Ever Hayes - Emergency Exit

Standard prisoner protocol in Russia—particularly for VIPs—mandated they wear neck braces and bulletproof vests so they couldn’t slit their throat or stab themselves in the heart. It was 99 percent foolproof. If they slit their wrists, the bleeding could be stopped. If they stabbed themselves in the eye or anywhere else, it would hurt, but it likely wouldn’t kill them. There was only one exposed area of the body that would work for a “way out.” The vice president somehow knew this before he was even moved up to the alpine base.

The Russian handed him a pen and piece of paper, demanding he write some sort of code on it. The vice president nodded, but never spoke. He took the pen and tried to write, but it was a struggle with both his hands chained. The guard was asked to unlock the vice president’s right hand, which he did, and as soon as the Russian commander backed away, the vice president stabbed himself just inside his left armpit with the pen. He quickly removed something from his mouth and inserted it into the pen hole. They fought to lift the vice president’s arm to access the wound and were finally able to remove a pointed capsule from the hole, but it was too late. Other than the metal tip, the capsule had mostly dissolved. Whatever poison it had contained immediately spread to his heart. He died a few minutes later.

The vice president hadn’t given them a single bit of useful intel. The Russian commander went crazy. A doctor had searched every inch of the vice president’s body when he was brought to the Endovalley camp, and again hours later just to be safe. No one knew where the capsule had come from. Somehow the vice president was given that capsule after both searches and he successfully concealed it until he was able to use it. It didn’t seem possible. The vice president had been guarded every minute in that tent by three guards. But somehow it had happened. And now, without him, they didn’t need the daughters…either one.

When they returned to Denver, the Russian commander had told the prison guard not to go anywhere because he would be summoned before the full panel of commanders this afternoon. The guard asked Eddie if that was a bad sign. “No,” Eddie said. It was a terrible one . The man had been quite relieved, and as he turned to walk away Eddie grabbed him. “One more thing.” The man nodded. “President write anything on the paper?”

“I love you, girls,” the guard replied.

Eddie let the man go and looked away. There was a lump in his throat. He really missed his own girls. He coughed and turned back to his brother. “Let’s go, Laz.”

Eddie and Lazzo returned to Eddie’s office in the Intelligence Center where there was a message waiting for Eddie. He was to meet The Seven commanders in the Command Room at 2 p.m. sharp. Lazzo asked if Eddie wanted him, Cabo, and Omar to go along. Eddie didn’t. It wasn’t safe for them. Might not even be safe for him . “Pack your things,” Eddie said. “Be ready to go.” He would do all he could to spare them and buy them time to flee, if it came to that.

Eddie dressed in full uniform before his meeting with the panel. He was searched prior to entering the Command Room, which they hadn’t done last time. Not good . He could actually be facing the same fate as the prison guard.

He entered the room to a solemn atmosphere, also entirely the opposite of his last visit. He was told to remain standing at the far end of the table. He listened for the next ten minutes as he was blamed for the vice president’s death. He had been responsible for security and transportation between the Endovalley base camp and the alpine base and had failed to secure the most valuable asset in this war. War? This was missiles against rubber bands. This wasn’t war.

The Russian commander “supposedly” had defended him and pleaded for his life, stating under those circumstances the same mistake could have been made by anyone. Yeah. Right!

Eddie knew he had made no such mistake. The vice president had the capsule before Eddie even reached the Endovalley camp. He was certain of that. He thought about divulging what he’d found in the tent at the Endovalley camp, but figured that would only make it worse now. They’d want to know why he’d kept such potentially valuable information to himself. Then they might actually kill him. Instead he listened as he was told the Russian’s “compassion” was the only reason his life would be spared. He was additionally being stripped of his post in the Intelligence Division and demoted to the lowest level of soldier. The same went for his brother.

Eddie stood still as the Libyan commander ripped the rank patches off his shirt and removed all his pins. He looked Eddie right in the eye and called him an impotent coward— probably meant incompetent —and an embarrassment to the Libyan nation. Eddie never said a word. He wondered how many of the people at this table disagreed with what was going on. He wondered how many of them knew the Russian commander had been up at the alpine base or knew any of what took place up there. Eddie doubted it. The Russian commander wouldn’t look at him. Not once. That was another sign Eddie was right.

Eddie knew anything he said here would be either construed as a lie or ignored altogether. It didn’t matter how much dirt he had on the Russian commander. There was no fight here he could win. Eddie was given his choice of post “anywhere more than one hundred miles from Denver.” After looking at the map of bases on the wall he selected Buena Vista, Colorado—125 miles southwest of Denver—the closest city still on the assumed American route. He “accepted” a transfer there.

He was to remain at that post unless otherwise ordered by The Seven commanders themselves. Even if the soldiers there were sent on assignment elsewhere, he was to stay at that base. Period. Lazzo was being transferred with him, but Cabo and Omar were being reassigned to another division. Eddie would not be told anything more. His career in Qi Jia intelligence was done. He should be thankful he still had his life. This was his last chance… blah, blah, blah.

Eddie had tuned them out well before he left the room. If he ever came face to face with that Russian commander again he was a dead man, even if it meant Eddie’s own death. He found it hard to believe the other commanders could so gullibly accept Eddie’s “sole responsibility” in all of this, but those seven men seemed intent on at least pretending to have a unified front. If they only knew .

Eddie was met at his office by a smiling Lazzo. The prison commander had called an hour ago to inform them the guard they’d spoken with had “fallen down a flight of stairs and tragically died.” Shocker . The Russian commander was never going to let him get in front of that panel and even begin to point a finger elsewhere. Thus the sarcastic smile on Lazzo’s face.

Eddie, in turn, told his younger brother they had each lost their ranks and were being assigned to a troop down in Buena Vista. He and Lazzo also had to say their farewells to their good friends, Omar and Cabo, who were to go to the nearest airbase that night to be flown out in the morning. Eddie told them both before they left, “Stay alive, men. We’ll meet again someday. Insha’Allah (God willing).” Though he was pretty sure even God couldn’t keep them alive.

He and Lazzo were leaving early the next morning for their new post. They used their last night in the Intelligence Division to collect maps, as much strategic Qi Jia information as they could find—including the NORAD bunker info and a map of all Qi Jia bases—and lastly to check in one more time on Estes Park. Eddie had Lazzo pack his officer badges and medals instead of leaving them on his desk. One never knew when they might come in handy.