Author's Note: Hey everyone. As it turns out I haven't died (yet, at least). I owe everyone who happens to see this story a huge apology for taking so long, but here it is! Just a warning; this one's a beast. Quite possibly the longest chapter I've ever written for a story.
Important note - my beta reader (the absolutely fantastic Separatist-Supporter) is awfully busy with real life things, so bets are somewhat off when it comes to them being able to work on the story, which leads to two things. First, I'll be posting this chapter without Separatist-Supporter's edits first (I'll update it later when they're able to get it back to me) and second, if anyone reading this happens to be a beta reader interested in working on this story with me, I'd love to get a PM from you and hopefully get that started! I've had a hard time thus far trying to get connected with any other beta readers.
Also - kpmh2001, Ladywolvesbayne, and laughingfox31 - you're all incredible and I don't deserve you. Thanks so much for your reviews on the last chapter! Hopefully I haven't burned you out by my nearly six-month bout of silence.
1600 HOURS, APRIL 24, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR)/
UNSC PROWLER DUSK, IN ORBIT AROUND GAS GIANT ABSALOM, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM
Captain Richard Lash rubbed his eyes for what very well might have been the thousandth time.
From the moment he had his epiphany, no one on the bridge had stopped; Yang had spent hours piecing together a believable script of ship-to-ship chatter that would accompany a twenty-one-ship battlegroup. Durruno called up each member of the Dusk's crew and assigned them new names, ranks, and speaking assignments. Freitas had stayed just as busy as any of them, tasked with organizing the steady influx of personnel as each member of the Dusk's crew reported to the bridge to record their scripted lines.
Lash himself, accompanied by Waters, had divided his time between going over the scripts and assignments made by both junior officers and determining which ships of the remaining UNSC Navy were the most likely to be assigned to such a Guardian-hunting killsquad. The list from which they had to choose had diminished drastically over the past six months, so they spent considerable time pulling ship names from any still-functioning fleet they could find.
Even aided by UNSC combat stimulants, it had been a long fourteen hours.
Captain Lash thought somewhat wistfully of the few hours' rest he planned to steal before the hour came to return to Ballast for Blue Team's extraction. The last few crewmembers were completing their recordings, and then the whole bridge crew would get some much-deserved sleep. They would all need to be on their best if they hoped to fool an AI that had defected from the UNSC, and he was willing to risk neither his ship nor his crew to exhaustion.
Realizing that he had subconsciously fallen into a tired slouch, Lash straightened his back in his command couch and glanced around the bridge. Yang and Durruno were working together making the last recordings with the crew. Waters was leaned over his own station, pouring through the reports that they had already recorded for any flaw that might allude to their strategy. Freitas had just entered the bridge with the last crewmember selected for the project - a stocky engineer with short dark hair and a long scar that ran from her left earlobe to the point of her chin. He absentmindedly recognized her as Lieutenant Naima Vasquez - one of the more brilliant engineers aboard the Dusk. The captain only hoped she was as adept at acting as she was repairing ships' systems.
When the pair of engineers entered the bridge, they stopped long enough to exchange salutes with Lash before Freitas guided Vasquez to Yang's side. Upon prompting from Yang, she immediately began reciting her memorized lines. Freitas, meanwhile, came to stand before Lash and stood at ridged attention.
"At ease," he said, and Freitas relaxed his stance somewhat. "You've done good work, Freitas. One last set of recordings to finish after Lieutenant Vasquez, and then we'll finally get you off your feet for a few minutes."
The corners of Freitas's mouth lifted slightly in appreciation of the praise, but his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "If you'll excuse me sir," he said, "I was under the impression that Vasquez was the last recording. I haven't been given any information for anyone else. Give me a name and I'll get them up here immediately."
Lash waved his hand in the air to cut the other man off. "No, you've brought the perfect number of crewmen," he said. He then turned toward the executive officer leaning tiredly over his chair and said, "Commander Waters, what is the last recording that we'll need before we're finished?"
Waters made a show of looking through the checklist they had compiled of necessary voices and recordings. The list was populated by several dozen communication's officers, twenty-one XOs, and twenty-one ships' captains – anyone whose voice might be heard over standard communications between a taskforce.
"Looks like we're missing a task force commander, sir." Waters finally answered.
"Ah yes, Rear Admiral Gabriel Soares. That's where you come in," Lash said, nodding to indicate Freitas.
Freitas's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline and he took an involuntary half-step back. "Surely, Captain, the task force commander should be portrayed by yourself."
"Nonsense. There is no one more qualified to lead Task Force Safado than yourself." He clapped a hand on Freitas's shoulder with a smile, then leaned in closely and said in a low voice, "And, if you disagree with my decision, I can always make it a direct order."
"Well, I don't see how I could possibly refuse such an offer," Freitas asked with a tired grin. "It would be my pleasure."
"There's the answer I was looking for. Let's get this finished and get some rest," Lash said. "Then we'll see if we don't end up catching ourselves a Guardian before this is over."
1640 HOURS, APRIL 24, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
VALLEJ O CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM
Frederic-104 carefully placed the sharpened point of his combat knife on the tip of his index finger, balancing the rest of the weapon in the air. It swayed almost imperceptibly back and forth – pushed by gusts of air generated by people rushing around him, the gentle breeze from the facility's recycled air filters, and his own body's natural movement. The gentle balancing of the blade relaxed him – it was something he could predict. Something he could control.
The knife was a tool – durable, trustworthy, useful. It was one of his favorite possessions, though he had carried hundreds throughout the course of his career. Each of them was the same. The same weight, the same structure, the same function. It was dependable, and that was an adjective the Spartan could use to describe few things in his life.
"Put the knife away," a familiar voice admonished him. "You're scaring the natives."
Upon their reunion in the bunker, Blue Team quickly debriefed each other on their knowledge of the situation on Ballast. There hadn't been much to report. John and Linda ran them up on the situation inside the bunker, the security force, and the hope that the cloaking device would be ready when it came time to beat a speedy retreat. In turn, Kelly and Fred confirmed the presence of a Created occupation force and that Ellsworth had seemingly managed to send the transmission out to UNSC contacts without it being detected.
After debriefing each other, the team had settled into several hours of rotating sleep shifts so that each member was afforded two hours' rest. While one Spartan slept, the other three would station themselves throughout the bunker as security. One of them – almost exclusively John – kept watch in the hangar while the other took position in the staging room on the lowest level of the bunker. Linda was the last to rotate into her sleep shift, and her two hours were nearly over. With Linda eking out her last minutes of rest and John all but chained to Graham's office door, Kelly and Fred had posted themselves on either side of the doorway at the bottom of the staircase that ascended to the hangar.
While the device and its major testing were done in the hangar, any research into the many different materials and subroutines inherent in such an object were done below. At least, that was Graham's argument for posting half of the team down below. Fred didn't know if it was true, but he didn't much care. He just wanted to finish the mission, get off the planet and – with a little luck – forget that any of it ever happened.
"I mean it," Kelly said, her subtly melodic voice derailing his train of thought – not that he minded the interruption. "If you scare these techies any more than they already are, we'll never get out of here." She cocked her head to the side, seemingly listening to something, before saying, "Movement on the stairs, someone's coming down. Could be that scientist coming back down with another ONI tech for inspection."
That scientist referred to Alex, the young woman who had led Linda and John into the bunker in the first place. She seemed to be a solid addition to ONI's team – smart, brave enough to speak with the Spartans that the others were giving a wide berth, and with enough charisma to lead her civilian team effectively. Linda, of all people, had spoken highly of her.
Since Fred and Kelly arrived in the bunker Alex had seemed torn between her work on the device and spending as much time as possible checking on the sleeping police officer that had come in with them. When she first tried to usher him and Blue Team into the barracks, Ellsworth happily complied and promptly fell asleep. Judging by how Alex had dragged Ellsworth to the barracks by the hand, Fred couldn't help but wonder if she was the friend the man had claimed he wanted to see again before dying.
"I thought she just left to check up on the kid a couple of minutes ago," he said, reaching behind his back to house the combat knife back into its custom scabbard in the foregrip of his DMR. "Would she be back this quickly?"
Kelly raised her shoulders in a shrug. "What do you bet?"
"A year's back pay," Fred offered. The Spartans didn't have much in terms of material goods to barter with, so whenever they did make a bet with one another they had to go for more inventive options.
Kelly's head swayed slightly from side to side as she considered his proposal. "No good, I'm pretty sure I make more than you," she said. She absentmindedly tapped her left finger to her thigh along with the music she was undoubtedly playing in her helmet as she thought. "Loser has to memorize a song of the winner's choosing," she countered.
Fred contemplated her offer for a moment. He hadn't developed the habit of listening to music to the same extent that Kelly had, but he did know of a few songs that she would be embarrassed enough to sing to make the bet worth the risk. "You're on," he said. Even if he was wrong, she wouldn't do anything too awful to him.
He hoped.
Kelly stepped across the doorway to stand beside him, glancing up the staircase on her way. "Bad move, LT," she said with a smile in her voice and a knock of her shoulder against his side. "You should know better than to take a bet against me – I'm never wrong." The Spartan finished her taunt just as a young woman in a white coat and a blonde ponytail trotted down the stairs and into view.
The scientist was tapping away at a datapad and talking to someone behind her when she exited the stairwell. When her foot lighted on the floor of the lower level she looked up, her eyes widening slightly when she took in the two armor-clad soldiers staring at her. She quickly flashed them a bright – if nervous – smile and glanced over her shoulder at whoever was following behind her.
"I think your friends might be waiting for you," she said.
The person to whom she was speaking came into view, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He had traded the tattered police uniform for a green long-sleeved shirt and a pair of cargo pants, and his tousled hair looked damp enough to suggest he might have showered. As he descended the stairs with his eyes covered by his hand, he overstepped and fell past the last step. The extra momentum shoved the man forward, stumbling until he collided roughly into Fred's chestplate. Slowly the man lifted his face and took in who he had run into.
The young Ellsworth's shockingly familiar-looking eyes suddenly widened in surprise, and he all but threw himself off of the Spartan he had been using for support. "Kelly, Sierra," he greeted them, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. The two Spartans said nothing, and with an embarrassed grin Ellsworth dropped his hands, mouthing the word awkward to his colleague.
"Maybe the kid's a hugger?" Kelly quietly joked over TEAMCOM, earning a slightly uncomfortable chuckle from her partner. He flashed a green LED status light to her HUD in appreciation of her ability to read his discomfort and attempt to alleviate the situation.
An awkward bout of silence stretched between the four for a few seconds before Ellsworth spoke up again. "I passed another Spartan on my way out of the barracks," he said. "I think she was looking for you."
Fred nodded, grateful for any excuse to escape the situation. "That would be Linda. We better go check in with our team," he answered, stepping around the pair of civilians that seemed as happy for an out as he was. Kelly followed him as he made a hasty retreat toward the upper level.
Fred emerged in the hangar, immediately scanning the room for his teammates. They weren't hard to find – standing at least a head taller than the tallest people in the room, Spartans tended to stand out. The other members of Blue Team were huddled together in the doorway opposite them, which led to the barracks. John and Linda were positioned with their backs to the wall on either side of the doorway so as to maintain as unobstructed a view of the hangar as possible. Unsurprisingly, the sniper noticed them first and gestured the pair over to her with a nod of her head.
Considering the advanced communications installed in their MJOLNIR GEN2 armor, it seemed unnecessary for the Spartans to travel to within earshot of one another to talk. But with the sheer numbers of UNSC AI that had defected to the Created – let alone the origins of the faction's leader – the Spartans were observing an extremely strict policy of avoiding any communication over distance at the risk of it being detected. So, until the UNSC techs were able to develop better comm encryption, the standing orders were to speak in person.
"Think there's any new information to share, or are we going to be stuck twiddling our thumbs in here until the Dusk comes back?" Kelly asked. She had stepped up to walk alongside Fred as they crossed the hangar, bumping her elbow into Fred's as they moved.
"No clue. I don't know how much longer I can stand sitting around this place though." Fred glanced over his shoulder at the staircase he had just left as he answered. When he looked forward again, he noticed Kelly's helmet was turned just enough to the side to be able to keep him in her peripherals.
"The Kid's gotten under your skin that bad, huh?" she asked.
Fred scowled under his helmet. Kelly's ability to read him could be as annoying as it was helpful. "What kid?" he asked, pointedly feigning ignorance. As they came within earshot of their teammates, he continued. "Nothing gets under my skin. I just might end up stomping on one of these techs if we're bottled up in this cave much longer."
"I can think of someone for you to stomp on," Linda cut in. Fred looked up at the sniper and followed her gaze to the door of Graham's office.
"Please don't," John said. "It would make for a lot of uncomfortable paperwork."
Fred turned his palms to the ceiling and spread them out slightly from his sides. "With what's going on? I doubt anybody would even read it," he retorted. "What's one less self-important scientist?"
"At this point, that 'self-important scientist' might be the only way we get off this planet."
Fred dropped his hands back to his sides. "You can be a real stick in the mud sometimes, you know that?" he said.
"You're only saying that because you know he's right," Kelly countered. She bumped Fred with her shoulder – a sign that she wasn't going to forgive him for avoiding her earlier question – and stood next to the team's leader.
"Was there ever any doubt?" John asked smugly.
"Do you really want us to answer that?" Linda fired back.
"No," the Spartan answered, then continued without missing a beat. "I want a quick debriefing and then I want everyone back on rotation." His voice had dropped its playful tone and settled back into his no-nonsense default. John looked around himself, observing the clutter, machinery, and scattered security and science personnel. "Not here," he said. "Armory."
Without waiting for a response, John turned on his heel and made for a quick march in the direction of the armory. The rest of Blue Team fell in line behind him, and in a few moments they crossed the hangar and ascended the staircase that brought them to the makeshift weapons' locker.
The entire room was a jumbled affair. As far as Fred could tell, its original purpose had been to house the hunting rifles of the original owners of bunker along with the weaponry of their private security team. The addition of the police and militia members that had come to serve as extra security for the ONI team also meant an addition to the armory – from fully stocked MA5Ds and BR85s provided by the Militia to DMRs and the civilian SR85 brought by the police officers. The extra weaponry was piled in half-organized groupings, stacked against walls, and otherwise cluttered around the small room.
The addition of a full team of Spartans didn't help the situation.
"You couldn't have found a smaller room?" Fred complained good-naturedly. "I'm not sure we're close enough to hear each other in here."
"It'll be a short conversation," said John, leaving Fred to wonder whether that was in answer to or avoidance of his question. "Sitrep. Blue Three, Blue Four; what have you gathered?"
"Not a lot of unity around this place," Kelly began. "The police don't trust the CMA because they're too old to be useful in a real fight. CMA doesn't trust the police because they're unfamiliar with legitimate war. None of them trust the contractors because they don't believe a mercenary will stick around when the pan gets hot." She paused for a moment, letting the sheer volume of dissension in the facility sink in. "That said, all three groups would pick each other over the ONI team. For . . . obvious enough reasons."
"Situation among the scientists isn't much better," Linda said. "What I've gathered from Alex indicates a large disconnect between civilian and military units. But there's enough cohesion to get the work done. Though, not even the ONI team is sure on how prepared their device is. They say Graham is doing the testing on his own, and they're just going off of the data that he reports back to them. Eason sticks to his side like a dog on a leash."
John nodded his head once when she finished. "Copy. Everyone back to position. Keep your ears to the ground, and keep an eye out for anything that we might need to worry about." Each Spartan flashed a green status light in response and filed out of the room.
When they reached the bottom of the stairwell and stepped into the hangar, the team split in two. John and Linda took positions on either side of the barracks while Fred and Kelly made to return to the staging area. As they turned, however, they heard a commotion near Graham's office. Two black-clad private contractors were doing their best to Alex's entry into the office, though she was energetically attempting to bob and weave her way through them to the door.
John and Fred moved in unison and jogged to the scene. "What's going on here?" John asked sternly.
"I'm looking for Doctor Graham, and this moron is trying to keep me out," Alex said, glaring daggers at the man in front of her. "I need to speak to him about some research I've done into the frequencies the Prometheans use in their communication."
"Let her in," the Master Chief growled at the gun-for-hire.
The man in question, a muscled man with broad shoulders, curly red hair, and a disinterested resting face, exasperatedly stepped back, away from Alex. "Have it your way," he muttered under his breath.
With a grateful smile at the pair of Spartans, Alex stepped forward and opened the door into Graham's office. Each Spartan turned to return to their assignments, but stopped dead in their tracks when they heard Alex throw the door back open and burst out of the office.
"I suppose you think you're very funny," she said, angrily poking a finger into the red-haired contractor's chest. "He's not even in his office, where did he go?" she demanded. The man's only reaction was to shrug, and to defiantly stare at John.
In his peripherals, Fred noticed John's head snap forward to stare at Graham's open office door. "He might have gone to the barracks to get some rest," he answered Alex's question, though his voice carried with it a wariness that Fred had come to despise in the time that he had known John.
A look of confusion crossed Alex's face as she considered the possibility before she replied, "Alright, I'll check there." Her tone made it clear that she didn't think there was any likelihood of that being true, but the way her eyes darted back and forth between the Spartan and mercenary near her made Fred wonder if she wasn't looking for a reason to put some distance between herself and whatever was about to happen. She turned and jogged in the direction of the staircase leading to the barracks.
"In the barracks?" Fred asked once she was out of earshot. "I don't think I've seen him leave his office since we arrived."
"He hasn't," John replied coldly. "Blue Four, follow her and keep on eye on her. Blue Two, Blue Three, search the staging area and the armory. I'll have a little talk with our friend here. We need to find Graham and that device immediately." As he finished his order the four Spartans scattered in unison.
Fred jogged to the top of the staircase that descended back into the staging room, glancing throughout the hangar as he went. The Pelican that dominated the area blocked his view of half of the spacious room, but he knew the odds of finding the doctor in the hangar itself were exceedingly low. As the Spartan began his descent to the staging area, he began to list potential reasons for the doctor's disappearance.
The possibility of Created forces having found and infiltrated the bunker was almost nothing – judging by their past actions, the entire bunker would have been swarmed by Crawlers, Soldiers, and Knights by now if that were the case. A serious threat remained, however. Many humans had, frightened by the seemingly all-powerful destruction wrought by Promethean armies and the Created-controlled Guardians, pledged their allegiance to the Created in favor of eradication. The possibility of a servant of the Created having infiltrated the research or security team, biding their time until they had a chance to strike at both the cloaking device and its progenitor – those odds were exponentially greater.
When he entered the staging area Fred quickly took stock of the area and glanced among faces there.
Ellsworth appeared at his side. "Looking for somebody?" he asked.
"Graham. Have you seen him?"
The officer squinted and bit the corner of his lip as he thought. "The stuffy guy with an attitude?" he asked. When Fred nodded, Ellsworth shook his head. "No," he said, "But I just woke up. I'll check with the guys I know down here."
As the man turned and called to one of the guards - another police officer, if Fred wasn't mistaken - Fred continued scanning. A dozen civilian techs, a pair of guards, some piles of scrapped equipment that had been used and rejected during the development process. No Graham.
"Nobody's seen him down here," Ellsworth said after a moment. He thought for a moment, then said, "Al was going up to look for him, if something is wrong I need to find her." With that, the man turned and ran up the stairs.
Fred winced. Blue Team needed to keep as few people aware of a threat to security as possible until they were sure of any course of action. Ellsworth had seemed intelligent so far – Fred hoped the young man would be smart enough not to spread undue panic. He followed the Ballast native up the steps.
When he emerged in the hangar again, he noticed John's words with the contractor had developed a less-than-friendly connotation. The Chief had stepped forward, towering nearly 30 centimeters over the other man. Linda and Alex had returned to the hangar, and Ellsworth went at a run to the scientist's side.
"I don't answer to you," the man was saying to John. He spoke defiantly, but his eyes were wide enough to see the whites around his irises – a clear sign of fear – and his left hand had strayed to the handle of the handgun on his waist.
"You may not answer to the UNSC," a voice said from behind Fred. "But you do answer to me. Get that hand off your gun and tell him what happened before I have to send what's left of you home in a shoebox, Alpin."
The voice sounded tired – annoyed, even – and when Fred turned he was slightly surprised to see that it belonged to the young man's leader. In the commotion Eason had quietly crept up behind the Spartans despite being in full gear, and she currently stood with a hand outstretched to forestall any further argument from her operative.
The red-headed contractor, Alpin, shot a glare at her before nodding. "Yes, ma'am. Doctor Graham," he said, now speaking directly to John, "Went for a walk. Outside."
Almost at once, the four Spartans rounded on Eason. "I trust you have an explanation for that, ma'am." Linda said, her voice lowered to a tone that was almost violent on its own. Fred had seen entire squads of ODST flinch when being spoken to in that voice.
Eason didn't blink.
Instead, she looked John directly in the faceplate with something akin to chagrin in her eyes. "I know where he went," she said. "Shoot, I even planned the route for him. But when you and your Spartans got here, I told him not to go through with it." Her eyes lowered and she added in a quiet tone, "I didn't actually think he'd be stupid enough to do it anyway."
"What are you talking about?" The question came from Ellsworth. He positioned himself between Alex and the contractors and had one hand on the pistol at his hip as he warily looked Eason up and down.
The raven-haired woman sighed tiredly before answering. "Graham decrypted a message about a week ago. It was broadcast along with all of the other transmissions sent when the Guardian came in-system, only this one wasn't a threat. It was more of an invitation. It claimed that they knew about Graham's project, and that they would rip Valejo up by its foundations until they found him if they had to. That, or he could hand the device over and he and his team would be allowed to sit it out on Ballast while the Created mopped up what was left of the UNSC."
Alex defiantly stepped around her defender to look Eason in the face. "And he accepted?" she angrily challenged. "And you helped him plan to betray humanity to a bunch of robots with a superiority complex?"
Eason ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath. "It wasn't anything so dramatic as 'betraying humanity,'" she said, punctuating her words by creating quotation marks with her fingers. "It was more of a lateral career move. We haven't had the chance to do any real field tests on this thing you've concocted, and I don't accept throwing my life or the lives of my people away on a chance. But," she continued, "When I saw just who came for the extraction, I realized that my people were much safer taking their chances with a faulty cloaking device than taking on the UNSC's most decorated kill-team. I told Graham that we wouldn't back him, and that he shouldn't go through with it." She glanced at Alpin. "I thought the point was settled there, and didn't think it would be necessary to tell my team that the deal was off."
"If what you're telling us is true, you'll know where we he'll be traveling. Lead us to him and we'll haul him back here and get everything squared away." John's voice had lost its predatory edge, opting instead for what Fred referred to as the team leader's "politician voice." He spoke calmly and evenly, neither inciting defensiveness nor aggression through his tone. It was an interrogation technique that Mendez had drilled into them so hard as children that Fred could still hear the man screaming at them when they messed up.
"That'll never work," Alpin answered him. "Graham left here hours ago – the only option we have is to ambush him at the rendezvous point and hopefully nab him before any Prometheans show up to make things ugly."
"And you'll be needing all the help you can get on the chance that your operation does go south," Eason added. "Help that my team and I would be happy to provide – for a price. We want on that Pelican when it dusts off."
Her request wasn't unreasonable; in fact, Fred was surprised the demand was so low. But space on the Pelican was limited, and there would be plenty of people vying for a seat.
"We can't do that," John said. "You know as well as I do that unless the key developers of that device get off-world it won't do anyone any good if we hope to replicate it."
"If we're stuck here it won't do my people any good whether you replicate it or not. I've named my terms." She stared John down defiantly. "I'm looking out for my team the same way you look out for yours."
The tension rose so quickly in the room that it was almost tangible. The Ballast security that had slowly filtered in behind Ellsworth each gripped their weapons more tightly while Alpin's hand slowly returned to the grip of his sidearm. If something didn't change soon, the two groups were liable to wipe each other out.
"We'll make it a straw draw," Alex spoke out. She walked around Ellsworth and stepped between Eason and John. "There are only so many seats, and a certain number have to go to the ONI team and the Spartans. Beyond that, your team will have as good a chance as any of us to get a spot on the Pelican when it takes off. Statistically, you'll get more of your people off-world and we should end up with enough of the tech people off to be able to continue our work."
Eason chewed on her lower lip as she considered Alex's offer. After a moment she nodded. "That will work for now. We're in as long as I can get the Master Chief's word that he'll honor your end."
Though he hadn't spoken, the aversion that John felt to the compromise was clear to his team. There were too many variables in the deal, and it was far more imperative that the scientists be taken from the planet than their army-for-hire.
That said, unless they had the contractors' help in finding and retrieving Graham and the cloaking device none of it would matter. They really had no other choice. "You want my word?" he asked. "You've got it."
Eason's face, thus far defined by cold, hard features, erupted into a beaming, if forced, smile. "Then you've got yourself a deal. And we've got ourselves a runaway to catch." She waved Alpin to her side and shouted for another member of her team to retrieve the map that had been drawn of the access point to the bunker.
"The way I see it, we'll need to split into two teams. The first team will intercept Graham and grab him before he can make his playdate." As she spoke, her operative returned with the map and spread it out across a nearby table. Eason pointed to a spot on the map that looked vaguely like a city park in the center of the business sector of Valejo. "Here's his meeting point. We'll grab him before he gets there. The second team will set up in these buildings on the fringe of the park and provide cover in case things get hot."
John nodded. "Blue Four and I will go for extraction with Team One," he said. "Eason, you and your people are with me. You know the route best, and I'll need you to give us the best chance of intercepting Graham. Blue Two and Three will lead Team Two, made up of the civilian team." John then turned to Ellsworth. "Talk with your people. If things go right here, this will be their best chance to make a clean getaway. Get a team of six who will be able to bug out and return to the city like nothing happened and gear up. We are on the move in five minutes." Ellsworth nodded. He grabbed Alex's hand and squeezed it before jogging away to do as he was ordered.
"Scott," Eason said, and Alpin turned to look at her. "You're with Team Two. You'll need to show them how to get their clunky selves around without drawing attention," she finished with a cocky smirk at Fred. Alpin simply nodded – first at Eason, then at Fred.
"Doctor," John spoke up again, turning this time to Alex. "Put together a list of the essential people from your team. Anyone not on that list is to load everything that you need on the Pelican and then evacuate this bunker. I want as few people here when we get back as possible." He turned his attention back to the operatives and Spartans surrounding the table. "The rest of you, gear up. It's time to move."