William Weber - Zero Day

The wolf stared at him, licking his lips.

Nate returned to his reconnaissance. Out front, two large men stood guard. Although standing wasn’t entirely accurate, since they were shifting from side to side, stomping their feet in a vain effort to root out the cold. That was good for Nate. Their discomfort was a distraction he could use to his advantage.

Every so often, he witnessed an array of figures entering or exiting the building. Some appeared to be security, while others were simply regular folks, perhaps petitioning Jakes to help with food or to admit a loved one to the hospital. But why they had come and where they were going, Nate could not say for certain.

With nearly all traditional forms of communication down, it was hardly any wonder Jakes was a busy man. After wresting control of Rockford from the rightful authorities, maintaining a firm grip on law and order—however draconian that might be—required a near-continuous stream of information. That explained the flow of people in and around City Hall. And yet, in the time Nate had been observing the building, he hadn’t seen anyone matching Dakota’s description coming or going.

Rising from his perch, Nate pushed through the alley and north on 3rd Street. He then cut around behind City Hall, searching for a back way in. Poking out of an alley, he could see this part of the street was deserted. That was good, but what he lacked was perhaps the most vital part of any rescue mission: intel on what to expect inside. Sanchez and Five seemed confident Dakota was in there somewhere. But on what floor and, more importantly, in what room? The first rule of any successful snatch-and-grab mission was getting in and out without ever being seen. A firefight was a telltale sign things were no longer going to plan.

On a whim, Nate pulled the Geiger from his jacket pocket and switched it on. They were out of the exclusion zone, he knew that, but that didn’t mean they were free of any and all radiation. To his surprise, the needle spiked and the machine registered an intense amount of crackling static. But how could this be? He had expected to find it a touch above background, not several times that. Could the Byron plant’s situation have worsened in the time since his escape? And if so, had the exclusion zone perimeter been pushed even further?

Unforeseen as it was, the discovery only reinforced the dire need for speed. And not only to free Dakota. There was no doubt, once a guy like Jakes squeezed the information out of her, the girl’s predicament would go from very bad to hellish in a heartbeat. Being stuffed back in a cage would be Christmas compared to what a psycho like Jakes surely had in store.

A voice came from behind him. “Is that a Geiger counter in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” There was just enough ambient light to see it was Sanchez.

“The hell are you doing here?” Nate asked, shocked and yet at the same time happy to see his friend. “And how long have you been itching to spring that line on me?” His surprise grew when he noticed Sanchez was wearing a chest rig and carrying an AR-15.

“I thought about what you said and you’re right,” Sanchez told him. “As much as I tried, I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. I may not know this girl, but next time it might be someone I care about.”

“Did you get a hold of Amy?” Nate asked, already dreading the answer.

Sanchez shook his head. “I had a choice, either save you from killing yourself or check on your wife. I chose option one. You’re welcome.”

“You’re thanked,” Nate said. “Listen, you remember a few years back when I asked you to help me with the Johnson case?”

Sanchez perked up. “The jealous boyfriend who was holding the client hostage, threatening to kill her unless we tore up the evidence of his infidelity and told her we’d made the whole thing up? That Johnson case?”

“That’s the one. The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s also the way we need to play this.”

“No negotiation. Go in strong and shoot to kill.”

Nate grit his teeth and nodded.

“All right, amigo,” Sanchez said. He plucked a necklace of St. Christopher from under his shirt and kissed it before pulling the action on his rifle. “Lead the way.”

Nate looked at him. “Where’s my good luck charm?”

Sanchez winked. “You’re looking at him.”

They exited the alley, sticking close to the buildings as they struggled through the heavy snow. Reaching the intersection, Nate scanned in both directions. They could see one of the two guards, standing out front, showing them his back. But the guy’s incessant movement to keep himself warm meant that every few seconds he would turn around. Calculating the distance along with their speed, he figured there would be a sixty-second period crossing the street where they would be exposed. Nate observed the man’s patterns. Two stomps of the feet followed by a glove rub, a lungful of warm air blown into cupped hands and a quick glance over his shoulder. Every time was nearly the same routine. Nate felt the pulse in his neck quicken.

The guard’s quick glance came. Then, as soon as the guy’s back was turned, Nate gave Sanchez the signal to move out. Both men hurried across the street as fast as they could. Ammo weighed more than most people realized, especially when you were lugging it over difficult terrain. Nate never imagined the streets of Rockford would ever be described in that way. And yet the last week had been nothing but one surprise after another.

The two men were nearly halfway across when the guard began to turn. Nate gave the order to drop and at once they dove into a bed of deep powder. A few seconds later, he lifted his head enough to peek out. The guard was still looking their way, his forehead scrunched up.

He’s seen us. Has to have. Better to rise up now and start firing rather than be shot lying down. The best chance of winning any shootout was being first to get your rounds downrange.

Then another, stronger voice told him to chill out. There would be plenty of time to blow cover inside once the bullets started flying.

The guard turned away and Nate hesitated a second or two on the off chance it was a ruse. When he saw that it wasn’t, he reached back and tapped Sanchez. They rose, pushing hard to close the distance between them and the back of the building.

At their destination, a low metal staircase led to a glass door. Nate and Sanchez made it and hugged the wall. Careful to keep out of sight, they climbed the few steps, one at a time, their heavy boots crushing snow into the metal grate beneath their feet. Nearing the top, Nate reached for the handle at the same moment that the door swung open on its own. Retracting his hand, he remained still. So too did Sanchez behind him.

A beefy guy in a black parka sprang out. Anticipating the cold, he was already wearing the hood of his parka up. Otherwise, they would have been spotted for sure. The guard stood less than four feet away, giving them his back. He was stabbing both hands in his pockets, swearing under his breath. A moment later, he found what he was looking for. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He shook one out, stuck it between his lips and lit the end.

“Damn sonofabitch don’t own me,” the man murmured, spitting over the railing and watching it swallowed in a mound of powder below. “The hell does he get off?”

The G36 was strapped diagonally across Nate’s back. Not that it mattered, there was no practical way to swing it into action in such close quarters. The Glock 21 would have to do. He pulled the weapon with one hand and lunged forward in a burst of speed, grabbing the back of the smoking guy’s parka hood with the other. A startled sound was the only thing that escaped the man’s lips before Nate yanked him off his feet. The guy was big, which explained the crack as his lower back struck the edge of the top stair. He opened his mouth to holler in pain. Nate was ready, muzzling him with the palm of his gloved hand. Up came the Glock, the barrel pressed against the center of the big guy’s forehead. His eyes were watering just as much from the pain in his spine as it was from the intense fear coursing through every twitching fiber of his being.