when I was in. I personally would’ve preferred team Fireball for us.”

  Sanders nodded.

  “Let me introduce you,” I offered. “Lt. Kris Holt is our team’s military liaison; she’s an accomplished member of Delta Force and is invaluable in case we locate the EMP weapon.”

  “Hello, Agent Sanders,” Holt greeted. “But, just to clarify, the version stolen is technically classified, and registered, as a non-nuclear EMP device.”

  “That’s used as a weapon,” I said, looking squarely at Sanders.

  She pursed her lips to curtail a smile.

  “Moving on,” I said. “Our fireball fan is Mackie Snow, an FBI sniper. He prefers to be called Mackie. Next, Kevin Rain and Dalia Hunter are both FBI tactical entry specialists. And, finally, Reedus Irons is from the NSA, specializing in tactical combat and surveillance.”

  I gestured to Sanders. “Everyone, this is FBI Agent Megan Sanders, team co-leader. More importantly, she’s my partner.”

  Sanders gave me a warm, yet fleeting, look of appreciation before greeting and shaking hands with each team member.

  After Sanders donned a tactical vest and pocketed additional ammo for her duty pistol, we returned upstairs to the command center.

  The command center looked like something NASA maintained at a launch facility. Displays and rows of tables with computer stations filled the room, each location manned by a technician.

  I looked to my left at a bank of wall-mounted screens, three rows of four that displayed various news broadcasts. I noticed that one screen showed a news interview with my friend Paul.

  “What the—” I said, walking over to turn up the volume on the displays.

  “…feel it’s necessary to counter this politically charged PEP rally with a conference of House and Senate moderates from both parties who want to come together for the good of the country,” Paul said.

  “Yes, but Congressman, don’t you think this could also be viewed as merely a desperate political stunt to try to divert attention from the more popular Freedom Party efforts?” asked the interviewer, Joe Scarborne of Central News Network. “After all, the Freedom Party polls very high among Americans.”

  Paul didn’t appear amused. “I appreciate that some might feel very strongly about the Freedom Party and the energy of many of its members, Joe,” he said. “However, I know for a fact that Americans are being swept up in both fear and fervor over recent events, and it’s important that balanced, diverse views are heard and considered. I’m trying to build a coalition of senators and representatives, both Republicans and Democrats, who’ll thoughtfully consider our options before leaping blindly forward into potentially dangerous legal and legislative waters. For example, a recent legislative effort by Freedom Party members to further strengthen and centralize presidential powers seems both reckless and potentially dangerous to our federal government’s delicate mechanisms of checks and balances.”

  “Some have referred to you and your peers as obstructionists for blocking legislation that many view as essential to protect the public from recent escalating telekinetic terrorist threats,” Joe said.

  “I prefer to think of it less as obstructionism and more as observing sensible legislative process,” Paul said. “At the very least, multiple views should be heard and considered before rushing to pass hasty legislation.”

  “Do you have any idea how many members of Congress are planning to attend your rally, Congressman?”

  Paul nodded. “Thus far, approximately eighty House members and another thirty or so senators have committed, including Vice President Spade, who has been a refreshingly steady voice in the Senate during recent debates.”

  “Some political insiders have suggested that Vice President Spade is on the political outs with President Graydon,” Joe said. “There have been unconfirmed reports that he’s no longer invited to many closed door meetings with the President. In fact, leading up to Senator Conway’s abduction, there was speculation that the President might replace Spade with Senator Conway on the ticket for Graydon’s presidential reelection campaign.”

  Oustanding, I thought. As if we needed any more pressure to find the bastard.

  “Congressman, Central News has received unconfirmed reports that an EMP weapon has recently been stolen from a military storage facility,” Joe said. “Can you confirm that for us?”

  “Really? Well, I’m afraid you’d need to consult with the Justice Department or Defense Department on that, Joe,” Paul replied.

  “No time for TV, Bringer,” Sanders said. “Hey, isn’t that Congressman Criswell?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “…really shouldn’t speculate on how the President chooses to conduct his future campaigns,” Paul continued. “I’m focused on returning balanced, deliberative tones to both the Senate and the House.”

  “What’s going on?” Sanders asked.

  “It sounds like Paul’s marshalling politicians to counter the Freedom Party,” I replied.

  She whistled. “That sounds like political suicide to me; like standing in front of a tidal wave, really.”

  “Maybe, but if anyone has even a remote chance, it’s Paul,” I said. “If it were me, I’d probably just end up shoving a lot of fireballs into faces.”

  “Ah, so more of an Emperor Nero approach, then,” she said.

  “Bringer, Sanders, we’ve got something,” Wainright called from across the room.

  Wainright and Tevin stood before a huge screen before the command center that displayed a topographical map of the eastern part of the U.S.

  “Got a lead on the EMP weapon?” I asked.

  “No, not yet,” Tevin replied. “But we’ve logged two recent camera images that flagged positive for facial recognition on Sam Welder. He’s changed vehicles and is currently driving a brown Suburban with tinted windows. The vehicle is registered to a florist based out of Montclair, Virginia. It’s likely stolen, but local authorities are confirming that now.”

  “Any sign of Conway?” Sanders asked.

  “Not yet, but our best guess is that he’s being detained in the Suburban,” Tevin replied.

  “Sirs,” said one of the technicians sitting before a nearby terminal. “The Virginia Highway Patrol has located an abandoned bl
ack van believed to be the one driven by Welder. It’s located near an I-95 service road.”

  “Mobilize resources to blanket the I-95 corridor as far south as Richmond,” Wainright ordered. “I want immediate air and ground coverage. We’re not letting him trek all the way across the country.”

  “Bringer, Sanders,” Tevin prompted. “Stay close to your team and keep everyone on ready status. And you’d all better pack a go-bag just in case we have to relocate you to a forward holding position. We’re also readying Bravo and Charlie teams.”

  Sanders and I headed straight for the armory to join up with our team.

  Chapter 23

  Despite the enterprising lead, our team had remained on standby for twenty-four hours, during which time the trail for Welder went cold. Regardless of Tevin’s ability to bring one of their intelligence satellites into use to comb the east coast, thus far we’d failed to even locate the brown Suburban that Welder was last seen driving.

  Maybe he had ditched it already and was in another vehicle. It seemed to take forever for the NSA’s software to scan what had to be hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of cameras from Washington, D.C. to as far south as Florida and as far west as Georgia.

  “What about using military drones to help in the search?” I asked Sanders, who had just sat down after retrieving some fresh coffee for us.

  “Thought of that already,” she replied. “Tevin said the military has deployed available drones to scour the country, seeking their lost EMP device. Hell, we’re lucky the NSA was able to retain use of a satellite to search for Welder.”

  “The big PEP rally is tomorrow,” I said. “And Conway’s going to miss it.”

  “You really like saying PEP rally, don’t you?” Sanders asked.

  “Hey, I was trying to be serious there.”

  “Well, you’re right, of course. If something doesn’t break soon, Conway’s going to miss a lot of things,” Sanders said. “That’s even if he’s still alive.”

  “You see, the thing I don’t get about this whole situation is, why take Conway in the first place?” I asked.

  “He’s only one of the most powerful politicians on Capitol Hill, including one of the heads of the Freedom Party, and a close personal friend and advisor to the President,” Sanders said. “Isn’t that more than enough?”

  I rubbed at my forehead. “Yeah, yeah, I get that he’s all important and everything. What I mean is what good does taking him actually do anyone? The President’s still going to make tough decisions, and we’ve seen how the Freedom Party and their PEP program is barreling right along without him.”

  “Hell, Conway might even be more of a figurehead as a captive than he was in front of the cameras,” I continued. “If it’s for propaganda, nobody’s taken responsibility, and if it’s for money, there haven’t been any ransom demands.”

  Sanders stared at me. “Yeah, I actually thought about that last part, too. This definitely isn’t the typical kidnapping case.”

  I pondered further on what Sanders had said, and then spent the better part of the afternoon playing cards in the ready room with Mackie, Rain, and Hunter while Sanders stood by in the command center.

  Around eight o’clock that evening, I rejoined my team in the armory to make another review of our equipment and the two vehicles that we had equipped to use upon activation.

  “Anybody want to tell me why there’s a cooler full of sports drinks in the back of this SUV?” Hunter asked. “Are we going to the lake or something?”

  “That cooler’s mine,” I said. “You can get your own.”

  Mackie took him aside and whispered something to him that I couldn’t hear, but I saw Hunter nod and then give me a curious look.

  A few minutes after we started our equipment review, each of our smartphones received text messages.

  “Finally. We’re deploying,” Mackie said.

  “Bringer!” called Sanders as she ran across the bay toward us. “Ready the vehicles!”

  I waited until she was within conversational earshot.

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “The airport,” she replied. “We found Welder.”

  “The airport?” Mackie asked. “They tracked Welder to the airport?”

  “No, the vehicles will be loaded onto a military cargo plane that’s waiting for us,” she replied. “They got a solid hit on Welder’s location, but it’s in Hawkinsville, Georgia.”

  “Where the hell is that?” I asked.

  “The middle of nowhere, actually,” she replied. “You’ll see soon enough. Let’s get our bags loaded and get going!”

  * * *

  By the time we touched down at Robins Air Force Base, unloaded the vehicles, and got on the road to Hawkinsville, it was almost eleven o’clock.

  Sanders briefed us on the road, using a secure radio frequency to speak to the remaining team members, who trailed us in the other vehicle.

  “State and local FBI agents are establishing a discreet perimeter at a five-mile radius while waiting for us to arrive. We’re trying to keep a lid on this, prevent the press from finding out, to avoid tipping off the suspects, though nobody should expect that to hold for very long,” she said. “Welder is supposedly held up in a small complex of three buildings. The complex once operated as a sheet metal manufacturing plant, though it’s been primarily used for extended merchandise storage for the past three years. It’s currently owned by Blevins, Inc., a plumbing parts supplier.”

  “Well, I hope they’re insured,” I said.

  Mackie and Irons both chuckled sardonically.

  “Remember, priority one is safely retrieving Conway,” Sanders advised. “Apprehending suspects is optional only.”

  Really?

  That was a first since Sanders and I had worked together. Normally, live suspects are the order of the day.

  I looked sidelong at Sanders.

  “Not my call,” she said. “That comes from the top.”

  During the drive, we reviewed NSA satellite images of the target area on our tablet computers, as well as digital maps identifying local landmarks, roads, and structures.

  Hawkinsville was a small town and the area surrounding it had a rural feel. The biggest concern was sections of dense trees interspersed throughout the area, disrupting our view of all terrain.

  Admittedly, we could use the trees to our advantage for cover.

  Sanders and Lieutenant Holt agreed upon team member placement. We also coordinated with Bravo team, which was on standby via helicopter.

  We reached the perimeter around 1 a.m. The law enforcement presence was definitely cursory. I only saw one highway patrol vehicle and two unmarked SUVs, likely federal units, parked along the roadside.

  Fortunately, I didn’t see any press around the area yet.

  “Tactical team?” asked an agent, wearing an FBI jacket, as he stepped up beside our vehicle.

  “TASIT taskforce, Alpha team,” Sanders replied while displaying her badge and ID.

  He waved us through and we parked a few miles ahead, but still a half mile or so away from the target area.

  Each of us accepted earpieces, microphones, and night vision goggles. Next, we conducted a weapons check.

  Well, except for me; I was a walking weapon already.

  Mackie slung a .308 sniper rifle over his shoulder before hefting the 50-caliber sniper rifle in his arms.

  “You’re taking the fifty, too?” I asked.

  “Nothing’s getting away from us tonight,” he replied. “Man or machine.”

  “Take out any perimeter targets first,” Holt reminded him. “Then establish a position with as many of the entrances and exits in front of you as possible.”

  He nodded and hurried into the tree line and disappeared.

  “Irons, you advance beyond the property and then use your best judgement on approach,” Holt said.

  “Check,” Irons replied. He chambered a round in his assault rifle and proceeded down the road ahead of us.

 
; “Sanders and Bringer, I’ll stay furthest back where I’ll be available to you as a floater,” Holt said.

  “Got it,” Sanders said. “We’ll move forward, but will wait for Mackie’s report before proceeding beyond cover.”

  “Good luck,” Holt said, adjusting the night scope on her assault rifle.

  Sanders and I quietly made our way up the road toward the target property while Rain and Hunter followed, flanking us on either side.

  The moonless night made everything feel almost claustrophobic, and the night vision goggles were difficult to adjust to.

  Mackie, Holt, and Irons checked in with us every few minutes, noting their position advances. Sanders confirmed our location as we proceeded forward.

  “One suspect outside the center building, smoking a cigarette,” Mackie said.

  “Try to hold until we get into position, but you’re not to permit him ingress back into the building. Got it?” Sanders asked.

  “Copy that,” Mackie replied.

  By the time our group of four reached a shallow roadside drainage ditch next to a culvert just outside the property line, it felt like an eternity had passed, though it had only been about twenty minutes by my watch. And we were still nearly a hundred yards away from the buildings.

  “Holding in the tree line east of the complex,” Irons reported. “Awaiting orders.”

  “Copy that,” Sanders said while squatting beside me. “Bringer, can you read thoughts from here? Maybe detect how many people might be in there?”

  “I’ll try,” I replied.

  I opened my thoughts and imagined a bubble extending forward ahead of me.

  …keep smoking that cigarette, came Mackie’s thoughts.

  …door will we enter through first?

  That had to be Irons.

  …hate waiting for the phone to ring.

  Okay, that wasn’t one of ours. Likely, it was the fellow standing outside smoking.

  Then I sensed a series of mental impressions rather actual thoughts, and I wondered if the concrete composition of the buildings was hampering my abilities.

  “There’s a sense of others inside the buildings, but I can’t tell how many,” I said.