Human by Choice, page 21
Once, they encountered a couple, a man with his arm around the woman, ready to protect her even though he wasn't armed. Jeri stopped for a moment, almost causing a pileup.
“Bring those two with us,” she said, an order. Sam shrugged and motioned them to come along. An alarm suddenly began warbling, interrupted briefly by a voice from loudspeakers.
“Intruder alert! Intruder alert! Lock down, lock down! Security personnel, report to posts! Non-combat personnel remain in place and secure your quarters!” The alarm began blaring again. The sequence was repeated over and over. There wasn't time to wonder why it had taken so long to be broadcast, as Sam kept the group together urging them onward, relying on Jeri for guidance.
She led them into another hallway and shoved the man in front of her.
“Hurry! Run! To that exit!” Her voice became shrill, telling Sam pursuit was right on their tail. The hallway must have seemed a mile long and the red exit sign a tiny beacon of safety that took hours to reach, even running at full speed. It was two hundred feet in front of them.
“It's locked!” The first man to reach it shouted. He went into a frenzied panic, trying to kick the door open. When that failed, he aimed his gun at the lock.
“No! Move aside!” Jeri shouted.
He appeared not to hear. Sam grabbed his hand just before he fired, forcing it down. The bullet spanged off the armored door and plowed into the floor by his foot. Sam wrenched his weapon from him and struck him in the face with it, leaving a bloody furrow in his chin. He shook his head, flinging droplets of blood, but came back to his senses. Ishmael tried to disintegrate the door, but his weapon was out of juice, having been used too much by his captors trying to figure out how it worked. It only heated the metal.
“Behind you!” Jeri screamed. She took out the section of the door containing the lock, without looking around. She backed up and front-kicked it open.
Sam and the two others in the rear exchanged fire with three men emerging from a doorway in the hall. They were off-balance as they came through. One of them managed a three-round burst from a machine pistol before he died, but two of the slugs found targets. The first got Sam in the fleshy part of his left thigh. The second killed one of his men by hitting him in the throat just above his vest, going on through and shattering his spine. Ironically, he was one of the few wearing body armor. The team had been put together so quickly that it hadn't been available for everyone. Sam let out an oath, not at his own wound but at the loss of another good man.
Jeri bent and picked up the dead man's machine pistol, an MP-5 similar to the MP-10 I owned and had showed her how to use.
“It's clear for the moment. Go!” she said loudly. Her front guard was already through the exit and moving down the set of stairs it exposed. The stairs led to a ground-level door in back of the house. It was locked, stopping them momentarily.
“Get back!” Sam ordered. He stepped to the side, glanced back to see that everyone was free as possible from ricochets and shot the lock off. He kicked the door open with his wounded leg, not letting it slow him down at all. With the way clear, he led the sparse phalanx of guards outside. They began running around toward the front of the building, where the assault had begun, but the sound of helicopter blades slowly revolving in ready mode, mixed with the noise of machine gun and rifle fire brought them to an abrupt halt. Sam rapidly considered his remaining options.
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* * *
Chapter Nineteen
Waiting in the van, I chewed on my lip hard enough to draw blood, as I listened to the faint sounds of gunfire coming from the house. I was already heartsick with worry over Jeri, when I realized a noise I had been hearing in the background was a helicopter. It clattered to the ground just to the other side of the cars Sam had left parked, in plain sight from the van. A machine gun was already stuttering lethally as it landed, aiming for the troops guarding me. There wasn't a goddamned thing I could do about it. The little S&W I still carried was like a popgun compared to the 50 caliber MG in the helicopter or the Kalashnikovs the three men who jumped from it were carrying. I got it out and sat up, anyway. I damn sure wasn't going to die lying on my back. I could see most of the action from inside the van, but I held my fire for the moment.
“Allahu Akbar!" “Allahu Akbar!”
Muslims! I heard the throaty shout during a momentary pause of the MG, even over the thwok thwok of the slowly revolving chopper blades, and the voices were drowned out by the roar of more gunfire. My guards had taken cover behind the cars as soon as they saw the helicopter coming in but they were poor protection against 50 caliber slugs. They were riddled. Even the van got a few bullet holes in the paneling and I don't think they were even aiming for it. Nevertheless, at least one of my guards did exactly the right thing. He was armed with a compact XM8 automatic rifle. He ignored the Kalashnikovs and went for the helicopter MG and the pilot. That dude was a damn fine shot. He silenced the MG, shattered the chopper canopy, and killed the single pilot before one of the bearded Muslims took him out.
“Stay down!” the trooper in the van with me ordered as he crawled to the driver's seat, leaving a trail of blood behind. I hadn't even known he was hit.
I ignored him. The S&W was leveled with both my hands and supported by my knees. I felt my body tremble with the fear of approaching death, but I wasn't going quietly.
“Allahu Akbar!” The cry came again, this time from nearby. The bearded head and shoulders of another Muslim came into view, limned by the still-open rear door of the van. My first shot plastered him right between his stupid fucking eyes.
The van lurched and screeched as it burned rubber on the tarmac of the driveway. The rear door swung wildly as my guard drove toward the back of the house. I knew he was hoping to find refuge in the woods if he could get us that far. There had to be more than just the helicopter crew and its three gunmen. They wouldn't have attacked a redoubt like this with so few men.
The guy driving the van damn near ran over Sam, Jeri and the others still with them, along with Ishmael. I couldn't see what was happening in front, but he must have jumped halfway out of his skin when he caught a glimpse of the alien. Crispies have that effect at first. We came to such a sudden stop that I was thrown backward. The fight ended for me the same way it had begun, lying flat on the stretcher. Jeri clambered inside and smothered me with her body. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. She held me with an excruciatingly rigid grip that was as sweet as it was painful. She didn't loose her taut hold on me until she sensed my difficulty in breathing. The others had piled in by this time, and we drove away at a speed the old road behind the house wasn't designed for. The van bumped and swerved, flinging us this way and that as it careened around curves and over ruts made by larger vehicles. Sam ignored the blood still streaming from his leg as he talked on his phone. I couldn't hear what he was saying but I sure as hell hoped he was calling for help!
* * * *
Sam's team was simply the first and fastest one he had been able to gather. Others were on their way, but I'd bet the farm there were other Muslims heading our way, too. We didn't know it at the time, nor know how they did it, but a clandestine network of well-armed and well-connected terrorist groups under the hand of the Islamic Confederation had gotten wind of us. They were ordered to drop all other plans and follow us to the renegade CIA group. Senator Terhune might have been a worse traitor than Congressman Tarryall, but it was hard to differentiate the two. Both did enormous damage to the country. They were under arrest, as I learned later, but Alvin Grayson had covered his tracks well; he was still free.
Just as we thought our van had made a clean getaway, the driver relayed word back to us that he saw a pursuing vehicle in the rearview mirror, a big SUV of some kind.
“Probably some rebel Boy Scouts or a gang of French Peaceniks after us now,” Jeri said, attempting a joke. It got more laughs than I expected, considering the circumstances, but sometimes humor is the only outlet from the tension of violent combat.
“I wouldn't be surprised at anything,” Sam retorted. “Not at this point. I've got some help on the way, though.”
“How close?” Carolyn asked.
“The first ones should be here soon. There's more behind them, but I don't know when they'll make it. Major Seabrook is working his tail off rounding up troops who can be trusted and are combat ready.” He began punching numbers on his phone again.
Randy had been left behind at the airport for just that purpose, over his fierce protests. I sympathized with him at the time, but I was happy as a mustang with his new commission that he had stayed after the shit hit the fan.
My mind wandered for a moment, imagining what must have happened inside the armored compound disguised as an old house. So many had gone in and so few returned. What kind of hellacious conditions had they found in there? And the CIA agents. Had they all been working for Grayson and Tarryall with full knowledge of what traitors they were? Or were some of them simply misguided into thinking they were doing the right thing? I decided I'd rather not know, so I never asked.
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* * *
Chapter Twenty
I noticed Sam shaking his head and frowning. It made me wonder just how much aid he had been able to gather. I didn't like the looks of that frown. I decided to try for some help myself. In retrospect, it's probably what I should have done earlier, but Jeri's fear of government agencies and her worry over Ishmael had convinced me to go it alone at first. After that, events kept overtaking us, one after the other until it seemed as if we had done nothing but run and fight for eons. And at the moment, having my call traced was the least of our worries.
I had Senator Brad Benchley's home phone number memorized, just as he had asked me to long ago. I had spoken to his son, Caden Benchley, at home once or twice while he recovered from his wounds. Every time the senator spoke to me, he insisted that I call him if I was ever in need of help. I always told him Caden would have done exactly the same for me, had our roles been reversed. Right now, I hoped I hadn't been too convincing.
His wife answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Mrs. Benchley. This is Kyle Leverson.”
“Kyle! Where are you? What—never mind! You stay on the phone while I get Brad. Don't you dare hang up!”
Benchley's voice was gruffer than normal, as if he'd just been woke from a sound sleep or had been talking too much lately. Maybe both.
“Kyle, where the hell are you? We've been worried stiff and half the damned country is after you.”
“Senator, I don't have time for a lot of explanation, but I'm in trouble and I need help, quickly.”
“Tell me.” I always did like the way he cut to the chase, same as he did in the senate, never mincing words and never afraid to speak his mind, unlike most of those idiots in Washington. It's no wonder he kept getting re-elected.
I explained about having two aliens with me, and how one had been tortured by a rogue element of the CIA controlled by Alvin Grayson and Moses Tarryall, and that neither of them had much faith in the government after that.
“Goddamned those bastards! I hope we shoot them.” I guess he was talking about Tarryall and Grayson, but he might have had enough of Washington's officialdom in mind to fill a stadium. “Tell me where you are and I'll guarantee you'll be placed in good hands.”
“We're in good hands now, Senator. General Shelton, CO of Special Affairs Intelligence for Technology. He sent a crew to help us rescue the captive alien. We got him out, but then were attacked by some Muslim terrorists who must know all about the aliens here. We got away from the first ones, but there's bound to be others on the way. And we're being tailed right now by unidentified parties.”
“Give me your location and phone number.”
I hurried through it, scanning the wrinkled map Sam handed me when he heard what I was up to. I gave him my number as well as Sam's.
“Okay, got it. Hold on while I get the FBI moving.”
I winced, but he was gone before I could say anything. Of all the government agencies under the umbrella of Homeland Security, the FBI was the most bureaucratic and turf-conscious. When he came back on the line, I put it to him quick and plain. “Senator, we'll take any help we can get at the moment, but make it plain that General Shelton stays in control of us. Period. His chief field agent is with us now, Colonel Haley. The aliens trust him, and they trust General Shelton because I do. Can you make that clear to the FBI?”
“If I can't, the President can. I'm due at the White House in an hour for a meeting. He's been worried stiff over the IC and Chinese having their hands on some of the aliens while we don't. Even the British are playing games with us. That damn socialist Prime Minister thinks he can make England king of the world again. I've met General Shelton and Colonel Haley, by the way. Shelton has testified at some secret hearings and had Haley along to back him. Good men, both of them.”
“Great.” That made me breathe a little easier. “Thank you, sir. But hurry them up, please. And if you can talk to the President in person, and maybe privately, that would sure help.”
“No problem. I'm heading for the hill in a bit but I'll have my phone with me. And let me give you another number, just in case. Don't let this one out, please.”
“I won't, sir.” He gave it to me and kept talking.
“Okay. Stay safe, Kyle. Our country needs you.”
He killed the connection. All the time I was on the line Sam was looking at me curiously, especially when I mentioned the President.
“Maybe I should have let you call for help to begin with, Kyle.”
I shrugged. Jeri had told me I could sit up and move around now.
“Most of us know someone who knows someone else. I helped Senator Benchley's son once. He thinks he owes me a favor.”
“Well, I sure as hell hope he comes through. The pick-up team Randy has on the way now is mighty slim from the 308th out of Fort Monroe. Military Intelligence is spread all over, and a lot of it operates overseas. Rapid response isn't one of our strong suits.”
“I can sense vehicles ahead of us,” Jeri broke in to say.
“Ah, shit, we're boxed in,” Sam said. It was the first real curse I'd heard from him.
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* * *
Chapter Twenty-One
“How far ahead, sweetheart?” I asked.
“At the next crossroad. About ... a mile or so.”
The van slowed. I put my arm around Jeri, knowing she needed all the comfort I could give her, and then some. It had been a hard day for her. Hell, it had been a hard day for everyone, but she was more vulnerable than most of us.
“I hate this.” She leaned into my embrace. Her body trembled with fatigue tension and worry that she hadn't bothered to dispel with her perceptive sense yet. “When is it all going to end, Kyle? I don't think I can stand much more of this. And Ishmael is near the breaking point. He needs a safe refuge to recover from those ... those...” For once she was at a loss for words.
“Those cretins,” Ishmael supplied them. “Those evil, malignant people, especially the female. She was the worst.”
“Most humans aren't like that, Ishmael,” I said, the first time I spoke to him.
“I can assure you of that,” Jeri added.
“We tried to stop it, but there was little we could do.”
The voice came from the very back of the overcrowded van, from the female of the couple Jeri had ordered to be brought out.
“That's true. Martha and Robert were extremely helpful. They pleaded with me to hang on and hope that we would be rescued. They had to whisper and pass notes to avoid detection. They said it meant death for them if the leaders knew of our secret communication. But for them, I would have terminated my existence.”
“I don't doubt it,” Sam said dryly. He used some bottled water and a handkerchief to wipe blood from his phone and his hands, then began checking his big .45 caliber Glock automatic pistol.
Carolyn took a little pair of scissors from her purse and cut off his pants leg above the wound. It had stopped bleeding but looked messy as hell. She used more of his water to clean it out. She poured iodine from a first-aid pack, then wound some gauze around his thigh. I wondered if there was something developing between them, or was I not reading the signals right? She patted his knee and smiled, despite the trap we were in. Yup. Interest, no doubt about it. Or maybe it was one soldier's respect for another. Hell, I didn't have a clue about much then. Who knew?
Robert and Martha E. Lee were CIA employees, she a semantics linguist and he a physicist. Their home was in Richmond. They were childless and had few family connections, so they were a natural choice for the renegades. They didn't know what a horror show they were getting into, but once in the redoubt, there was no going back. Later on, Jeri and I got to know them pretty well. Nice folks, even if they were both ten times smarter than me.
* * * *
The paved crossroad came into sight as we rounded a curve. Two vehicles were blocking access. There were men and women outside the big SUVS, some armed with rifles, some with handguns. Every single one was pointed in our direction. Our driver stopped the van and turned to look at Sam for orders. I'm glad it wasn't me he was staring at. I had no more idea of what to do than a hog trussed up for slaughter. Sam did.
“Everyone outside, except Kyle and the two Crispies. No, Markham, Bergloff and Carolyn. You all stay with them. If shooting starts, cover their bodies with your own. Now listen up, people. We're way outgunned, so keep your weapons out of sight. I'll personally throttle the first person that starts something without my say-so.”
