Mark Del Franco - Face Off

They passed into Front Royal. The town had a quaintness about it that reminded Laura of other times and other places. Antique shops and colonial homes lined the main route. It was a lot like Alexandria must have been before it became the coveted bedroom community it was today.

“We’re a mile away,” he said.

Terryn, can you hear me? We’re almost there, she sent. No reply. She didn’t expect a response. The Guild had Terryn in a holding cell that jammed sendings. She thought it might be worth a try to contact him on the off chance he had been allowed to attend Draigen’s reception.

On the GPS screen map, a large swathe of land appeared as blank green space along the Shenandoah River. “It takes a lot of money to make something disappear off satellite maps,” she said.

“And the contamination is an incentive not to attract attention,” he said.

“Contamination?”

He checked his sidearm. “It’s an old Superfund site. Lots of buried toxins. Probably why they were able to afford so much land this close to the city.”

She hummed in disagreement. “Close? I hate the commute across the river to Alexandria.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can afford that by double-dipping their paychecks,” he said.

She shoved him playfully. “I work for two different agencies, so it’s not a double-dip.”

He pulled off the two-lane road onto grass overhung by tall trees. “It is if you get paid full for half-time work.”

She zipped up her uniform jacket. “I wish. Try two salaries for three times the hours.”

He grinned as he got out of the car. “And you have, what? Three or four apartments? I feel bad.”

“Jerk,” she muttered as she joined him on the side of the road. Behind them, more black-uniformed InterSec agents waited, a mix of Danann fairies, Teutonic elves, and druids.

Sinclair surveyed the gathering. “You know, you’re looking at these guys’ worst nightmare.”

Laura assessed the tactical team. They were armed, trained, and willing to follow orders. “I think this would be anyone’s worst nightmare.”

“Yeah, but we’re a bunch of fey about to storm a protected human compound. That’s their biggest fear right here,” he said.

Laura started walking toward the camp. “You’re wrong. If anything has happened to Cress, I’m going to be their biggest fear.”

She sent the Dananns ahead for surveillance. They swept in a low formation over the road, their wings a dim glow in the night sky. The rest of the team fell in behind. They jogged up the road until a tall chain-link fence appeared. Laura started to receive sendings from the Dananns as soon as she sighted the guardhouse next to the driveway.

“We’ve got one guy in the gate,” she said.

Sinclair moved in front of her. “I’ll take him.”

She grabbed his arm. “Let one of the Dananns do it. It’ll be quicker.”

“And raise an alarm,” he said over his shoulder. “This place is warded with essence detectors. They zap him, we lose the element of surprise across a quarter-mile run up to the bunkers.”

Laura considered his proposal. “Make it quick.”

He stood. “Make sure your buddies remember I’m on their side.”

She smiled up at him. “It’s okay. I told them not to shoot the tall guy unless I asked them to.”

He grinned as he strolled away, staying in the open, his assault rifle slung casually over his shoulder. In the lit gatehouse, the guard’s head lifted as Sinclair approached. He came to the door, hand resting on his holstered pistol. Sinclair leaned against the gatehouse door, talking and gesturing up the road. Laura ducked deeper into the weeds as the guard looked in her direction. In a blur, Sinclair spun his rifle off his shoulder and landed the butt in the guard’s face. The man fell to the ground.

As Laura ran up, Sinclair was disarming him. “Nice.”

She held out her hand to cast a binding spell, but Sinclair grabbed it. “I told you. Essence alarms.”

She coiled her fingers closed. “Oh, sure, they don’t like the fey, but they have no problem using fey tools.”

Sinclair peered into the compound. “We take a straight shot up the driveway, then to the left.”

Laura signaled the team behind her, and they quick-stepped across the pavement as she opened the gate. She trailed behind Sinclair. “One guard at the gatehouse concerns me.”

“Yeah. There are usually two,” he said.

“Great. Now I’m worried.”

As the afternoon light faded, white cinder-block buildings loomed in the shadows of tall, mature trees. “I’ve never seen the place so dark and quiet,” Sinclair said.

A lone figure appeared from the back side of the nearest building. He stopped short when he saw Sinclair and Laura, then raised his gun. A burst of green essence sliced through the night air as someone behind them fired elf-shot. Sirens began to wail.

Laura swore as she ran for the nearest building and crouched against it. Rifle in position, Sinclair backpedaled to watch their flank. The essence burst had been elf-shot. She searched among the running team until she spotted the likely perpetrator who had fired without her say-so. He was not going to like his debriefing at the mission review.

“That would be the essence alarm, I take it?” she asked.

“The very one,” he said.

She peered around the corner. Someone with an automatic weapon scuttled across the access road. “The med bunker is up and to the left, right?”

“Yeah, but let’s go left, then up. Less light,” he said.

“Okay, you lead,” she said.

“You just want to look at my butt.”

“It’s a very nice butt,” she said. Two could play his game.

She broadcast a sending to the tactical team, directing them up and to the right to draw away as many Legacy guards as possible. Sinclair slipped in front of her and watched the open driveway as she ran for the building across the way.

They hustled down a paved walkway at the rear of a line of buildings. Legacy guards cut across the path ahead, moving to the northeast of the compound. Sinclair paused at the next corner, spying around the building. “Something’s not right. This isn’t a tenth of the guys that should be here.”

“Let’s hope they’re not staying put at the bunker,” Laura said.

Gunfire erupted in the distance to their right, followed by the unmistakable crackle of essence-fire. Sinclair dodged left around a utility shed. He gestured with his rifle across the grassy front of a low building. A door stood open, unguarded, spilling light into the night. “That’s the med bunker. We go straight in, stairwell halfway down on the right to the lower level. Doors all the way.”

“Take the point,” Laura said.

“Sure,” Sinclair muttered. “Good enough to take the first hit, but not for health benefits.”

“You’re wearing their uniform. It’s an advantage,” Laura said as she chased him across the grass.

Sinclair hit the wall beside the door. He ducked his head out and back. “Clear.”

He quick-stepped in, rifle low and pointed at the first door. It remained closed, and they passed it. Step by step, they crept down the empty hallway. No one challenged them. Sinclair peered into the stairwell. “Clear.”

With muted steps, they descended. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Why did they abandon their posts?” Sinclair asked.

“You said they look understaffed. Maybe the rest of the tac team is near a more high-profile target,” Laura said.

They reached the lower level. “Yeah, that’s not helping. It looks like the lab’s the next door.”

They moved along the corridor, the silence an uncomfortable weight bearing down on them. Sinclair reached for the door handle. He glanced to check Laura’s position, then ducked as he pushed the door open. No sound came from within.