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Chapter Nine - "Into the Fire"
Elis, Greece
The following day
…
"~Obviously when assessing any potential future threats, there is that which we know and that which we don't. But it is always that which we don't know 'we don't know' that poses the greatest danger… Here in this crucible, we will come together, so that we may be stronger apart.~"
…
Harry's words echoed in one woman's head as her bus slowed to a halt, hours after an equally-long journey from the airport. She felt relief knowing her mind could finally focus on more pleasant thoughts.
The destination, after all, wasn't like any other on her bucket list. Elis: the birthplace of the Olympics, more than two thousand square kilometers of ancient history that Emmanuelle Pichon never expected to add to her belt. The last time she went to Greece was at a family island-hopping, about a decade before she ever donned her Gendarme kepi. Crete, Santorini, Rhodes… Suffice to say, she was more than happy to return and play the role of a tourist once more, years overdue it might be. She stepped off the bus with a little song in her heart, the scent of fresh air gracing her nostrils, affirming that this trip wasn't such a waste of time after all.
The sun shone proudly on clear skies, further brightening her mood. She was the fifth person to step out of a bus filled with black-clad engineers and tech experts, one of three carrying Team Rainbow from Kalamata International. Her group had the dubious honor of being the first to set foot into the Stadium, as it was their job to re-check the facilities and training equipment that Harry prepared for the "demonstration" later.
The thought of the Olympics suddenly made even more sense. Looking at the colossal structure before her, Emma saw it wasn't as grand as she expected it to be. Graffiti still adorned some parts of the moss-covered walls, and the bright ivory sheen of their concrete had faded away. The recent retrofits had fixed most of these blemishes, but only just. Premium-grade metal panels could only go so far to hide which shouldn't be seen, and the stunning post-modern architecture of the 80s had given way to a more futuristic feel. Emma, ever the avid connoisseur of fancy sights, kept her expectations low as she and her little tour group ventured on. They came across bland hallways and cold concrete floors, one after the other, in the sprawling complex. The basement didn't fare any better either, which sported some rather dim lighting to boot. Looking at the wires snaking across the floor, it looked like Harry's hired hands were still working on the electrical system.
All throughout, armed men in aquamarine fatigues either shadowed Emma's group or stood sentry at key places. They behaved all too similar to those Puissance mercs that they left behind to guard Hereford Base. This time though, their shoulder patches bore an ivory owl emblem. Nighthaven.
"Here we are!", Elena "Mira" Alvarez announced to the party, as she stopped in front of a set of double doors.
*swish*
Oh, good grief…
Emma felt her jaw drop a bit; she should've remembered not to judge a book by its cover. The Stadium was unkempt and unloved from the outside, but it was a stark contrast to that which awaited her within. She feasted her eyes on the hardware afforded to the Program's makeshift R&D Lab Room: precision milling tools, top-of-the-line CNC machines, high-grade equipment of all stripes, distributed among several cubicles. The setup was not at all different from the one she left behind in England – even the worktables were the same. The only major change was the backdrop, as the Lab was built from the remains of a football locker room, only a short jaunt away from the arena outside. Elena, Rainbow's "top boffin", made her way past Emma's shoulder in a commanding stride, then pointed fingers at each workstation for her fellow engineers.
"Fabricators are in that corner.", she motioned. "Calibrators on the other side, oscilloscopes are over there… If you need anything else, req forms are on my desk."
"Goddamn went ahead of yourself again, eh Mira?", Jordan Trace chided her.
"You know me.", she smiled back at him. "We'll be here for a while, so we might as well be comfortable. Mi casa es su casa."
And thus, the tour was over.
Everyone followed her lead, dropping their duffel bags and packs on one table or the next, then spilling their contents. Jordan went straight to work with the training explosives and incendiaries, while Mira unfolded packs of Sim-Suits from her bag to hook them up into a diagnostics kit. Others did the same, filling the air with sounds of ripping Velcro and metals clanging together. Soon, the workshop was rife with the rhythm of pneumatic presses, hydraulic saws, and grinding 3D printers. Emma spruced up her workbench by taking an electron scope from a nearby shelf and hooking it up to her personal laptop. Next, she pulled out an ammunition case from her knapsack, grunting at its weight, and set it beside her. Satisfied with the setup, she then tied her brown curls into a prim and proper bun. She was not a tourist anymore: she was tasked with inspecting the hand-tooled training rounds, prep them for today's activity.
The rounds came in various calibers, separated in trays inside the ammo case. She took out a 7.62mm and ran it through an electron scan, double-checking if she had gotten the specifications right. Gone were the soft, calcium carbonate tips as per Ethan's suggestion a few nights ago, and instead they were replaced by a chemical mixture that would dissolve the projectile into a fine, white powder on impact. Probably a good thing, since being hit by even a non-lethal 7.62 was usually a painful experience in of itself. She had firsthand taste, after all, albeit with the real thing. The thing nearly killed her. It was like being hit by a baseball, if it was made of lead, and could burrow into flesh and bone as fast as lightning. The pain was incredible; even now, she could still remember the smell of blood, the gunpowder, and burning metal when she fell. That said, getting shot was arguably a preferable fate than being gassed alive, as one young girl in Bartlett University would probably-
She shook her head at the next moment, stopping herself from remembering last night's nightmare.
Focus, Emmanuelle. Focus.
The scanner beeped after a few seconds, producing positive results. Then she moved on with the next bullet, and the next one, hoping to clear all of the tray's contents fast enough before she moved to another. Tedious work, one that could've been done with robots or a fancy AI, but she insisted on a hands-on treatment for her projects. She wanted to keep herself busy, lest her mind wandered somewhere bad again. This was not the right time to think about when she failed to save Madison Saint-Claire, or when Emma herself nearly died in Oregon. This needless busywork at the Lab was essentially therapy, or at least something better than getting absolutely shit-faced in a bar and seducing a good friend for a quick fuck. She cringed in her head when she suddenly remembered what she tried to pull on Ethan that night. With the panties and everything. She's still eager to explain herself to him, that she hadn't gone completely bonkers, but then Harry sent him away on that secret assignment of his…
"Hey Twitch."
Just as Emma was about to go into a steady groove in her work, she heard someone call her from behind. It was a short woman wearing black fatigues, her hair and skin were as white as Christmas snow. Her smile was as beaming as the sun outside.
"Docteur Meijer. Can I help you?"
"Oh, drop the formalities; 'Iana' would do.", she smirked.
Specialist Nienke Meijer. The short Dutch lady had been in the Team for less than a week, yet she had already made a positive impression. A scientist and astronaut by trade, as well as a key figure in the EU Space Program, she nonetheless showed remarkable aptitude for weapons technology that belie the fancy degrees mentioned in her dossier. She and the other eggheads in Rainbow mostly got along well, especially Elena, although she could be blunt and pushy at times. By all accounts, she was a civilian despite her rather limited military experience - an interesting addition to the soldiers and police-types that made up the Rainbow family.
"Here's your phone.", Iana pulled something from her trousers' front left pocket. "I finally got Madison to integrate to it during the flight."
Emma blinked in surprise. She had almost forgotten about the favor she asked her when they were in the plane. It was more of a dare, really - to see if Iana's grasp of artificial intelligence was on par with hers. With the device on her palm, Emma swiped across the screen to turn it on, eager to see if a certain brown-haired female computer avatar made it into the list of apps. And true enough, Madison was there, in all her cheerful, photo-realistic glory.
"W…Wow. You did this in just three hours!?", she praised.
"Mmhm. Your AI is amazing, by the way - her adaptive protocols will really help my Gemini program be more life-like. Not sure how she'll be useful in the field though."
"Ehh, you'll never know.", Emma shrugged. "She's just a little pet project of mine anyway."
Iana's workbench was just across hers, both of which were facing a large pane of glass that showed them the training field just outside. Peering beyond the window, the two women observed some construction workers in their natural habitat. They were working on a labyrinth of see-through barriers and concrete and plaster slabs, stacked on top of each other to form a makeshift Kill House. Men and materiel moved like clockwork, making final preparations to the training venue and spectator boxes, all while Taina and Meghan oversaw the whole effort from the sidelines. Everything had to follow the exact specs of Harry's little show. The pressure was on for the R&D people to step up their game, provide a spectacle that the men in suits wouldn't soon forget.
And speak of the Devil, these VIPs were hard to miss. Emma could see that about 20 of them were on the opposite end of the training field, massed into a little tour group of their own, herded by Director Harishva Pandey himself. Meghan approached them and engaged in conversation, obviously too far away for anyone to eavesdrop on. They basked in awe at the Kill House, today's main attraction.
"So… that's where the magic is gonna happen huh?", Iana muttered. "It's quite intimidating."
"You won't be in The Program, if that's what you're worried about."
"No, not just that. I'm fine pulling double shifts in a lab, but… simulated combat drills? I haven't even held a gun since I left the Luchtmacht (Air Force)."
"Heh. Didn't the REU train you to fight aliens or something?", Emma joked. "Seems to me you left a cool job up in space and jumped straight down into the fire."
Iana turned to her with a frown in her brows, seemingly offended by the stupid presumption.
"I signed up for the science. The challenge. I leave the killing to people like you, no offense."
The Frenchwoman paused for a moment, feeling daggers suddenly thrust into her heart. 'Killers'. There was some truth in that, after all, for she was no longer the innocent, scrawny-whizz kid or the globe-trotting tourist in her youth. From her time in the Gendarmerie, to her stint in Rainbow, she had claimed dozens of lives. 'Confirmed enemy kills', going alongside the trophies and certificates of excellence she had on her name. Such a bitter irony, to find so much blood in a self-styled humanist such as herself. In return for saving innocent people from dangerous psychopaths, she now had bad dreams about the massacre in Bartlett University, the last breaths of Madison Saint-Claire, and the bullet that nearly cut her life short. Fitting gifts to a 'killer', perhaps.
"Bah, I'm sure you'll do fine.", Emma assured her, feigning a bit of bravado. "Most of us also got anxious in our first week."
"I'm not used to getting my ass kicked, Twitch."
"Well, you better get ready because that's part of our training. We have the best of the best right here. You can ask Eliza or Harry if you need more trigger-time."
Iana smiled in reply, not knowing how much of a worried wreck her fellow engineer actually was. Emma took some comfort knowing that she had already gone through her baptism of fire in Rainbow. In a way, she was a peg higher than this white-haired girl, for whatever good it was worth. She only needed to embody her words, now more than ever. 'Be stronger apart', as Harry said it.
And so, she continued with her work on the cartridges, shoving aside any lingering fears or doubts she still had in her genius brain. It's what Ethan would do in her place after all, should he be stuck building practice bullets rather than going solo recon missions at the States. Emma smiled at the thought of him doing such a thankless job; at least then, he would have one more thing in common with her. He might even give her more pointers about 5.56s and 9-mils. She moved to their trays after she was finished with the larger ines. Once again, she ran each individual cartridge to a scanner, checking them for weight, aerodynamics, and powder content, taking note of every beep and reading for consistency.
If she was going to get hit with one of these later, they had to pass her own strict safety standards.
Iana looked on while she worked, then seemingly decided that her appointed-task could be set aside for later. She seemed eager to pitch in, as she went towards Emma's desk and offered to help her fill up the magazines with bullets she checked. The two of them harmoniously worked in tandem, with one running a dummy bullet into the scanner, and another loading it into an empty magazine. STANAG, PMAG, or even the ultra-rare MAS mags that Emma still had for her FAMAS. The rhythm slowly gave way to peace, peace to levity. Soon, the two women started giggling at themselves, realizing how their genius was spent doing something incredibly mundane. The cheers were all but lost in the humdrum of the workshop, as machines of all stripes roared to life.
"Pardon me ladies.", Jordan casually butted in. "We got one more piece to add into the pile."
The man was just fresh from his workbench, smelling a bit like a fireworks factory himself. He plopped down a large, flat piece of metal onto Emma's table, the steel clang indicating its weight. It was an R1N Rhino, something that the two Rainbow vets were familiar with. Not Iana, though, who looked genuinely curious to see it. One glance was all she needed to correctly guess its structural composition.
"Oooh.", her eyes widened with glee. "That's a boron carbide protective plate! Spall-stop coating, BFD face-mesh…"
"Umm… why are you bringing this to us?", the other woman frowned.
"Ask your boy, Rook. The kid tossed that to me when we landed in Kalamata. Feels like he's worried someone's gonna get hurt later."
She wanted to roll her eyes, but she relented for the sake of decorum.
"He's such a baby! I already said my training rounds aren't that dangerous! Do you know where he is?"
"Beats me. Probably touring the Stadium in a goddamn bike or somethin'.", Jordan shrugged. "Anyways, he already filled out the form with Gus's signature on it, so I suggest y'all get working right now."
He then walked away to let the two women do their thing. At least one of them felt infinitely annoyed with the rush job. But on the other hand, Julien had a point that she had to concede to. The Rhino plates did save her life once, after all; adding this piece into the demonstration would likely yield the same result for her and everyone else. It warmed her heart to think there was at least one other man in Rainbow who still looked out for her.
"I say, it's a good opportunity to see how the Sim-Suits mesh with our body armor and your munitions.", Iana remarked. "Not that hard for you, right?"
"I suppose.", Emma shrugged. "But this is just more work for me."
She then set it to the side of the table, as if to emphasize how far down it was on her queue of concerns. In truth, she welcomed the new job order. More distractions meant more ways to ease her mind, keep her away from any lingering sadness. Ultimately, that's what the Program meant to her.
*fssssss*
All eyes went to the source of the sound. Something in the Texan's workbench was starting to fizzle, creating a puff of white smoke. Iana gasped in horror, but her colleagues were less than fazed. Especially Jordan.
"Aw, shit. Don't panic everyone. I got this.", he announced as he calmly manhandling the chaos on his desk.
Everyone had gotten used to his brand of chemistry, but a few people still expressed strong emotions. Whatever crap he was working with smelled like burnt metal oxide, albeit in a lesser concentration. Emma surmised that Jordan was actually working on the compact hard breach explosive packs that he had been tinkering for weeks now, probably thinking about adding them to the demonstration as well. The scent threatened to trigger that terrible nightmare again, but it didn't work this time around. How could it, when Emma was in the company of friends? The warm, pleasant feeling when she stepped off the bus had somehow returned, making her truly feel at home in Elis.
"*sigh* Jordan, por favor, you can try to blow us all up later.", Elena called out from her desk, obviously not amused. "We need to get all our gear ready before showtime."
"I said I got it Mira!"
The fizzling became stronger than it reeked, as though it could only be doused by a healthy spray of pressurized nitrogen. Jordan, quietly panicking in his workstation, started pounding on the fire with a piece of wet cloth. It did the job, but it created a cloud of noxious fume that sent everyone near him into a coughing fit. Curses were shouted, excuses were made. It was just another day in the Team's R&D Labs. And Emma found herself laughing even harder, much to Iana's wonder.
"Wow. You guys really are… something."
"Special?"
"Weird."
She tapped the other woman's shoulder, smiling. For once, her joy was genuine.
"Welcome to Rainbow. Hey, you're here too!"
…
…
Harry was glad to see his people getting along so well. Behind a screen of glass in the distance, he could see Emmanuelle and Ninke bantering with each other. Further behind them, Jordan was having an earful from Elena, as they both tried to contain the little accident the former had on his workbench. Surely, they got it all sorted out. The same could not be said to the one talking in Harry's cellphone.
"…And if this is a rogue spear operation that Rose is part of, then the CIA have been infiltrated worse than we thought.", Aurelia Arnot continued to speak.
"Hmm.", he stroked his stubble in quiet worry. "That is indeed troubling."
Harry remained silent and calm as he processed the information that she just told him; his guests needn't be alarmed or tipped off. Brass tacks: according to Aurelia's contact, the White Masks' new technical expert, Orson Rose, had too much in common with his predecessor, Adam Kipper, than Rainbow knew about. Both were financially-motivated, had Western origins, and both had criminal ties. But now, they learned that both had also worked with the Special Activities Division in the past, with one Emily Jacobsen as their handler. This woman might have played a bigger part in the White Masks thanks to her position. As Case Officer, she probably inserted more of her own people in key positions within the chain of command, creating a "rogue spear" or a renegade faction within the military acting without the higher-ups' knowledge. Much as he liked to hate their motives, Harry was impressed by the terrorists' dedication. Years upon years of plotting and patience have culminated in a massive campaign that Rainbow thought they thwarted in New York more than a year ago.
Nevertheless, he kept his fears in check. He'd been in this business long enough to be accustomed to intrigue and deception, no matter where it came from. Aurelia taught him as much. Rather than dwell on the circumstances that led to this problem, it was more prudent to plan ahead.
"Have you told the President about this?", he asked her.
"Not yet. Things are hot in DC these days. Like everyone here will lynch me if they find out I got this intel from the FSB."
"Hmm. Solidarity has become a foreign concept to the world at large it seems.", Harry replied.
"*sigh* Yeah. Some days I wished I stayed with Rainbow. Anyway, our people making any progress yet?"
Before he opened his mouth, Harry glanced over his shoulder first. The man in the brown suit, one Under-Secretary-General Barston, was not too far away from him, mingling with the other representatives and delegates. This gentleman had flown a long way from New York just to keep tabs on Team Rainbow in person, and his prudence was just as expected from the Security Council. Good his intentions might be, there were still quite a few things about the Team's operations that he shouldn't know about, so Harry kept his voice soft.
"Right now, Ethan is working incognito on your lead in the States. Miss Shah said her troops are running missions in the Indian Ocean as we speak. Won't be long now until we locate the pirates that Agent Nøkk's intel indicated."
There was a pregnant pause from his old mentor, oddly so. Hearing about Team Rainbow's success to dismantle the terrorists' supply network bit by bit, even with the whole pseudo-exhibition here in Greece, should have been a monumental achievement in her eyes.
"Is something bothering you?"
"Let's just say… I'm getting bad vibes all around.", Aurelia finally responded. "After everything we've seen with these psychos, you'd think politics will be our ally, not our biggest threat."
"The Program will work."
"I hope so. You are aware that Barston is the only one protecting you from Homeland Security, right? Bob hasn't exactly forgiven us yet."
And by 'Bob' she was referring to Homeland Secretary Robert Treadway, a name she was yet to speak with any hint of affection or friendship whatsoever.
"Of course.", Harry replied confidently. "This is isn't our first dance with the UN. Won't be the last one either."
"Glad to hear it. In the meantime, I'll see if I can talk to a few more friends to help you out."
"Friends? I'm surprised you still have them. Do you have anyone specific?"
Aurelia let out a hearty laugh before she replied. It was uplifting and ominous at the same time.
"I'll see if he's still available."
*beep*
Harry tucked his phone back into his pocket. He wanted to be optimistic, to relish the fact that Team Rainbow still had plenty of allies behind the scenes despite Homeland Security's meddling. Things could still be on the upswing, despite having just learned something terrible about the illusive Mr. Rose. On the other hand, things on Aurelia's end were probably getting bad if she was starting to scrape down the barrel for literally any kind of help she could still get her hands on. He hoped that her Russian friend didn't get either of them into serious trouble. And a little voice in his head kept telling him that a lot more needed to be done. Earth's Hope, the White Masks… it didn't matter if their advesaries had many names. Time was running out. And remembering what Rainbow still don't know 'they don't know', time was running out faster than they could fathom it.
He realized he was becoming pensive again. He tightened his tie as a gesture of confidence; it was his job to be a showman today. He turned around to the crowd behind him, seeing that Barston and Meghan were having a serious discussion of their own. He observed his other guests: each of them a person of import from his or her government. They needed to be shown the light. They needed to know that Team Rainbow could teach them a thing or two about unity. They needed to realize that Team Rainbow could also benefit from them, whether in teachings or in clout, or anything to help with the greater mission. As the blonde American finished talking with Barston, she turned to Harry and nodded.
It was time to see if they could kick the Program off to a good start.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention please?", he bid them. "The combat demonstration will begin in an hour. My colleague here will give you a rundown on what you can expect."
…
Somewhere in Dickinson County, Iowa
One hour later
…
Ethan felt right at home. Alone, crouched behind a screen of cornstalks, peering into the scope of a Mk.14 EBR beneath some humid weather. On his crosshairs was an old farm complex, half a klick away, surrounded by fields of yellow grain. The place was quite humble: just one giant red barn, connected to an L-shaped house and two rusty silos behind it. There were a couple of men outside, dressed in slacks and sharing a pack of smokes beside a blue pickup truck. They were failing hard at being subtle, with their black shades and earpieces, but perhaps the SAD simply didn't bother hiding their presence here anyway. After all, they were in the ass-end of nowhere.
That only assured Ethan that he'd come to the right place.
Come on fellas. Show me something interesting.
Most people probably wouldn't think much of Iowa, unless they were living there or they're tuning in for the caucuses. A land of endless corn and nothing else, if stereotypes were to be believed. In truth, it's one of the few places in the Midwest where the CIA's Special Activities Division could operate with impunity, away from the White House's prying eyes. Ethan would know, considering that much of his time in Delta Force was spent working with them. About a few months before Operation Witch Hunt kicked off, he and his team helped the SAD escort a high-value individual from the State Penitentiary in Lee County to the Federal Supermax in Colorado. It was a boring 12-hour trip with nobody from the FBI or the NSA breathing down their necks. It was an illegal operation, in other words, as the SAD was forbidden from operating domestically without another federal agency's supervision.
This barn just outside of Milford was no stranger to such intrigue. While it might seem innocuous, the place was actually an SAD safehouse and detention facility, sometimes used as a disposal yard depending on Langley's current fancy. And now Ethan was here, about to break into this 'black site', ready to fight his old coworkers to the death should the mission go awry. He donned a two-hole balaclava and a woodland jacket, completely hiding his identity from hawk-eyed cameras. His chest rig only had a few essentials: crowbar, keycard scrambler, plus a trauma plate to shield his chest. He also had a Glock on his hip holster and enough ammo in his rifle to turn the farm into a mortuary five times over. But it wouldn't have to come to violence – he just needed to retrieve that one woman from SAD custody, and he'd hightail it out of here.
He tried his best not to think about her. Emily Jacobsen. Sometimes he could still picture her warm face and sweet scent, despite knowing how things between them ended up the way they did. She was a fine woman and a brave patriot. But whatever good memories he ever had with her were forever marred by her betrayal, to him and to their country. So many good people died, so many innocent lives claimed, all because she wanted to make 'America stronger'. She was better off dead, knowing what the SAD would do to a White Mask infiltrator and ex-Case Officer like herself. Best case scenario: Ethan would find her somewhere in that barn, either in a drugged or delirious state, hopefully conscious enough that she could still be extracted for information. He had a shot of adrenaline handy to jumpstart her brain, get her to talk. What he'd do to her after that was moot, though a bullet between her eyes would probably be a mercy. Yet somehow, a part of him still wanted to relent. To be more… lenient.
He wiped off a bead of sweat from his brow while he kept his aim steady. For hours in his one-man stakeout, he had been shifting his crosshairs from one side of the barn to the other with nothing remarkable catching his attention. His latest sweep didn't yield him much: only a vast swathe of cornfields as far as the eyes could see, plus a few trees and a derelict combine harvester to mix the monotony. Thus, he returned his attention to the two men by the pickup, who hadn't been moving from their spot since they stepped out of the barn. They seemed to be waiting for one of their buddies inside, probably one of three individuals who had been going in and out of the premises. One of whom was a guy with glasses, probably in his late twenties, who looked like the Grounds Custodian, or 'caretaker'. There was also a stout-looking dude who had been carrying large boxes and parcels inside - an assistant, most likely. And then there's a nondescript woman in a jumpsuit, who had been barking orders about an hour ago, until she also went inside the barn and had not emerged since. If she was the Site Leader, this meant that the guys near the truck were the Troubleshooters: guards and hunters in equal measure, assigned to deal with unfortunate trespassers. It was safe to assume that they had sidearms tucked inside their clothes.
One of them motioned to the other to pick up the nearby garden hose. Their truck's tires needed cleaning apparently.
Ethan groaned in his head. So far, he had not seen anything suspicious or noteworthy to help him in his mission. He needed a lot more information to work with before he could make a move, like timetables and radio frequencies. He only had his prior experience in Milford to back him up. He remembered that the barn was a lot bigger on the inside, with a secret door behind a wooden panel to gain access to the underground safehouse itself. The old alarm system could still be there waiting for him, both on his way in and out. For that, he had his reconnaissance drones deployed at key places, ready to sniff them so he could deal with them. One of the wheeled robots was positioned almost two klicks from his spot, overlooking his SUV which he hid from the main road. The drone would also watch out for reinforcements that the damn spooks could call in, as well as cover his escape route if shit hit the fan. He positioned another drone behind a vent shaft to the northwest of the barn building, ready to zone out the place once Ethan had found an opportunity. If only he had known the foot traffic within the complex, he could get his bot in and out without being detected.
His biggest asset, however, was the tri-rotor drone that Meghan and Craig graciously provided him with. He sent it airborne half an hour ago, flying directly above the target building and keeping a steady eye on any movement below. Small-profile and silent, and thus the perfect scouting device. Where and how his SEAL colleagues got their paws on the bad boy was irrelevant. Perhaps they met with a certain motley crew who came back from South America sometime ago.
Ethan took out his datapad again to review the camera feeds of his three drones. So far, nothing; much like his sweep with the rifle. At this point, he figured it was probably best of him to wait until nightfall, sneak in when the agents' guard was down. He tucked the device back into his chest pocket, frowning in disappointment.
That was when he saw movement from the barn. He hurriedly braced the rifle stock again, scoping in for a better picture…
…
…What are they doing?
Three people emerged from the building: the glasses-guy, the fat dude, and the jumpsuit-lady, as he had previously tagged. They were in a hurry, headed towards the two lookouts who were waiting for them outside by the pickup truck. Some loud words were exchanged, slightly echoing from the distance. They were too far away for Ethan to listen in, but they seemed to be arguing amongst themselves. The guy with the glasses, in particular, was the most verbal, visibly showing his displeasure with aggressive scowls and hand gestures. The fat one was despondent, but the woman was fighting back with yells of her own. Whatever the reason for their debate, it was superfluous at best as they all got into the pickup truck anyway. The lady brought out her cellphone, presumably to report back to HQ.
They're leaving?
Ethan could not believe his eyes. All five tenants boarded their truck and started to drive off, leaving the farm complex completely unattended, against SAD protocols. And there couldn't have been anyone else left in the barn, as there were no other vehicles parked outside. Or maybe there was another vehicle hiding in the barn for shade, or there were other people he was yet to scope out. Or none at all. It was hard to juggle between possibilities without knowing all the variables. The urge to infiltrate the complex grew stronger, as the truck drove further and further away, probably headed to the city. The truck's windows weren't tinted, but he didn't see Emily among them.
He jotted down the truck's plates, just in case, as they drove further away and disappeared beyond the crest of a hill.
With the tenants seemingly out of the picture, Ethan pulled out his datapad again; an opportunity to reconnoiter had finally presented itself. This time, he switched controls to the drone he positioned northwest of the barn, just outside, and started maneuvering it. He could hear the wheels tumble through the dirt, scooping them up and throwing bits of it into the camera, as the robot rolled its way to the vent shaft. Dirt sounds were quickly replaced by metallic clinks, which Ethan prayed were soft enough to not attract attention from anyone who could still be inside. Reaching the end of the tiny tunnel, the drone stumbled across what appeared to be the barn's tackroom, spacious and wide, and lined with pressure-treated wood panels. There were boxes, crates, and other miscellanies stacked on top of each other, likely the ones being carried inside by the fat dude from earlier.
Strangely, nobody was guarding them.
Ethan shifted the camera angle to be sure, but there was no denying what his eyes were telling him. The barn was completely abandoned. There wasn't even a single sentry drone or security camera guarding the entrance to the secret passage, which looked exactly how he remembered it from his last time here. He felt a bit elated, realizing that his job had gotten a lot easier. Of course, it was to be short-lived.
Not long after his drone infiltrated the barn, he saw smoke coming from one of the stacks of boxes. Then, an sudden spark of light.
"What the fu-"
*BOOM!*
His datapad immediately went blank with static, just as how he felt the distant rumbling. The drone signal had gone dead, but before he could process what was going on, Ethan tilted his head up. There, half a klick away, he saw a section of the barn had caught fire.
"Holy shit!"
He couldn't believe it. At first, he thought he had triggered a booby trap. But no kind of defense mechanism would wantonly destroy the very place it's trying to protect. All kinds of scenarios ran in his head, but assuming his spy-playbook wasn't outdated, it would appear that spooks had just pulled a Clean Slate. Whatever triggered it caused everything related to their operation to be put to the torch. Was this why those agents were evacuating the barn? The reasoning didn't matter in the slightest, as Ethan felt his heart started to beat faster and more anxiously. For a few seconds, he did nothing but gawk at the inferno ahead of him. Whatever intel he came to retrieve was being turned to ash right before his eyes. And he was powerless to stop it.
No. Nonono…
His thoughts quickly went to Emily. He didn't see her come out of the barn. There was no way she could still be inside then, unless the SAD agents were damn deliberate about what they did. Then a cruel realization dawned: perhaps it wasn't just an evacuation that Ethan saw. Rather, it was also… an execution. An execution made to look like an accident. Was that why he saw them arguing earlier? It was too horrifying to be true; there's no way that the SAD were that cruel. They could've transferred Emily out of that place days ago. They could've killed her already, hours, days, maybe even months ago. Or she could still be shackled inside one of the underground cells, condemned to roast to death as a last-minute judgment. All Ethan knew was that he had little time for fear and second guesses.
Before he could even think about aborting his mission, he found himself standing up from his spot, leaving his EBR on the ground. His legs started a silent, yet hurried stride, as they took him to the edge of the cornfields where he was hiding from. Minutes felt like seconds as he realized the path he was about to take. The fire was yet to spread throughout the rest of the complex, probably giving him about five minutes at best to make a move. And that move made perfect sense in his head, even though logic begged him not to take another step. But he had to retrieve something, anything, or anyone, from that place before it burned into the ground. At worst, he was only satisfying his curiosity. At best, he was about to save a life. He didn't drive all this way to Iowa for nothing. Before he knew it, Ethan had gotten out of the field and into the open, all set for a mad dash towards the burning building. Somehow, the farmhouse beside it was still intact.
Even outside of the barn, intense heat gripped his skin through the fabric of his clothes. Thinking on his feet, Ethan remembered the garden hose he saw the guards were using earlier and sprayed himself with copious amounts of water. Hopefully, this would buy him more time. He figured it was far too late to reconnoiter the place with his flying drone; his best asset right now was his instincts. With a few deep breaths to psych himself up, he bolted his way inside. He went to the southern section of the barn and used all his might to kick down a wooden door. It didn't work, so he resorted to use his crowbar. He pried the knob off with steady force to unlock the door, grunting as he did. He was immediately greeted by a big puff of blackness. Inside, he stumbled across a massive bonfire of burning boxes, tongues of flame licking the ceiling. There was the unmistakable stench of ignited propane, hinting at the blast's origin. He found himself inching a few feet closer to flames in order to get his bearings. He spouted a whole lot of curses as he looked past the fires to find the secret access to the underground shelter. To his horror, he found smoke coming out of the wood panel as well, telling him that there might be a fire down there as well. Yet he still pressed on. Against all common sense, he went straight to the hidden door and kicked it down, managing to dodge cinders and burning debris from touching his water-soaked clothes. Smoke threatened to clog his nostrils, but his mask kept it bay, for at least a little while.
The clock was ticking, and he knew it would only take minutes for the whole place to collapse on top of him, or for the fire to suck out all the oxygen around him. His gloves touched sizzling surfaces as he broke into the hidden staircase leading underground. It wasn't as dim as Ethan thought it would be, but there were no emergency lights to guide his path either, hinting that the SAD goons had cut out all the power from their facility before they decided to torch it. At least that took care of the security systems as well. Ethan used the glow of the flames to locate the main hallway; he was relieved to know that the floorplan didn't change much since he had been here. The walls were the same dull grey concrete as last time, the floors and ceiling were still unpolished as before.
He nearly slipped on a pile of papers scattered beneath his feet. They spilled from a crate to his left, which had fallen off from an adjacent room, where a larger pile of boxes was stacked. The smoke and the stench bid him to take a closer look into the room, and true enough there was a small puddle on the floor with a gout of fire growing on top of it. It smelled like lighter fluid, a rather half-assed way to burn dozens of boxes en masse. Perhaps the SAD guys were in a hurry. While it was tempting to grab some of the boxes' contents before they were incinerated, Ethan conceded and focused on the task at hand. Emily. He searched desperately for a sign of her presence, even as the smoke clouded his vision and seeped into his nostrils. He strode out of the room, coughing all the way, completely unaware of what he'd see elsewhere in the complex.
Knowing time was not on his side, he did something out of desperation.
"Emily!", he shouted. "Emily!"
He was wasting precious oxygen in his lungs, just to get the attention of the one woman he came all this way for. He was also announcing his presence to the whole facility, which totally undid the whole infiltration-thing he intended. But anyone still inside here would have more pressing matters to worry about, now that there was a fire raging above their heads. Reckless and imprudent... Yet in the absence of good ideas, Ethan only had bad ones to choose from. Soon enough, he found himself on another hallway lined with several steel doors, frustrating him with the prospect of a guessing game. Rather than check each one of them, he focused on the last one which he remembered to be the old detention cell. He kicked it down with all the strength he could spare, but to no avail. Thus, he used his crowbar a second time. With the door pried open, he barged in without second thought. And his initial hunch was right; he stumbled across a small drab bedroom, which was also starting to fill with smoke.
There was a figure lying on the bed, covered in a green blanket.
"Emily!"
He rushed to the figure, unfurling the sheets with one swoop…
…
…
Ethan gasped. He didn't see a fair-skinned woman with red hair beneath the covers.
Instead, there was a scrawny little thing, motionless and lying on its back. A little girl. He recognized her: copper-skinned, black-haired, and clad in a medical gown. He met her only a few days ago, in marginally better circumstances. She looked asleep, but the bandage across her left wrist hinted at something more sinister. He could only mutter her name in disbelief.
"A…Agnes!?"
Once again, his paths crossed with Agnes Kipper, the poor child rescued by Team Rainbow from some hellhole in Morocco. Ethan was flabbergasted, for Meghan was doubly-sure she had the kid returned to home after her brief stay in Hereford. She obviously made the trip, but to see her here, in a burning farm practically in the middle of nowhere, sent a shockwave of alarm through his bones.
What the hell is she doing here!?
"Kid, wake up! We gotta go! …Agnes?"
Ethan shook her shoulder a third time, but she didn't respond. Hers was no ordinary sleep. The scar on her wrist confirmed his suspicion: she had been sedated with something strong, as not even the scorching heat or the dwindling oxygen could rouse her. He had to get her out as soon as possible. He scooped the little girl up in his arms and made a gangway out of the bedroom, smoke starting choke their lungs. He didn't look back at the inferno behind him as he climbed the stairs with haste, coughing heavily as he did. The moisture from his clothes had all but evaporated at this point; it wouldn't take much for the flames to consume him and his precious cargo. The moment he got out of the underground shelter, the fire behind him grew ever larger, consuming the hallway and all the kindling it found.
Ethan was back at the burning tackroom, which didn't improve his situation one bit. The fires here had gotten worse in fact; they were already sticking to the walls and the ceiling. Worse still, the place whence he came had been blocked off by a massive pile of burning debris, cutting off his best means of escape. Cursing under his breath, he hurried to another corner of the barn and kicked down the only door that was still intact, whereupon he came across another hall leading to the main farmhouse. This structure was relatively untouched, unlike the barn, but that was not really a consolation. On the contrary, the ceiling felt like it was heating up as well, and black smoke was starting to creep in from the crevices. The sickening smell of melted paint hinted that the outer skin was actually starting to catch fire. Rather than check in with his flying drone and confirm the case, Ethan was deadest on to finding the back door as soon as possible.
He didn't hear the beeping sound from his datapad. It was a warning. The tri-rotor drone flying outside had detected unknown movement.
Alas, he was so caught up with the escape to even notice. He let his limbs do all the work, his instincts do all the thinking. At the back of his head, speculation ran wild, realizing that his mission had taken a dark turn. Instead of Emily, he found Agnes Kipper: sole survivor of a massacre, the White Masks' latest victim, and perhaps the only living person to have seen their leader, as per her testimony in Hereford. The poor kid had gone through so much. She was supposed to be back with her kin, or at least with social workers or something, not locked in a cell ran by some goddamn stone-cold bastards. Somehow, the argument among those SAD agents started to feel a lot more… disturbing. They should've known there was a child in the safehouse they just burnt to the ground. Did they leave her there on purpose? Was she a prisoner? What had they done to her? The questions lingered on as Ethan passed a hallway and stumbled across a sun-lit kitchen. He saw that the way out was only a few meters ahead, and he quickly seized the chance to make his getaway.
He darted past a window, not realizing he was exposed on his right side. He reacted too late when the glass beside him suddenly shattered.
*splat!*
Something hard hit him in the chest, sharp and painful. A spray of red splattered across his face. He fell down on his side with a gasp, Agnes crumpling beside him in a violent thud.
…
…
Emma fell down with a grunt, a mist of white powder sprayed across her mask. Something heavy hit her in the chest, just below her right clavicle. Her FAMAS F2 fell beside her.
"~One Attacker Remaining.~", the loudspeakers announced, echoing throughout the Stadium.
The floor felt cold and littered with empty white casings. Her Sim-Suit beeped loudly, telling her she had "zero health". If she didn't regret volunteering for Harry's demonstration today, she was seriously reconsidering it now. She groaned as she clutched the part where the bullet hit, like it was second nature for her, one who survived a real gunshot wound. She held the glove slightly above her face, seeing a sheet of pulverized chalk across her palm. There was, thankfully, no blood.
Well, at least that worked...
Sighing in defeat, she slumped her head down and played the part of a "Downed Operator", as per the simulation's rules. So much for testing out Julien's armor plate, as the bullet that downed her actually missed her vest by a good inch or so. The "simulated wound" actually hurt like crap, a lot more than she expected from a mere training munition. It was definitely a 9-mil, probably even one of the bullets she double-checked this morning. She spouted all sorts of nasty words, chastising herself for not seeing the murderhole that the Defenders made from that plaster wall ten meters ahead of her. She could already imagine the great splotch of blue and red on her chest once she took off the Sim-Suit, which wasn't her idea of a first day in her tour of Elis. But on the other hand, if she didn't take Ethan's recommendations into account, the bullet could've hit her with a much stronger force, producing an even uglier mark on her flesh. Small victories needed to be relished after all.
Looking to her right, Emma could see her last teammate, Jordan, a few meters away. He was engaged in a firefight with whoever was the lucky asshole who scored a hit on her. He unloaded with quick, precise taps from his assault rifle while he advanced with haste. The "Bomb Site" was close by, just separated by a wall, made from less than six inches of sawdust, sand, and lime. It was obviously a flimsy defense, which was why the Defenders did their best to shore it up with a layer of pneumatic, reinforced steel, indicated by the spikes protruding from its outer layer. Jordan ceased firing once he was in position, quickly pulling out a BC-3 Brimstone Exothermic Charge from his backpack, then planting it on the fortified surface. He then moved to a safe distance and produced a detonator from one of his pouches. One button press later and chemistry did the rest; Emma braced herself for it by closing her eyes.
*BOOM!*
Bits and pieces of debris flew across the room, quickly disintegrating into harmless puffs, showcasing the handiwork of Team Rainbow's R&D guys. Jordan reloaded his SIG556xi as soon as the smoke cleared, then tossed a flashbang into the brand-new hole he just made. Emma watched on as he ran straight into it, ready to finish the job. It was as though he was convinced that the opposition was subdued and he could just-
*thud*
And he got domed in the head. Of course.
"~Attackers have been neutralized. Defenders win.~"
The demonstration was finally over. "Dead Operators" stood up and bantered with their counterparts and allies, as Emma heard rounds of applause erupt from the spectator booths. Men and women in uptight suits expressed their approval, but as for what, she didn't rightly know. Nor did she really care in the slightest. All she knew was that she just made herself a simulated casualty for the amusement of several strangers. Iana's earlier complaint was starting to make a lot more sense.
Perhaps now would be a great time to engage in a solo tour of her own. Elis, as the brochures told, was a picturesque place worthy of a day's stroll or two. Or maybe even the Stadium should be given a chance, see the British-funded retrofits first-hand. Perhaps once everything had settled down for today, she could rope in Julien, Iana, Elena, or any of her pals, for a little sightseeing of their own. After all, she already had more than her fill of action and mayhem for now, even if all of it was spent inside of a make-believe house. She only needed to pick herself up from the floor. It took her a few attempts; she probably fell harder than she thought, or she was winded more than she expected.
As usual, the Nighthaven guards did nothing but gawk at her, standing still from the sidelines like they were drones. Nighthaven, Puissance Group, ARGUS, Sentinel Corp… it was as though all mercenaries literally had the same state of mind.
"Twitch! You okay?", Iana hurried to her.
Her new friend was still donning Rainbow's black fatigues, unlike the Attackers and Defenders in the demo. Emma's smile quickly turned into a frown, seeing that just behind Iana was the woman seemingly responsible for taking her out in the match. The skull facepaint hid her smug smile, while she held a smoking PBR92 on her right hand.
"Those look like they hurt.", Taina said sarcastically.
"You think? You shot above my chest plate!"
"Center mass, actually.", she smiled back, which didn't feel completely genuine. "But I guess my hand did flick up a bit."
Emma didn't buy the explanation. Knowing this woman, she purposely shot at her soft spots as petty vengeance for what happened between them in that night out in Hereford. She did express a desire to stab her neck after all, but the latter figured it was just a morbid metaphor for something else. Luckily for Taina, Emma could let this one slide. Assuming her victory over her would be the end of their little feud, at any rate.
Just as then, Elena entered the room where the match's last seconds were held. She wasn't among the Defenders, but as top boffin for R&D she had been watching the action from the observation room beside the Labs. She acted like a doting mother, checking if everyone who wore her Sim-Suits could vouch for their performance. After a few choice words exchanged with Jordan, who was still rubbing his throbbing temple, she quickly made her way to Emma. She used two fingers to scoop up some of the white puffs on her chestplate, quite impressed by their quality.
"Completely disintegrated. Hmm, looks like the new training rounds are working better than the last batch after all."
"And they sting like hell. Son of a bitch…", Emma ranted to her.
"Oh, don't be such a baby.", Taina laughed. "You volunteered for this remember? I think you can walk this one off."
"Hah! I'd like to see you "walk this off" when your pretty little face gets hit-"
"Alright, alright. That's enough you two.", Elena went between them, realizing tempers were about to flare. "Have that checked out by Doc, Twitch. Debrief's in ten minutes."
She scoffed in reply, eager to finally get out of the blasted room. She picked up her rifle and strode off, looking for a place to vent. The other Operators greeted her in the hallway and staircase as she passed them by, but she only returned with a nod or a smirk. Outside of the Kill House, she saw that Harry and Meghan were still in the spectator booths, answering their guests' queries. It had been a small crowd today. But if this was to be the first day of the Program, then it would be one heck of a departure from what the Frenchwoman thought she knew about Rainbow. She hoped that their esteemed "Six" had something else up his sleeve, or at least another damn good reason why he wanted them to fight each other for his guests' amusement.
Having found a quiet corner in the Stadium all to herself, she sat down and unfurled the legs of her FAMAS F2's bipod so as to keep the barrel clean. Then she sighed and tilted her head up. The sun shone proudly in clear skies just as it did when she stepped off that bus today, picturesque enough for a snap in her smartphone. She felt her rapid pulse slowly ebb into a calmer rhythm; her visit to Gustave could wait. She then glanced at the white puffs on her chest again, this time laughing at how her "presentation" turned out. If today was any indication, this trip to Greece would probably be a rough one. She wanted to be a tourist again, see happier sights and breathe fresh air rather than gunpowder. But at least she felt at home. There's Julien in the distance riding his bike, Iana brainstorming with the other nerds in the arena. She still had friends, she was still alive. It was the least she could do for Madison Saint-Claire, may God rest that poor girl's soul.
Time for happier thoughts. Emma pulled out a pack of smokes from her back pocket, placing one between her lips. Her mind then went to another good friend as she flicked a lighter. She smiled, knowing he was out there, somewhere, doing his best, damn the consequences. That's what she always liked about him.
I bet Ethan's having an easy time.
…
…
He fell down hard. The hard impact caused the back of his head to throb, shaking his marbles quite a bit. But worse than the pain in his skull was the wound to his torso, which Ethan still couldn't believe. Flat on his back, writhing and grunting, he clamped a hand over his vest. Then he brought it close to his face, alarmed by the unmistakable splotch of blood across his gloves. He had been shot.
It looked worse than it really was: the R1N Rhino on his plate carrier had absorbed much of the bullet's force, only ricocheting upwards into his flesh by sheer bad luck. He was in great pain but he was still breathing fine, which ruled out a lung shot right off the bat. Ethan's eyes frantically looked left and right looking for poor little Agnes. They found her flat on her back just a few inches from him. She wasn't breathing. There was blood on her medical gown, sending him into a panic. He crouched to her side and knelt for a closer look. Fortunately, the red smear on her clothes was actual his. Another sigh of relief escaped his lips, but he was not yet out of the woods. The kid was still out cold, or worse, and smoke was starting to fill the farmhouse as well.
And he had been shot while inside a goddamn burning building. He just got ambushed.
"Sonuvabitch!", he clutched his wound again.
The bullet came through the window, the size and shape of the hole pointed to a rifle-caliber projectile that plugged him. The large pockmark on his armor plate only corroborated his suspicion. It probably came from a suppressed rifle too, since he didn't hear a distant snap in the air. He had been blindsided. Thinking that the shooter was still outside, Ethan figured that the best course of action was to get away from the windows as soon as possible. So he picked Agnes up from the floor and swung over to another corner, crouching as he went. The fire still raged behind him, completely consuming the barn and the hidden shelter.
He had a bigger problem to worry about. Safe behind cover, he pulled out his datapad again to try and make sense of the situation with his aerial drone, which was still aloft.
…
Holy shit!
There were eight men, just a few dozen meters south of the farmhouse, slowly approaching in a staggered formation. They were clad in black uniforms, ballistics masks, and other tactical gear. Sound-suppressed SG552s and AUGs were in their hands, plus a few LMGs… they brought some serious hardware with them. Probably an SAD wetworks team, who were alerted by the break-in. But the more Ethan thought about it, the less sense it made, as they were over-equipped for the job. They also arrived at the scene far too quickly to just be mere "reinforcements" that the agents called in before they drove off. Had they been waiting for him this whole time? Eager to gleam answers, Ethan fumbled with the audio on his camera feed. The drone's microphone was picking up some of their chatter.
"…Confirming UAV recall by ISR.", went one of them men, talking into his headset. "Primary target is down; stand-by for kill confirmation. Ajax out."
ISR? Who the fuck are these guys?
It felt too surreal; Ethan had anticipated a foot chase as his worst case scenario today, not a goddamn gunfight. If the armed men were definitely the SAD's goons then the kill-on-sight order made perfect fucking sense. He looked on anxiously as his drone feed showed him two of the masked shooters peeling off from the rest of their group, huddling on the east-side door where he was headed to. They exchanged hand signals in silence, as though they were prepping to breach; they were obviously well-drilled. Once again, Ethan was pressed with a set of bad choices. He could either hide to evade these assholes, or he could find another exit while he still had time. True to form, he let his instincts decide for him instead. He moved swiftly out of the kitchen, laying low, and made his way to the dining room. He needed to be fast, lest the blazing inferno started consuming the house. For now, the pain wasn't his concern. His heart kept beating out of his chest, but he had a clear plan of action in his head. He cradled Agnes close as they hid behind a table counter.
Then he pulled out his sidearm with his other hand, and racked the slide against his hip.
*click*
"Man, this is not good."
…
Author's Notes/Comments: I had to completely rewrite this chapter from the ground up because I wasn't satisfied with the first version of it, particularly the segment on The Program, hence the delayed release. Took me almost a month, but I am quite satisfied on how this one turned out; the discarded ideas are gonna be featured in future chapters instead. Also, Twitch makes a return as a POV character for the Rainbow-side of the story, though probably she won't be as prominent as she was in Freedom Day. This is because I intend to focus more on Rainbow's ongoing hunt for the bad guys, rather than The Program itself (my headcanon is that Team Rainbow still run missions while they're in Greece, with Nighthaven bolstering their manpower).
Anyway, I hope you liked this one! Before anyone asks, yes, I intend to feature Sam Fisher at some point. :)