Ronnie-Anne was deeply relieved to hear the sound of Chandler's voice as she jogged toward the open door to the S.T.A.R.S. office. She'd seen one of the helicopters taking off as she arrived and had been positive they'd left without her. The S.T.A.R.S. were a fairly casual outfit in some respects. But there wasn't any room for people who couldn't keep up-and she very much wanted to be a part of this case from the get-go.
"The OPD has already established a perimeter search, spanning sectors one, four, seven, and nine. It's the central zones we're concerned with, and Bravo will set down here..."
At least she wasn't too late; Chandler always ran meetings the same way- update speech, theory, and Q and A. Ronnie-Anne took a deep breath and stepped into the office. Chandler was pointing to a posted map at the front of the room, dotted with colored tags where the bodies were found.
He hardly faltered in his speech as she walked quickly to her desk, feeling suddenly like she was back in high school and had shown up late for class.
Lincoln Loud threw her a big, friendly smile as she sat down, and she smiled back before focusing her attention back on Chandler. She didn't really remember anyone from Royal Woods except for her old love interest Lincoln Loud. Hell, Lincoln was probably the main reason she joined the S.T.A.R.S. in the first place. Despite the constant teasing and name calling, she loved him with all her heart and soul, and she joined the S.T.A.R.S. for the soul purpose of being closer to him. That, and to make a difference in cases like this.
"... after a fly-by of the other central areas. Once they report in, we'll have a better idea of where to focus our energies."
"But what about the Spencer estate?" Lincoln asked. "It's practically in the middle of the crime scenes. If we start there, we can conduct a more complete search-"
"-and if Bravo's information points to that area, rest assured we'll search there. For now, I don't see any reason to consider it a priority."
Lincoln looked incredulous. "But we only have Eli Lily's word that the estate is secure..."
Chandler leaned against his desk, his facial features expressionless. "Lincoln, we all want to get to the bottom of this, but we need to work as a team, and the best approach here is to do a thorough search of the woodland area before we start jumping to conclusions. Bravo will take a look-see and we'll do this by the book."
The white haired S.T.A.R.S. member frowned, but said nothing more. Ronnie-Anne could barely resist the urge to give her favorite lame-o a hug.
"Ronnie-Anne. I see that you managed to find the time to come in, Illuminate us with your brilliant insight. What have you got for us?"
Ronnie met Chandler's sharp gaze evenly, trying to seem as composed as he was. "Nothing new, I'm afraid. The only obvious pattern is location..."
She looked down at the notes she had on the stack of files in front of her, scanning them for reference. "Uh, the tissue samples from both Natalie Sweetwater and Ray Foster's fingernails were an exact match, we got that report yesterday...and Tonya Lipton had definitely been hiking in the foothills, that'd be sector seven-B..."
She looked back up at Chandler and made her pitch. "My theory at this point is there's a possible ritualistic cult hiding in the forest, four to eleven members strong, with guard dogs trained to attack intruders in their territory."
"Extrapolate." Chandler folded his arms, waiting.
At least no one had laughed.
Ronnie plunged forward, warming to the material. "The cannibalism and dismemberment suggest ritualistic behavior, as does the presence of decomposed flesh found on some of the victims-like the killers are carrying parts of the previous unknown victims. We've got saliva and tissue samples from our human assailants, though eye-whiteness reports suggest up to ten or eleven people. And those killed by animals were all found in the same vicinity, suggesting that they wandered into some kind of off-limits area. The saliva traces appear to be canine, though there's still some disagreement." She finished, beginning to trail off.
The captain's face betrayed nothing, but nodded slowly regardless. "Not bad, not bad at all. Disprove?"
Ronnie sighed. She hated having to shoot down her own theory, but that was part of the job, the part that encouraged clear, rational thinking. The S.T.A.R.S. trained their people not to fixate on any single path to the truth.
She glanced at her notes again. "It's highly unlikely that a cult that big would move around much, and the murders started too recently to be local; the OPD would've seen signs before now, some escalation to this kind of behavior. Also, the level of post-mortem violence indicates disorganized offenders, and they usually work solo."
Carol, the Alpha squad's vehicle specialist, piped up from the back of the room. "The animal attack parts works, though, protecting their territory and all."
Chandler scooped up a pen and walked over to the white board next to his desk, talking as he moved. "I agree."
He wrote territoriality on the board then turned back to face her. "Anything else?"
Ronnie-Anne shook her head.
Chandler capped his black pen and sat on the edge of his desk, gazing thoughtfully at the blank expanse of board. "It's a start," he said, "I know you've all read the police and coroner reports, and listened to all the witness accounts-"
"McBride here, over." From the back of the room, Clyde spoke quietly into his headset, interrupting their captain. Chandler lowered his voice and continued.
"Now at this point, we don't know what we're dealing with and I know that all of us have some...concernswith how the OPD has been dealing with the situation. But now that we're on the case, I-"
"What!"
At the sound of Clyde's raised voice, Ronnie-Anne pivoted toward the back of the room along with everyone else. He was standing up, agitated, one hand pressed to the ear piece of his set.
"Bravo team, report. Repeat, Bravo team report!"
Chandler stood up. "McBride, put it on com!"
Clyde hit the switch on the console and the bright, crackling sound of static filled the room. Ronnie-Anne strained to hear a human voice amidst the fuzz, but for several tense seconds, there was nothing.
"... you copy? Malfunction. We're going to have to..."
The rest was lost in a burst of static. It sounded like Rusty Spokes, the Bravo team leader. Ronnie bit her bottom lip and exchanged a worried glance with Lincoln. Rusty had seemed...frantic. They all listened for another moment but there was nothing more than the sound of open air.
"Position?" Chandler snapped.
Clyde's once red face was pale. "They're in the, uh, sector twenty-two, tail end of c...except I've lost the signal. The transmitter is off line."
Ronnie-Anne felt stunned, she saw the feeling reflected off of her comrade's faces. The helicopter's transmitter was designed to keep working no matter what; the only way it would shut down was if something bug happened- the entire system blanking out or being seriously damaged.
Something like a crash.
Lincoln felt his stomach knot as he recognized the coordinates.
The Spencer Estate...
Rusty had said something about a malfunction, it had to be a coincidence - but it didn't feel like one. The Bravos were in trouble, and practically on top of the old Eli Lily mansion.
All of this went through Lincoln's head in a spit-second, and then he was standing, ready to move. Whatever happened, the S.T.A.R.S. took care of their own.
Chandler was already in action. He addressed the team even as he reached for his keys, heading for the gun safe.
"Pingry, take over the board and keep trying to raise them. McBride, warm up the 'copter and get clearance, I want us ready to fly in five."
The captain unlocked the safe as Clyde handed the headset to Carol and hurried out of the room. The reinforced metal door swung open, revealing an arsenal of rifles and handguns shelved above boxes of ammo. Chandler turned to the rest of them, his expression as bland as ever, but his voice brisk with authority.
"Lincoln, Lori-I want you to get the weapons into the 'copter, loaded and secured. Santiago, get the vests and packs and meet us on the roof." He clipped a key off his ring and tossed it to her.
"I'm going to put a call into Huggins, make sure he gets us some backup and EMT s at the barricade," Chandler said, then blew out sharply. "Five minutes or less, folks. Let's move."
Ronnie-Anne left for the locker room and grabbed one of the empty duffel bags from the bottom of the gun safe, nodding at Lincoln as he scooped up a second bag and started loading boxes of shells, cartridges, and clips as Lori carefully handled the weapons, checking each one. Behind them, Carol again tried hailing the Bravo team to no avail.
Lincoln wondered again about the proximity of the Bravo team's last reported position to the Spencer estate. Was there a connection? And if so, how?
Lisa worked for Eli Lilly, they own the estate.
"Chief? Hawkins. We just lost contact with Bravo; I'm taking us in."
Lincoln felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and worked faster, aware that every second counted-could mean the difference between life and death for his friends and teammates. A serious crash was unlikely, as the Bravos would have been flying low and Francisco was a decent pilot...but what about after they'd gone down?
Chandler quickly relayed the information to Huggins over the phone and then hung up, walking back to join them.
"I'm going up to make sure our 'copters outfitted. Pingry, give it another minute and then turn it over to the boys at the front desk. You can help these two carry the equipment up. I'll see you up top."
Chandler nodded to them and hurried out, his footsteps clattering loudly down the hall.
"He's good." Lori said quietly, and her brother had to agree had to agree. It was reassuring to see that their new captain didn't rattle easily. Lincoln still wasn't sure how he felt about the man personally, but his respect for Mr. Hawkins abilities was growing by the minute.
"Come in, Bravo, do you copy? Repeat..."
Carol Pingry patiently went on, her voice tight with strain, her pleas lost to the haze of white static that pulsed out into the room...
Chandler strode down the deserted hall and through the shabbier of the two story waiting room, nodding briskly at a pair of uniforms stood talking by the soda machine.
The door to the outside landing was chocked open, a faint, humid breeze cutting through the stickiness of the air inside. It was still daylight, but not for much longer. He hoped that it wouldn't complicate matters, although he figured it probably would.
Chandler took a left and started down the winding corridor that led to the helipad, absently running through a mental checklist.
…hailing open, procedure, weapons, gear, report...
He already knew that everything was in order, but went through it again anyway. Control was what being a competent leader all was about.
But to close this case-
He shut the thought down before it could get any further. He knew what had to be done, and there was still plenty of time. All that mattered now was getting the Bravos back, safe and sound.
Chandler opened the door at the end of the hall and stepped out into the bright evening. The rising hum of the 'copters engine and the smell of machine oil filling his senses. The small rooftop helipad was cooler then inside, partly draped by the shadow of an aging water tower, and empty except for the gunmetal gray Alpha helicopter. For the first time, he wondered what had gone wrong for Bravo; he'd had Carol check out both birds yesterday and they'd been fine, all systems go.
He dismissed that train of thought as he walked toward the 'copter, his shadow falling long across the concrete. It didn't matter, not anymore. What mattered was what came next.
Expect the unexpected
That was the S.T.A.R.S. motto - although that pretty much meant to prepare for anything.
Expect nothing
That was Chandler Hawkin's motto. A little less catchy, perhaps, but infinity more useful. It virtually guaranteed that nothing would ever surprise him.
He stepped up to the open pilot door and got a shaky thumbs-up from Clyde; the man looked positively horrified, and Hawkins briefly considered leaving him behind. Lincoln was licensed to fly, and Clyde had a reputation for choking under the gun; the last thing he needed was for one of his people to freeze up if there was trouble. Then he thought about the Bravos and decided against it. This was a rescue mission. The worst McBride could do would be to throw up on himself if the 'copter had crashed badly, and Chandler could live with that.
He grinned suddenly, wondering what Wilbur T. Huggins was doing right now.
Shitting his pants, no doubt. Chandler chuckled as he stepped back onto the sunbaked asphalt, getting a sudden clear mental image of Huggins, his cheeks red with anger and crap dribbling down his leg. The co-chief was a power hungry psychopath, and that made him an idiot.
Unfortunately for all of them, he was an idiot with a little bit of power. Chandler had found some evidence that didn't show the chief in a positive light. He had no intention of using that info, but if the idiot attempted to screw things up one more time, he had no qualms about letting that info get out...
… or at least tell him I have access to it; that would certainly keep him out of the way.
Lori Loud stepped onto the concrete, carrying the ammo cache, her well-trained biceps flexing as she shifted her hold on the heavy canvas bag and started for the 'copter. Lincoln and Carol followed, he with the sidearms and her lugging a satchel of RPGs, the compact grenade launcher slung over her shoulder.
Chandler marveled at Lori's brute strength as the Alpha climbed in and casually set down the bag like it didn't weigh one-hundred pounds. Lori was a genius tactician and brilliant mind, sure. But in the S.T.A.R.S. muscle was a definite asset. Everyone else in his squad was in good shape, but compared to Lori and her brother, they were pencil necks.
As the three of them stored the equipment, Chandler turned his attention back to the door, watching for Ronnie-Anne. He checked his watch and frowned. It had been just under five minutes since their last contact with Bravo, they'd made excellent time... so where the hell was Santiago? He hadn't interacted with her much, but her file was a rave review. She'd gotten high recommendations from everyone she's worked with, praised by her last captain as highly intelligent and "unusually" calm in a crisis.
Prodigy or not, she could stand to buy a decent watch. He silently urged Ronnie-Anne to get her ass into gear and motioned for Cylde to start the 'copter.
It was time to find out just how bad things were out there.