Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Go on.”

“They’re alert ten-fold, Mac. Like they’re expecting some shit to go down.”

“Go on. Speculate. Over.”

“This can’t be the usual security level, too much manpower for such a limited team. Be too hard to maintain day-in and day-out, over.”

“Like what? Again, speculate. Over.”

“We’re gonna have to be extra careful here… I’m thinkin’ we might have to go in unarmed and advertised to see this POTUS. These guys have a nice, defensible set up. In fact, it’s a pretty sight if you don’t mind me saying. Over.”

“Define tactical status in more detail… over.”

“Lake to their backs. Open space killing ground out front… and mostly on both sides. Good visual fields ’cept the hard angle directly beneath the building. The Superhawk’s on an actual raised platform, well guarded by five men from any direct ground attack. And through the windows, I see another five armed men making staggered, non-patterned rounds within the glass pyramid structure.”

“You sure, five on active rounds inside? Over.”

“Yeah, at least five and they’re good, too. Steady, staggered movements. Can’t hold a true bead on any one of them for more than a sec, over.”

Marty clicked off. He enjoyed the radio, pleased to have it. Surprisingly, he experienced a certain calm when it rested in his hand; the radio was an extension of his prior military life.

“Nice recon, Surf Boy. That’s why we pay you the big bucks. How’re the NVG by the way? Over.”

“Hell yeah! I can see like its high noon. Over.”

“Good. Save the batteries if you can, over.”

“I will.”

“You can thank the Aussie’s when they become a country again.”

“Copy that. How’d you end up with ’em?”

“Long story. But, let me say, the Aussies were big on nighttime assaults hitting hard targets. I’ll fill you in. When can the team advance? Over.”

The inquiry met no response. Connor and the team nearby waited, listening. After a few seconds, they heard a double squelch.

“Someone’s near,” said McLeod, “and Marty’s keeping quiet.”

Connor rolled his eyes. Sometimes, McLeod was such a civilian. “You think?”

Connor stood next to a small door of the old factory, housing a room full of printing presses and broken machinery. At this point, the team spread across the first floor covering all possible entry points. Watching them, a confidence built in the way they were settling into a fine, working unit. A whisper came across the radio.

“Big Eye! This is Surf Boy. Something’s going on over there. There’s a team of…”

“Say again, over.”

Another double squelch. The wait was not long.

“Sorry. Heard a noise nearby. I see movement on both west and east sides of target. Ground level. Very tight to the building. Tangos slippin’ in east from the lake. No count yet, over.”

“Does POTUS snipers see ’em? Over.”

“Negative. Tangos are coming in real tight to the building. Making use of all sight angle restrictions. There are… five two-man teams. They just slipped past at ground level near the building spreading in different directions. They’re going after the Hall of Fame, over.”

“Explain. Over.”

“One team has an RPG. Over.”

“No shit? Over.”

“Yeah. Snuff says more of them are comin’ from further out. Comin’ in hot from a lit up Hilton that’s maybe a half-mile out. Over.”

“Massing? Over.”

“Not yet, but they’re real careful, hiding and keeping out of obvious sight angles. Over.”

“Roger that. What else, over?”

“Good timing in their infiltration techniques. They’re in tune with the guards inside the glass and on the roof. Mostly outta sight and outta angle. The rooftop snipers are missing them from what we can tell. Seems like there’s a great deal of men sneaking in. Them bastards are staging… over.”

“Full assault? Conjecture? Over.”

“Yeah. They’re prepping for all out assault. Imminent threat. Looks like they’re setting up to take the whole damn shebang with some serious firepower. Hold.”

“Understood, on hold.”

Marty returned to the radio.

“Snuff says now there’s already forty armed men on each side of the damn building. Over.”

“Say again. Over.”

“Yeah, forty armed men on each side of the building. Additional RPGs confirmed. Eight men have ’em. The others have assault weapons. Damn, this is well coordinated! I think it’s going down well within the hour and if POTUS’s in there she’s fucked. Over.”

“Alright. We’re coming up to the warehouse. Over.”

“Negative. Repeat, negative. Men are now crossing the street in front of me preparing for a frontal. I think it’s worse than what we’re seeing. You’ll never slip past the roof snipers or the enemy force. I recommend you hold for now. Over.”

“Holding full team position. Surf Boy, report in on Charlie, tactical changes immediately. Over.”

“Copy that. Over and out”

Connor switched channels.

“Big Eye to BB.”

“BB, go ahead.”

“Start your return to target. Full stealth. Best speed. Give me an update when you’re within five minutes of our position. Over.”

“Copy Big Eye. Coming in best speed and full stealth. Over and out.”

“What’s happening?” asked McLeod.

Connor was deep in thought.

“Not sure, John. Maybe the Cleveland bunch and Starkes aren’t as cozy as we thought. Or something like that.”

“What’s the plan?”

“From what I can tell, the president is, in fact, the likely resident of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame at the moment. And, I’m guessing the president’s been waiting there for awhile, right?”

“Yeah, at least a week or two, by my best guess.”

“Mine too. And she’s set September eighth as a key date for my arrival, correct?”

“Yeah?”

“And this evening is September seventh.”

“Yep.”

“So, I’m thinking that Cleveland bunch is probably under a completely different command structure from President Starkes.”

“Okay.”

“They’re looking to breach, they probably overheard something might be going down tomorrow and wanted to… make a grab.”

“So they’re going to attack now?”

“Seems like it. A nighttime incursion. It’s the only solution that makes any sense at this time from both a tactical and strategic standpoint. Okay, and well, because, maybe they want to seize what they can before September eighth hightails it outta here.”

“I see.”

“Kinda makes sense… and that Superhawk would certainly be an extremely attractive acquisition.”

“So, what’s your plan?”

“Well, maybe we stir things up and, you know, give Starkes a heads up in there.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“What’s your advice, then?”

“Can’t we gather more intel? Discuss it with the team to figure this out?”

“No time on the team meet. But, good point on gathering more intel. Maybe we’ll wait another half-hour or so, tell Snuff and Surf Boy to see if they can secure a compliant captive to explain what’s going on.”

“Can they do that?” asked McLeod.

“I dunno. Let’s ask.”

“Andy!” whispered Terry.

She was shocked at his abrasiveness toward this new man named Spider.

“Hold on, Andy!” said Mark Harmon, “What the hell’s going on? Huh? Why you insulting Spider?”

“Because I can—”

“You don’t even know ’im.”

“I know ’em well enough.”

Taking the insult with an obvious jolt, Spider unsaddled and stood on the cracked asphalt, jaws clenching. He was a big man, six foot-four at least and 260 pounds. He took a few steps past the high weeds pushing their way up out of the blacktop cracks next to his horse; the men around him watched, interested. A few familiar faces glanced at Andy, confused, but excited at the turn of events.