Steven Konkoly - Event Horizon

Kevin McCulver, his second in command, stood from his chair next to the couch and mouthed, “Jeep?”

“Are you positive that you saw a Jeep Wrangler?” said Eli.

“Affirmative. I watched them through night vision. Four-door model. Driver only,” echoed Brown.

“Could you determine the color?”

“ Negative. Too dark without the night vision scope. Definitely Maine plates, though. Do you want me to head back to the OP?”

A sudden combination of exhilaration and uncertainty forced Eli to pause. He needed a moment to process the implications and spin them in his favor. On one hand, he was thrilled by the sudden appearance of a Jeep matching the description of the one used to ambush his brother, especially in the vicinity of the Gelder Pond compound. Connecting the Jeep to the assassination of his nephew should remove any shadow of a doubt that the attack on the compound was legitimate, not that he had heard or detected any opposition to the proposed operation. His men seemed eager to put their training to use, however he suggested.

On the other hand, he couldn’t readily explain the presence of a military convoy, unless the story he had concocted had been some kind of subconscious manifestation of his true suspicions. He’d blurred the lines between fact and fiction so many times in the past three days, he could barely keep it straight himself. Shit, maybe he’d been right all along. He hoped that wasn’t the case. A government-sponsored, false-flag operation of this magnitude meant they were headed for trouble. Federal trouble. Once he mopped up the Fletchers, or whoever they claimed to be, he needed to accelerate the recruitment and training of his army, on the off chance he had to lead a real fight against a government occupation.

“How many men do you have at the OP?”

“Three, including myself. I left two behind to keep an eye on the road,” said Brown.

“Roger. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Head back and tell your two men to stay in position and observe the entrance to Gelder Pond for the rest of the night. Then drive straight to HQ. We have some decisions to make. How copy?”

“Solid copy. Turning around now, sir.”

“Good work out there. Make sure those two don’t fall asleep. We need to know if those military vehicles return. Did you see any mounted weapons?” said Eli.

“Affirmative. M240s.”

“Roger. See you shortly. Out.” Eli placed the radio on the counter and resumed his position on the couch. “Dennis?”

“Yes, sir!” he said, standing at attention.

“You pull shit like that again and I’ll hang you from a tree. Copy?”

“Copy, sir.”

Dennis’s ghost-white face betrayed no emotion. He stared at the middle distance like a good soldier. One more slip-up and he’d join Hatfield in the barn.

“Mr. Brown’s sighting can’t be a coincidence. Hatfield confirmed that a black, four-door Jeep Wrangler participated in the attack at Milton Mills yesterday. My brother reported it over his radio, right before the ambush.

“Here are the facts. Gunmen in Waterboro kill two of our own and steal their car. Witnesses have them approaching the two sentries on bicycle and shooting them in cold blood. Very accurate shooting, I might add. We tracked this group to an isolated property on the eastern side of Gelder Pond, complete with security gates, cameras and solar panels. This place is not your ordinary lake house.

“Now the same Jeep involved in the bridge ambush arrives at the Gelder Pond location—under heavy military escort? This confirms it. We have a government-sponsored Special Forces unit operating in southwestern Maine, and I think we just found one of their safe houses, if not their primary safe house. We need to hit this location with everything we’ve got. Break these sons of bitches and send the government a message. They are not welcome in southern Maine.”

The men stared at him, paralyzed by his suggestion for a moment.

“Tonight?” said one of the squad leaders.

“Against Special Forces?” said another.

“Early morning at the latest,” said Eli, standing up to establish some dominance over these quivering bitches.

“Mr. Russell? I heard that the shooters were women.”

“What’s your point?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I didn’t ask to hear you chatter away like a bitch. If you’re gonna interrupt me, you better have a fucking point. What’s your point?”

“I guess it’s that a bunch of women with guns doesn’t sound like a Spec Ops team,” the man blurted.

The room catapulted into silence, everyone avoiding eye contact with Eli.

“Why is everyone so quiet all of a sudden? Bertelson had the first sensible question of the evening. Thank you, Mr. Bertelson. Look, I don’t believe we’ll find a Special Forces team here. I’ve read about this kind of thing on Wikileaks. We’re looking at a government sleeper cell put into place after the 2013 pandemic. They go about their lives until the government initiates the next false-flag crisis. You should have seen the place by Gelder’s Pond. Definitely a self-sustaining compound—with electricity.

“They probably got caught off guard by the EMP like the rest of us. No way the government would risk any kind of advanced warning, even for the sleeper cell. The bridge attack occurred around the same time. I bet the men took the Jeep and sent the women on bikes so they didn’t miss the ambush deadline. Brown and his crew probably witnessed one of the sleeper agents returning from a face-to-face meeting with Homeland and military commanders in New Hampshire. Whoever they delivered must be pretty damn important to rate a heavily armed escort. I say we take them out before they have time to execute the next phase of their plan.”

“How many men?” asked McCulver.

“Three squads. Twelve each. Two to breach the house, one to provide suppressing fire. We’ll put the thirty-cal into action for this one,” said Eli.

“No shit! That’s what I’m talking about,” shouted another squad leader.

“Count my squad in,” said Paul Hillebrand. “I have two men trained to use the thirty-cal.”

“The job’s yours,” said Eli. “Any more volunteers?”

Everyone stood at once, vying for Eli’s attention.

That’s more like it.

He settled on Bertelson’s squad, against his better judgment, but looking around the room, the crew-cut wearing, beady-eyed ex-army specialist was the only squad leader beyond Hillebrand that didn’t look like a crumpled bag of dog shit. He stepped outside to cleanse his nostrils of their stench. Nobody followed except for Kevin McCulver, who joined him for a cigarette on the muddy gravel driveway. They walked until they were far out of earshot of the mobile home.

“I’m a little concerned about the military escort,” said McCulver, lighting Eli’s cigarette.

“A little? I nearly shit my pants when Brown passed that over the radio. I thought he was fucking with us.”

“What does it mean?”

“For what?” said Eli. He took a deep drag and blew the smoke at the mosquitos above his head.

“For the operation. What if you’re right about this group being linked to the military?”

“What if I’m right?” he said, taking a step back from McCulver.

“Eli, it’s me you’re talking to. I knew this whole government angle was a ruse when you first suggested Special Forces kidnapped one of our guys. I played along, because I don’t care. I’m in this for the long haul.”

Eli stared at him, wondering if he should cut his throat and bury him or continue listening. McCulver had skills essential to the cause and had been a loyal friend for years. It bought him another minute of oxygen.